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  They left for basic training a few short days later, and in what felt like overnight, they were deployed for ten months to the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan. And for the first time in Logan’s life, he understood fear. How it clung to a person, attached to each breath, refusing to lift. The “Valley of Death,” it had been called, and the name proved right. It took five men in his unit…including his best friend.

  Everyone knew Logan should’ve been the one to die, but God never worked by the opinions of man. Certainly not Logan’s. So he’d drawn up his courage and found Savannah out on Cross Creek Plantation, legs swinging as she sat in the old, handmade wooden swing that hung from the giant oak, a small smile on her face until she lifted her gaze to his. Before he’d even said a word, her eyes turned shiny and her hands began to shake. They clung to each other for hours after he told her, the start of a friendship between them. He’d told himself she needed him, but really, he’d needed her…

  Now, he leaned back in his chair at Southern Sandwich and ran his encounter with Savannah over again and again in his head. It hadn’t gone at all like he imagined. Sure, her running into his arms, smiling and planting her deliciously full lips on his was a little dramatic, but he hadn’t expected her to be quite so…enraged.

  The waitress appeared at his table, a coffeepot in hand. “Whatcha having, honey?” she asked, her hip cocked against the table. Logan tried to place where he knew her and failed. Someone from high school, he felt sure. But then, Logan was never one to remember people from high school. He looked at her a little too long, and her bubbly demeanor quickly turned to disdain. “Sara Beth Trent. We dated.”

  Logan cringed. Ah, he remembered now, though dated seemed a little strong of a word. If he remembered correctly, they went on one date when he returned from his third deployment—a short stint in Kuwait—and ended up in the back of his Jeep. Man, he loved that Jeep. He had never owned a luckier truck.

  “Right. Of course,” Logan said, wishing he had tried a little harder to lie, but lying never came easily to him. An uncomfortable silence settled between them, so he spouted out his order. “I’ll have scrambled eggs and grits. Bacon on the side.” Sara Beth tsked, but filled the empty coffee cup on his table and strutted off, shaking her head.

  He was going to have to be more careful now that he was back in town. He tried to remember how many women in Maple he had been with, but couldn’t come up with real faces or names. Too many, clearly. All in an effort to forget the one who fled to Boston and who apparently hated him now. Not that he could blame her. After all, he was the one who convinced Will to enlist. It was his fault Will was dead. And then Logan had done the unthinkable, and everything went to shit.

  The bell on the shop’s door dinged, and in walked Jack Hale, Savannah’s brother. Jack was something of a celebrity in Maple Cove, after entering the minors and quickly being called up to the Cardinals. He had a five-year stretch where he was the best shortstop in baseball, but something changed after their father died, and while Jack was still good, he wasn’t the player he once was. Like the passion in him had disappeared.

  A crowd formed around Jack, asking for autographs they already had. After signing a few, Jack peered around the shop and his eyes stopped on Logan, a smile breaking across his face. He nodded to him and then started his way. Years ago, they had played on the same team in high school, and though they had never stayed in touch, they were still friendly. Well, more so than he and Savannah. Though that might not be saying much.

  Jack motioned to the chair across from Logan. “Care if I join you?”

  “Nah, sit.” Logan kicked the chair out, and Jack sat just as Sara Beth came over, her fiery gaze now on Jack. Logan guessed he wasn’t the only one to mess around with Sara Beth. Unperturbed, Jack placed his order and then settled back in his chair.

  “How are you holding up?”

  Jack shrugged as he poured a cup of coffee. “Could be worse, but could be a hell of a lot better, too.”

  “You seen your sister yet?” Logan asked, hoping maybe Savannah was angry at the world and not just him. Death could do that to a person. He knew that first hand.

  “Not yet. Leigh has me picking up some lightbulbs at Jim’s, then I’m heading over. Hey, you wouldn’t be free after this, would you? I have to move a bookcase and could use an extra set of hands.”

  Logan grinned as Sara Beth set his breakfast in front of him. “Nope. Not busy at all.”

  ...

  “But how are we supposed to get up there?” Savannah scratched her head and stared up at the attic door in the ceiling, where supposedly her mama had kept the paperwork about the bed-and-breakfast in a safe. Their family attorney had her will, but nothing about how to actually run a bed-and-breakfast, or about the financials, which after Logan Park’s claim, she might not want to see.

  She thought of Logan the way she’d last seen him before today, all broken and wrecked with grief, and of then the man on her front steps earlier, not a care in the world. How could he even come to her with talk of selling the bed-and-breakfast when her mother had just died? What kind of person did that? A heartless person, that’s who, and Savannah had known for eight years now that Logan was the definition of heartless.

  Focusing back on the task in front of her, she jumped into the air to try to reach the tiny cord hanging from the attic door, but at five four—on a good day, when she stood really, really straight—her fingertips only grazed the end. “Ugh!” Hands on her hips, glaring at the attic door like it had single-handedly created all of her problems, she wondered why her mama opted to put the safe in the attic anyway. Why not the study? Or with their accountant? Or any one of a thousand other places? But then her mama had been known to do a lot of things that made little sense to Savannah.

  “What now?”

  Mrs. Cooke shook her head. “I don’t know, child. I think there’s a ladder in the basement. Want me to go hunt for it?”

  Savannah waved her on. “No. I’ll go. But can you check the dining room and make sure no one’s waiting for anything?” She eyed her watch. How had four hours passed? She felt like she had just arrived, and already it was lunchtime. One thing she knew about the guests of Maple Cove’s Bed and Breakfast, they expected breakfast by eight and lunch by noon, every day. She didn’t want to disappoint them.

  “Of course. You’ll call me if you need anything?”

  Savannah smiled. “Oh, rest assured, I won’t call. I’ll scream.”

  Mrs. Cooke’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve missed you around here. Won’t you stay?”

  Savannah opened her mouth, but no words came out. She couldn’t stay. Her life was in Boston now. She had finally gotten promoted to account manager at Zelner Consulting and was handling her own accounts. She loved her job, even if the hours were excruciating and the pay, for the amount of hours she worked, left a lot to be desired.

  But instead of saying any of that, she said, “I’ve missed you, too,” and hugged the woman close, because she had missed her. She had missed all of them.

  Mrs. Cooke went on down the creaking hardwood steps and around the swirling white banister at the bottom and then out of sight. Savannah released a breath. She didn’t want to scare the employees. Not yet. Rumors of the bed-and-breakfast being on the market had already made their way around town, and she could see the question in each of their faces when she met them. They wanted to know if she would take over for her mother. She wished Leigh or Jack could do it, but that wasn’t possible. Leigh was too flighty and Jack was still contracted with the Cardinals, which left only Savannah.

  Sighing heavily, she made her way down the steps to the door under the stairs, which opened to another set of steps leading to the basement. Savannah remembered being petrified of the basement as a kid. It was dark and damp and generally looked like the kind of place devil-worshipers would go to sacrifice small animals. Now she opened the door and started down the rickety steps, reminding herself that she was an adult. There was no reason to be afraid of the dark
. Right? Though as the chilly air hit her, and goose bumps rose across her skin, she wasn’t convinced.

  Once at the bottom, she reached up and pulled the chain on the light. A tiny stream of light spread out across the open area and she started forward, ignoring the goose bumps that refused to settle. Shivering from the cold, she wrinkled her nose at the musty smell and the spider webs hung like Halloween decor from wall to wall.

  She glanced around for the ladder, prepared to dash in, grab it, and dash out. Finally, she spied it against the back wall and cursed her forever-bad luck. “Fantastic. Thank you. Couldn’t you hang out over here?” she said then shook her head at herself, because now she was talking to a freaking ladder.

  Knowing it wouldn’t magically land in her hands, she drew up her courage and dashed across the basement, grabbed the ladder, and dragged it back to the steps, her heart hammering and her hands shaking more than they should. Laughing at her silly fear, she lifted the ladder with the intent of carrying it upstairs, but the top rung immediately hit the low ceiling of the steps. She eyed the stairs and then the ladder, and was trying to figure out how she could get it upstairs without accidentally knocking a hole in a wall when the distinct sound of running water hit her ears. She leaned the ladder against the wall and crept forward, listening. Where was that coming from?

  Pushing aside spider webs, she edged to the farthest corner of the open room and pressed her ear to the door there, listening. That was when she caught sight of the water trickling out from under the door. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no!

  She opened the door and gasped. Inside, an exposed pipe sprayed water like a yard sprinkler on a hot summer day. Everything in its path was drenched—boxes, blankets, an old couch—everything.

  Savannah rushed into the room and tried to wrap her hands around the pipe, but that pressure must have been the final straw. The pipe burst, shooting water out in all directions and soaking Savannah from head-to-toe. She screamed out for help, while trying frantically to stop the rush of water.

  “Savannah! Are you down here?”

  “Yes! Help!” Before Savannah had time to process who she had just called for, Logan was in the doorway, a smirk on his face.

  “Need some help?”

  Clearly, this day was trying to break her.

  ...

  Logan’s grin widened as he took in Savannah’s appearance. She was soaked through, like she had jumped into the Cherokee without a thought of a swimsuit. He opened his mouth to jokingly ask if she needed a towel, when his gaze landed on her white tank top and the lacey bra that barely covered her perfect, round breasts. He cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on something other than how her nipples stood at full attention. Likely she wouldn’t appreciate him calling out just how exposed she was at the moment.

  “Where’s the water main?” he shouted over the pounding water.

  “What?” Savannah tossed up her hands like she wanted to scream—or cry. “I don’t know! What’s a water main?”

  Logan bit back a smile and edged into the room, looking around until he found where he could turn off the water. Once it stopped, Logan pushed his soaked blond locks out of his eyes and peered over at Savannah. “You all right?”

  She shook her head, and Logan thought she might break down. Instead, she burst out laughing, the sound so amazing it was as though it were meant just for him. “If Mama could see me now,” she said, still laughing. “She always said bad luck followed me around like a shadow. I guess she was right.”

  “Ah, now, I don’t call it bad luck. I call it interesting,” Logan said as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and shook out his wet hair. He glanced up to find Savannah watching him, the anger he felt from her earlier replaced with something else. He swallowed hard and took a step toward her, his mouth open to say the words he had wanted to say all day—that he was sorry, that he was wrong to leave, that he missed her—when Jack and Leigh came running into the room.

  “Oh, shit!” Jack said, examining the inches of water. “What did you do?” Savannah’s eyes lit with rage and she darted for him, her fists clenched, but Logan stepped between them. He knew all too well how feisty Savannah could be, and he would hate to see Jack return to Saint Louis with a shiner.

  “It’s just an old pipe,” Logan said. “I’ll call Jim. He’ll get this fixed up in no time.”

  Savannah glanced at Logan. “Thank you.” Her expression was careful, her voice low, almost a whisper, and he wondered if it was because she didn’t want to thank him or if it was because she remembered how they had been before.

  “You’re welcome.” Their eyes connected again. A single beat, a moment, but Logan couldn’t deny the electricity that moved between them. He spent eight years trying to get over the woman, and then in just a few hours, he was back to that day in the rain, just the two of them under the weeping willow by the lake at Cross Creek Plantation, his heart hers for the taking.

  He nodded toward the doorway. “I’ll go check in with Jim.”

  “All right,” Savannah said, her cheeks suddenly flushed. She bit her bottom lip and Logan’s gaze dropped, everything in him wishing it were his teeth taking that bite instead of hers.

  He cleared his throat and met her gaze once more, shocked to find her watching him as intently. Was it Logan’s imagination, or was she just as affected by him as he was by her?

  Chapter Three

  Savannah sat down on the front steps between her brother and sister, all their gazes focused on the apple tree straight ahead. The three of them had often climbed it when they were younger, plucking fruit and hiding from Mama.

  How was it possible the tree had survived but their mother hadn’t?

  The thought caused a fresh wave of emotion to bubble up inside Savannah, and she cleared her throat in hopes of pushing it back down.

  “So what now?” Leigh asked.

  Just then the screen door behind them opened then banged back into place. Fix one: the water pipe. Fix two: the screen door.

  From the door came a middle aged couple, the woman all pearls and curly-haired head shaking, the man following quickly behind her.

  “I’m sorry, is there a problem?” Savannah asked.

  The woman stopped in front of her, hand on her hip, lips pursed. “Yes, I’d say there is. The water doesn’t work in our room. Or any other room. We’re leaving. And if you so much as consider charging our card, you’ll hear from our attorney.”

  Savannah’s eyes widened. “What? The water’s off? It can’t be. It’s—”

  Then Logan came through the same door, his shirt now rolled to his elbows and pulled loose over his slacks. “The water’s off until Jim can replace the pipe. It should have been done a long time ago.”

  Irritation—and, okay, a little bit of desire, but she was ignoring that particular reaction—raced through her. “What are you still doing here?”

  Logan started to answer, when she tossed up a hand. “No, hold that thought. One disaster at a time.” She returned her attention to the couple now walking away from her, their bags in tow.

  “Wait, I’m sure the pipe will be repaired any minute and everything will be fine. Please come back.” But they were already around back of the bed-and-breakfast now, likely getting into their car. “Oh my God, I’ve been here all of twenty minutes and already we’ve lost a patron.”

  Leigh walked up to her. “Not a guest. I think we’re losing all our guests.” She pointed to the screen door, and sure enough, a line had formed by the front desk, irate expressions on most of the faces.

  Savannah started inside, her voice more shrill than she liked as she tried to answer the surge of complaints that hit her the moment she crossed the threshold. “Okay, how about free dinner to everyone who stays. We’ll have the water fixed and—”

  “Not today. Maybe tomorrow at best. Jim’s not sure he has the right part.”

  Savannah whirled around, unable to hold her anger in another second. This was just like that time when she got stranded
in her daddy’s boat, Logan voicing his opinion like he was Jesus Christ himself, that hint of condescension behind his deep, Southern drawl. “This. Is. All. Your. Fault,” she said, poking him in the chest with each word, hoping her finger could somehow cause permanent damage, or at least a really painful bruise. But instead, a spark jolted from her finger up her arm, reminding her of the first time he took her hand, traced the lines on her palm, and told her everything would be okay. And she believed him. God, did she ever believe him.

  Shaking the memory from her mind, she took a step back, desperate for some space so the feeling would dissipate and she could go back to raging.

  “My fault?” Logan shook his head. “You know, you haven’t changed at all. You’re still crazy as hell!”

  And just like that, the rage returned. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. I came here to help, I set everything up with Jim, and somehow I’m the one to blame? Oh no, can’t be Ms. Perfect Savannah Hale’s fault.” He turned away from her and went outside, huffing as he walked down the drive. “Just like that day on the lake,” he called back.

  She gasped and followed after him. “What did you say?”

  “He said, ‘just like that day on the lake,’” Jack answered from the front porch.

  “I heard what he said, Jack,” Savannah hissed. “I was asking what he meant.”

  Logan spun around. “I saved your ass from being stranded in the middle of the Cherokee, and you blamed Jack for not returning the spare battery on the boat, and then me for putting a scratch on the piece of crap as I pulled you to the dock.”

  “Hey! I didn’t steal the battery,” Jack called defensively.

  The right side of Savannah’s head throbbed, the first of what she knew would be many migraines. Funny how she suffered from them all her childhood, yet she didn’t have a single headache from the time she left until today. The day she returned home. The day she was reunited with the likes of Logan Park.