Sleepless Nights (The Donovans of the Delta)

Sleepless Nights

Peggy Webb

The Donovans of the Delta – Book 2

Copyright Peggy Webb 2011

Cover design copyright Kim Van Meter 2011

Publishing History/Bantam/Loveswept

Copyright  1988 by Peggy Webb.

All rights reserved

CHAPTER ONE

“Tanner Donovan looks every bit as handsome as he did when he was quarterback at Greenville High. Maybe better.”

Amanda Lassiter felt an odd breathlessness at the mention of his name. She must be crazy. Eleven years was time enough to forget anything, even a man as sinfully delicious as Tanner.

She made herself hang the antique petticoat carefully, before turning around to answer her assistant and longtime friend.

“No doubt he’ll set the hometown girls aflutter, Maxine. His wealth and fame are exceeded only by his reputation.” She hoped her voice conveyed exactly the right blend of nonchalance and disinterest.

“You’ve kept up?”

“No. I’ve read the papers, like everybody else.” Amanda sat down at her desk.

Maxine arched her eyebrows and tapped the newspaper with one long red fingernail. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“Not since the wedding,”

Maxine didn’t have to ask which wedding Amanda meant. Folks had talked about it for five years afterward. Some of them were still talking.

“I’ll never forget the way Tanner Donovan looked when you walked down that aisle with his best friend.”

Neither would Amanda, but she certainly didn’t want to dredge up the past.

“It’s ancient history.”

“Not as ancient as you might think. Just last week I overheard a group of young men at Doe’s Restaurant talking about the way Tanner stormed down that aisle and lifted you in his arms when the preacher asked if anyone knew any reason why you and Claude shouldn’t be joined in marriage. They even quoted exactly what he said, ‘I know because she’s still in love with me.’ That story is legend around here. The local kids love it.”

Amanda’s knuckles turned white as she clutched the edge of her desk. She closed her eyes as the memory washed over her. Tanner, sweeping her into his arms, challenging her with fierce quicksilver eyes to deny his words; and Claude, standing loyally by, as he always had; Claude, representing stability and children and a home; Claude, loving her, always loving her. She’d loved him too—but it hadn’t been enough. The memory of Tanner was always there between them.

Looking back now, it amazed her that they’d stayed married for six years. She’d wondered a hundred times since that fateful day what her life would have been like if she’d kept quiet, if she’d let Tanner abduct her.

“You’re bound to hear all sorts of things if you eavesdrop,” she said now.

Maxine chuckled. “If I didn’t eavesdrop, what would we talk about at bridge club? Besides, that’s all I have to do since I’m temporarily between husbands.” She looked down at the photograph of Tanner Donovan. “That man’s enough to set the old motor revving. While he’s home for the holidays I might take a crack at him myself. That is, if you don’t have plans for him.”

“I moved back to Greenville to open a business, not to try to renew an old romance. What happened between Tanner and me is over and done with.” Amanda hoped her smile was convincing. “You have my blessing. Not that you need it, of course.”

“Maybe you’d better look at this before you dismiss him.” She plopped the newspaper on Amanda’s desk. “I’m already in overdrive from looking at his picture.”

Amanda pushed the newspaper aside without glancing at it and smiled at her irrepressible friend. Maxine had breezed in and out of divorce court so often—four times at the last count—that the judge had declared his intentions of putting in a revolving door just for her. However, her apparent unsuitability for the bonds of matrimony didn’t keep her from the hunt. She stalked men with lusty good cheer, and it appeared she’d chosen Tanner Donovan as her latest quarry.

Amanda was surprised that the idea caused her a little twinge of regret.

“Do you think you can gear down long enough to help me move this case of jewelry before we close up? With Christmas coming, people will be looking for gifts, and these antique brooches will be perfect.”

For the next twenty minutes they worked together taking out the brooches, moving the small case closer to the front of the shop, and rearranging the jewelry. After the shop door swished shut behind Maxine, Amanda locked up and returned to her desk.

Picking up the newspaper, she stared down at the front-page spread on Tanner Donovan. The man’s dazzling charm, which she remembered so well, was not diminished by the black-and-white photograph.

Her eyes scanned the column. “
Greenville’s most famous native son, Tanner Donovan, businessman-philanthropist, will be on hand for Saturday night’s American Diabetes Association charity benefit. Mr. Donovan, former outstanding quarterback for the Texas Titans, has contributed $100,000 to this worthwhile charity. His longtime interest in diabetes
. . .”

Amanda stopped reading and sat staring into space. Unconsciously she caressed the photograph.

“Where did we go wrong, Tanner?”

The sound of her own words startled her into action. Picking up her bag and her hat, she started for the back door. Her little blue Honda Civic was parked behind her shop. She tilted her hat at a cocky angle, climbed behind the wheel, and headed toward her favorite coffee shop on the river. She’d be darned if she was going to sit around wallowing in self-pity, guilt, and old memories.

 o0o

From his first glance of the river, Tanner was glad he’d decided to drive from Dallas instead of taking his private jet. He pressed a button to lower his windows so he could sniff the air. Home. There was no place like it. Never slackening his speed, he took in everything—the rich, black land stretching out flat as far as the eye could see, sliced through and nourished by the muddy waters of the Mississippi; the massive oaks, drab with their brown winter leaves but no less magnificent; the whitewashed fences, dividing the Delta into neat, clean sections, signifying that man had conquered and tamed at least part of the land.

Tanner laughed aloud with the sheer delight of being alive. Being home always made him feel this way. No matter how many years he’d lived in Dallas, he still thought of Greenville as home.

He shot his car across the bridge, the red Corvette picking up speed as he whipped in and out of the Friday afternoon traffic with the ease that comes from practice. Just across the bridge he spotted the café, Jimmy’s. His stomach turned over. Whether it was from hunger or memories, he didn’t know. Nor did he bother to question it; he simply followed his instinct.

He glided the red Corvette smoothly off the road and brought it to a stop in the gravel parking lot in front of the one-room, clapboard café. Tanner removed his cashmere jacket the minute he stepped outside. It was hot—too hot for December, he thought.

As he tossed his jacket back onto the front seat of his car, he saw the woman. She had the kind of legs men dream about, and the kind of walk that could start revolutions. Tanner lounged against his car, enjoying one of his favorite pastimes, girl watching. Even from the back he could tell that she was beautiful. Anything less than perfection of face would be a sacrilege on that body. He let his eyes move up to her waist. It was tiny, nipped in by a wide leather belt.

He stiffened as she took off her felt fedora and shook out her hair. In the late afternoon sun the tresses blazed with dazzling copper highlights. He remembered only one woman who had hair like that—Amanda Lassiter. As far as he knew, she was still living in Missouri. And he hoped to hell she stayed there.

He pocketed his keys and headed toward the café.

People stopped talking when Tanner walked through the door. He was big and handsome, if you could believe the women he dated, and he exuded the kind of power generated by a storm rolling off the river. Standing inside the door, he let his gaze roam, taking in the silver plastic bells hanging over the cash register, the glass case of coconut cream pies, and the crowded wooden booths.

She was at the back of the room, sitting beside the window that overlooked the river, her head bent over a menu. Amanda Lassiter.

For a moment he went a little crazy inside. He wanted to march across the room, jerk her into his arms, and throw her into the river. Hard on the heels of that thought came another even more disturbing one. He wanted to gather her close to him and kiss her until they were both breathless. He wanted to strip the clothes from her body and kiss every inch of that perfection—just as he had so many years ago.

Forcing himself to steady his breathing, he started across the room. She looked up and their gazes clashed. He saw her catch her breath. Her reaction pleased him. He didn’t know why but it did. He saw her hands tighten on the menu, but she never looked away. Her glorious aqua eyes focused, sure and steady, on his as he walked to her booth.

He didn’t stop until he was standing over her, so close that he could smell her scent. Jasmine. Sweet and sultry. Exactly the way he remembered.

“See anything you like?” he asked.

“Why? Are you selling something?”

She was still the same spirited Amanda. He was glad. “No, I’m giving it away.”

“Pity. You could have been rich.”

“I am.” He slid into the opposite side of her booth. “Mind if I join you?”

“Would it make any difference if I said no?”

“No.” He reached across the table and took her left hand. The cool touch of her slim ivory fingers almost made him forget what she’d done to him. “I see you’ve taken off the ring.”

She lifted quizzical brows but said nothing.

“My parents keep me informed.” He let her hand drop. “They seem to think I’m still interested in the doings of my two former best friends.”

“Are you?”

He took a certain malicious pleasure in thinking that he was the cause of the breathless catch he heard in her voice.

“No. Simple idle curiosity.” He hoped he’d lied with a straight face. He flipped open a menu. “Are you having the hot chocolate?”

“Yes, with marshmallows.”

It was the first time she’d smiled since he’d walked through the door. Amber lights lit briefly in the center of her aqua eyes, then faded as quickly as they had come. It was the first time he’d seen that smile in eleven years.

Tender feelings tried to blossom in his soul, but he quickly squashed them.

“Claude never liked marshmallows. I would have thought you’d have picked up new habits living with him. Six years, wasn’t it?”

Her tongue flicked over her lips before she answered. “Yes.”

He remembered so well the feel of that tongue. “Don’t do that,” he wanted to shout. Instead he signaled to the waitress. “Two hot chocolates with marshmallows.” Turning to Amanda, he asked, “Anything else?”

“Solitude.”

“We don’t always get what we want, Mandy, love.” He was as startled as she was when the affectionate term slipped out. For a moment her expression grew soft, then that familiar cool mask of indifference slipped back across her face.

“I’m not interested in a trip down memory lane, Tanner.”

“Neither am I. One time through hell is enough for me.”

Her eyes sparkled with anger. “It was a hell of your own making.”

“That’s debatable. There’s not much a man can do when he’s in another state and his two best friends are playing footsie behind his back.”

“How could you possibly have noticed? You never left the football field long enough.”

They glared at each other until Tanner began to feel conspicuous. More than that, he felt the stirrings of emotions he wanted to remain buried. He forced himself to lean back and relax.

“Why don’t we start over?”

“As you said, one time through hell is enough.”

He felt a small glimmer of satisfaction in knowing that she’d been hurt too.

“I’m not talking about the past. I’m talking about our conversation.” Abruptly he stood up and took her hand. He felt it tremble as he placed a kiss in her palm. “Miss Amanda Lassiter, do you mind if I join you? I’m home for the holidays, and you’re the first friend I’ve seen.” He slid back into the booth.

“Am I?” Her voice reminded him of velvet—soft, smooth, and beautiful.

“Are you what?”

“Still your friend?”

He studied her lovely face in silence. That face had haunted his dreams, teased his imagination, fired his passion, and kindled his anger for the past eleven years. Were they still friends? No, he thought. Adversaries, yes. Former lovers, yes. But friends?

“I don’t think so,” he said quietly. “However, since we’re both home for the holidays and probably will be running into each other, I see no reason to make it unpleasant.”

“I’m not home for the holidays. I live here.”

His parents hadn’t told him that. “Since when?”

“Since April. I’ve opened an antique clothing shop on Washington St reet.”