Return of the Runaway Bride (4 page)

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Turning onto Peach Tree Drive, Savanna let the memories wash over her. As a child, she'd ridden her bike on these sidewalks, first a tricycle, then a two-wheeler. She remembered the warm, carefree breezes that would tangle her hair and turn her
cheeks
a bright pink as she pedaled faster and faster around the block.

Savanna sighed contentedly.
Home at last
.

The thought made her sit up straight, and a frown bit deeply into her brow. What on earth had brought that idea into her head? She wasn't planning to stay in Fulton. To the contrary, she had definite plans of returning to Baltimore and the neat little studio apartment she kept there.

As Savanna turned south onto Sycamore Lane, she marveled at the trees lining the wide street that were its namesake. Their huge, gnarled branches shrouded the asphalt with deep shadows, allowing not one shaft of sunlight to touch the pavement. She remembered these trees as being
mature,
she'd even climbed in them on occasion as a child. But as she ambled past them now, they didn't seem as big as the ones in her memories.

Then she saw the house. She pulled into the driveway and sat there staring, opening the floodgates of her emotions and letting them fill her to the brim.

The three-story, white Victorian home was by no means small, but the house in her memory had been a mansion, a fairy-tale castle where she had celebrated birthdays and Christmases, and had an incalculable number of sleep
overs
with hordes of giggling, squealing friends. This house was an unmistakable symbol of warmth, love, security.

Pressing her fingertips to her lips, she inhaled slowly, deeply, and gave herself over to the tingling sensation of happy recollection that raised gooseflesh on her arms.

She opened the car door and stepped out, surprised to discover her legs were unsteady. Clenching her fist, Savanna pressed it firmly against her stomach, trying to calm the joy, excitement, anxiety, anticipation and a thousand other feelings that churned there.

"Home."
The single word passed her lips in a breathy whisper. Tears prickled behind her eyelids, and her throat seemed to swell. Her exhalation of breath was ragged with tender sentiment.

Buying this house had been the right thing to do; she knew it as surely as she knew her own name. She sniffed and fumbled in her purse for a tissue. This place meant too much to her to see it sold to strangers.

After swiping under her eyes, she let her gaze wander. The gingerbread trim that supported the eaves, the hinged shutters that flanked the long, paned windows, the white door with its beveled glass inset.

She saw other things as well; worn roof shingles, peeling paint on the wide front porch, overgrown shrubs, weed-infested flower beds that ran along the curving brick walkway. The house had been sitting empty since Savanna's mother and father had moved south more than six weeks ago. That last big campaign in Baltimore had kept Savanna from visiting Fulton before now. Her schedule was free and clear for at least the next four weeks.

"One month," she murmured. From the looks of it, Savanna felt sure she would need every day if she was going to get the house in order.

She grinned and rubbed her palms together, eager to start working. Her first act as a new homeowner was to pull up the real estate agent's sign that declared the house "SOLD" in big, bold letters. She leaned it against the cement foundation and went up the porch steps. But she reached the front door and stopped abruptly, the smile fading from her lips.

As she let her eyes rove over the thick, wooden railing, the rattan rocking chair and the porch swing, she was overcome by nostalgia, alluring memories carrying heady, sensuous overtones. This had been the very place where she and Danny had shared so many goodbyes and good-night kisses. Savanna closed her eyes. She could almost feel Danny's fingers, soft and warm, against her cheek, could almost taste his lips on hers, could almost smell the scent of his skin,
could
almost see the desire in his gaze.

Her eyes opened wide and she shoved the vivid memory from her.

"You know better than that," she scolded herself aloud.

Thoughts of Danny had nearly driven her mad when she'd first left Fulton. The deep, inconsolable loneliness she'd felt without him had driven her to crying jags lasting hours. For sanity's sake, she'd learned to keep busy, to close him out of her mind as quickly as possible whenever he entered her thoughts. The desolation of being without him still swept through her now and then, but, thank God, those times were rare. Being here, though, a place where they had been so
close, shared so much, it was difficult to put him out of her mind. But she would.

Savanna unlocked the front door and let it swing open. Passing over the threshold was like stepping into yesterday. The smell was what was most familiar. An indefinable aroma wafted around her, a scent that, even coated with weeks of dust, could invoke only one thought.
Home.

She flipped on the hall light switch and was relieved to see the glass fixture burn brightly. Flicking off the switch, she picked up the phone receiver and listened to the dial tone. She'd been in touch with the electric company and the telephone company last week to let them know when she was arriving. Her mother had left a house key with the next-door neighbor so the servicemen could get inside. Savanna made a mental note to go over and thank the woman for watching the house.

Humming a happy tune, Savanna began pulling the sheets off the furniture, listing in her mind the multitude of chores that needed doing. The list grew long in a very short time, but she wasn't dismayed. She relished the thought of making this old house all it could be again.

Savanna unpacked her things in her old room. Her mother had redecorated it in muted shades of mauve and blue. The effect was soft and tranquil.

She changed into cutoff jeans and a cotton shirt, sturdy clothes that could stand the dirt of a heavy-duty cleaning spree. Rolling up the length of her thick blond hair, she pinned it securely on top of her head.

Tramping down the stairway, she was on her way to search out a bucket and some cleaning supplies when the telephone rang.

"Hello, Langford residence." The habitual greeting slipped from her lips without a second thought.

"Savanna?"
The woman's voice was shrill in her ear.

"Yes," she answered, pulling the receiver back an inch. "This is Savanna."

"I don't know if you remember me, my name is Edith Hutchinson."

"Of course, Mrs. Hutchinson.
How are you?"

The woman made a clicking sound with her tongue. "Oh, you know how old age is, one ache and pain after another. But I can't complain. I am still breathing." The woman chuckled. "The reason I'm calling is that I'm with the civic welcoming committee. I was planning to see you this afternoon, but my grandson dropped in unexpectedly. He comes so rarely, I'd like to go ahead and visit with him."

"Oh, that's not a problem. I understand," Savanna assured her. "We can get together some other time."

"I'm so happy you're back in town and I'd love to come see you one day soon. But the committee really prefers that new residents meet one of us as soon as possible."

Savanna grinned. "But I'm not really a new resident."

But Edith barreled ahead as if she hadn't spoken. "I've asked Daniel Walsh to stop in this afternoon." There was a slight pause. "Do you mind, dear?"

Savanna stood speechless for a moment. It looked as though she'd be coming face-to-face with one of her main reasons for returning to Fulton sooner than she'd imagined.

"I...I don't mind at all," she stammered, her mind whirling with a dozen thoughts at once.

So Danny's father was still welcoming people to Fulton. Savanna remembered years ago her own mother had been part of the committee. Daniel Walsh had been an active member back then, spending many a Saturday carrying cakes or fresh fruit to new neighbors.

"I'd love a visit," Savanna said, this time with more certainty. Then she hesitated. "Of course I'm a mess. When was he planning to…
"

"Oh, he won't mind." Mrs. Hutchinson brushed off her concern. "I'm sure he'll only stay a short while. Long enough to say hello, and welcome you back. I just called him, so he should be by any moment. He'll stop at my house first to pick up the chocolate cake I baked for you."

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Hutchinson. I'll put on the teakettle, so we can enjoy a piece of cake and a nice chat."

A tingle of anxiety swept through Savanna at the thought of facing Danny's father. Nevertheless, she was resolved to talk to the man. Granted, she hadn't expected to see him so soon, but she'd get over that. Making him understand what happened six years ago was what was important.

After saying her goodbyes to Mrs. Hutchinson, Savanna went directly to the kitchen and searched the cupboards for a kettle. Her mother had left almost everything behind, not only furniture, but dishes and pots and pans, as well. The small retirement complex where her parents had moved required only a bare minimum of essentials, and Mrs. Langford had remarked that, after thirty-two years of marriage, she deserved new appliances, furniture and anything else she wanted. Savanna had been relieved that she
wouldn't have the headache of restocking the house for her prospective tenants.

She found the old whistling kettle and turned on the faucet to give it a good rinse. Nothing happened. Not one drop of water fell from the spigot.

Reaching under the sink, she turned the valve.
Still no water.

"Dad must have turned off the main line," she muttered.

The door leading to the basement creaked when she pulled it open. She flipped on the switch at the head of the stairs and went down. The bare bulb threw dim light into the damp recesses. She located the main valve next to the water heater. The nozzle was tight, but finally gave way and she opened it wide. The pipes offered a loud groan as water rushed through them.

"All right," she congratulated herself, smiling.

But she hadn't taken one step toward the stairs before her attention was caught by the sound of a loud, continuous drip.

The plumbing under the large tub sink was dry as a bone, so Savanna continued her search for the leaky pipe along the walls of the basement. She was at the far side of the room, her head bent to the side as she inspected the copper lines, when a fat drop of water smacked her square on the temple.

Above her head, a steady drip was coming from a connection that had been fastened with a nut-like fixture.

"You can handle this," she told herself.

Having no idea what tools her father had left behind, Savanna found a red metal toolbox and smiled broadly when her fingers closed on a large crescent wrench that she thought would do the trick.

She'd worked hard the past six years to become self-sufficient. She wouldn't let a simple drippy pipe intimidate her. A plumber would be a complete waste of money when it was clear that all that was necessary was to tighten the connection.

Clamping the wrench on the nut, Savanna applied a little pressure, but the fitting didn't budge. She tugged harder, but the water continued to drip.

With determination in her stance, she pulled, putting every bit of her hundred and ten pounds into the action.

She shouted in triumph when the nut turned a fraction.

The tiny stream of water that ran along her arm and down her sleeve told her she'd obviously turned the nut in the wrong direction. Instantly changing the position of the wrench, Savanna pushed. Water trickled along her upraised arms, tickling her armpits and spreading a dark stain across her chest. Every muscle strained and she grunted in her effort, and again she whooped when the nut began to move.