Reflection Point: An Eternity Springs Novel (40 page)

There’s not a limit on nervous. We can both be nervous
.

She suspected he’d brought her up here to ask her to marry him.

The confounded man had never said another word about the subject since leaving the hospital. Sex, yes. He’d been complaining about the lack of that for a week now. But he hadn’t said one word about a wedding.

He sat on top of the picnic bench and Savannah searched his face for signs of pain before taking a seat beside him. “You are such a worrywart,” he told her.

“Yeah, well, I’ve earned the right,” she grumbled. “I lived through three days of hell not knowing if you were going to live at all, Zach Turner.”

He laced his fingers with hers and brought her hand up and kissed it. “We’re both recovering, though, aren’t we?”

She sighed. “Yes. Are you hungry? Do you want your sandwich?”

“Sit with me awhile first, Savannah. Let’s just be here, together, for a little while.”

“That sounds lovely.”

And it was. She didn’t know how long they sat without talking, simply staring out at the breathtaking vista beyond. Ten minutes? Twenty? However long, it was soothing. A comforting, healing stretch of time.

Eventually Zach said, “I bought a plane ticket this morning.”

A
plane ticket? Not
tickets
, plural? Like for a honeymoon? “Oh? Where are you going?”

“To Atlanta. With you and TJ.”

“What? No, you’re not. We leave next week. You can’t make that trip. We’ve already talked about this ad nauseam. Why, the trip home from Gunnison almost put you back in the hospital. No. Absolutely not. I won’t have it.”

“I went to the clinic yesterday. Rose cleared me for the trip.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine. It’s a plane ride and a car ride. I’ll be sitting on my ass most of the time. I don’t want you making that trip without me. It’d be worse for my health to stay at home. We’d do a role-reversal thing and I’d worry myself sick, and then what would you do? Besides, I want to see TJ in his new digs and meet his dad.”

Savannah knew that what really worried him was the possibility that Gary would be an ass. “Zach, I’ve talked to Gary. It’s … better. Not great, but okay. A little awkward, but that’s understandable. We have some bridges to build.”

“Which is why I want to be there.”

Truth be told, Savannah wanted him there, too. “Rose really said you’d be okay?”

“She really did.”

Savannah blew out a long breath. “Okay, I admit it. I’ll be very glad to have you with me. Seeing Gary again … and I’m so worried for TJ. What if my brother screws up again? TJ will be devastated.”

“Well, yeah. On the other hand, if that happens this time around, we’ll be there for him and he’ll know it. But I have a feeling it’s going to go well, honey. I talked to the authorities who oversee that treatment program. It’s had amazing success. Your brother has worked hard to get where he is. Despite his faults, he wants to be a father to his son. He and TJ deserve this chance.”

“I know. He’s so excited.” She watched a bird swoop
from the top of a golden aspen to alight on the green branch of a fir. “I’m going to miss him.”

“I know. I will, too. He’s a good kid. So, how about that sandwich? What kind did you bring us?”

“My grandmother’s pimento cheese.” She opened her basket and pulled out their lunch. “Fruit slices. Carrot sticks.”

He waited, and when she said nothing more, he actually whined a little and reached for the basket. “No chips? No peach cobbler?”

Savannah laughed and slapped his hand, then tossed him a bag of corn chips. “You have to eat the carrot sticks before you get cobbler.”

“Nag.”

They ate their lunch in companionable silence. Once he’d polished off his meal, Zach wadded up his napkin and shot a paper basketball into the picnic basket. When Savannah finished, he climbed down from the picnic bench and offered her his hand. Their fingers laced, they walked toward the safety railing at the edge of the point and stood, gazing out at the valley below. Zach said, “This is a special place.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“True, but that’s not why it’s special.” He faced her, gently touched her cheek. “It’s special because this is where I met you.”

She melted, even as her heart began to pound.
This is it. He’s going to ask me to marry him
.

“That’s sweet. You’re sweet, Zach.”

His expression rueful, he said, “That’s me, Mr. Sweet. Better than Barney Fife, I guess.”

Savannah shook her head and laughed at them both. “You never were Barney Fife. You’ve always been Andy Taylor. Tall, smart, sexy Sheriff Andy.”

“You thought Sheriff Taylor was sexy?”

“Absolutely.”

“He wasn’t a little too … good?”

Savannah clicked her tongue and teased, “Now, Sheriff, a man can never be too good.”

He leaned down and kissed her, long and thoroughly, and Savannah melted against him, her heart soaring. When he pulled away, those gorgeous blue eyes of his stared down into hers. “I love you, Savannah Sophia Moore.”

“I love you, too, Zach Turner.”

He kissed her again, quickly, then said, “I have something for you. I wanted to give it to you up here.”

Of course. She should have realized it. How perfect that he’d give her a ring here where they began. “Okay.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a … not an engagement ring. Savannah gasped, brought a hand to her mouth.

It was a dirty, ragged muslin bag with a dirty, ragged blue ribbon. “Zach. You found it. How did you find it? Where?”

“I just happened to see it one day when I was out walking on the ranch.” He handed it to her.

She clasped it to her chest. “Just happened to see it. Right.”

“Maybe I went searching for it on the ranch. A few times.”

“A few times? A few hours? Hours and hours and hours?”

He shrugged. “It was important to you.”

“Oh, Zach. Thank you.” She went up on her tiptoes and pressed kisses against his mouth, his cheeks, his nose, saying, “Thank you … thank you … thank you.”

Finally he grabbed her face between his palms and gave her mouth a hard, carnal kiss. “You’re welcome.”

Once she was steady on her feet again, he let her go. “This was nice, Savannah. I’m glad we could do this.”

“Me too.”

“You ready to go?” He turned and started walking back toward the picnic table.

Go? Now?
She stood staring after him, her mouth gaping open.

He picked up the picnic basket and his walking stick, then turned to wait for her. “Savannah?”

“Go? Now? Like this?”

“Um … yeah? I admit I’m getting a little tired.”

“But …” She put her hands on her hips. “What about my ring?”

“What ring?” He honestly looked puzzled.

The jerk
. “My engagement ring!”

Light dawned. “You thought I was going to give you an engagement ring today?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, stepping toward him. “It’s been three weeks, Turner! What’s the deal? Three weeks ago in front of your family, your brand-new family, you toss out the word
wife
and then you never bring up the subject again? For three whole weeks?”

Savannah knew she was sounding a bit like a fishwife, but she didn’t really care. “Then you bring me up here. To the place we met. What was I supposed to think?”

“Oh.”

She waited a beat. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? ‘Oh’?”

Zach lifted his face toward the sky and sighed long and loud. “For crying out loud, Savannah. Think about it. Think about who you run with. I have some pressure here. This is Eternity Springs! The last marriage proposal that happened in this town was done from a hang glider above a field of roses that spelled out the words ‘Marry Me.’ I may not have Jack Davenport’s money or his larger-than-life CIA-agent background, but I can darn well throw down a romantic marriage proposal that’ll make you swoon and give you a fairy-tale story to tell our grandchildren someday. Only you’re going to
have to cut me a little slack. I’m recovering from a near fatal gunshot wound, here, and you need to pay attention to the verb tense. That’s
recovering
. Not
have recovered
. You need to be patient and give me time. Because just like marriage is a two-way street, proposals are a two-way street. It’s my proposal, too, and when it happens, I want more than romance. I want down-and-dirty, toe-curling, sweaty, steaming, screaming sex. So, honey, you’re just gonna have to cool your jets for a few more weeks while I get my strength back. Got it?”

Savannah swallowed hard and considered fanning her face. “Yes, dear.”

“Good. Okay, then. Are you ready to leave? I have to go meet my mother.”

“Yes, dear.”

Savannah fought a smile, knowing her eyes were twinkling as she walked up next to him, appropriated the picnic basket, and slipped her arm through his. “Zach, can I ask you one question?”

He sidled her a suspicious look. “Just one?”

“Just one. I promise.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Are you taking your vitamins?”

“Damn right I am.” His lips twitched, then he leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss against her cheek. “Come on, Peach. Let’s go home.”

At two o’clock that afternoon, grasping Savannah’s hand in a viselike grip, Zach stepped up to the door of Nightingale Cottage along the bank of Angel Creek on the grounds of Angel’s Rest Healing Center and Spa. He rapped on the door.

Footsteps approached. The door swung open. A trim woman with auburn hair dressed in jeans, boots, and a University of Colorado sweatshirt opened the door. She
had wounded blue eyes, high cheekbones, a thin straight nose, and full lips that needed some color.

She was short. Five foot three, five foot four at the most. Did he have the right cabin? How the hell had this woman given birth to four sons well over six feet tall and a daughter who stood five foot nine in her stocking feet? “Mrs. Romano?”

“Yes?”

He swallowed hard. Savannah squeezed his hand reassuringly. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m …”

He couldn’t say any more. He had a boulder of emotion in his throat. Trying again, he said, “My name is—”

Her gasp cut him off. She took a step forward. Placed her hand against his chest. Touched him. Then the hand traveled up to his face, warm and soft.

“Giovanni. Oh, sweet angels above. You are my Giovanni.”

For the angels who bless my life

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks to the entire team at Ballantine for their fabulous support: Libby McGuire; Gina Wachtel; Scott Shannon; Linda Marrow; Lynn Andreozzi and the art department; Janet Wygal and the production department; my editor, Kate Collins; and Junessa Viloria. A special thanks to retired sheriff Mr. Jim Brand and my legal team in Boston, who assisted me in the development of Savannah’s criminal history. To Nic Burnham, Mary Dickerson, Christina Dodd, Lisa Kleypas, and Susan Sizemore—Eternity Springs lives because of you. Thank you.

Read on for a preview of Emily March’s next novel in her Eternity Springs series:
MIRACLE ROAD

When Hope Montgomery’s gaze snagged on the date in her curriculum planner, she sucked in a sudden breath: March 15.

She closed her eyes and absorbed the hurt. This was the way it happened now, four years later. Rather than being her constant companion, the pain would slither up and strike when she wasn’t prepared and braced for it.

“ ‘Beware the Ides of March,’ ” she softly quoted.

She shut her planner and set it aside, then reached for her coffee. Her hand trembled as she raised the china cup to her mouth, but she concentrated on savoring both the smell and the taste of the aromatic, full-bodied brew. Using her senses helped anchor her to the present, and besides, the coffee at Angel’s Rest was truly sublime.

Nevertheless, she teetered on the brink of tears until Celeste Blessing swept into the old Victorian mansion’s parlor saying, “I’m so sorry I’m running
late, Hope. It’s been one thing after another today. First we had a plumbing problem in the showers beside the hot springs pools, then one of our guests suffered a death in the family, the poor dear, and I helped arrange emergency transportation home. Finally, my sister phoned, and I’m afraid I lost track of time.”

Hope stood and smiled at the woman whom she’d come to view as the matriarch of Eternity Springs. The vital, active, older owner of Angel’s Rest, Celeste wore black slacks, a gold cotton blouse, and a harried smile.

“Celeste, I love your new haircut,” Hope said.

“Thank you. I do, too.” Celeste lifted a hand to fluff the short, sassy style, her blue eyes twinkling. “One of my guests told me I look just like Judi Dench. He’s an old flirt, and I think he was hoping for a discount on his bill, but I’ll accept the compliment.”

“As well you should,” Hope agreed. “He’s right.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m going to tell my sister you said that.” Celeste wrinkled her nose as she added, “She told me I was too old for this style.”

Hope couldn’t help but smile. She had met Celeste and her sister when they’d rented the beach house next door to Hope’s rental the summer before last. She could picture Desdemona saying that to Celeste. “How is Desi doing these days?”