Not Over You (Healing Springs, Book 1) Read online

  Not Over You

  Amanda Torrey

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014 Amanda Torrey

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Chapter One

  Everywhere she looked, Savannah was reminded of the painful reality that ten years ago, nearly to the day, she had killed her baby brother.

  She adjusted her car’s visor to block the blinding sun as she slowed to a crawl in the school zone. The old maple tree in the school yard still stood proudly, shading the giant sandbox. The row of swings continued to move as if children had jumped off seconds before, yet the playground was vacant and lonely.

  They were probably evacuated and on lock down when word spread about Savannah Grace coming back to town.

  She cranked her music up louder. Her radio choices were limited here in Healing Springs, and even the angriest heavy metal couldn’t drown the horror of a haunting memory.

  Sensing her anxiety, Rocco, her formerly stray Rottweiler/now pampered wannabe lapdog, nuzzled her neck from his position in the back seat. She stroked his head, tempted to pull over and take him for a run here and now.

  “You wanna run, my prince? I’m sorry—I know you prefer to be called ‘my warrior.’ Oh, you like that, huh?” She scratched his neck with her free hand as she navigated the slightly curvy road that lead to the center of town. She remembered the route to her parent’s house as if it had been etched into her brain; her own personal mapping system. She knew the shortcuts and carefully avoided them.

  She chanced a look at her cell, annoyed to see the five missed calls from her stepfather. Yes, she said she’d leave first thing this morning and she should have arrived hours earlier. Did he have any idea how easy procrastinating could be when forced to emerge from exile?

  A giant sign on the side of the road caught her attention with its gold block lettering etched into polished wood. “Healing Springs. Repairing Broken Spirits Since 1836.”

  Well that was new. And deceptive.

  Rocco’s bark startled her, making her jump in her seat and hit her head on the visor. “Ouch. What the heck was that fo—”

  Her airbags deployed as she crashed into the truck in front of her. As the powder settled, panic stopped the flow of blood to her extremities. She frantically called out for her dog.

  “Rocco, are you okay?” She unbuckled her seatbelt and maneuvered so she could see in the back seat. Rocco struggled to pick himself up off the floor. At her call, he pawed his way up to lick her face.

  Knowing he was okay, she reached for her door handle. She wasn’t the praying type, but she fervently mumbled a prayer that the people in the truck were okay. When the door wouldn’t open, she moved in her seat so she could kick it with both feet.

  Before she could kick, the door flew open. A man in what appeared to be an EMT uniform stood in front of her, reaching a hand out to help her get up.

  She ignored his hand and stood, telling Rocco to stay.

  “You guys work fast. I just crashed a second ago. I’m okay, but we need to check the truck I hit.”

  “No need to worry. It was me.” A smile tickled his voice, and a shiver ran down her back.

  That voice was familiar. It ran through her nightmares every single night.

  It couldn’t be.

  She closed her eyes and channeled her DVD yoga instructor. Deep, cleansing breaths.

  “You’ve got a little blood on your face. Let me take a look.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped as he came close to touching her cheek. Rocco growled, jumping to the front seat. She raised her hand in Rocco’s direction to settle him. “I meant to say, ‘I’m okay.’”

  “Savannah.”

  He knew who she was.

  She brushed the blood off her cheek as she finally dared to look into his face.

  He was older, his looks more rugged and with more facial hair than he had at nineteen, but he was the same Quentin Elliot she had loved in high school.

  “I’m sorry I hit you. Let me grab my insurance information.”

  “My truck is fine. But you won’t be able to drive this thing.”

  Rocco whined, and Savannah was grateful for the distraction. “Need to go potty?”

  “Potty?” Quentin laughed.

  She shot him a warning look, then turned back to the dog. “Come on, my warrior.”

  Rocco leapt from the car at Savannah’s call. She smiled when she noticed Quentin backing up ever-so-slightly. Was he afraid of her sweet dog? Most people were—something about the breed tended to put people off-balance. Worked for her—what better way to ward off unwanted attention?

  “There’s a leash law…” Quentin began.

  “He’s fine—he listens better than most people.” Rocco hurried to the sidewalk and found a tree to relieve himself on, then came trotting back. He stood next to Savannah and nudged his head against her leg. She reached down to scratch his ear.

  “Anyway, I guess I should move this to the side and call for a tow. Don’t want to keep you from doing whatever you’re doing.” She turned her back to Quentin, more for her own self-protection than for any sense that she actually had to take action on the vehicle.

  “Savannah, I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Thanks, but it won’t be for long.”

  “I had heard you might be coming, but Rick wasn’t sure you’d actually make it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Savannah glared at him, but she knew exactly what was meant. She was unreliable. Not the sort you’d want to pin your high hopes on. Even Rick, the man who had raised her as his own daughter since she was two, doubted her ability to follow through on her promise.

  “Calm down, Peaches.” She shivered at his use of the nickname he teased her with in high school. “He said you weren’t able to commit. Something about work, I think.”

  “Yeah, well, this isn’t exactly something I could refuse, is it?” She shook her head and pursed her lips as she turned her attention to the one highlight of her life—her dog.

  “It’s still nice that you’re doing it. No one expected it, you know.”

  “Well she is my mother. Why she’d want any part of me—even my bone marrow—is beyond me.”

  “Savannah, you have to know that she—”

  “Don’t go there, Quentin.” She refused to rehash or relive or in any way dissect her past, present, or future. She was here with the hopes that she would be a suitable match for her mother. Since she had been responsible for the death of the woman’s child, saving her life in some small way was the least she could offer.

  “Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”

  He pulled her duffel bag out of the back seat, swinging it over his shoulder effortlessly. She appreciated the way his bicep
s tensed and bunched.

  “Anything in your trunk?”

  She jerked her eyes away from his musculature, praying her blush didn’t show. She faked a cough. “No, that’s it.”

  “You travel light.” His brown eyes freaking twinkled, melting her like a chocolate bar in the heat.

  “Like I told you, I’m not staying long. And I can’t accept a ride from you. Thanks anyway.”

  He looked past her, leaving her wondering what he was thinking.

  “Ah, the town welcome committee has arrived. They’ll be thrilled to welcome you back to town with open arms.”

  Crap. Just what she didn’t need. This town suffocated. The people in it wouldn’t know an emotional boundary if you drew it in their own blood.

  “Actually, I’ll take that ride after all.”

  He had the audacity to laugh as he tossed her bag in the passenger compartment of his extended cab truck. Rocco followed her to the truck, which he jumped into with no trouble.

  “Man, your dog takes up a lot of space.”

  “He’s a big dog.” She nuzzled Rocco’s neck, desperately trying to hide her face from the group of Healing Springs townies who were quickly approaching the street.

  “Be right back, I have to turn your hazards on.”

  “Please hurry.”

  Quentin swung into the driver’s seat and started the truck seconds before the townies made it to Savannah. He waved with great enthusiasm as they drove away. She could only imagine the disappointed looks on the intruding faces.

  “They move fast.” Savannah shuddered, grateful for the escape.

  “Yeah, even good old Bruce with his walker.”

  “He’s still around?”

  “I think he secretly died decades ago, but refuses to stop haunting the town.”

  Savannah sobered at the mention of death. He must have noticed her abrupt withdrawal, because she could feel him glance at her as she looked out the window. His arm reached across to touch her knee, but Rocco’s warning growl made him pull away just as his fingertips grazed her skin.

  “I’ll take care of your car after I drop you off.”

  She couldn’t reply at first. But then she remembered her manners and the fact that she had hit his vehicle and he was stuck coming to her rescue. She did what she did best—she buried her feelings and put on a mask.

  “At this point I don’t even care what happens to it. Does Harvey still collect things in his yard? Maybe he can keep it for a lawn ornament. I’m sure his neighbors would appreciate that.”

  He laughed, and she had to fight to keep her expression neutral.

  “It would certainly make for a lively ‘Letters to the Editor’ page.”

  Savannah tuned out of the conversation to focus on the road ahead. Her insides twisted and her palms sweat at the imminent doom that faced her around the next corner—they’d soon be pulling into her parent’s driveway.

  Quentin probably didn’t realize that his presence actually helped calm her fiery nerves. She’d never admit it.

  Over the years, Savannah had struggled to keep the memory of anything good buried deep down in whatever was left of her soul. Quentin fit firmly into that category. He had always brought out the best in her, except that day when he was an accomplice in her brother’s death.

  The silence could have been more awkward if it hadn’t been for Rocco’s excitement giving her the distraction she needed. Rather than attempting small talk, Savannah gave all of her attention to her animal companion, vowing to force a manicure on him as he dug his nails into her thighs while trying to get a good look out the window. She supposed it was worse for Quentin—he got the tail end of the pooch.

  At the first view of her parent’s house, she debated begging Quentin to take her anywhere but there. But her phone was lighting up with unanswered calls, and if she knew this town the way she thought she did, news of her accident would have already hit the Grace phone wires.

  She didn’t realize she had clenched her eyes tight until she heard the truck tires crunch over the gravel driveway and felt the shuddering vibration of Quentin killing the engine.

  “You can do this, Savannah.”

  His deep voice delivered the jolt she needed.

  What did he know about what she could or couldn’t do?

  “Thanks for the ride.” She hopped out of the truck, nearly twisting her ankle in the process, and stepped aside so Rocco could do the same. As an ashamed afterthought, she mumbled, “Sorry about the crash.”

  “I’ll go take care of your car. Okay if I swing back here after?” He grabbed her bag and delivered it to her. What was it about his movements that were so damned hypnotizing?

  “No, don’t. Go back to doing whatever it is you do.” Quentin raised his eyebrow and gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I don’t know why you’re being so hostile to me. I didn’t make you crash.”

  She fiddled with the strap of her duffel bag. He was right—she had no right to be hostile. He had been nothing but kind to her since their rude reunification. He couldn’t be expected to know that she blamed him for his part in the death of her brother. Surely he had moved on with his life. Whose fault was it that she couldn’t?

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She stared at his truck, noticing the booster seat in the back and the sticky smudges on the rear windows. Before she could give in to the temptation to ask him about it, she clamped her jaw shut.

  The less she knew about Quentin’s life, the better. None of it was any of her business.

  A door creaking open distracted her from her thoughts. Quentin’s head nodded toward the door in greeting. She slowly turned, reminding herself that she could, in fact, do this.

  Seeing her stepfather standing on the front steps nearly brought tears to her eyes. Not that she ever cried—she wasn’t capable of such. Crying brought relief, or so she was told, and she had long ago sworn that she’d punish herself until the day she died.

  “See you later, Peaches.”

  She wanted to jump back into his truck, beg him to drive until the memory of this town, her family, her baby brother were all behind her. But she knew from experience there was no place that far. She also knew no one could save her from herself.

  Rick, her stepfather, opened his arms and stepped toward her. Her skin rebelled at the thought of undeserved affection from these familiar strangers—the people who should hate her even more than she hated herself. To sidestep it, she gathered her bag to her chest as if it were a heavy load and whistled to Rocco.

  “Is he friendly?” Rick had the same nervous expression everybody had when confronted with Rocco for the first time.

  “Yeah, he’s great. Don’t worry about him.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” His smile lit up his face, warming Savannah’s heart the slightest bit. “Come on in. Your mother can’t wait to see you.”

  “I bet,” Savannah mumbled, trying her best not to let her negativity infect Rick. He was too good of a man to be brought to her low level.

  The house smelled the same—a mixture of lemon and vinegar and something sweet. The scent nearly knocked her over with painful memories of the time she had spent here. Careless days of running through the house, friends in tow. Shouting over her shoulder that she’d be back “sometime.” Ignoring her mother’s warnings that she’d better be home by curfew “or else.” Without thinking, Savannah’s eyes went to the spot over the mantle where pictures always hung. Sure enough, there was an extra large photo of Brandon’s sweet face; his eight-year-old smile frozen in time. Her gut tightened at the unanticipated assault. All warmth drained from her extremities as her heart pounded in her chest.

  “What is that creature doing here?” Karyn, Savannah’s mother, startled Savannah with her directness. A moment passed before she realized her mother was referring to Rocco and not her.

  Savannah wiped the gathering sweat from her forehead.

  “Ri—Dad said I could bring him. Is that a problem?”


  Her mother hmmphed. Some things never changed.

  “I couldn’t leave him alone. He’s very friendly and well-behaved.”

  “You know I hate dogs.” Karyn dissolved into a coughing fit, leaving Savannah unsure about… everything. Comfort her? Hug her? Rub her back? Get her water?

  “I’ll go stay someplace else.” Savannah moved toward the door with Rocco following at her heels, his giant tongue flapping. Rick intervened as she reached for the door handle.

  “Savvy, please don’t hold her attitude against her. She’s not been herself with all the meds.”

  “Seems like herself to me. Exactly as I remember her, actually.”

  “We want you to stay. She’ll get used to your dog. Maybe we can keep him in the kitchen until she warms to the idea.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but Rocco belongs with me.” After all the time the poor boy spent roaming the town in search of someone to love him, Savannah was incapable of treating him like anything less than a cherished member of her family. They were twin souls—stray, unloved, accepted only by each other.

  Karyn’s now-hoarse voice screeched from the living room. “That animal is not going in any carpeted areas!”

  Rick bowed his head as though ashamed. Sweat glistened on his brow. The woman was probably driving the poor man insane.

  “Here. Stay at the studio, then. And take my car. I heard what happened to yours.” Rick unhooked a simple keychain from the hook next to the door.

  “I couldn’t.”

  “You must. I insist.” He smiled, and she couldn’t ignore the tears gathering in his eyes. He grabbed her hand in his, catching her off-guard. His hands were warm and rough and fatherly, just like always. “Please.”

  Hadn’t she hurt him enough? The man who had always loved her and treated her like his own flesh and blood; the man who had given her more warmth than her mother ever had. She was responsible for the death of his son—the least she could do was resist the urge to run away and potentially kill his wife in the process.

  Hesitantly, she grabbed the keys he offered, clasping them in her fist. He smiled and sniffled.