Читать книгу A Marriage Made In Joeville - Anne Eames, Anne Eames - Страница 9

Prologue

“A lotta good it did to save myself, huh?” Savannah folded a pair of jeans and slapped them into her suitcase. “All these years of waiting for the right guy and another one bites the dust.” She flung a couple of sweatshirts in the general vicinity of the bed.

Jenny leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “At least the wedding invitations weren’t sent out yet.”

Savannah stopped packing and dropped cross-legged on the braided oval rug. “He could have told me a long time ago there was someone else.” She shook her head, feeling the familiar sting of betrayal.

“You told me you weren’t sure he was the one, anyway. So why the long face?”

Savannah bowed her head, the heat of a sudden blush traveling up her neck. She stole a peek at Jenny’s cocked eyebrow, then lowered her gaze again. “Because now I’m the dumpee, not the dumper.” And after a lifetime of self-doubts, she still felt like that frumpy little fat girl of her youth, regardless of her metamorphosis.

“I’d prefer to think you made the decision and he simply forced your hand.” Jenny’s tone softened as she pushed off the jamb and moved closer. “All things considered, isn’t it for the best?”

Savannah glanced up and caught Jenny’s tender look. “I guess so.” Then with more enthusiasm, she added, “You’re right, as usual.”

Jenny nodded her head and knelt down. “Smart girl.” After a brief reflection, she tugged at Savannah’s arm and pulled them both to their feet.

“Come on, kiddo. That was over a month ago. No point beating yourself up over it again.” She wrapped an arm around Savannah’s shoulder and ushered her to the white wicker love seat angled in the corner of the room. They sat sideways on overstuffed chintz cushions, tucked their legs beneath them and eyed each other.

“Tell me, Jen. Have you ever been passionately in love? You know, the kind of goose-bumpy feeling whenever he walks into a room, or brushes a part of you accidentally?”

Jen looked away with exaggerated wistfulness, then back in a flash. “No.”

“Never?”

“Passionately in lust? Oh, yeah. But not what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I’m the incurable romantic for holding out so long, but geesh, Jen, somebody better come along pretty soon. I’m almost thirty, for Pete’s sake!” She let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I can almost hear my mother saying, ‘If you don’t use it, it’ll get rusty.’ ”

“Your mother.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “Now there’s a woman to emulate. Where exactly in Europe is she this month?”

“This isn’t about my mother.” Savannah heard the defensiveness in her voice and was surprised it was there. Jenny had every reason to sound critical of a mother who’d abandoned a teenage daughter before the ink was dry on her father’s life insurance check.

Jenny poked Savannah’s knee with an index finger. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have dug up that old bone.” She squirmed in the corner of the sofa in a way that left no doubt they were changing the subject. In an airy, optimistic voice she said, “Look at it this way, something good came out of it. At long last you’re going to Montana to check out this passionate love I’ve been hearing about.”

Savannah looked across the clothes-strewn bed and wondered if her latest decision had been the right one...or just another impulsive folly.

“You don’t look too convinced, amigo,” Jenny said, looking askance. “Okay, let’s go through it one more time.” She turned and faced Savannah squarely. “In the seven years since I’ve known you, who do we end up talking about every time you break up with another guy?”

Savannah grabbed the pillow next to her and hugged it to her chest.

“Come on. Say it.”

“Ryder. Ryder Malone.” Savannah peeked out from under her lashes, her heart skipping faster at the mere mention of Ryder’s name. Amazing. Twelve years since he’d left Detroit, and he still had this powerful effect on her. “But you keep forgetting something, Jen. I was just his buddy, nothing more.” She expelled a weary sigh. “Time’s marched on. I’d be lucky if he even remembered me.”

“You know he’d remember you. That’s not why you’re worried.” She scooted closer and patted Savannah’s knee. “You’re afraid he won’t care.”

“You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“I’m your friend, remember?” She tilted her head lower and waited for eye contact.

Savannah rewarded her with a smile. “How could I forget?” She squeezed Jenny’s hand then pushed off the love seat. “I’ll never get my packing done at this rate. And we still have that haircut and dye job to do.” She reached back and pulled Jenny’s hand. “Come on, friend. Get your butt in gear. You talked me into this little charade. The least you can do is help.”

Now it was Jenny’s turn to look dejected. She stood motionless in front of a wicker armrest.

“What? What did I say?” Savannah stared at the moisture rimming above Jenny’s lower lashes.

“I know it’s the right thing...you going to Montana, taking that job, getting to know Ryder again...but, God, Savannah. This apartment is going to seem awfully empty without you.”

“It’s just for the summer, maybe less—”

“No,” Jenny interrupted. “You’re never coming back.” She swept at a lone tear with the back of her hand.

The simple statement sucked Savannah’s breath away. Not the words, but the certainty with which they’d been spoken. Jenny had a way of saying things as though they were fact. And with an eerie insight she never quite understood, Savannah knew Jenny was always right when she used that distant, unwavering tone. She’d joke it was the Crow thing—the one-half native American blood that channeled through her veins, sending prophetic messages to her brain. Whatever it was, it rocked Savannah to the core. She lowered herself onto the foot of the bed.

“You could always move to Joeville with me,” Savannah said, not thinking for a second it would happen, but not wanting the separation, either. Jenny had been more than a friend. She’d been the sister Savannah never had, her confidante, her own personal clairvoyant. Even if things went perfectly with Ryder, which she found hard to believe, she couldn’t imagine going months or years without seeing her best friend.

Jenny sniffed and walked toward the headboard. “Ha! Could you picture me in Joeville, Montana? With all those cowboys and Indians?”

Yes, she could, but more importantly she didn’t miss the use of the word Indians. Jenny’s political incorrectness was intentional. It always was whenever her ancestry entered the conversation. Her father’s abandonment and mother’s bitterness toward an entire race had hung over Jenny like a large gray cloud in the shape of giant question mark. No. That wasn’t true. Only Savannah saw the cloud as a question mark. Jenny wouldn’t allow herself to question. To question was to bleed some more.

Jenny lifted a maroon and gold volume from the nightstand, finding the diversion she sought, and turned back with a devilish smile. “Hmm. What have we here? Class of ’85—”

“Oh, please. Don’t.” Savannah winced and prepared for the inevitable.

Jenny thumbed to the index in the back. “Let’s see...senior photo, page twenty-seven.” She fanned the pages backward, then stopped and covered her mouth with her hand. “So this is why you never showed me!”

“I know, I know. What a sight, huh?” Savannah crossed to Jenny’s side and grimaced at the image of her former self: braces, shoulder-length mousy brown hair, and at least an extra fifty pounds.

Jenny looked from the photo to Savannah then back to the page. “Too bad you don’t wear contacts so we could change those baby blues to green.” Looking up again, she said, “Still, just a little more work and he’ll never know it’s you.” She put the book down and swept Savannah’s hair back from her face with both hands. “Yep. Shorter and darker ought to do the trick.”

“Let’s do it now...before I lose my nerve.” They looked into each other’s eyes a moment, then burst into nervous laughter as they scurried for the bathroom, pushing and poking each other as they went, pretending to forget goodbyes were less than twenty-four hours away.

Savannah shed her sweater, settled atop the toilet seat and made a pocket with the towel Jenny pinned around her neck to catch the clippings.

“Should we do medium length first or go for broke?”

She looked up at Jenny’s blue-black hair. It was cropped short with jagged ends trailing slightly down her neck. Equally jagged bangs and sides all pointed to large, doelike brown eyes. If she could look half as good as her friend with this same style, she’d be happy.

“Just like yours.”

“You’re sure about this?” Jenny tested the shears with a couple of quick snips in midair.

“Just hurry up. Do it.” Savannah closed her eyes and held the towel out around her.

A half hour later, her butt numb from the hard plastic lid, and her arms aching from catching all the hair, she blew air at a stray lock that itched her nose. “When can I see?”

Jenny unpinned the towel and carefully removed it. “Hold your horses. I’m a long way from finished.” She slipped on disposable plastic gloves and went to work with the pointy-nosed bottle of dye. “We can pack during the twenty-five minutes this goop is on your head.”

She finished in a flurry, then removed the gloves and fanned her face. “Gadzooks! You look worse than that stuff smells.” She chuckled and grabbed her friend’s hand, tugging her back toward the bedroom. “Okay, let’s pack...and no peeking.” Savannah started to turn toward the mirror, but Jenny nudged her forward and shut the bathroom door behind them. “Now, about these clothes you’re taking—”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“They look like you.”

“I can’t afford a whole new wardrobe—”

“No, but you could take a few of my things.”

“They’re a size too small!”

“Exactly. What’s the last thing Ryder would expect the old Savannah to wear?”

She looked at her bulky sweaters and oversize flannel shirts flung on the bed. She liked clothes loose and comfortable. She never felt secure showing off her more-than-ample bust, which to her own eyes seemed disproportionate to the rest of her trimmer self. “You can’t possibly mean for me—”

“To wear tight tank tops or form-fitting blouses? Yep. Trust me. It’s just what you need.”

When Jenny left the room, no doubt to retrieve her sexier clothes, Savannah looked down at the open yearbook and turned to Ryder’s photo, her heart beating erratically once again.

Was disguising herself the right thing to do? True, she didn’t want him to know who she was till the time was right... if that day ever came. First, she wanted to study the man he’d become, to see if he was anything like the fantasy she’d lived with for so long. And she wanted him to get to know her again, too, without his feeling some sense of obligation to be kind to an old friend. Anything less than honest feelings would be a waste of time.

Honest. What a dichotomy. She hated being dishonest with Ryder, yet she saw no other way of learning the truth.

She focused on his photo again and remembered the other thing that worried her. National Locators had found where he lived and told her about the job opening at the ranch. They’d also said he wasn’t married. But what if he was involved with someone? After all of this, what would she do?

She closed the book with a resounding thud. She didn’t want to think about it. She had enough on her mind, least of which was the ridiculous job she’d be applying for once she found the ranch.

Jenny rushed back into the room, a smile from ear to ear and clothes draped across both extended arms.

Savannah laughed and accepted the offering. “Okay, I’ll take a few of your things. Maybe I’ll even use them.”

They continued emptying drawers and the closet, filling another suitcase with underwear, nightshirts and shoes, while Savannah continued fretting about the week ahead. “Jenny, do you really think I can pull off this cook job? I’ve never been anything but a secretary at Detroit Tire.”

“The one and same warehouse that laid you off with a couple of hundred others. Don’t you think that was another sign this was meant to be?”

That had seemed rather fortuitous. She never liked that job, anyway, and had recently sent out résumés. “Still, you’re the one who cooks for a living. I’m the one who nukes and does carryout.”

“You got about a dozen basic meals down pat, and there’s lots more in that cookbook I gave you. If you get in a jam, I’m only a phone call away.” She looked at her watch. “Time to hit the shower. Close your eyes.”

Savannah stripped with her back to the mirror while the water warmed. When she stepped inside, she lowered her head under the spray and watched dark brown water swirl around the drain at her feet. Another ball of anxiety gripped her stomach. Of all the hare-brained ideas she’d had over the years, this one had to take the cake. She lathered quickly and rinsed. A new persona, a new part of the country she’d never seen, and a job she knew little about. With a groan, she shut off the water and stepped out.

Jenny stood waiting—blow dryer in one hand, brush in the other, and the ever-present look of caring in those big brown eyes. God, how she’d miss this woman. Tears blurred her vision, and she blotted them away as she dried herself and tied the bath sheet into a large knot at one side.

“All right,” she said on a sigh. She shot Jenny a dubious glance, then did her best to sound lighthearted. “I’m ready. Work your magic.”

With the heavy scent of coconut mousse filling the air and every available surface cluttered with makeup, Jenny ran to the next room and back, getting what she said was the perfect outfit to finish the picture. Playing along, Savannah shrugged into a too-small rust-colored tank top, tucked it into a tight fitting pair of cutoffs and spun toward the mirror for the long-awaited unveiling.

“Oh...my...God.” She fell back a step, not recognizing the image in front of her. “I look like a totally shameless slut!”

Jenny looked at their reflections and shook her head back and forth. “Uh-uh.” Finally, she turned her friend around, gripped her by the shoulders and spoke sternly. “Savannah Elizabeth Smith...you look drop-dead gorgeous.”

Savannah puffed out her cheeks, exhaled a loud breath and stole another peek over her shoulder. “Isn’t it a little on the trashy side?”

“Sure, but you’re going to Montana, remember?” Jenny laughed at her own joke, then stepped back and admired her work. “Cowboys like their women a little on the trashy side. Hell, there’s even a song that says so.”

Savannah rolled her eyes and chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I think I heard it a while back.”

“Then relax, girlfriend. Everything’s going to work out just the way you want it.” Jenny pulled her into a tight embrace and laughed over her shoulder. “Yep,” she said, thumping Savannah’s back and rocking her side to side. “Ryder Malone won’t know what hit him.”