LITMIR.BIZ

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Laura was busy filling a yellow plastic bucket in the sandbox and nine-month-old Matthew was contentedly chewing on a toy in his playpen.

      His sister stopped her work, leaning on the hoe when she saw him approach, almost as if she’d been expecting him. A large straw hat shaded her face, preventing him from reading her eyes. One thing he’d say about Savannah: she certainly had a way with roses. A profusion of color marked the rows—deep reds, pale pinks, whites and yellows. Even from a distance, he caught their scent. Savannah’s roses had an unforgettable fragrance.

      She had a thriving mail-order business that specialized in antique roses. She was what some people called a “rose rustler”—or “rose rescuer,” as she preferred to describe it. She visited abandoned farmhouses, old churches and even cemeteries to find long-forgotten roses, many of them a century old. She scoured ditches and detoured onto rambling dirt roads. It wasn’t unheard of for Savannah to drive two hundred miles to track down old roses. More than once, she’d stood up to demolition crews and halted highway construction work. She’d do whatever it took to find and rescue surviving rosebushes. She’d bring them home and restore them to full health and beauty, then propagate them for sale to other rose lovers—whose numbers continually astonished Grady.

      “Hi, Grady,” Savannah finally said. She slowly put aside her hoe before walking out of the garden, stopping to scoop Matthew out of his playpen first.

      The child offered Grady a toothy grin, showing off four front teeth. In all his years, Grady didn’t think he’d ever seen a youngster who resembled his father as much as young Matthew did, in personality as well as appearance. Even at nine months, Matthew displayed a stubborn strong-willed nature. Although, come to think of it, Caroline said much the same thing about their son, three-year-old Roy. Except Caroline attributed those traits to Grady, often saying Roy was “just like his dad.”

      “Everything all right?” Savannah asked. She sat down at the wrought-iron table outside her garden and motioned him to join her. There was a tray holding a pitcher of iced tea, along with two empty glasses—and again Grady had the feeling she’d been expecting him. She poured tea into both glasses, sliding the second one in his direction.

      Grady declined with a shake of his head and remained standing. “I’m here about Richard’s letter,” he said abruptly. He didn’t want to be distracted by social niceties before he’d explained the reason for his visit.

      “Yes,” she said with a soft sigh. “It’s been on my mind, too.”

      At those words, Grady pulled out the empty chair and sat. “Have you answered him?”

      “Not yet.”

      “Are you going to?” This was the more important question.

      Savannah hesitated. “I...haven’t decided.”

      “Don’t,” Grady advised, apparently louder than he’d intended because Laura looked up from her construction project in the sandbox to stare at him.

      “He didn’t ask for anything,” Savannah said.

      She’d offered to let Grady read the letter, but he’d refused. He wanted nothing to do with Richard. As far as he was concerned, his brother was dead. If Savannah chose to have contact with him, contrary to his advice, that was her choice, but he felt obliged to give her fair warning.

      “You know he’s just trying to use you,” Grady muttered. He was well aware of Richard’s game. His brother intended to slither back into their lives a bit at a time. All he had to do was find an opening—and Savannah, with her soft heart, would most likely provide it. Then, once again, Richard would get what he wanted. And he did want something; Grady would stake his life on it. Richard always wanted something.

      “He asked us to forgive him,” Savannah said. “I do wish you’d read the letter, Grady.”

      “I don’t need to.”

      Savannah sipped her tea, but in a way that told him she was concentrating on something else. To his surprise, he noticed a smile edging up the corners of her mouth. “I’d forgotten how hardheaded you can be.”

      That reputation annoyed him, especially since he didn’t feel he deserved it. True, he held some firm opinions and stuck to his convictions...but he was willing to listen to argument. He considered himself a fair man. And smart about Richard, if nothing else. He’d been burned one too many times by his worthless brother.

      “Take my advice, little sister,” Grady said curtly, wanting to make himself clear, “don’t answer that letter.”

      “Oh, Grady, do you honestly believe Richard is incapable of regret?”

      “Yeah, I do.” In fact, he didn’t have a single doubt. His brother was a user and an abuser.

      “You don’t think three years in prison has taught him anything?”

      “Oh, I’m sure it has,” Grady conceded with more than a hint of sarcasm. “I can only imagine everything he’s learned.”

      Savannah’s shoulders rose and fell as she sighed again. “He didn’t say, but I had the feeling Richard’s found God.”

      Grady snorted, unable to hide his disgust. “They all do.”

      A pained look came over her. “Oh, Grady,” she whispered, her eyes full of disappointment. “When did you become this cynical?”

      The question didn’t require a response. “Don’t let him use you, Savannah.”

      “He’s our brother,” she protested.

      “And he’s done nothing but abuse our family and ruin our name. Not once, but twice. Don’t let it happen a third time.” Grady figured he’d said his piece, let her know his thoughts; what he couldn’t do was insist she ignore Richard’s letter. That decision belonged to Savannah alone. With a brief salute and a smile for the children, Grady headed toward his truck.

      “Grady!” Savannah called after him.

      He turned back and met her gaze.

      “How can I not forgive him? That’s all he wants. He’s lonely and he’s asking for news of our family. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”

      This pulled Grady up short. “What did you say?” He returned to the table in just a few strides.

      Savannah blinked, apparently surprised at his reaction. “Richard asked me to write him and tell him about the family.”

      “The hell you will!” That did it as far as Grady was concerned. He slapped the table hard enough to send pain shooting up his forearm.

      Savannah jerked and Matt let out a startled cry. Savannah comforted him and sent Grady an accusing glare. Grady regretted frightening the baby, but he didn’t regret saying what he had.

      “Under no circumstances are you to tell Richard anything having to do with Caroline, Maggie, Roy or me. Not one damn word. Is that understood?” Anger churned in his gut.

      “But—”

      “I mean it, Savannah. Write him if you must. You can bare your soul to him if you’re foolish enough to think he’s changed. But I forbid you to write so much as one word about me or my family.”

      “Grady, I’d never—”

      Frightened by the loudness of his voice, Laura climbed out of the sandbox and raced toward her mother.

      Savannah drew her daughter close. “If I do write him, I won’t mention a word about you, Caroline or the kids.”

      He waited for his pulse to return to normal, then nodded. “Thank you.” Sorry he’d frightened his niece and nephew, Grady crouched down to Laura’s level. The little girl tentatively met his eyes.

      “You still my favorite girl after Maggie?” he asked, his voice coaxing.

      Laura grinned.

      “Good.

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