Raw Deal (Larson Brothers #1)(8)

“I’ll hang out with my brother tonight, but I thought I might catch a ride with him on his tour bus for a few days, see a few sights. Then go home.”

“That sounds awesome, actually. I think I’d rather be anywhere but here for the next few days.”

Was she . . . ? No. Couldn’t be. That would be crazy. But the wistfulness in her voice was undeniable. God, if only.

“Well,” he said, and her eyes never left his as he rose to his feet. “Thanks for this. And remember what I said. Anything, Savannah.”

“Um . . . do you need a ride anywhere?”

“I’ll get a cab. Don’t worry about it.” He offered her his hand. Something unnamable churned in her expression when she looked down at it, but she took it all the same. Her grip was firm, her fingers supple, her skin heavenly soft. But her hand trembled in his. “I don’t pray much anymore,” he said, holding it for longer than he should have though she didn’t try to pull away. “But you and your family will be in my thoughts.”

She nodded. “I appreciate it. Take care.”

Then she walked away, weaving between the tables and chairs until she disappeared into the crowd. Leaving him standing by the table alone in a sea of people.

He knew he was insane if he thought he would ever hear from her again.





Chapter Three


When the call came at six A.M., Savannah nearly poked her eye out with her mascara wand, fumbled it, and dropped it in the sink with a clatter. It wasn’t exactly a time of day she expected to hear her phone blare to life. Cursing the lovely black streak now above her eyelid and in her sink, she groped for the phone on the bathroom counter with the afflicted eye screwed shut. Damn it.

“Ro?” she asked, alarmed when she glimpsed the ID on the display. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you. Come over now.”

Exasperated, Savannah jerked a handful of tissues from the dispenser on her counter with her free hand. “I have an appointment in an hour. I’m not even ready to leave the house yet.”

“You wear scrubs and work in the dark, who cares what you look like? It’s an emergency.”

“It’s dim, not dark. What’s the matter with you?”

“Just come.” Rowan hung up.

“Jesus,” Savannah grumbled. What now? Six weeks had passed since Tommy’s death. Things had grown relatively quiet. Time wasn’t healing the wounds, exactly, but it was helping her cope with their existence. Rowan had seemed okay lately, but just now she’d sounded . . . different. Flat. She had her good days and her bad, like they all did, but this hadn’t sounded enough like one or the other for Savannah to make an assessment as to what she was walking into.

Whatever. Savannah had already had one cup of coffee, but she could tell this called for another. Or three.

Giving up on her mascara, she scrubbed her face completely clean and put her hair in its customary ponytail. If she was going to see what the hell Rowan’s problem was and get to her first massage client by seven, she was going to have to haul ass. Luckily, Rowan didn’t live far from Savannah’s quaint little French Quarter apartment. She pulled to the curb outside Rowan’s house—it was hard to think of it as only Rowan’s now, not Rowan and Tommy’s—twenty minutes after their phone call ended, and that was after hitting a Starbucks on the way.

Rowan snatched the door open before Savannah could knock and eyeballed the cupholder Savannah held in her hands, containing two steaming grande white-chocolate mochas. She was still in her pink robe and her blond hair was piled on top of her head in an artful mess. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes large and glassy. “You might have to drink both of those,” she said, her frantic gaze meeting Savannah’s at last.

“No problem. But . . . Rowan! Have you completely lost it?” She had grabbed Savannah’s arm and yanked her into the foyer, barely pausing to close the door. Savannah struggled to hang on to the precious caffeine in her hands as Rowan propelled her down the hallway, through the master bedroom, and into the bathroom that was as big as Savannah’s entire bedroom.

“Yes, I have. Look.” Rowan pointed at the counter.

Savannah nearly dropped the drink holder, espresso and all.

The white devices on the counter were unmistakable. Different styles and brands, some strips, some squares, some with different colored accents. Seven of them. “Oh my God,” Savannah said weakly.

“They’re all positive.” Rowan’s eyes were huge as she stared down at them. She was visibly trembling. “I’ve been taking them for the past three days.”

“Oh my God, Rowan.” Savannah managed to put the damned drinks down. Then she braced her hands on the counter and leaned over the test results that were going to change all of their lives forever. Plus signs. Two lines. Or the most obvious of all, perhaps: the word PREGNANT.

“Tommy’s going to be a daddy,” Rowan said, her voice small and quivering.

There was nothing to do but turn around and hug her tight. Rowan buried her face in Savannah’s neck and sobbed.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Savannah assured her, stroking her back. “It’s going to be fine, just fine.”

“No it isn’t,” Rowan cried.

Oh, no. From the time of the phone call, she hadn’t been able to determine Rowan’s thoughts. Now they were clear. “A shock. You’re just in shock, okay? It’ll wear off and then you’ll see it’s okay. How far along do you think you are?” Better to get her off the emotional aspect of it as soon as possible.