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.