Midnight Secrets

chapter

TWENTY


Savannah rolled over and looked down at the man sleeping beside her. They’d behaved like wild, untamed animals and every muscle in her body felt as fluid and liquid as if she’d been given an all-over body massage, inside and out. She smiled as she reflected that the description was quite apt.

Their one and only time years before hadn’t prepared her for what had happened tonight. That long-ago time had been sweet, delicious, but wonderfully awkward. Tonight had been all heat, no awkwardness, and full of spectacular pleasure beyond her knowledge.

Her eyes roamed over Zach’s broad shoulders and slightly furred chest. That was another major difference. His body looked so different from that of the man she’d known ten years ago. Though he had been muscular and well built before, now his arms and chest were massive. The tattoo of an eagle on his upper right arm was a new addition, as was the jagged scar on his side. Knowing the pain he must have felt brought tears to her eyes. This man, so different but somehow the same, continued to awe and fascinate her.

Lying back against the pillow again, she stretched luxuriously and was surprised to hear the rumble of her stomach. She shot a glance at the clock. Four in the morning seemed like an odd time to get up and eat, but she was suddenly ravenous. The thought of making breakfast and bringing it to Zach in bed had her feet on the floor before she could finish the thought.

“Where’re you going?” The sleep-slurred growl sent tremors of arousal throughout her bloodstream.

“Thought I’d make breakfast.”

“Time is it?”

She winced. “Four o’clock.”

Grabbing her by the waist, he rolled over, taking her with him until she was under him. “And cooking breakfast is the only thing you could think to do this early?”

Her hand rubbed his scruffy face, loving the prickle of bristles against her fingertips. “You have another suggestion?”

He raised her leg, bent it slightly, and paused at her entrance. “Too sore?”

Yes, she was, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing his butt and pushing him deep. As he surged in, she gasped at the fullness.

“Okay?”

“Oh yeah.” Her body arched, accepting him, wanting him even deeper, to be as close to him as possible. How many nights had she dreamed of this? Eventually she had stopped fantasizing, stopped dreaming. And in many ways, stopped living.

Unable and unwilling to share those thoughts, Savannah showed him with her body just how okay she was. Arms and legs wrapped around him securely, she gave herself over to the delicious feelings only this man could create inside her. Soon she’d have to think about consequences and the future. But not now. Right now all she wanted was to feel and to appreciate. When climax came upon her, she closed her eyes and let the earth and its problems fall away. In the arms of her one and only lover, everything was perfection.

* * *

Zach rolled away from the panting, glistening woman. Never in a thousand years would he have thought she would be in his arms like this again. He knew he didn’t deserve her easy forgiveness. There had been so few questions about his past, what he had done and where he had been. She had told him very little about herself, either. What was going on in that beautiful head of hers? A vague sense of uneasiness swept through him. Why had she gone so easily into his arms? What did this mean? Was she ready for something more? Should he talk about that? Ask her what she wanted?

He huffed out a frustrated breath. Hell, Savannah was the one who was supposed to overanalyze and over-think. Not that he was impulsive, but he usually went with his gut and faced the consequences when necessary. But now, with her warm breath still caressing him, the feel of her satin-soft body still moist and wet from his release, he wanted to know everything.

“Tell me about your life in Nashville.”

“What?”

“We’ve not really talked about those kinds of things. Where do you live, an apartment or a house? You have any pets? What’s your favorite restaurant?”

“Apartment. No pets. Don’t have a favorite restaurant. I’ve already told you I like my job. There’s not much more to say.”

Vague uneasiness became full-fledged concern. She wasn’t even being evasive. She was basically telling him her life in Nashville wasn’t any of his business. “Savannah, where do you see this going?”

She sat up and grabbed the sheet to cover herself. Zach felt the hit to his chest. She was covering herself, the move an obvious one of self-protection. Maybe the forgiveness he thought she had given him wasn’t real. Maybe for her, last night’s hot sex had been nothing more than that. A need had been quenched. But as for him, he knew he wanted more … a hell of a lot more.

“I’ll make breakfast.” She went to her feet, still holding the sheet to her body.

“Answer my question first,” he said quietly.

She turned, and for the first time, he felt as though he didn’t know her. Her face was still beautiful and so very familiar, but there was a blankness he wasn’t used to seeing.

“I don’t think we really need to talk about the future right now. This is all too new and it’s too soon.”

Zach rolled over and set his feet on the floor, his back to her. She was right. This was all too new and he didn’t want to spoil what had been to him the most satisfying night of his life. Problem was, he wanted it to have meant just as much to her and it was obvious that it hadn’t.

“I can’t stay for breakfast.”

She was silent. He turned to see her reaction and wasn’t surprised that she had turned her back and was getting dressed. Why was he pushing her? Why couldn’t he just let this play out and enjoy what they had right now? He had more than he ever thought he would have with her again. Why wasn’t that enough? Questioning himself would do no good. With anyone else, he might have been able to take it one day at a time and just enjoy the fun. But nothing had ever been that simple with Savannah.

He looked around for his clothes and remembered they were still downstairs in the mudroom. He headed toward the door.

Savannah stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Let me at least make you some coffee.”

“I’ll get some at home.”

“Zach, don’t be angry.”

“I’ll have your car brought back. You got an extra set of keys?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “But—”

He walked out the door. He told himself he didn’t want her to call him back, but that was a lie. He didn’t allow any kind of vulnerability in his life anymore, but with Savannah, he was open and exposed. And though he knew it was stupid to have expectations of more after what he had done to her, he couldn’t help but be hurt at her rejection. They’d wasted so many years, and though it was stupid of him to expect to be able to just pick up where they’d left off, it was obvious they still had a strong attraction to each other. Why couldn’t they build on it?

Zach nodded. Hell yeah, they could build on what they had. He was known for his patience. He’d just be persistent, wait her out. Seduce her. Show her how much she still meant to him. Show her that this time, it could last forever.

Zach grabbed his clothes and threw them on. Then, stooping down, he picked up Savannah’s skirt and withdrew her car keys from the front pocket. By the time he got to his car, he had a plan. Savannah was wary, understandably. Instead of pressuring for more right now, he would sit back and woo her like she deserved. He could do things now that he couldn’t do back then. Savannah might not know it but she had issued him a challenge and he had accepted it. She was about to get some major wooing from the man who’d lost his heart to her ten years ago and had never reclaimed it.

Savannah swallowed her now cold coffee, grimacing as the liquid hit her queasy stomach. She’d been sitting at the kitchen table since Zach left, unable to do anything but stare into space.

She had hurt him and she hated that. Now she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Her heart just would not allow her to take her feelings any further than what had happened between them last night. The sex had been wonderful—the most satisfying night of her life. But sex was all she had to offer. Opening herself up to vulnerability like before wasn’t something she could allow. Explaining her reasons without ripping open a vein and bleeding her heartache all over again was going to be difficult. But he wasn’t going to just let this go … she’d seen the evidence in his eyes. And he deserved the truth; it was just a matter of how long it would take her to work up her courage to tell him.

Sighing her sadness, she finally stood and poured herself another cup of coffee. She was severely behind. Her grandfather’s clothes were packed and ready to be picked up, but his library was taking longer than she’d anticipated. Her grandfather’s interests had been extensive and the library director at the Midnight Public Library had been thrilled when Savannah had called and offered to donate his collection.

Problem was, she had no energy for or interest in packing anything right now.

Opening the back door, she stepped out onto the large bricked patio and inhaled the thick, warm air. A humid tropical paradise surrounded her. Her mother had designed and planted most of the flower garden. After her death, her grandfather had taken over, eventually becoming something of a gentleman gardener. Every conceivable exotic and tropical flower and plant surrounded the patio. The memories of the barbeques and impromptu picnics they’d shared here brought a smile to her face and an ease to her soul. She realized she hadn’t taken any time to explore and enjoy her favorite places around the house and estate. Today she would do just that. Yes, being back home evoked some hideous memories, but the vast majority of them were wonderful.

Decision made, Savannah took the path to the guesthouse. After her grandfather had moved from the guesthouse back into the mansion, she and her sisters had taken over the small house as their meeting place. Whenever they had wanted complete privacy to talk “girl” stuff, the guesthouse had been their oasis. A place for privacy and a sanctuary.

She opened the front door and was immediately reminded of all the sister meetings they’d had here. Secrets had been shared, tears shed, and plans made.

The décor hadn’t changed much since her grandfather had lived here. A new sofa here, a fresh coat of paint there. Built years after the Wilde house, the guesthouse looked from the outside like an exact replica of the mansion, just on a much smaller scale. But the inside had a completely different floor plan. A small living room and kitchen and two large bedrooms made up the first floor, an open loft took up the entire second floor, and the third floor held a smaller bedroom and an attic. The guesthouse was cozy and comfortable—a perfect hideaway.

Savannah took a few minutes to walk around the interior, picking up a framed photo of her and her sisters at the beach when they’d been barely old enough to walk. Some of the things here were castoffs from the mansion that one Wilde or the other no longer needed but couldn’t bear to part with.

She wandered into a bedroom and stopped. Dozens of boxes she’d never seen before were stacked against one wall. She strode over to them, flipped the top off one of the boxes, and gasped. It was filled with letters. Withdrawing a stack, she dropped down onto the bed and read:

My dearest Camille, today I went to the library and checked out five of your favorite books.

She shuffled to another letter. The first line read:

Cammie, I had dinner with the Neelys tonight. Marvin still drinks too much.

Letters from her grandfather to her grandmother. Were all the boxes filled with them? Standing, she opened another box and found the same thing.

Touched beyond measure, Savannah sat on the bed again and flipped through more of the same. Every detail of her grandfather’s life was written to the wife he lost years ago. From the looks of it, he wrote her every day.

How he must have missed her.

Getting to her feet, she suddenly noticed that dates and years were written on the sides of some of the boxes. She stacked and restacked, putting what she could in correct date order, and then began to read in earnest.

Two hours later, the sun was glaring full force through the blinds and she had only made it through half a box. So many letters … so many memories. They detailed her grandparents’ romance, from the day they met through their courtship and too-short marriage. She didn’t know what moved her most … that he had loved her from the moment he met her and chronicled that love with letters, or that even after her death, he had continued writing to her. The boxes to her left were dated long after her grandmother’s death. One box was dated the year of his death.

She’d had no idea about the letters. She knew he had worked in his office each day for years. Somehow she had assumed it was related to family business. Now she knew many of those hours were spent in long conversations with her grandmother via these letters.

Opening up another box, Savannah picked up a letter that was apparently the first one written—the night a young Daniel Wilde had met his future bride, Camille Rose Harris.

My dear Camille, we met tonight at a party given by my good friend Carver Nelson. You were wearing a pink dress with white lace and I couldn’t help but think that your name fit you to perfection. Your skin was like the cream color of a white rose, and the way you styled your golden hair reminded me of a beautiful camellia flower. The moment you smiled at me, my heart almost burst. When you accepted a dance, it was the happiest moment of my life.

Her grandfather had often shared stories of their courtship. He’d said that it was love at first sight. His letter bore that out. How would it feel to be so loved and adored that even after death, the love was as strong as ever?

She placed the lid on the box and opened another one. Many of the letters were short, some just one or two sentences. She pulled out a short one, and tears flooded her eyes as she realized it was written the day of her grandmother’s funeral: I said goodbye for the last time today. I looked upon your beautiful face, kissed your sweet lips. You’re not there anymore, I know that. But you’re still with me, my love, I know you are. We buried you in the cemetery beside your parents. I know you’re in heaven with them now. I’m glad you’re together but I’m so very lonely, my darling.

Wiping the tears from her face, she opened another letter. This one was more upbeat, filled with news of the town and people they had known. Settling herself into an old rocker beside the window, she drew a box close to her and immersed herself once again in her grandfather’s thoughts from so many years ago. She unfolded another letter and, as she checked the date, felt a chill sweep up her body. It was dated the day after her parents’ deaths.

My dearest Camille, something dreadful has happened. Our son is gone and so is our dear, sweet Maggie. They say it was a murder-suicide. That Beckett killed Maggie in a fit of rage and then, out of guilt, took his own life. How is that possible? How could our beautiful son have committed such an atrocious act? Yes, he had issues with his temper when he was younger. And there was that sadness that often seemed to sweep over him, but that hadn’t happened in years. Not since he met Maggie.

I was gone, out of town, visiting Austin and his family in Mobile. I was told there was a terrible argument at the country club. Opal, our cleaning lady, found Maggie’s body and then the police chief found Beckett hanging from the old oak out back. My heart is bleeding … how could this have happened? And what about their sweet, precious children? What am I to do? I wish you were here with me. You would be my solace in this madness.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Savannah refolded the letter. Part of her wanted to stop reading now; reliving those days was still too painful. But her grandfather had rarely talked about that time, understandably. Seeing his thoughts and feelings gave her not only a different perspective but also an odd sense of closure.

She opened up another letter, this one dated four days after her parents’ funeral.

Cammie, I have come to the conclusion that it is all a lie. There is something devious and wrong in this town. I don’t believe Beckett committed these awful deeds. After talking with several people at the country club, I believe this was a lie perpetrated by the real murderer. Someone killed Maggie and then killed Beckett, framing him for Maggie’s death. I have no proof. I’ve gone to Chief Mosby with my suspicious and he laughed them off. When I told him I would never believe our son was capable of murder or suicide, I swear he threatened me. Not in so many words, but his eyes took on a gleam. He mentioned the girls, Savannah, Samantha, and Sabrina. Told me I should concentrate on taking care of them. That they should be my concern. He told me their welfare was in my hands. Which, of course, it is, but I don’t believe that’s what he meant.

I don’t know what to do. The children are my life and my responsibility. If I pursue this, will something happen to them? Or am I just using them as an excuse because I’m a coward? I wish you were here to tell me what to do. How can I continue on, knowing that my beloved son and daughter-in-law were murdered? Yet how can I put their children at risk? Please, Cammie, tell me what I should do.

Barely aware of her surroundings, Savannah never noticed that the letter fell from her hand to the floor. Waves of shock and denial pounded through her. Never in all these years had she heard it suggested that her father hadn’t committed the murder. There had never been any doubt that she’d ever heard of. Was this just something her grandfather had come up with to help him deal with his pain? What proof had he had? Other than what he referred to as the vague threats by Mosby, was there more? What had made him suspicious?

Frantic to know more, Savannah delved back into the box. Each successive letter showed her grandfather’s tortured thoughts about what he should do, whom he should discuss his suspicions with. It seemed he ended up trusting no one because he wasn’t sure who was involved. His friends in Mobile told him to drop it, and even Aunt Gibby urged him to let it go, telling him he was pursuing something that had no hope of a good outcome. Finally it appeared he had accepted that nothing could be done and apparently went to his grave wondering if he had allowed the murderer of his son and daughter-in-law to get away.

Savannah stood. Though stiff from sitting too long, she barely paid attention to her body as her mind raced with all she had learned and the multitude of questions she now had. Was this possible? Had the man she had despised for killing her mother and destroying their happy life been an innocent victim? Who would have done such a thing? And why?

She ran from the guesthouse as if demons chased her. Entering the main house, she grabbed her purse from the kitchen counter and then ran out the door. Thankfully Zach had kept his promise—her car was in the driveway, and a note lay on the seat: Had Manny check your tires and oil. You were a little low on both.

For the first time, she noticed that her car was much cleaner, inside and out. Not only had Zach had her tires and oil checked, he’d had her car detailed. The interior smelled fresh and citrusy and the deep blue exterior paint gleamed from its bath. A wave of emotion swept over her at the sheer sweetness of the act. He had left this morning hurt and angry. Instead of maintaining that anger, he’d done something incredibly thoughtful and kind.

She would call and thank him; maybe invite him for dinner. She didn’t like how they’d left things.

That settled in her mind, Savannah started the car. Now she had only one thought. She had to see Aunt Gibby and find out what she knew. Had her father really been innocent? If so, who had murdered her parents?