The Vixen and the Vet (20 page)

“Oh no,” said Savannah, slumping down in her chair. “Oh no. What did he do?”

“My best bet?” Miss Potts gestured to the spot on her own lip where Savannah’s was still scabby and bruised, then reached across the table to take Savannah’s hand. “He fell in love. Someone tangled with his girl. He settled accounts.”

A primitive thrill shot through Savannah, and her heart beat a tribal dance behind her ribs. She chastised herself that she would applaud such barbarism, but the idea that Asher had actually ventured into town to defend her honor was so hot and so dear, she didn’t know what to do with herself. “Miss Potts.”

“Yes?” Miss Potts
chirped, her face bright and satisfied.

“He went into town. He …” She stared at the older woman in bewilderment.

“Why, of course, dear. He’s a man. He loves you.” She patted Savannah’s hand before releasing it. “He hasn’t been to town in almost ten years. And now? He’s been to your house more times than I can count, and he just broke Lance Hamilton’s nose.” Miss Potts shrugged her shoulders and giggled like a schoolgirl, beaming into her coffee cup. Savannah stared at her like she had a screw loose, but Miss Potts smiled back at her, as serene as the Queen of England. Eventually her smile changed from gleeful to grateful as she stared back at Savannah.

“You’re
changin’ his life, Savannah. Can’t you see that?”

“He beat up a man. That’s uncivilized. I shouldn’t approve.”

“But you do, and so do I.” Miss Potts chuckled, bracing her hands on the table and standing up to freshen her coffee. “That’s honor, honey. We’re Southerners. It’s our way.”

Savannah’s own words from yesterday echoed in her ears.
You want to do this the Southern way? No police? Fine. But we still
settle accounts
. And if you won’t settle them, I can’t be around you.

“I didn’t mean him,” she whispered, her heart racing with love for him. He’d gone into town to defend her honor, and she couldn’t remember any man, not in her whole life, doing something so romantic for her. It made her feel loved and cared for, safe and adored. Protected. Claimed. And for such a modern girl, she found she loved it. She needed to see him, needed to hold him,
needed for him to know how much it meant to her that he’d put his own fears and worries to the side just so he could settle accounts for her. “Oh, Asher.”

“What,
darlin’?”

The kitchen door had swung open, and Asher stood in the doorway, blood spatter on his shirt, his dark, possessive eyes focused on Savannah.

“I’ll just be going,” muttered Miss Potts, sidling around Asher into the dining room.

“Asher Lee,” said Savannah breathlessly, standing up at the table, her knees wobbly from the force of her feelings. “What did you just do for me?”

“Savannah Carmichael,” he said, his face softening with the most tender, loving smile she’d ever seen. “I love you. Don’t you know I’d do
anything
for you?”

She raced across the room, throwing her arms around his neck as he pulled her close. As her lips found his, she vowed she would figure out a way to never, ever let him go.

The first time you take a trip together

Living with Asher wasn’t something Savannah had planned on, but by Friday morning she was so comfortable in his home that it had started to feel just right. Her father had objected at first to her decision to temporarily shack up with Asher, but after hearing about the scene at Hamilton & Sons, neither of her parents uttered another word. Though the rumor mill wasn’t entirely clear on the details, everyone seemed to understand that Lance Hamilton had crossed a line with Savannah Carmichael, and Asher Lee had come to call.

Both Savannah and Asher had long been considered oddities: born and bred Danvers
folks who’d left the quiet comfort of their hometown to seek their fortunes in the wide world, Asher in Charlottesville and the service and Savannah in New York City. Though no one quite understood what a pretty girl like Savannah saw in a cripple like Asher, it made a certain amount of sense that they’d end up together.

Two odd ducks finding each other like that.
Ain’t life strange? Ain’t love grand?

After the beating, Scarlet had texted her sister three words:
Accounts settled now?
Savannah wrote back:
Only between Asher and Lance. Not between you and me.
There had been no word from Scarlet since then.

What bothered Savannah most was Scarlet’s inability to accept her version of events as the truth. She suspected that Scarlet knew Lance was a pig, but she didn’t understand why Scarlet wouldn’t admit it. How could they spend holidays with the
Hamiltons if Savannah didn’t feel safe? How could she and Lance share nieces and nephews if she couldn’t be alone in a room with him? Minimally she needed a truly-sorry apology from Lance, or she needed to know that Scarlet and Trent would never ask her to interact with him again. Until one of those two things happened, she couldn’t be a part of Scarlet’s life. It hurt. But it was right.

It also felt right to stay with Asher, who had become the focus of her world. They talked and took walks together, they read books snuggled on couches and lying side by side on picnic blankets. They shared bits and pieces of their lives with each other, and Savannah marveled at how much they had in common and how much they didn’t. And how much it didn’t matter that not every avenue of their lives intersected, because that would just be boring, and Asher was anything but boring.

And the nights – when he touched her, rocking into her and claiming her so completely. She’d stopped wondering what life would be like without him. Her heart had convinced her mind that their love for each other was so genuine, so strong and sure even in its newness, that they’d overcome whatever lay ahead and figure out a way to be together. They avoided the actual conversation, but the easy way they spent day after day together meant they were becoming devoted, more and more bound to each other.

Her game plan was simple: she would finish her article, and then she and Asher would have a long conversation about what came next, and as long as it included being together, everything would be okay.

On Friday afternoon, he suggested lunch in the grove. Later they lay tangled together on the love seat reading on their Kindles. With a full belly and the sun on her face, Savannah was just starting to nod off when she heard Asher sigh.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I’ve been putting off telling you …” His eyes were serious, like he had big news or bad news, and Savannah’s pulse quickened. “I have to go away tomorrow. To Maryland.”

“Away?”

To her mortifying shame, she was not only surprised to hear he was going away for the weekend, she was sad. Genuinely. Annoying-whiny-dependent-girlfriend sad. She might have even pouted.

He traced her lips with one finger, gently lingering on the almost-healed skin of her lower lip for an extra moment. “Just for a night.”

A whole night? She pouted more. “Oh. Why?”

His gaze darted away from her, and he dropped his hand from her face like he’d prefer not to say. “Medical stuff.”

She bit her bottom lip. The last time they’d discussed “medical stuff,” he’d flown off the handle and made her cry. She swallowed, looking back at him. They’d evolved since then, hadn’t they? Weren’t they close enough now that she could ask about this part of his life too? She gathered her courage. “What kind of medical stuff?”

He rubbed his chin, staring at her. “You don’t want to hear about this, Savannah.”

“What?” Her face must have registered confusion as he stared back at her. “Of course I do.”

“It’s depressing.”

“It’s not depressing. It’s part of who you are. I want to know all about it.”

“The reporter?”

“The girlfriend.”

He closed his Kindle case with a slap. “I don’t want to burden you.”

“It’s not a burden. I … I … You know how much I care about you.”

Savannah wasn’t sure why it was so difficult for her to return Asher’s many “I love
yous,” but it was. Although she’d managed to tell him that she was falling in love with him, and although she felt love in her heart, she’d also felt those things, to some extent, for Patrick, and she was hesitant to use the words again so quickly. She wanted to say them to only one more person in her life. More and more, she thought she wanted Asher to be that person, but she just needed a little more time to be sure.

“Care about you” and “love you” didn’t live in the same neighborhood, and Asher was looking to upgrade his real estate. She knew it. She could feel it. His eyes went flinty for a second before relaxing.

“I could probably make it in a day, if you were uncomfortable staying here on your own.”

“That’s eight hours of driving in one day, Asher!” Then she had an idea. “I could go with you.”

“As you just observed, it’s an eight-hour trip.”

She shrugged, gaining a bit of bravado. He hadn’t said no, after all. “But we’d be together. I wouldn’t mind
eighty
.”

He blinked at her as her meaning sank in, right before his face exploded into a broad smile and he pulled her closer. “Eight hours round trip, just so I can be fitted for a new hand.”

“Bionic?” she asked.

“Uh-huh. I’ll be a partial bionic man when they’re done with me,” he said in a happy voice, kissing her hair.

“As long as you’re
my
partial bionic man,” she said, leaning up on his chest to snag his lips for a kiss, “I’m in.”

***

They sat in companionable silence as the Virginia countryside passed in a blur, Savannah in the passenger seat, her fingers click-clacking on her laptop. They were just about halfway to Maryland.

Asher was surprised that she’d offered to come with him. After so many years alone, it seemed unbelievable that in the course of a few short weeks, he’d come this far—he belonged to someone and she belonged to him. And though it probably should have alarmed him how quickly everything was happening between them, it didn’t. More than anything, he wanted it to all happen even faster—he wanted a guaranteed forever with Savannah.

And yet, Asher’s trip into town had reminded him of how fearsome his face was to strangers. The receptionist at Hamilton & Sons had barely been able to look him in the eye without horror. The problem with discussing the future was that it was impossible to plan one when he couldn’t even blend in with humanity.

He saw the multiple surgeries as his one real shot at a future with Savannah. But he hadn’t mentioned the procedures to her yet, and it was eating at him. He didn’t know how to say it. Here is how it usually sounded when he thought it out:

After you write your article, I’ll be moving to Maryland for half a year to have my face operated on multiple times. And I know you’re planning to go to Phoenix if they offer you a job. And I know we’ve only been together for a little while, but I’m in love with you, and the idea of being away from you for that long makes me want to die, so …

He’d get to the
so
and no further. There was no good way to have the conversation. So … he’d tell himself to live in the moment and enjoy what time they had together because that time was quickly running down.

He glanced over at her, feeling a little self-conscious because his bad side was on full display as they drove along. Didn’t it bother her? Why didn’t she cringe when she looked at him? How was she able to welcome his advances, his affections, without disgust or horror? It bothered him that he didn’t trust her, because he wanted to so badly. He decided not to sit on these thoughts, but to ask her outright.

“Savannah?”

“Hmmm?”

Though her fingers had stilled, she was staring at her screen intently, likely rereading what she’d been typing.

“The way I look …”

He had his eyes on the road, but he saw her neck snap up out of the corner of his eye.

“What about it?”

“It’s bad. And sometimes I don’t understand how you can … I mean, why you—”

“Pull over,” she said softly, but firmly.

He did as she asked, watching as she closed her laptop and put it on the floor. He felt her eyes on his face, on the very damaged—grievously injured—side of his face, which had made a receptionist gasp a few days ago. They sat in silence for several minutes, with Asher staring out the windshield and Savannah staring at Asher.

“Look at me,” she finally said.

He twisted his neck to face her, frightened by what he’d see there, then felt close to weeping when he saw the compassion and affection brightening her eyes.

“Did you ever watch
Boardwalk Empire
on HBO?”

“Uh, no,” he said, surprised by the question.

She gazed at him as she started speaking softly. “There was a character on that show until last season when he died. I don’t think of myself as a crier, but I cried when he died. A couple of times, actually. He’d been my favorite part of the show since the day it came on; I lived for his scenes. I’d do whatever I had to do to be home on time to watch on Sunday nights. Leave a party early. Cut a phone call short. And after watching, I’d rewatch all of the scenes with him. I’d watch them all week long. It held me over until the following week. If you can fall in love with a character on TV, maybe I was even a little bit in love with him.”

Was it totally irrational that Asher felt jealous of this character? Because he did. He took a deep breath and watched as Savannah’s eyes sparkled and her lips turned up, talking about a handsome TV actor with whom Asher could never compete.

“His name was Richard Harrow on the show, and he was played by Jack Huston. He was tall and lanky, not as built as you. He had thick black hair and a—” She touched her upper lip. “—a mustache. He had this gravelly voice that I thought was so sexy, I’d rewind every scene he was in just for a taste of that voice. He was probably in his early thirties, and there was something about him. He was confident and uncertain, fierce and tender, protective, wistful, loyal, vulnerable. Attractive. Complicated. He’d give up on his life in one episode, then fight for it with his last drop of strength in the next. And he would do anything,
anything
, for someone he loved. Every Sunday night, I’d turn on
Boardwalk Empire
and watch it just for him—for Richard Harrow.”

Asher took a shaky breath and sighed. “Well, that’s great, Savannah. I ask you about my face, and you tell me about some gorgeous actor on TV. Thank you for the reality check of what you want as opposed to what you have.” He reached for his keys to turn on the ignition. “If you don’t—”

“Shut up, Asher,” she said, fumbling with her phone, then placing it on the bolster between them. “Here’s a picture of him.”

Attractive.
She’d said attractive, right? Asher looked out his window, unwilling to look at the
attractive
actor on her phone, confused as to why she’d share all this when all he really wanted was some reassurance about why a girl as gorgeous as Savannah Carmichael was wasting her time with him. He wanted to trust her, and instead she was rubbing this actor in his face.

“Let’s just get going, huh?”

She reached out for his arm, clasping his stump in the palm of her hand and wrapping her fingers around his skin. “Not until you look.”

He turned and looked down at her perfect fingers on his imperfect arm. He was starting to feel angry now. If she was teasing, it wasn’t funny. He was about to tell her so—tell her to pick
up her goddamned phone and shove it up her ass—when his eyes flicked to the picture lit up on the screen. He stared, disbelieving, as her fingers gentled around his arm.

“This is him?” he asked, reaching for the phone and drawing it closer. He looked at the picture for a long moment, his eyes glassy and burning, before looking up to find her brown eyes trained on his. “This is … this is the actor, the character, you were talking about?”

She smiled gently and nodded.

He looked back at the picture on the phone. The
right side of the man’s face was almost totally normal. But the left side. Oh God. The right eye socket was a maroon-colored, gaping hole with no eyeball. Underneath, a red, angry gash of a scar surrounded by melted, mottled flesh led to his lips, which had been torn open and left mostly unrepaired. His upper jaw had suffered grievous structural injury. In fact, his front facial injuries were just as bad as Asher’s. He stared, breathless, at the picture before raising his eyes back to Savannah’s.