Their conversation felt stilted and awkward in the beginning, as if they were unsure of each other, afraid of saying too much or too little. But gradually he grew comfortable speaking with her again. There was a naturalness about Savannah. When she asked him questions, her interest was so obviously sincere that he couldn’t help responding with equal sincerity.
Following the meal, they sat and lingered over coffee. Savannah asked about his family and perhaps because he’d written to his mother earlier, he described his early years in Texas before his father had gone off to war.
She was such a good listener that Laredo continued, recounting his father’s death and the move to Oklahoma to live with his mother’s parents, both dead now. He told it all as casually as if he was discussing the weather. In an unemotional voice, he talked about the painful details of those early unhappy years, things he’d rarely shared with anyone.
He sensed that Savannah intuitively understood the significance of the memories he confided in her. She understood and appreciated that he was sharing a piece of his soul, although he made light of it, even joked. But he suspected that the pain revealed itself in the pauses, the unspoken words, and that she was attuned to it.
Her questions were thoughtful and perceptive. After a time he thought he should reciprocate. “What about you, Savannah?” he asked. “Tell me about your family.”
She left the table so fast he wondered if his question had offended her. She stood with her back to him, supporting herself on the kitchen counter. He longed to place his hands on her shoulders. Apologize.
He of all people should know enough to respect the privacy of another’s pain. After talking about himself nonstop for more than an hour, with her constant encouragement, he’d felt a certain right to ask. It was a right he didn’t have. Savannah owed him nothing. Nothing. He was the one in her debt.
“Savannah, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He raised his hands to touch her and dropped them just as quickly.
She was still turned away from him, her head still lowered. “Did you know I have two brothers? Grady and Richard.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Richard’s younger than me. He’s twenty-nine.” She turned then, to face him.
“Does he live close by?” he asked gently.
She shook her head. “I don’t know where he is. Neither Grady nor I have seen Richard in six years—since the day we buried Mom and Dad.”
Laredo didn’t know how to respond. He continued to fight the urge to put his arms around her and found it more and more difficult to resist. Speaking of her younger brother clearly upset her.
“He...disappeared.” Her voice was shaking with emotion.
“Savannah, listen, you don’t need to say any more. I shouldn’t have asked.” Her pain was right there, and so real it was agony to see. He felt helpless, unable to console her.
“No...please, I want to tell you.”
He nodded.
She took a moment to compose herself. “Apparently Dad told Grady that if anything were ever to happen to him, Grady should go to the safe-deposit box at the bank in Brewster.” She paused and bit her lower lip. “The day before the funeral Grady and Richard visited the bank together. You can imagine how shocked they were to discover that the safe-deposit box was full of cash. Grady estimated there must have been close to forty thousand dollars there, along with a letter.
“Dad wrote that he’d seen what had happened to people who put their faith in life-insurance companies and after the savings-and-loan fiasco, he didn’t trust banks much, either. He didn’t want Mom and us three kids to worry about finances, so he’d been putting the money aside little by little for years. His plan was that there’d be enough money to pay the inheritance taxes on the ranch, plus keep the place going. I don’t even think my mother knew.
“The next day we buried my parents,” Savannah whispered, and her voice quavered with remembered pain. “I recall almost nothing about that day. Again and again I’ve gone over the details in my mind and it’s all a blank. I remember the people—so many friends and family came. I remember how kind and generous everyone was. That part I have no problem with. What I can’t recall is the last time I saw Richard. He vanished without a word to anyone. At...at first we assumed that something terrible had happened to him. That in his pain and grief he’d done something crazy. I was worried sick. Grady, too.”
Slowly Savannah raised her eyes and Laredo could see that they’d filled with tears. When she spoke again, her voice was small and weak. “He took the money—every dime. As best as we can figure, he left the funeral and went straight to the bank, forged Grady’s signature and cleaned out the safe-deposit box. He took what belonged to all three of us. He left us with nothing. We’d just lost Mom and Dad. Our grief was unbearable, and he made it worse with his betrayal. Neither Grady nor I have heard from him since.” Some of her tears spilled over. “Grady’s never been the same. He’s practically killed himself trying to hold on to the ranch, and I think he hates Richard.
“I can’t hate him—he’s my brother. You see, Laredo, in one day I lost my parents, and I lost both my brothers, too.”
Nothing could have kept Laredo from reaching for her then. When he did, she came to him as though he’d held her a thousand times. It felt so...right to press her against his heart. Her body was warm and pliant, molding to his as naturally as if they’d been designed for each other.
Laredo had no idea how long they stood there. Not nearly long enough, of that he was sure. Savannah’s arms were around his middle, her face buried in his chest. His hands were in her hair, his eyes closed, savoring the wonder of being close to someone this beautiful and this good.
He didn’t hear the door open, but he should have realized it was bound to happen.
The screen door slammed and Laredo’s eyes shot open. Instinctively his arms tightened around Savannah before he reluctantly released her and faced her brother. Eye to eye. Man-to-man.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my sister?” Grady Weston shouted.
***
Grady mulled over what he had to say before he confronted Savannah. Pacing the living room floor, he carefully weighed each word.
Okay, so maybe he’d been out of line earlier when he found her and Smith clinging to each other like lovers. The sight had distressed him and before he could stop himself he’d exploded.
He didn’t want to fight with Savannah. She was his sister, but damn it all! Her infatuation with Laredo Smith—or whatever his name might be—had deprived her of all reason. It was more than he could bear, watching her make a fool of herself over this useless drifter.
Unfortunately his methods of convincing her hadn’t worked so far, and Grady realized he needed to change his tactics. To this point, all that his anger and frustration had netted him was the silent treatment. He’d never known a woman who could say more without uttering a word.
Okay, okay, he was willing to admit he’d made mistakes, too. Earlier in the week Savannah had cooked him his favorite dinner as a peace offering, but he’d been so angry he’d chosen to overlook the gesture. He’d been wrong to ignore her outstretched hand, but he was man enough to admit it. He hoped to make peace with her now—hoped he could persuade her to see reason.
Savannah had given him the cold shoulder since he’d walked in on her and Smith in the kitchen. For the rest of the day she’d conveniently disappeared and had retired to her room as soon as it was dark. She wasn’t asleep; he could hear her moving about upstairs, as restless as he was here below.
He continued pacing, then decided to talk to her now, before the opportunity was lost. Before he changed his mind. He headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time, paused outside her bedroom, inhaled deeply and knocked. Loudly.
“Yes?” his sister said through the door. Her voice was anything but warm, and the door stayed closed.
“Savannah, I’d appreciate the opportunity to discuss the matter of Laredo Smith with you,” he said. It’d taken him ten minutes to come up with those words, to strike the proper tone. He thought he sounded formal, calm, even lawyerly.