Roped In (Armed & Dangerous, #2)(68)
“Are you ready to go, Savannah?”
“Yes, I am.” The blonde speaks up. I look at her. With her hand on her hip, she taps her toe on the ground and smirks.
“Look ma’am, I’m sorry your kinfolk aren’t here to get ya and if ya want we can wait, but I’m sure they’ll be along soon.” I reach for Savannah’s bags, but her hand stops me.
“I don’t know you,” she says quietly as she removes my hand from her suitcase.
“Excuse me?” I question, as I stand tall. “What do you mean you don’t know me?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know you and my name’s not Savannah.”
“Mine is though, and just wait until I tell my Uncle Bobby how you tried to take someone else home, Tyler King.”
Slowly turning and eyeing the statuesque blonde, my heart stops beating. The smirk is back, or it never left. I step closer so I can see what happened to the mousy brunette I used to know. Her gaze follows mine and I look her over. She’s taller, leaner and, besides the obvious hair color change, looks nothing like she did when she left here. Her teeth are straight and missing the metal that used to clog her mouth. There’s no way this woman is only seventeen years old.
I swallow hard and break eye contact. This ain’t gonna be good. When I thought she was this other girl, I pictured us hanging out. Now that I’m looking at her, the hanging out idea doesn’t seem to be the best thing for me. One thing’s for sure: New York did a number on my Savannah.
“Wow, Savannah.”
She nods, pursing her lips. “It’s Vanna,” she informs me as she stalks past me toward my truck. I follow her and mentally scold myself when my eyes fall on her cotton-covered ass. The mousy-non-Savannah mocks me in disgust. I run my hand over the back of my neck and sigh.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” I say. “Um… do you need a ride?”
She shakes her head and I deduce that I’m better off just leaving her. I’ve already embarrassed her and myself enough to last us a lifetime. I pick up Savannah’s bags and hustle back to the truck. I have a feeling it’s gonna be one long summer and once her Uncle Bobby sees her he’s gonna flip. She’s going to be every man’s wet dream in a forty-mile radius and I just know I’m going to be tasked with taking care of her. Just call me the glorified babysitter of the mousy farm girl turned New York socialite.
I remember the day she left. I thought her momma was joking when she said they were moving, so when they packed their bags and got into the car, I was left standing there, stunned. I was so hurt that I refused to say good-bye. We didn’t promise to write or even call each other. We were too young for those types of commitments. Watching her being driven away from me is my most vivid memory and one that has been replaying in my mind for the past week.
I was fifteen when she left. We’d grown up together, attending the same school, church and having Sunday suppers on her uncle’s wrap-around porch. Our mommas always joked that we’d end up married to each other as soon as she turned eighteen and we’d start spitting out babies. After a while, I just believed them. It seemed like destiny. That was until my teenage hormones kicked in, and when I discovered girls, Savannah wanted nothing to do with me. She caught me a time or two with my hands in places they shouldn’t have been and each time she’d just pretend like nothing was happening.
Even though our mommas wanted us to get married, there is an age difference between us and I matured faster. Savannah was quiet and shy, never really showing any interest in anything but her horse. Living in a small town, people have expectations and there was one on her and me, but it wasn’t like I could take her out on a date or anything. Looking at her now, I wish I could’ve.
I climb into the cab of my truck and pull the door shut. She jumps in and clutches her purse tightly to her body. I let my hand dangle over the steering wheel thinking about all the things I want to say to her. Right now the only thing forming is the idiotic sentence of “damn, you grew up”, but I have a feeling that will earn me a slap and I’d rather save that for later in the barn. I instantly chide myself for thinking I’ll get her to the barn like that. She just got here and I’m sure she has a rich pretty boy waiting on her back home.
“Hello, Savannah. Long time no see.” She adjusts slightly, turning farther away from me, and stares out her window. Her mood has changed from somewhat friendly to icy cold. I don’t blame her. The warm reception I gave the other woman was probably what she was expecting and didn’t get.
“It’s Vanna.”
I want to laugh at how straight-laced she sounds but hold back. Something tells me she’s turned into a spitfire and that would be the spark to set her off. I’ve already pissed her off enough for one day. Her uncle said something about her getting into trouble one too many times at school and that her momma is too busy with her job to keep her under control. Apparently the answer was to send her back to where she got her start, even if she’s not going to fit in around these parts anymore.
“Savannah,” I reply purposely. There’s no way in hell I’m calling her Vanna after that middle-aged letter turner that my grandma watches nightly.
She huffs, but doesn’t say anything. I get the impression that she’s used to getting her way, especially with men. Sadly for her, life doesn’t work like that in these parts.