Truly, Madly, Dangerously

Sadie rested her head on the seat and stared out over the water. Moonlight sparkled there, gentle waves lapped. “Did you ever wonder if the story was true?” she asked, her voice soft to match the mood and the night.

“What story?”

“About Miranda Fairchild and Samuel Garth.”

“The ghosts,” Truman deadpanned. “Some old tale about a couple of ancient people who killed themselves. I don’t know what it is chicks like about that story.”

Sadie sighed. “You never got laid out here, did you?”

“I got laid out here plenty, and I never had to resort to ghost stories to get what I wanted.”

Of course he hadn’t. Gorgeous football hero with a killer smile, all Truman had to do was grin, and he got whatever he wanted. It was so unfair.

“It’s a beautiful story.” Heavens, she was tired. But this was nice, resting her head against the seat, looking out over the water, talking to Truman.

“Okay, convince me. What happened, exactly?” Truman prodded.

Sadie took her eyes from the moonlit water, for a moment. No, he wasn’t teasing her. At least, he looked serious. Maybe it was a fanciful story, more legend than fact, but there was something mesmerizing about the tale. At least, there once had been. Living with Spencer had killed most of Sadie’s fanciful notions about love and happily ever after. There was no forever. A man would always get tired of a woman. He’d get bored and go elsewhere looking for love, no matter how hard she tried to make him happy.

Reality was harsh. No wonder a touch of fantasy, a tale of romance, seemed so attractive at the moment.

“When Samuel was called to the war with those nasty Yankees, he and Miranda wanted to get married.” Not a wise choice, in Sadie’s estimation, but she tried to push away her own bad experience and just enjoy the story. “They wanted to be together before he left, but Miranda’s father said she was too young. She was sixteen. Samuel was a couple of years older. Eighteen or nineteen, maybe. Since her father refused to allow them to marry, Miranda swore she’d wait for Samuel. She said she’d wait forever, if she had to.”

Truman shook his head in disbelief, and Sadie returned her gaze to the water. “So Samuel went to war,” she said softly. “You know how it was. They all thought the unpleasantness with the Yankees would last weeks. Months, maybe. But Samuel was gone for years. When word came that he’d died in battle, Miranda very calmly left her house, walked to the lake, and drowned herself.”

“Stupid,” Truman muttered.

“You do not have a romantic bone in your body.”

“Only the one.”

Sadie sighed, holding in a laugh. “You’re hopeless.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Anyway,” Sadie continued, determined to finish. “Grieving and desolate, Miranda drowned. A year to the day later, Samuel comes home expecting to find his love waiting for him. He hadn’t been killed in battle after all.”

“Obviously.”

Sadie cleared her throat to chastise him for interrupting. “When he discovers what happened to Miranda he walks to the lake, swims out as far as he can, and then goes under, never to be seen again.”

“He killed himself, just like she did. I still say that’s not…”

“Would you hush,” Sadie said, laughing lightly. “You’re ruining the story.”

“Excuse me,” he said insincerely.

“After that night, it was said that sometimes when there was a full moon people would see them in the lake and on the shore, making love at last, together forever.”

Forever. Nice idea. Too bad it was a crock.

“And this ridiculous story actually gets people laid.” Truman shook his head.

“Oh, you know that tale as well as I do.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to hear you tell it.” He smiled softly. “So, who told it to you?”

Sadie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Jason Davenport. Prom night, thirteen years ago.”

“Jason Davenport?”

Jason Davenport. Running back for the high-school football team. First baseman for the baseball team. Black hair, green eyes, and oh, he had a really great voice. She could still hear him telling that story to her, reminding her that there wouldn’t always be a tomorrow, that they’d better take what they wanted tonight. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t even know you dated that guy.”

“Just a couple of times. Then he dumped me.” The fuzzy memories faded. As soon as Jason realized he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, he’d quit calling. Jerk. She should have learned her lesson then.

“He’s still around, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s some kind of artist or something,” Truman said grudgingly. “You actually…” he stopped, choked on the word.

“It’s ancient history,” Sadie said, not wanting to answer him either way. Oh, it was so quiet out here! Quiet and beautiful, peaceful in a way she had forgotten. Gentle wind lapped at the water and ruffled the leaves of trees surrounding the lake. If the breeze hit the trees just right, it sounded as if a woman moaned. Soft. Happy. Miranda. Sadie took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of the lake.

Okay, so Garth wasn’t a complete loss. It had Aunt Lillian’s biscuits, Miranda Lake and Truman. Individually they weren’t much, but when you put them all together…maybe it was a nice place to be, for a while.

Chapter 3

She hadn’t slept this deeply in months. Years, maybe! Sadie sighed and fought the awareness that crept upon her. She didn’t want to wake up. She needed more of this dreamless sleep. The quiet. The warmth. The rest for her bone-weary body and agitated mind.

A soft spring wind ruffled the leaves of a tree, water lapped. Truman shifted his body and dropped a hand into her hair. His thigh was her pillow, and there was a little spot of drool, right there on the denim that was stretched over that thigh.

“Oh, crap,” Sadie muttered, immediately awake and shooting up into a semi-sitting position. Her fingers rubbed against the wet spot on Truman’s thigh, trying to erase the evidence. All her efforts managed to do was wake Truman.

For a moment he smiled at her, then he realized where they were and his smile faded. “Damn,” he muttered.

“Exactly.” Sadie straightened the strap of her bra. Everything she wore was twisted and misshapen at the moment. “What time is it?”

Truman checked his watch, hitting a button on the side to light the face. He squinted, blinked twice. “Four-thirty.”

Almost instinctively, she reached out and slapped Truman on the arm. “Why did you let me sleep in your pickup truck until four-thirty? Jennifer will have the whole town out looking for us. I was supposed to be home by ten.”

“Ten?” Truman shook his head. “You’re thirty years old, for God’s sake. Why did you have to be home by ten?”

“Almost thirty,” she corrected. “And I said I’d be home by ten so Jennifer could go out.” It really wasn’t a disaster. Jen would survive. Sadie ran her fingers through her hair. So much for her careful attempts at styling the mop. It was going every which a way, as it usually did in the morning. “Go, go,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Truman started the engine and put the truck in Reverse, yawning and then working a crick out of his neck. A very fine neck, she had to admit. Sadie stared at him. So, this was what Truman McCain looked like in the morning. Rumpled. Sexy as hell. It just wasn’t fair.