Buried In Buttercream Read online

  Gran’s had always been the fresh-scrubbed fragrance of bath soap, hand lotion, and rose-scented talcum powder. It was a smell that always made Savannah feel safe and loved.

  “Tough day for you, huh, snookums?” Gran said as she reached over and grasped Savannah’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Not one of my best,” Savannah admitted. “But I guess all’s well that ends well. We caught the guy and, last I heard, the fire department’s got the blaze eighty percent under control. Most importantly, nobody got hurt.”

  “Maybe nobody got burned, but you were hurt. And your Dirk, too.”

  Savannah fought back some tears that stung at the backs of her eyes. “I’m trying to be brave here, Gran. You aren’t helping.”

  “There’s bravery in honesty, too. A great harm was done to you today, Savannah girl. No point in denying or sugar-coating it.”

  Savannah allowed the tears to flow. “It’s true. I was really looking forward to today. It took Dirk and me a long time to get to this day. I believed that by tonight, it’d all be done with, and we’d be starting our new lives together.”

  “Not exactly how you’d imagined your wedding day to be, back when you were a little tike, parading around the house with my white pillowcase on your head, holding a handful of dandelions, huh?”

  Savannah laughed through her tears at the memory. “That’s for sure.” She sniffed and wiped the drops off her cheeks before they rolled into her ears. “And that may be what I’ll wind up wearing ... and carrying.”

  “It was pretty bad timing, that fire roaring over the hill just as we’d got everything delivered to the community center there.”

  “Thank heavens the caterer hadn’t dropped off the food yet.”

  They both giggled. In the Reid clan, it always came down to the food.

  “Did you get any of it?” Savannah asked.

  “Of course I did. I might be old, but I haven’t slowed down that much.”

  “I think we’re gonna have Dirk’s little hot dog hors d’oeurves for breakfast.”

  “With pancakes and maple syrup.”

  “Or maybe chocolate gravy on top.”

  Savannah shifted closer to her grandmother and laid her head on her shoulder, as she had so many times as a child. “What am I going to do now, Gran?” she asked her. “Where do we go from here?”

  Gran stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You get a good night’s sleep, darlin’. And when you wake tomorrow, you’ll know what to do. It’ll come to you with the mornin’ light.”

  With those words of comfort and sage advice, Savannah was able to drift off to sleep.

  Two hours later, she woke with a start, her nightgown drenched with a cold night sweat, her breath ragged, her heart pounding.

  She sat up in bed and tried to orient herself. Where was she? What had happened?

  Slowly, reality dawned on her. She was safe in her own bedroom. She was alive. He hadn’t killed her.

  She’s just had the nightmare. Again.

  One more time, as he had many nights since the shooting, the intruder had pointed his gun at her and pulled the trigger, over and over again. In horrifying, helpless, slow motion, she had looked down and watched as the front of the white gown she was wearing exploded in red.

  But this time, it wasn’t her white nightgown, as it had been in all the previous dreams.

  This time, she was wearing her wedding gown when he killed her.

  “Savannah? Are you all right, sugar?” Gran asked, shaking her arm. “Honey, I think you had another bad dream.”

  “Yes, a dream,” Savannah said, fighting down the fear that was making her nauseous, fighting the anger that poisoned her spirit.

  He’s gone, she told herself. Gone forever. He’ll never, never hurt me or anyone again.

  But he hurt her nearly every night. And no matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to stop him.

  “Post-traumatic stress,” the shrink had told her. “It’s to be expected after such a near-death experience. It’s perfectly normal.”

  Well, it might be normal, she had decided, but knowing that didn’t really help much at one or two in the morning when you awoke in terror ... living the horror over again and again.

  “I’m sorry, Gran,” she said, trying to take deep breaths. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Don’t be silly. I been woke up plenty of times before. Your sister, Vidalia, used to wake me up every bloomin’ time there was a thunderstorm. Remember?”

  Savannah nodded and wiped her hand across her forehead, pushing the perspiration-wet hair away from her face. “It’s a wonder you got any sleep at all, considering that outta nine kids, at least one of them had a nightmare every night.”

  “I didn’t mind.” Granny rubbed her back. “Are you okay?”

  Savannah tried to banish the bloody, violent images from her mind. “Sure. I’m all right.”

  Then Savannah felt a tiny hand slip into hers as a munchkin climbed up onto the bed beside her.

  “Did you have a bad dream, Aunt Savannah?” Jillian asked as she snuggled close to her.

  Savannah considered denying it. But she believed it was best to tell children the truth as often as possible. Maybe not the whole truth, but ...

  “I did, babycakes,” she told her little niece. “But I’m fine now. Don’t you worry.”

  “I’ll sleep here beside you,” Jillian said, pulling Savannah down and making her lie next to her. “And then you won’t have any more bad dreams. You know ... like you did for me when I had the scary dream about the neighbor’s mean old cat. You let me sleep with you and that made me feel all better.”

  Savannah vaguely remembered the deed that had meant so much to her niece. But the innocence and depth of the child’s gratitude touched her heart.

  She lay down on her side and pulled the little girl against her chest. The sweetness of the contact seemed to heal the wounds ... the deepest ones that still ached.

  And just as she had wrapped her arm around her niece, from behind her grandmother’s arms slipped around her waist, holding her tight.

  Surrounded by the warmth and comfort of her family members, old and young alike, Savannah drifted into sleep once again.

  And this time it was a deep sleep

  No monsters, no bogeymen, and no armed intruders. Only love and peace.

  Chapter 3

  When Dirk arrived the next morning, Savannah was in her backyard garden, examining the damage done to her roses by her cherub of a flower girl niece. Fortunately, Jillian had picked as many dandelions as roses, so the benefits balanced the losses.

  Savannah was kneeling beside the mangled Mr. Lincoln bush with its velvety crimson blossoms, debating whether to give him a serious pruning or just leave him to heal on his own. She’d just decided to leave it up to the resident rose expert, Granny, when she looked up and saw Dirk emerging from her back door.

  He had a slightly desperate look on his face, like a fellow who had just run some sort of gauntlet and barely escaped with his hide intact.

  He hurried over to her, pulled her to her feet, and gave her a brief hug and kiss. “Wow,” he said, breathlessly, “I don’t know how you take that bunch. The kids are bad enough, but the grown-ups! They’re the scary ones!”

  “Poor baby,” she said, grinning up at him. “What did those mean, awful Reids do to you?”

  “Vidalia asked me if I’d settle a fight between her and Butch by telling him that he shouldn’t bring nudie magazines home, and Marietta asked me if I liked that purple leopard-print miniskirt of hers. I hate it when she asks me stuff like that. I never know what her intentions are.”

  “Where Mari’s intentions are concerned, always expect the worst. You’ll probably be right. And stay out of Vi’s and Butch’s fights.”

  “I remember you told me they’re famous for their battles.”

  “Let’s just say that, with them gone, McGill, Georgia, is enjoying the longest crime-free streak right n
ow that they’ve had in years. Since those two went out on their first date.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “As you should be.” Savannah drew a deep breath. “Supposedly, Butch checked out some other girl’s butt there in the Dairy Queen while he was eating his banana split.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Yeah. What Vidalia did to him is still a popular story, told in hushed whispers around campfires. A cautionary tale to husbands and boyfriends with roving eyes.”

  “So, I shouldn’t offer him a banana split in front of her?”

  “Not if you value your life ... or your gonads.”

  He winced. “I’ll remember that. I’m rather attached to my gonads. . . as they are to me.” He brushed a lock of her hair out of her eyes and looked down at her lovingly. “How are you today? Little Jillian told me that you had a bad dream last night.”

  “I did.”

  “Same one?”

  “With a slight, wedding-theme variation. Jillian and Gran comforted me.”

  “Yes, Jillian told me that part, too. Said she made you feel better by keeping the bogeyman away.”

  “I’m sure her motives were totally altruistic and had nothing to do with sleeping in a comfy bed rather than on the floor with her siblings.”

  “I can’t blame her. I’d rather have slept with you last night myself,” he said, his voice deep and low.

  She looked up into his eyes that were so filled with affection for her ... along with a healthy helping of lust. And she wondered how she’d resisted him for so long. Now that they’d crossed the line into a romantic relationship, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

  “Are you hungry?” he said. “We could go wrangle some free donuts at Patty Cake. And the guy at the service station on Lester and Main, he’s been giving me his leftover coffee if I get there before he throws it out.”

  Ah, yes ... now she remembered how she’d resisted him.

  “And you were doing so well,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Come inside and I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  He hesitated. The haunted, frightened look returned to his eyes. “In there? With ... all of them? With Vi and Butch? With Marietta’s purple miniskirt?”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  “But I don’t want you cooking for me. You need your rest.”

  “Stop with that protective crap. And don’t worry. I wasn’t going to cook. I was going to give you wienie hors d’oeurves and ham spread on crackers with wedding cake for dessert.”

  His face lit up. “Oh, cool.”

  “You’re hopeless.”

  Half an hour later, they were sitting at the picnic table in the backyard, Dirk eating reception leftovers and Savannah enjoying a standard-issue eggs-and-bacon breakfast, when two of Savannah’s favorite people came around the side of the house.

  “Ryan! John!” she exclaimed as she jumped up from her seat and hurried over to them.

  They folded her into warm embraces, each taking turns clucking over her, expressing their sympathies about the thwarted wedding ceremony.

  “I have to tell you, I’m cursing Fate that something so rotten would happen to you, of all people! Talk about unfair!” Ryan Stone said, his handsome face registering the same degree of pain and outrage that most people would feel over mass puppy-cide.

  “My darling, it’s beastly!” said John Gibson in his aristocratic, British accent. “And when I heard that all of your wedding apparel and accoutrements were burned as well, I could hardly bear it!”

  She reached up and tweaked John’s thick silver mustache. “Eh, don’t fret. What’s done is done. Can’t be helped now.”

  Ryan walked over to the table and shook Dirk’s hand. “I’m sorry, man,” he said. “We were really looking forward to seeing the two of you tie the knot. It’s been a long time coming.”

  “Tell me about it,” Dirk said. He held out a cracker with ham spread. “Want some?”

  Ryan’s upper lip curled only slightly. “Uh, no, thanks. We’ve already had breakfast.”

  “How about some wedding cake?” Dirk asked, pointing to the plateful of crumbs and assorted wads of frosting he’d scraped off the platter.

  “No, really,” John replied, raking his fingers through his mane of gleaming white hair and adjusting his ivory linen jacket. “We had crumpets with our morning tea. Much the same, you know.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, sit down.” Dirk moved his leather bomber jacket from the bench beside him to make room for John as Ryan sat beside Savannah.

  As always, Savannah tried not to think about the fact that Ryan was the most stunningly handsome man who had ever walked the earth. Or at least, in her presence. Out of respect for John, Ryan’s partner for many years now, she tried to keep her lascivious thoughts to a minimum. And now that she was herself engaged, it seemed all the more important to censor the graphic nature of her daydreams that starred Ryan.

  But it wasn’t easy.

  Tall, dark, and handsome beyond belief, Ryan stole the hearts of every female—and numerous males, as well—wherever he went. So, Savannah didn’t spend a lot of time beating up on herself for her occasional wayward fleshly fantasies.

  He sat close enough to her that she could smell his expensive cologne and almost feel the softness of the charcoal cashmere sweater he wore over his crisp white shirt. And cuff links. He wore silver Tiffany cuff links. Engaged or not, she couldn’t help thinking how very classy it was to be wearing cuff links at 9:30 in the morning.

  She worked at not sighing.

  Dirk resumed his breakfast, and between bites, he said, “I didn’t get a chance to thank you guys yesterday for hauling all our guests out of that center, and helping Savannah’s family get back home.”

  “That’s right,” Savannah added. “They were all in a dither and running around in circles, like chickens who’d just paid a visit to the chopping block. You two really took charge, and we sure appreciate it.”

  “Glad to do it,” Ryan said, “but just sick that it happened.”

  “That’s for sure.” John reached across the table and covered Savannah’s hand with his. “If you don’t mind us asking, love, what are your plans now ... in light of this catastrophe?”

  “Actually, we were just kicking that around,” Savannah said, feeling awfully weary for so early in the day. “Needless to say, like most engaged couples, we spent too much already on that wedding. We don’t have a lot left to blow on another one so soon afterwards. And to be honest, I’m pretty tuckered out from it all. Planning the wedding, putting it together, the stress of yesterday. . . not to mention all this close familial contact ...”

  “That’s what we figured,” Ryan said. He and John exchanged a knowing glance. “That’s why we thought we’d make you an offer.”

  “And we’d be so grateful if you’d accept,” John added.

  “What sort of offer?” Savannah wanted to know.

  “Well ...” Ryan cleared his throat. “Remember, our gift to you was going to be two days at that San Francisco spa to end your honeymoon in style?”

  “Ugh. Don’t remind me,” Savannah said, feeling yet another pang of disappointment. No wedding. No San Francisco honeymoon. No two days of pure decadence at a world-renowned club. No couple’s chocolate body-painting indulgence.

  “As it happens,” John said, “the spa was gracious enough to allow us to cancel that reservation. Which means, we’re looking for another wedding present to give you ... for the next wedding, that is.”

  “You don’t have to give us anything,” Dirk told them. “Your friendship’s enough and—”

  “You don’t mean that,” Ryan said with a grin.

  Dirk laughed. “True. I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want to, far be it from me to refuse ... considering the kind of presents you two give!”

  “Well, this one’s a bit unusual, but we think you might like it,” Ryan continued. “You see, we’ve been worried about you, Savan
nah. All the exertion and stress, and you trying to recuperate from your ... um ... you trying to heal and ...”

  Dirk raised one eyebrow and said to Savannah, “Now, see there. I’m not the only one who’s protective. Why don’t you yell at them when they tell you to take care of yourself?”

  “Because they don’t hover over me, night and day, like a giant, half-starved, Louisiana mosquito.” She shot warning looks at Ryan and John. “But if they get carried away and get on my nerves, I’ll yell at them, too.”

  “Now, love,” John said, “we just want what’s best for you. And that’s why we thought you might benefit from the services of a top-notch wedding planner.”

  “A wedding planner?” Savannah shook her head, unable to even conceive of such a luxury.

  “We’ve already spoken to one, an acquaintance of ours, and told her about your sad situation,” Ryan explained. “She knows about the fire, about all your family being here from out of state, about your ... well ... how you’re trying to get your strength back.”

  “My strength is back. Wanna arm wrestle?” Savannah propped her elbow on the table beside him, fist in the air.

  Ryan blinked a couple of times. “You’re kidding, right?”

  She took her arm down. “Of course, I am. But watch what you say.”

  She took a long drink of coffee and tried to choose her words carefully so that she would sound appropriately grateful and not bitter. “So, you told this wedding planner gal about my ... uh ... run of bad luck, and she took pity on me and is willing to take me on as some sort of charity case?”

  Okay. So much for not sounding bitter.

  “I’m sorry,” she added, staring down into her coffee mug. “That didn’t come out right.”

  For a long time, no one said anything. Then, just as the silence became unbearable, Ryan reached over and put his arm around her shoulders. “Savannah ... honey,” he said, “you’re not even close to a ‘charity case’ of any kind. There’s nothing in the world wrong with letting the people who love you lend a helping hand from time to time.”