“I’d like to ask a question now.” Savannah rose to tuck Miranda into a cradle beside her chair.
“Sure.”
“What exactly do you intend to do with all this? A book, I know, but I don’t quite understand how you’ll handle what I’ve told you. What we’ve all told you.”
“I want to focus on the experiences of you three couples. And the influence of the legends on your lives. It’s intriguing, and it’s romantic, the way the past overlapped your present, and your future. Six people who’ve become three families,” she explained, hands gesturing to illustrate. “Three families who are essentially one family. All of your relationships were affected by what happened here long before any of you were born. So, how much does the past influence us? How much does the power of place, the strength of who and what was, play on those open to accept it?”
“And you’ll add your data to that, your evidence and your theories.”
“That’s right.”
“And your reputation?” Savannah turned back. “What are all those institutes and the suits who run them going to say about Dr. Knight’s interest in the occult?”
“Some will shake their heads and think it’s too bad a brilliant young scientist lost her mind. Others…well, there are some excellent and serious studies being done on the paranormal at some of those institutes. And—” she smiled “—since I’m doing this for me, I don’t really care what they think.”
Savannah sat again, gathered Layla up in her arms. “Why haven’t you talked to Shane?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said you’d interviewed all of us, and intend to use all of us in this book. But you never mentioned Shane.”
“He’s not comfortable with it.” Rebecca busied herself tucking her tape recorder back into her bag. “He’s been very tolerant of what I’m doing, but he doesn’t like it. In any case, he doesn’t fit into the equation. Six people, three couples. The connection.”
Nodding, Savannah ran her tongue around her teeth. “You know, math isn’t my strong point, but I figure eight people, four couples.” She gave Layla a pat as the child wiggled down from her lap and went off to look for other entertainment. “What about your connection? You, Shane, the farm.”
“It doesn’t really apply.”
“Of course it does. It’s obvious you’re in love with him.”
“Is it?” Rebecca managed to say, relatively calmly. “You’re mistaking attraction, affection and a physical relationship for— Hell. Are you sure you’re not psychic?”
Poor thing, Savannah mused, sympathizing with any woman who’d tumbled for a MacKade. Poor, lucky thing. “You’re a fairly controlled sort of woman, Rebecca. You don’t advertise your feelings on your face. But I see things.” Savannah waved a hand. “I’m an artist, and I have shamans for ancestors. You can chalk it up to that, or to the fact that one woman in love often recognizes another.”
Rebecca looked down at her hands. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried with that rundown.”
“I like you. I don’t like everyone. I’m selective. Actually, I didn’t think I’d like you at all.” Comfortable, she stretched out her legs again. “A professional intellectual, scientist, all those initials after your name. I got my high school equivalency when I was carrying Layla, and when Regan talked of you, all I saw was this enormous brain wearing horn-rim glasses.”
The image had Rebecca snorting out a laugh. She’d come a good ways, she thought, when such a description brought amusement rather than pain. “If you sketch me that way, I’ll hang it in my apartment.”
“That’s a deal. Anyway, I did like you. Do like you. If I’d sat down and tried to piece together the woman who would suit Shane, she wouldn’t have been anything like you. And I’d have been wrong. The farmer and the savant.” The phrase made Savannah grin. Poor Shane, she thought. Poor, lucky Shane. “In this case, it works. What are you going to do about it?”
“Enjoy it. While it lasts.”
“And that’s enough?”
“It’s more than I’ve had before.” There would be a price, of course, she thought. She was willing to pay it. “I’m a practical woman, Savannah.”
“Maybe. But how brave are you, and how dedicated? Are you really going to write a book, take all that time, put in all that effort, and leave out a piece of it? Your piece, and Shane’s? Can you ignore that connection?”
Could she? Rebecca asked herself as she walked back to the farm through the woods. For the book, yes. She could and would do that for Shane. Personally, she’d accepted that the connection between them would remain with her forever.
Yet she could leave, would leave. It would hurt, but she would survive it. Intellectually, she knew no one really died of a broken heart. Emotionally, she suspected some could.
But it would be easier to live when she’d had love than it had been to exist without ever knowing it.
She knew her Greek tragedies well. There was always pleasure, and there was always payment.
Her bill, so to speak, was coming due, she knew. If Savannah could read her heart so easily, others would. Shane might, and then the payment could become too high to bear.