Chapter Four
Three hours later, Savannah and Harlan were the last to leave the ballroom. She’d refused to leave before making sure everyone was situated. Everyone but the two of them. Harlan wondered if she’d figured that out yet. They could stay where they were but there wasn’t an empty chair in the place, the tables were round and too small to be pushed together for people to lie on. Not to mention how uncomfortable that would be. Mrs. Harwood had sent over blankets and pillows and the remaining people were making do.
“Thank you for helping me. I can see that you’re accustomed to taking charge.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”
“You didn’t. You were a big help. Especially when those two women got in a fight.”
Harlan laughed. “You’re the one who defused that situation. All I did was keep their husbands from joining in.”
Savannah shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about that scenario. It was bad enough with only the women.”
“Got any ideas where you and I can sleep?”
“I think we should go over to the main house. I’m sure there will be someplace there where we can at least sit.”
Harlan wasn’t but he didn’t see what there was to lose. They got their coats, both a bit worse for wear, and got ready to brave the cold. There was ice and snow on the sidewalk that led to the main house, and more on the grass. Harlan looked down at Savannah’s feet. “You’d better let me carry you. If you try to walk on the ice and snow in those shoes you’ll fall down for sure.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need you to carry me.”
Harlan shrugged and opened the door. Savannah stepped through it and slipped immediately. Harlan caught her before she fell on her ass. “You were saying?”
She gave him the evil eye. “Just hold on to my arm and shut up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Three steps and three slips later, the last one almost taking him down with her, Harlan had had enough. “Screw this.” He picked her up and started walking to the main house.
She sputtered but he ignored her and kept walking. She maintained a stony silence for part of the way and then she started giggling. Before long she was shaking in his arms. “Stop laughing,” he said, exasperated. “You’re going to make me bust my ass and if I go down, so do you.”
“I can’t help it. All I can think is what a perfect end to this day it would be to wind up flat on my back on the ice.”
“I’ll pass,” he said, reaching the front porch. Harlan set her down and opened the front door, waving Savannah through. She walked down a hallway and took a right at the first doorway, which opened into a large updated Victorian style kitchen.
“Mrs. Harwood?” Savannah called. “I’m supposed to check with her that everyone who stayed is taken care of,” she told Harlan.
“She’s the owner, I take it?”
“Yes. Originally this was a plantation that’s been in her husband’s family since the eighteen-seventies. The main house was built around nineteen hundred. They turned it into a bed and breakfast Christmas of nineteen-nineteen.”
A small, wiry lady who looked to be in her early to mid-fifties came in, tightening her robe’s sash as she spoke. “I’ve been looking out for you, Savannah. I think everyone is set for the night. How we’ll feed them all in the morning, I don’t know.”
“I know you’re famous for your breakfasts, Mrs. Harwood, but as long as there’s coffee and possibly a few pastries we’ll be all right. Please don’t go to any more trouble than you already have.”
“It’s not every year we have a storm like this. In fact, I don’t remember one this early in all the years I’ve been married and living here.”
“There was one when I was a kid,” Mr. Harwood said, coming into the kitchen. Unlike his wife, he was dressed, albeit in sweats. “During Felicity’s Ball that year, too. Imagine that.”
“Boone,” Mrs. Harwood said with a warning in her voice.
“Settle down, Becky. I’m not saying a thing.”
Wondering what the hell was going on, Harlan exchanged glances with Savannah. She looked as puzzled as he was. But she shrugged and asked, “Is there an available couch or chair in the house here? I think all the cottages and other buildings are full.”
“I saved you and your young man a spot. We have a couch in our sitting room and I’ll bring some blankets. We had an easy chair too, but the dog chewed a hole in it and I sent it to get recovered.”
“Whatever you have is great,” Savannah said with a tremor in her voice. She studiously avoided looking at Harlan.
He stepped in before she started giggling again. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Harwood. What kind of dog do you have?”
“Charger is a golden retriever,” she said. “He’s usually better behaved but he was feeling out of sorts that day.” She sent her husband a challenging look.
“That dog is too big to sleep on the bed, which any person in their right mind knows.”
“Oh, so now I’m not in my right mind?”
“Becky, we have company. They must be tired. We’ll hash this out later.”
“You can bet your sweet bippy we will,” she muttered as he left the room. “Come along.” Throwing a glance at Savannah she said, “I’d offer you one of my nightgowns or pajamas, but they’d be way too short on you.”
Since Savannah was five foot six or seven and Mrs. Harwood looked to be half a foot shorter, Harlan didn’t doubt that.
“I can get you one of Boone’s T-shirts if you want.”
“No, thank you, but I’ll be fine. It will be morning before we know it anyway.”
“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, let me know.” She led them to her rooms, which were off the back of the house, next to the kitchen. “You’ve outdone yourself this time,” she said as she left them to get blankets.
“Who was she talking to?” Savannah asked as they took off their coats. Harlan put his tux jacket on top of his overcoat.
“No idea.” Looking from Savannah to the couch, he said, “I’ll take the floor.”
“That’s not necessary. We can share the couch.”
Her idea of sharing was for him to take one end and Savannah the other. After Mrs. Harwood left them, they both sat down and he took off his shoes, socks, tie, and belt, yanked his shirttail out of his pants and figured that was about as good as he was going to get.
She’d taken off her strappy high heels and was massaging her feet. Obviously, they hurt, and just as plainly she was trying to pretend she was fine.
“Damn. Your feet must be frozen solid.”
She started to deny it but then smiled ruefully. “If only that was all. I won’t ever be able to wear these shoes again without a flashback to agonizing pain.”
“Why do women wear shoes that make them miserable?”
“Because they’re pretty and because they make our legs look good.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He watched her critically for a moment. “Give me your feet.” He patted his thigh. “Come on, put ’em up here.”
“You’re not rubbing my feet.”
“Why not?”
“Because…that’s silly.”
“Still stubborn, I see.”
She gave him a dirty look. “Fine.” She swung her feet up and he put them in his lap and started to massage them.
“Wow. They’re like popsicles. I’m surprised you can even feel them.”
“I can’t.” Savannah groaned, closed her eyes, and leaned back against the arm of the couch as he rubbed her feet. “Oh. My. God. Don’t stop.”
“Ever?”
“Funny man. Seriously.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Thank you. Not only for this but for all your help tonight.”
God, she was pretty when she smiled. Who was he kidding? She was gorgeous whatever she was doing. He realized he’d been staring at her without speaking. “Any time.”
*
Harlan woke up with Savannah in his arms. The last thing he remembered was talking until one or both of them fell asleep. They didn’t talk about anything deep or important. Rather it was a surprisingly easy conversation, mostly just catching up with what they’d been doing with their lives. Maybe they could be friends after all.
Oh, right, Sullivan. You just want to be friends. That’s why you’re hard as a rock just from holding her in your arms.
They were both divorced, both uninvolved as Bill had pointed out so unsubtly. So maybe he wouldn’t mind having a fling with Savannah. Or even…something more serious. She was a beautiful, sexy woman with a keen mind. Exactly the type of woman he went for. But with the barrier of their past always with them, he didn’t see how anything more than friendship, if that, was possible.
Somehow during the night he’d wound up stretched out on the couch and she had curled against him, half on her side and half lying on his chest and the right side of his body.
He should wake her up. But she felt good in his arms, like she belonged there.
Dumbass. She doesn’t belong there. She never did.
Savannah stirred and looked up. “Good morning,” she said sleepily, looking into his eyes.
The night before she’d washed off her makeup. She didn’t need it to look good. More than good. He wanted to cup her face in his hand. Wanted to touch his lips to hers, slip his tongue into her mouth and taste her.
Her eyes, a beautiful blue-gray, gazed into his. Her lips parted slightly. Oh, hell, he thought and kissed her.
And she kissed him back. Her mouth softened, her lips opened, her tongue met his in a slow, sultry dance. It was a lazy, sexy good morning kiss that felt completely natural.
And then she woke up.
Savannah yanked her mouth away from his, pushed on his chest, and sat up. Or tried. She was stuck lying half on top of him. “What the hell was that?”
“Sorry. Normal male reaction to waking up with a beautiful woman in his arms.” He didn’t point out she’d kissed him back. After all, he didn’t have a death wish.
“Don’t even,” she said, glaring at him. “Get up.”
“Maybe you should go first—”
“If you want your manly parts to survive, get the hell up. Now.”
Shaking with laughter now, he managed to slide out from under her. Once standing, he offered her a hand. She gave him a dirty look, sat up and got up from the couch by herself. She stalked to the bathroom without another word.
Damn, he thought, still grinning. He shouldn’t have laughed. For that matter, he shouldn’t have kissed her. But he wasn’t even the tiniest bit sorry that he had.
A short while later she came out of the bathroom. “Your turn.”
He figured the less said the better and went into the tiny bathroom off the Harwoods’ small living room.
When he returned Savannah had folded up the blankets, placing them and the pillows in a neat pile, and was fluffing up the couch pillows. “I wonder if the Harwoods are up and in the kitchen already.”
“I don’t know but I hope there’s coffee.” Strong, black coffee, and lots of it.
“There must have a door leading outside in their bedroom. I never heard them or the dog come through.” She paused and added, “Did you?”
“No. Wondering how long I was awake before I kissed you?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I’m sorry I overreacted to something so…minor. I’m grumpy without my morning coffee.”
If it was so minor, why had she reacted the way she did? That kiss had affected her as much as it had him. But if that’s the way she wanted to play it, he’d go along. “No problem. I shouldn’t have done it but I opened my eyes and well—” he spread his hands “—there you were. It wasn’t personal.”
Her eyes narrowed and then she shrugged and smiled. “Exactly. Not personal at all.” She picked up her coat and bag, saying, “Let’s go get some coffee and see what the road situation is.”
Not personal, huh. The hell it isn’t.