Donovan's eyes snapped open, his heart hammering. It took him a moment to realize that he was no longer on the field but in bed, and not in Detroit but back home in Mississippi.
He rubbed his eyes. Christ, even now, two years later, that cold Sunday in January was as vivid as the day it had happened.
He sucked in a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, watching the paddles of the fan swing above his head, a layer of sweat coating his naked body.
Out of habit he flexed his right arm, still feeling a twinge of pain. A year of physical therapy had given him a working arm, but not a throwing arm; it had been broken too badly. A career-ending injury for a quarterback.
The White Lightning was gone forever, and with the end of the only life he had ever known and the only thing he had ever truly done well came a bleak emptiness that nothing had been able to fill. Alcohol and a string of meaningless affairs had managed to keep the void inside him at bay.
He tried to sit up but the room began to spin, forcefully reminding him that he had overindulged. Again. He'd eventually be an outstanding drunk at the rate he was going. Anything done in excess had a dulling effect over time, or so he'd heard. He figured he'd test the theory.
Gripping the edge of the mattress, he swung his legs over the side and acclimated himself to an upright position, waiting for his alcohol-saturated brain to float toward functioning consciousness.
Christ, how many shots of tequila had he downed? Five? Six? Twenty?
"Damn," he groaned. "Still alive."
He should be able to hold his liquor better than this. In high school, he could party with the best of 'em and still kick ass in football practice the next day. Even in college at good old Mississippi State, he could tie one on and stay loose.
Playing ball had been what he had always wanted, what he had worked his whole life for. But the dream had come to an abrupt and painful end during that last game of the play-off season, nearly eight years to the day after the wild ride had begun.
He had learned to coexist with the fate that had been doled out to him. But he had never come to grips with what he had thrown aside in his quest for the gold ring. The one thing he had truly wanted, he had left behind. The one person who had the power to topple him from that pinnacle.
Savannah.
Her name ran through his mind like an echoing plea for salvation. That's what she had been to him, but he hadn't realized it at the time.
Donovan forced back the image and pushed to his feet, steering himself toward the window, where the sun was just creeping over the mountaintops, a backdrop to the sleepy little town in the distance. He had been in such a rush to leave this place. How ironic that life had brought him full circle.
Bedsheets rustled, and he glanced over his shoulder at the naked female body sprawled across the spot where he had been lying only moments before. A mass of red hair spread across the pillow, and one extravagantly long leg twined in the sheets.
A fuzzy image surfaced of her sitting on his lap last night, pouring whiskey shooters down his throat while telling him that she sunbathed in the nude--and that she wasn't wearing any panties beneath her short skirt. What happened after that was a blur.
Donovan raked a hand through his hair and sighed. Most women were only interested in his money and didn't give a rat's ass about the Southern boy who had grown up impoverished and fought his way to the top.
Only one woman had really known him, had really cared, and he had foolishly let her slip through his fingers.
Donovan moved back to the bed and sat down on the edge, his bleary gaze taking in the remnants of a party. Half-empty glasses of Stoli and bone-dry bottles of Jack Daniel's littered the room.
He rubbed his hands over his face and lay down, remembering what, or rather who, had precipitated the party: his longtime friend and former teammate from the Bombers, Nick Stanton.
Nick had decided to surprise Donovan on his first day home by showing up at his door--to help him settle in, he'd claimed.
Nick's idea of settling in had turned into a twenty-four-hour alcoholic haze--and for that, Donovan intended to introduce his friend to his left and right fists, just as soon as the world stopped spinning.
The sun was just beginning its descent, its crimson-gold hue spreading over Savannah's farm, dappling the horses grazing in the distance with warm paint strokes. A rocking chair swayed gently in a southerly breeze that blew in over the mountains, the air carrying a hint of jasmine and pine.
She had always loved this time of day, when all was quiet and her mind had a chance to slow down and reflect.
But for two days she had not been able to find that peace. Donovan had come home, and everything seemed out of tilt with the world.
He had turned his back on Mississippi and her ten years ago, and she had believed her heart had healed. That she was over him for good. But deep down, some feelings yet remained. He had been her first love. And her first heartbreak.
"What'cha lookin' at Mom?"
Savannah glanced over her shoulder and smiled as her daughter, Reese, walked into the kitchen, swiping a wedge of the sliced apples Savannah had intended for a pie off a plate on the counter. She had picked the apples from her very own orchard.
Pushing away from the back-door screen, she moved to hug her daughter. Ruffling Reese's long, dark hair, she replied, "I was just watching the sunset."
Reese glanced around her mother and out the door. "It sure is pretty. I bet heaven is a lot like this, don't you?"
"I certainly hope so, sweetie." She kissed Reese's forehead and whisked an apple wedge from the plate, poking one in her own mouth. "So where's Uncle Frank?"
Frank was her older, and very protective, brother. Ever since Donovan had devastated her life, Frank had made a point of making sure no one ever did it again. He had interrogated, and run off, a number of potential boyfriends. But Savannah had never really minded. Until Jake, her heart had never been in it.
"He's still outside tinkering with that old tractor," Reese replied. "He swears he's going to get it to work any day now. He's been sayin' that for almost three years."
Savannah chuckled. "You know your uncle. He is dedicated to a cause."
Plopping herself down on top of the kitchen table with the remaining apple slices, Reese asked, "When will the new guests arrive?"
"Anytime now." Savannah's bed-and-breakfast was thriving and she could barely keep up with the demand, especially since her own life was changing. "I hope Janette has their rooms ready."
"Nope," Reese stated in an apple-muffled voice.
"What do you mean, nope?"
"I haven't seen Janette all day. I don't think she showed up."
Savannah stifled an irritated sigh. She didn't know why she had ever hired Janette Carlton. In the month since her regular housekeeper had retired, nothing had gone smoothly.
Janette had shown up one day in dire need of a job. Apparently being a part-time waitress and a full-time party girl didn't pay the bills.
Savannah had taken her on to try to help her out. She knew the girl's mother well. Daisy Carlton was a widow who had been struggling with multiple sclerosis while trying to raise three boys and one headstrong girl who had given her more angst than all her sons combined.
The decision to hire Janette proved more irksome every day. Not only did Savannah have a houseful of guests coming to The Oaks, but she also had visitors arriving for a very special event.
Her wedding.
Savannah could hardly believe tomorrow was the day. She had started dating Jake two years ago, but she had known him for five, and while she had always found him a sweet and devoted guy--and a man who, as a pediatrician, loved children, like her--she had not expected more to come of it. But one day he had kissed her on the front porch and it had been...comfortable and warm. Lacking the usual awkwardness of a first kiss.
Savannah glanced at the clock. Her husband-to-be was at the local strip club for a traditional bachelor party. He had been so cute in his avowals
that he had no interest in a bachelor party and that if she didn't want him to go, he wouldn't.
She had silenced his worries with a smile and a kiss. Yes, she had heard about the things that could happen at a bachelor party, but she trusted Jake completely.
"Well," she sighed, "I guess I better get to cleaning up those rooms or we will have some very unhappy guests."
"Mom?" Reese queried, stopping Savannah as she headed out of the kitchen.
"Yes?"
Reese hesitated, her expression serious. "Do you think we'll be happy living with Jake? I mean, what about staying here? This is our home, after all."
The only home her daughter had ever known, Savannah thought as she walked over to Reese and cupped her cheeks, which still retained some of the roundness of childhood. "This will always be our home, honey. We're not giving it up, but we will be Jake's family now and he wants us with him."
Reese stared down at her socks, one yellow, one blue. "I know. I guess I'll just miss it here."
"You can still be here every day, just like now. And someday The Oaks will be yours and you can do with it whatever you like."
Reese nodded absently, then said after a moment of hesitation, "What about him?"
Savannah frowned. "Him?"
"The man Uncle Frank told me you once loved. He's come back, Uncle Frank said. Is it true?"
Savannah had not expected this line of questioning from her daughter. The subject was not one she cared to think about, let alone discuss, but Reese deserved the truth. "Yes, Donovan Jerricho has come home, and, yes, I once loved him. I don't know why your uncle would take it upon himself to tell you this." When she got her hands on Frank, she would brain him.
Reese looked embarrassed. "He didn't tell me, exactly. I heard him talking to Rufus."
Rufus Williams was an old high school buddy of Frank's, one Savannah had never particularly liked. He had always looked at her with far too much lechery in his eyes.
"What else did you hear Uncle Frank say?"
"He said that this man hurt you real bad and that he should have stayed where he was and never come back to Mississippi, and that if he thought he was going to cause any trouble, Uncle Frank would make him change his mind real quick."
Oh, boy. This was not what she needed right now. Why had she thought her brother would ignore Donovan's return? Frank was still a hothead. She had to speak to him before his emotions carried him away.
"Do you still love this guy, Mom?"
For a split second, Savannah couldn't form the words. "No," she managed. "It's long over. I'm marrying Jake, remember?" She smiled reassuringly, but it felt as though she was trying to reassure herself, as well. "Now, how about letting me see that smile?"
Reese gave a tentative lift of her lips. Savannah crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, prompting a laugh from her daughter.
"That's more like it. Now, come help me get the rooms ready. We've got a busy few days ahead of us."
Savannah took her daughter's hand and together they left the kitchen. But as they went up the steps leading to the guest wing, Savannah couldn't shake the nervous tension that had nothing to do with her impending nuptials, and everything to do with a certain ex-football player.
Chapter Two
Donovan awoke abruptly, his gaze shooting to the clock. Eight p.m. Damn, he'd fallen back asleep, and here he'd told his old high school buddy Meat that he would stop by The Jiggle Room, where Meat bartended, so that they could catch up on old times. He pointed his feet toward the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would rouse him.
An hour later, Donovan found himself with a drink in his hand before his ass hit the barstool. He gave his old high school chum an up-yours salute with his glass and took a swig.
Meat, otherwise known as Herschel Dubrowski, stood behind the bar staring at Donovan with a stupid grin that told Donovan his old friend was up to something he wasn't going to like.
He banged the glass down on the bar and coughed. "Jesus, what did you put in here? Acid?"
"I should have, you old shithead," Meat retorted in that slow drawl that made most people think he was 340 pounds of pure stupidity. He was a good three inches taller than Donovan at six-six, with arms and legs as stout as tree trunks and a belly that was the first thing that hit an opponent.
"So what took you so long?" Meat said, refilling Donovan's glass in preparation for another walloping hangover that he undoubtedly should avoid but wouldn't.
"I was detained by an unknown female in my bed."
Meat laughed, clearly not surprised. "That would be Janette."
"Somehow I suspect you know how she ended up there?"
Meat smiled broadly. "I gave her your address. Nick and I thought you might like some company. The gal does loves football players, even a broke-down cracker like you."
"This broke-down cracker can still kick your fat rump."
"You could never kick my fat rump. But I'll let you keep on deluding yourself."
A loud burst of laughter brought both men's gazes to the corner of the room. A tall, busty brunette was gyrating in front of some guy's chair, her body blocking him from view, but Donovan could see the guy's hands nervously clenching his Dockers-clad knees.
"Poor sucker is about to end life as he knows it," Donovan muttered, wondering why he felt so damn jealous of some schmo.
Ten years ago he had come close to marriage and had counted himself among the lucky at escaping. But age and time had brought other emotions.
"Interesting that you should find that guy so unfortunate," came a voice from behind him.
Donovan swiveled his head and eyed the hulking giant behind him. "The minute my skull stops throbbing, you're dead, so I'd advise you to start running now."
Nick Stanton let out a bark of laughter and pulled up the barstool next to Donovan. Nick had retired from the Bombers a year earlier. As a Heisman Trophy-winning offensive lineman, he had helped lead the Bombers to two Super Bowl wins.
"You always were a lot of hot air, Jerricho. But I promise to let you have at me when you're feeling competent enough to make a fist."
The sound of a commotion brought Donovan's gaze back to the bachelor party in the corner. Six men were cheering on the guy in the chair, who tightly clenched a ten-dollar bill.
The dancer lifted the edge of her skimpy G-string to entice him to put the money somewhere provocative. With an uproar of hurrahs, the soon-to-be-shackled bridegroom slipped the bill down the front of the girl's thong, earning him a near smothering with her boobs.
"One small step for womankind, one giant leap for male stupidity," Donovan said.
"If I didn't know better," Nick remarked with humor in his voice, "I might think that was bitterness I heard. Could it be you long for wedded bliss?"
"What I long for is peace," Donovan retorted. "Meat, don't you have some place else to put those idiots? They're giving me a headache."
"That's the doc," Meat replied as though this meant something to Donovan.
"So? Did he give you a brain transplant or something?"
Meat scowled. "He's a kid's doctor."
"Well, that explains the smiley faces on his pink tie."
"You're in rare form tonight," Nick said. "Something got you uptight?"
"No," Donovan lied, thinking of Savannah and what he would say to her when he went by her place in the morning.
"You should tell him," Meat said to Nick, nodding his head toward Donovan.
"Tell me what?" Donovan demanded, frowning.
"I guess I should have told you about this sooner." Nick shot a sideways look at Donovan. "Jesus, your timing has always stunk, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah. Get to the point."
Nick scratched his chin and stared at the bottles behind the bar. "I wondered if you deserved to know. It's past time that this all ended. She deserves some happiness, after all. What have you ever done but been a mule-headed jackass?" he asked, swinging his gaze back to Donovan. "Who could ever get through to you once your mi
nd was set?"
Donovan swiveled slowly on his stool. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Savannah, you moron. She deserved a lot better than you dished out."
Donovan's hand tightened on his glass. "What happened between Savannah and me was none of your damn concern."
"Remember the swipe you took at me when you saw her leaning her head on my shoulder that day at basic? I was your best friend. We'd known each other for what, fifteen years at that point? Christ, you were a jealous son of a bitch."
"Yeah, well, I was a lot of things back then. Times change."
"And people?"
Donovan shrugged. "I guess so."
"Sometimes you have to let go of your pride to get what you want. You were never able to do that. You always protected yourself, never let your guard down. I don't think you've changed."
Donovan knew he had changed. Whether he wanted to or not, time had forced something on him. He had lived in a bubble for so long, he doubted he could ever have seen himself clearly if not for the accident and all the months he'd had nothing to do but search his own soul.
"So I was an asshole, is that what you're saying?"
A reluctant grin tugged on Nick's lips. "That's what I'm saying."
"Why do you care whether I'm a Boy Scout or not?"
"Despite popular consensus, I do give a shit about what happens to you. It was messed up, what happened to your arm. You were the best quarterback in the league."
Hearing his career spoken about in the past tense no longer stung the way it used to. "If an injury didn't take me down, age would have."
"It was a good run for a while there."
Meat nudged Nick in the arm. "So tell him already."
Nick scowled. "I'm getting there."
"Could ya hurry? I'm getting old."
With a glare at Meat, Nick turned to face Donovan. "Keep in mind that I doubted the depth of your redemption." Nick clamped a hand on the back of Donovan's neck, turned his head toward the group in the corner, and pointed at the guy in the pink tie. "Tomorrow that dude is getting married."
Donovan jerked his head away. "Wanna tell me something I don't know?"
"He's marrying Savannah."
Savannah leaned her head against the post on the back porch steps and took a deep breath.
Though her new guests were wonderful, especially the Newsomes, an elderly couple from New York who were celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary, the day had not been without its glitches.