The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam: Cowboy Crescendo / Steamy Savannah Nights / The Enemy's Daughter

“How were you able to strike out on your own without severing the family ties completely?” she asked.

Having done everything in her power to avoid being alone with Toby in his home for the three short days that she had been working for him, this was the first time they had actually been together without Dylan present. Given the state of her hormones whenever Toby was near, it was far less awkward than Heather would have imagined. Like the TV dinner they had shared in front of the television that first night of her employment, it was amazingly cozy. If she wasn’t careful, Heather knew she might start feeling like a real part of Toby’s family. She was both flattered and flummoxed that her boss treated her more like a friend than an employee.

“My family accepts me for who and what I am. Luckily, they don’t feel the need to mold me into something that I’m not. They just reel me in once in a while and remind me that I’m one of their own.”

“That must be nice,” Heather said. Unable to come up with a better adjective, the wistful tone of her voice gave away the pain of her own family situation.

“It certainly makes me appreciate family all the more when I get the chance to come home. It’s good for Dylan, too. A child needs to know that he’s part of a tree with roots, not just some cottonseed blown across the continent.”

Heather took the remark to heart. That was exactly how she felt. Like a seed tossed upon a hapless wind. She envied Toby the ability to do exactly what he wanted with his life without fear of being disowned for doing so. Dylan was a lucky little boy to be born into such a family.

She stared out the window. This was the first time she had ever been in Savannah. As the name itself suggested with its softly drawn syllables, it was a city of gracious living. The air was scented with magnolia blossoms as big as a man’s open hand, dotting tree-lined streets that grew less and less modern the farther they traveled away from the airport.

The lush landscape of the South was a stark contrast to the wide-open spaces of Wyoming. They followed the Savannah River as it meandered through town. It reminded Heather of a grand old lady who was in no hurry to reach her destination but rather was intent on enjoying the journey itself. As the city gave way to the country, white-columned plantations evoked images of Scarlett O’Hara and a time lost to all but the blood of a civil war that soaked into the soil and permeated the very air itself. The voices of ghosts whispered through the Spanish moss hanging like tinsel from dignified oaks.

“What about your family?” Toby inquired, which pulled her gaze back into the vehicle and herself into the present moment.

Heather’s voice was small.

“Not all parents are as understanding as yours.”

Toby looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

Naturally introverted, Heather wasn’t inclined to speak of private issues, but for some reason she felt safe sharing a little bit of herself with a man whose eyes looked upon her so kindly. Perhaps a brief explanation might help him understand any perceived aloofness on her part when it came time for her to interact with the hordes of his siblings, cousins and aunts and uncles. She hoped he would approve a moment or two of the quiet contemplation that she needed to feel centered every day.

“As an only child, all the noise and confusion of a big family like yours is strange to me. Unlike your parents, mine pinned all their hopes on me fulfilling their dreams. I’m afraid I’ve disappointed them terribly.”

“I can’t imagine any parents not being proud of such a lovely, talented daughter,” Toby said. “If they lost a child, they might well rethink their judgmental attitude.”

His expression was so solemn, and his voice so earnest, that it almost caused tears to spring to Heather’s eyes. She wondered who in his family had lost a loved one tragically. All this talk of family only served to rip the stitches from fresh wounds. Just because this man had soothed her fear of flying on the plane didn’t mean he had shoulders broad enough for more problems than his own. She tried to make light of her pain.

“It’s understandable given the amount of money they spent on my training and…”

Heather’s attention was momentarily diverted as the driver pulled into a driveway leading to what appeared to be a museum of sorts. A wrought-iron gate with a curlicued D announcing the Danforth estate swung open splitting the letter in two. She gasped in astonishment.

“This is where you grew up?”

“Thankfully, no.” Toby’s voice rustled in his throat. “The poor side of the family lives down the road.”

The lack of bitterness in his voice led Heather to believe he was exaggerating his circumstances. The grounds surrounding Crofthaven underscored her initial impression of the prominent Danforths, portrayed in the media as a formidable and impenetrable dynasty. The estate itself was so huge and the gardens so elaborate that Heather surmised it would take an entire army of gardeners working full-time to tend the place. She wondered if the grounds ran all the way to the ocean, and made a mental note to walk the perimeter of the estate the first chance she got.

The main house, a large Georgian-style mansion, was listed as a historical landmark. Having been built over a hundred years ago, it showed no signs of neglect. Though it obviously had been modernized to include up-to-date electrical wiring and plumbing, great care had been taken to retain the original integrity of the property. Hollywood would be hard-pressed to find a better setting for an epic nineteenth-century saga.

“It’s an amazing place,” she said.

“It is,” Toby agreed. “But not everything is as it appears on the surface. My cousins have far fonder memories of the time they spent at my parents’ home than of their lives here. After their mother died, their childhood was marked by loneliness and some emotional neglect on the part of their father. Bricks and mortar don’t make a home any more than money can necessarily buy character.”

Heather couldn’t argue that point. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a slight movement that sent goose bumps crawling over her flesh. Beneath a massive oak tree, she saw the figure of a woman clad in ancient garb. She was too far away to make out much more than the dark color of her hair and her turn-of-the-century clothing, but there was no mistaking that the sorrowful-looking creature was wagging a finger directly at her!

In the blink of an eye, the apparition was gone.

Heather’s fingers found Toby’s arm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, covering her hand with his own.

She was grateful for the warmth of human flesh. Her own skin had gone deadly cold. Heather was on the verge of asking Toby if he, too, had seen the mysterious woman under the tree, but decided against it. She doubted he wanted to introduce her to the rest of his family as a loony.

Perhaps the woman was, in fact, part of a Civil War reenactment.

Perhaps a documentary was being filmed on site.

Perhaps Heather was overly tired from a long, arduous flight, and her mind was simply overcome by the aura of this incredible setting.

Or perhaps she was being warned from the grave to escape while there was still time….

Four

When the limousine came to a complete stop at Crofthaven’s front door, their driver jumped out to open their doors. He was too late for Toby who was accustomed to opening his own doors and making his own way in the world without anyone’s assistance.

“Thanks, anyway,” he said, stuffing a generous tip into the man’s hand. “And have a nice day.”

As Heather stepped from the limousine, she tried to dismiss the eerie sense that some ghostly being was watching her. Surely it was only her imagination that chilled her skin and caused her to look over her shoulder. Letting the sounds of summer crickets and birds wash over her, she rubbed away her goose bumps and fixed a determined smile on her face. Dylan was eagerly waiting for them on the front steps along with half the population of Savannah, as far as Heather could tell.

They converged on Toby as if he were the proverbial prodigal son returning home. Contrary to her expectations, Heather wasn’t shoved aside as much as swallowed up by the throng pushing them through the massive front doors. The Danforths were a jovial bunch who seemed more into bear hugs than the pretentious air kisses that her parents preferred on the rare occasions she was allowed to return home.

The apologetic glance that Toby cast in Heather’s direction did not escape his sister Imogene’s sharp green eyes.

Heather suspected little did.

At the moment, however, she was having trouble keeping up with all the names and faces crowded about. As if imploring a higher power, Heather cast her eyes to the high ceilings and ornamental fans so reminiscent of a Tennessee Williams production. Their gentle whirring stirred enough of a breeze to play a subtle tune on the chandelier sparkling overhead. As if sensing her discomfort, Toby put an arm around her shoulder.

She turned her face up to his as he bent down to whisper in her ear. “Thank you for being here for Dylan and me. You don’t know how much it means.”

His breath against her neck was cooler than the air that greeted her when she stepped off the plane but it melted her on the spot nonetheless. Need revealed itself in the shiver that raced down her collar and out the ends of her fingertips. That same sudden need made her shift even closer to him to take shelter in the crook of the arm draped protectively around her. It made Heather want a great many things that were not at all possible given her status among the rich and famous gathered together in such an incredible setting.

Heather was so accustomed to Josef abandoning her at social gatherings, while he curried favor among the patrons and attended to his own adoring fans, that Toby’s attention to her well-being caught her unawares. Why was he being so nice to her? she wondered. Supposing she must look terribly overwhelmed to warrant such attention, Heather resigned herself to making the best of the short introductions to come, if only for the sake of common courtesy. She was glad she wore dress slacks and a sleeveless seersucker top rather than the shorts she had been tempted to don in expectation of the South’s famous heat and humidity. Breathing a sigh of relief that she was neither over nor underdressed for the occasion, she smiled at the man who had brought her here as a servant but who was doing his best to make her feel like a guest.

The crowd separated to let a slender woman step forward. Heather was reminded of Moses parting the Red Sea. Like so many Southern ladies, she was of an indeterminate age. Her blond hair was swept up in a tidy, timeless style, and she wore a simple chiffon dress of pale lemon. Except for the warm blue eyes that were Toby’s, she looked just like Imogene.

“Mom!”

Heather studied the joy reflected in Toby’s face as he swept his mother into his arms. The love between them was so genuine that a ripple of jealousy washed through her. She could not remember a single time that her mother ever greeted her in such an uninhibited fashion. Nor when she felt truly accepted by the woman who brought her into the world. In the Burroughs family, color distinguished blood from water more than any particular thickening agent.

Toby’s father was only half a step behind his wife.

“Son!”

How a single syllable could carry such implicit approval was beyond Heather, but it most certainly did. Whereas Miranda Danforth was effusive in her greeting, Toby’s father stopped just short of a hug, reaching out instead to take his son’s hand into his. The handshake they exchanged conveyed something so sacred and honorable that it caused Heather to feel the need to turn away.