Raw Deal (Larson Brothers #1)(61)
“Thank you,” she said after a moment, but he wondered if at first she wanted to say something else.
The idea of what that something else might have been would keep him up for the next five hours, easy. He probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway knowing she was distressed.
Interstate 10 was long, dark, and lonely, though in no way deserted. He’d thrown a bag in the backseat of his truck with enough clothes for a few days, though he had no idea how long he would be gone. And then he was eating up the three hundred and fifty miles between Houston and New Orleans, with nothing to do but play music at ear-splitting levels, chug coffee, and think about her. The towns ticked by: Beaumont, Lake Charles, Lafayette. Then the Atchafalaya Basin Bridge, spanning almost twenty miles of wetlands and swamps.
He’d made this drive a couple of times before while heading to Destin, Florida. That route bypassed New Orleans, though—I-12 taking over the passage through Louisiana in Baton Rouge while I-10 dipped down to the Big Easy. So once he left Baton Rouge in his rearview mirror, he was in unfamiliar territory. And he couldn’t wait to see where Savannah lived, where she liked to go, what she liked to do, all the things he’d wondered about but seemed impossible to discover while they had sipped coffee at the Café Du Monde a lifetime ago. He couldn’t wait to see a little piece of her life the way she’d glimpsed a little piece of his.
At long last, he was easing through the historic New Orleans streets, following his GPS directions to where Savannah had told him to park. It wasn’t quite five A.M., but cities never slept.
He wondered if she had ever managed to.
“Tommy?”
“Hey, little sister.”
“Is it wrong?”
“Is what wrong?”
“I think I might love him.”
“Can’t help who we love.”
“We can choose whether or not to be with them.”
“Well, then choose.”
“Don’t leave.”
“I’m always around . . .”
It was a strange one, as dreams went—she couldn’t see her brother, couldn’t see their surroundings, only knew he was there. Her mind conjured his voice from the depths of her memory as plainly as if they’d spoken a day ago instead of months.
She shifted restlessly in her sleep, and as a gentle weight squeezed her upper arm and a male voice whispered her name, she woke with a start. “Michael?”
“I’m here.”
Savannah reached for him, and his weight came down on the bed beside her in the darkness. Hard, warm, reassuring. God, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed his arms around her, and it had only been a few days. His chin nestled into her hair, his lips pressing against her head. She closed her eyes, absorbed his strength, and fell right back to sleep within seconds while he held her.
A few times she woke afraid she’d dreamed him there, only to find him sleeping beside her, still in his clothes. The next time her eyes opened, gray dawn bloomed outside her bedroom window, showing her his face. Hard lines, soft curves, all so peaceful in sleep. If only we could bring that peace back with us when we wake up, she thought, and snuggled against him to try to find her own again, however brief it might be.
He’d driven all night to reach her when he knew she needed him. She doubted there was even one other person in her life who would have done such a thing.
“You okay?” he murmured sleepily, his arms going around her again—at some point in their sleep, they’d lost their grips on each other.
“Am now,” she whispered. His full lips curved in a trace of a smile, and then he was out again. Savannah wanted desperately to kiss those lips, but no doubt he was impossibly tired. She should have tried harder to talk him out of making that trip, but if she had, she wouldn’t have this.
And this . . . this was divine.
Sheets of rain began pattering her window. She dozed again briefly, but it was her natural waking time and her internal clock wouldn’t allow her much more sleep. Luckily, she had no appointments until later this morning, but she might be able to get one of the others to cover those. If not, she would just have to go in, though the thought of leaving him was almost unbearable now that he was here. She wanted to lie all day in the shelter of these powerful arms and not have to face the world.
His lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and she wondered what he was dreaming about, what those intense eyes were seeing behind his closed eyelids. Her dream about Tommy came back to her . . . casually telling her to choose with the wry humor he’d always had in his voice, as if he had not a care in the world.
How could she ever choose anything but this?
Then her mind drifted to Rowan waking up in an empty bed this morning, probably hanging over a toilet with morning sickness. And her face last night . . .
Savannah rolled onto her back, breathing hard, a hand to her mouth. How dare she find comfort when there was none to be had for Tommy’s wife, her sister, her best friend?
“Savannah?” Mike’s voice was sleep roughened but sharp, his eyes heavy lidded but wide awake. He rose up on his elbow beside her, searching her stricken face with both gaze and gentle fingertips.
“I’m fine,” she said, reflex taking over as she scuttled from his touch and then from the bed. “Just give me a minute.” Making a beeline for her little bathroom, she shut the door and sat on the edge of her claw-foot tub, sobbing quietly into her hand.