Savannah Past Midnight Read online

  His arms release me and his hands clasp mine. “I approve, but only if you have both stable hands follow you on their mounts for protection. You can never be too cautious.”

  “I understand, Grandfather. I know how you worry.”

  His eyes bore into mine. “I lost both your mother and my son so yes, you are correct to assume that I am inclined to fret over your safety. However, I know your wild spirit; Severin was like you, untamable, but please allow this aging fellow to have a little peace of mind. Will you?”

  Rising up on tiptoes, I place a swift kiss onto my grandfather’s wrinkled cheek. “Yes, yes, of course, Grandfather. I assure you that we will both be cautious and will return well before the evening meal.”

  Spinning around, I’m just about to step across the threshold of his vast office when his crisp French accent slices through the summer air. “Cosette?”

  I turn slowly to meet his eyes. “Yes, Grandfather?”

  “You will under no circumstances ride Sacred Falls. Am I clear? I understand you being drawn to the stallion, but he is far too wild. This is not a request, Cosette.”

  My heart sinks as I try to recover, hiding the crushing disappointment with a soft smile. “Yes, of course, sir.”

  “Very well. You girls enjoy your day then.”

  My best friend and I rush down the winding staircase and are crossing the expanse of the emerald lawn toward the stables when Annalin tugs on my forearm, bringing us both to a standstill. “You’re not thinking of defying him, Cosette, are you? I’ve seen the way you have been eyeing that horse ever since your cousin shipped him over from France a fortnight ago. That animal is positively aggressive. In fact, it should rightfully be named Evil One instead of the beautiful name of Sacred Falls.”

  I sigh and begin walking again. “Annalin, did you ever stop to think of how exciting life might be if you ever stopped second guessing everything?”

  “Cosette, there is a massive difference between hedonistic, reckless behavior and a little thrill now and again. You heard Monsieur Beauvais; he was adamant that you not ride that horse. Shall I warn him now?”

  My eyes flare as I turn to pin her with a reproachful look. “You would betray your best friend?”

  Her cheeks flush. “N-no, of course not. I just know you well, Cosette, and I think that you have a bit of deviltry running through you. I’ll always be your best friend, no matter what you do; however, I don’t like being placed in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation. I beg you to rethink whatever mischief is brewing in that gorgeous head of yours, for my sake as well as your own.”

  I squeeze her hands and smile reassuringly. “You just let me handle everything.”

  Our full skirts kick up a plethora of dust as we enter the cool space of the barn.

  “Well, good afternoon, Miss Cosette, Miss Annalin. What can we do for you?”

  “Good afternoon, John. Annalin and I would like to go riding today. Please saddle up Regent’s Code and Sacred Falls.”

  I hold my ground and arch a brow, waiting for his resistance.

  “Now, you know, Miss Cosette, no man here has been able to ride that stallion. Why you wanna go and get your pretty self all injured, mam’selle? That horse ain’t fit to be ridden, pure and simple.”

  “John, I would only like to sit atop him and I will do so today whether you saddle him or I do it myself.”

  He shakes his head slowly back and forth as he strides away, grumbling to himself. “Headstrong as a darn bull. Theo! Gonna need your help. We’re saddling up Sacred Falls. Heaven help us.”

  “Cosette,” Annalin squeaks, “there is no way you can ride that beast sidesaddle. You will certainly be bucked off!”

  In a hushed voice I say, “I’m not planning on riding him sidesaddle. Here, quickly, help me with this cumbersome petticoat.”

  “You’re not … what?”

  “Either you help or I’ll manage alone. I’m about to be married, Annalin. Do you understand what that means? At the age of twenty my escapades will certainly come to a screeching halt. I’m determined to live fully while I can. What on earth is wrong with that? I’m not hurting anyone, am I?”

  “Only my sanity,” she mutters with an exaggerated eye roll.

  “Oh, Annalin, stop being so dramatic and help get me out of this voluminous monstrosity.”

  We work together to undo the multitude of ties and hooks to the point where I can shimmy out of it. “Ah, that’s much better! Quickly, let’s hide it in this tack box.”

  “It sounds like they’re having an awful time trying to saddle him, Cosette.”

  “They know what they are doing. Follow me.”

  We make our way down the length of twenty stalls until we reach the final one. Wood is banging and creaking as agitated hoofs meet straining boards.

  “There, Theo,” John says, “now get that strap up around his belly and buckle it right quick. He’s unbelievably strong. All right. I’ve got him by the bridle. You come on out now and take the reins to head him out into the ring. We’ll see if we can calm him down enough for her to sit on him for a minute or two. That should satisfy her curiosity with no harm done to anyone.”

  We follow behind the men and the seventeen-hand-high chestnut-colored Arabian stallion who is snorting hard, his head constantly pulling away from the confinement of his headgear.

  The weathered stable master wipes his brow with a handkerchief and asks pointedly, “Now, before I go and let you on him, Miss Cosette, I need to know that Monsieur Beauvais gave his approval for this.”

  I can feel Annalin’s eyes boring into me.

  “Actually, truth be told, he told me not to ride him; however, he said nothing about briefly sitting atop him.”

  His lips turn down in a frown as he contemplates what to do next. I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. “Well, all right then. I suppose there’ll be no harm done with all of us holding him for you. Here, let me help you up. I’ll let you sit on him here in the ring only. After that, we’ll return him to his stall and then all go out on a nice long ride with some of the tamer horses. I can’t take the chance of anyone getting injured with this wild one. Understood, mam’selle?”

  “Yes, of course, John.”

  “Very well.”

  “Here, let’s get you seated. He’s a tall fellow.”

  The two stable hands easily lift me up to sit sidesaddle on the magnificent horse. “There, see? All is well. I think he might even like you, mam’selle.”

  John nods to Theo. “Well, at least this turned out to be an exciting morning, eh boy?”

  While they are distracted I waste no time clasping the reins tightly while shifting back to maneuver my right leg up and over the saddle.

  “Now, Miss Cosette, you shouldn’t be sitting like that. It’s not proper for a lady.”

  Ignoring John’s comment, I quickly lean in, gently rub the side of Sacred Falls’ silken neck with my gloved hand to purr, “I know what you want, boy, and I want it too. Let’s see how fast you can go.”

  I pull away from Theo’s hold and gasp in delight at how responsive the horse is. In a flash I have him turned around and urge him forward with a firm nudge to the ribs, knowing that the only way out is to backtrack through the open-air stable. The panic-laced calls are rising up from behind as John and Theo frantically try to catch up to us.

  Impossible. This could be my once in a lifetime opportunity to ride a true thoroughbred stallion that is built for nothing but speed … a racehorse by definition.

  As we hastily clear the final beam of the stable entrance I have a new, more appreciative view. With the entire expanse of the manicured lawn as our track I give an excited yell and nudge him even harder. In no time we are racing at full gallop, the terrified cries of Annalin blending with the frantic shouts of the stable hands until I hear nothing but the wind and the unmistakable drumming of hooves against the ground.

  “Yes! Go, go! That’s it, boy!” I laugh in delight as the wind rushes through my ha
ir.

  The exhilaration is nearly indescribable as we fly toward the entrance of the well-traveled path. I plan to slow him to a nice fast trot once we enter the tree line.

  I crave the excitement that his speed provides. I feel so alive as it travels through every inch of my body. I’m not the least bit sorry for defying orders. Any repercussions will be worth this one brief but potent experience.

  As we close in on the woods I begin gently pulling back on his reins. “Whoa, Sacred Falls. Whoa, boy, slow it down now.”

  Nothing.

  I try not to let panic overtake me. I realize that he sees that path as a direct route to his freedom. Apparently this horse knows no fear. Holy hell.

  I keep my voice as calm as possible as we enter the woods, flying headlong up the path. “Halt, Sacred Falls. Slow it down, boy!”

  My hands are trembling hard, and I pull back with all my might against the reins as he pounds up the dirt trail, racing hell-bent toward the upcoming road. If I don’t stop him we could crash into a carriage or whatever riders are ahead on the well-traveled stretch that heads straight toward Charleston.

  Come on … slow for me … please!

  My heart lodges in my throat as I spot a low-hanging branch that’s closing in fast. With his height it will be a miracle if we clear it. Certainly he’ll slow, won’t he?

  Within seconds the branch is coming right at us, and with no other option besides jumping from the speeding animal I clasp his neck tightly and flatten my body along his nape. With my eyes squeezed shut I’m just about to lift my head to check that we’ve made it when a massive force hits the top of my forehead. With one brutal blow I’m instantly unseated. I scream in agony as my body sails helplessly through the summer air. I land like a broken China doll on the hard packed earth, my eyes wavering in and out of focus at the yellow sunlight spilling down through the trees. My head is on fire, and I feel like my skull has been split in two from a mighty ax blow. I attempt to raise my hand to my face, to see how badly I’m bleeding, but the limb isn’t cooperating. Could I have broken my arm that badly?

  Confusion rapidly changes into dire panic as I try desperately to move any part of my body. The pain is only in my head. Suddenly terror consumes me at the realization that I can’t move at all or feel anything below my neck. My own reckless actions have finally caught up with me. I scream in anguish—not for help, but in abject despair.

  Chapter Two

  Present Day, 1:00 a.m.

  The Warehouse behind Clary’s Café; Savannah, Georgia

  “Last call for all bets!”

  I watch silently from the far corner of the dilapidated three-story warehouse. The five-deep crowd all but surge forward to gain a better view of the two massive males who are about to fight. Through the bodies I assess him carefully. I knew the moment I drove off that night that I would be here. He’s captivating and seems not to know fear, unlike most humans I’ve encountered. There’s a magnetism about him coupled with a strange calmness that draws me in. We have zero future together, but I’m curious to observe him regardless. The fact that he’s a self-proclaimed fighter has piqued my curiosity. I watch him carefully, wondering if he has the skills as well as the brawn. I really should have wiped his memories of the attack before we parted ways the other night, but I chose not to—a first for me. There is still time to do it, to make it seem like nothing ever happened between us, like we’ve never even crossed paths.

  “C’mon, Brennan! Fuckin’ take that sorry ass motherfucker down, man! Send him outta here on a stretcher!”

  “Shut the fuck up, dickhead! Go for his legs, Smith! Get ’em to the ground and pummel that pretty boy face of his!”

  He’s motionless except for his eyes—alert and a vivid green the color of fresh bamboo. Those penetrating eyes track even the slightest movement of his deranged-looking opponent.

  The skinny kid in the hoodie who is acting as equal parts ref and bookie tries to push back the encroaching crowd, yelling out, “You wanna see ’em fight or not? You’d best step the fuck back! Give ’em room or it’s a no go tonight!”

  As soon as the ravenous crowd obeys, he continues, this time addressing both fighters, “You know the drill. Either knock your opponent the fuck out or pin him down for ten seconds. Winner takes sixty percent of the pot. Let’s get this gritty party started!”

  I move in a few steps closer, not wanting to miss a single second of the action. A scattering of halogen contractor floor lights are the only source of illumination. Both men are shirtless, their thick muscles covered in tattoos. But that’s where the similarities end. I came to see the one the men are calling Brennan and the few women present are cheering on as Colton. His imposing size seems to be natural in comparison to his opponent’s. The other fighter’s daunting physique looks fake—clearly a product of the gym combined with chemicals.

  They slowly and methodically begin to circle each other, obviously looking for vulnerabilities, a weakness to home in on. Suddenly, Colton’s opponent drops a shoulder and rushes him. I watch closely as he braces for the guy with the Mohawk to slam into him. The shouts from the crowd rise to a fever pitch as they collide in a vicious tangle of grunting, muscled flesh. Colton binds his powerful arms around the man, attempting to wrestle him to the ground, seemingly ignoring the blows that are landing repeatedly on his chiseled torso.

  “Let ’em have it, Colton!”

  “Come on, Brennan, unleash the fuckin’ beast on that pussy!”

  The spectators have closed in on the fighters, lusting after the blood that is beginning to spill. I edge even closer to watch them struggle ferociously for the dominant position, over and over again, all the while clocking each other any place they can connect. The once white boxing tape wound around their wide fists is now ruby red as they pound away like raging animals vying for the last piece of meat on earth. Over the many decades I’ve learned how to quell my zest for blood, to contain the urges that come when I catch the first hint of that warm, distinctive scent. I shift it to the back of my mind and simply observe.

  “Show him what you’re about, Smith! C’mon, man, put him out of his fuckin’ misery! Don’t let this punk ruin your track record! Take him down!”

  With his mouth dripping blood, Colton takes one more direct hit to the chest and a savage uppercut before seizing the opportunity to pull back far enough to land a powerful right hook that connects perfectly with the side of the man’s temple.

  That’s it. Lights out.

  As if in slow motion, the man twists and goes down into a free fall of splayed arms and legs, landing with a grotesque thud, face down on the dust-strewn concrete floor. Complete KO. Perfect execution.

  Well done, cowboy.

  There are shouts of drunken excitement along with curses of annoyance from the losing side as the group of over a hundred spectators begins to disband. Some line up to collect their winnings from Mr. Hoodie.

  I turn around and stride out the lone door. I’m halfway to my motorcycle when a breathy, rumbling voice says from behind, “You like what you see, then?”

  I suppress a grin as I spin around. Up close and dripping blood and sweat, he is a magnificent specimen. I act casual, staring up into his eyes, and offer with a shoulder shrug, “I guess so, but you really should’ve landed that blow inside of the first thirty seconds. The delay cost you a black eye, split lip, and bruised ribs, cowboy.”

  “Gotta give ’em their money’s worth, sweetheart. Everybody wants a show.”

  “A show. Fighting for entertainment … how amusing.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ amusing about fightin’. Let me take you out for a drink, wildcat.”

  “Wildcat?”

  “Hell yeah. Wildcat. Wild. Beautiful. Mysterious. Feisty as all get out … wildcat. Fuckin’ perfect choice.”

  I flash him a rare smile and say, “You’re a peculiar one.”

  “Peculiar enough to capture your attention. That’s all that matters to me.”

  I drink in his impress
ive chest and full sleeve tattoos. The edgy work had to have been done by the same artist because it is all consistent in style, precisely laid out over gorgeous, lick-worthy biceps.

  He glances down at himself. “I know I’m a filthy mess, but give me twenty minutes. I promise you that I clean up well. I’ll take you out anywhere you like. Even put on a shirt with a collar for ya, darlin’.” He gives me a sly wink.

  Tilting my head to the right, I consider his offer. “Tempting, cowboy, but I have some business to attend to.”

  I catch the flash of disappointment before he quickly covers it, though his jaw line tenses up.

  “Business at nearly one thirty in the morning. You a dealer or somethin’, baby?”

  “If I was, do you think I would share that information with a virtual stranger? You, cowboy, could be an undercover cop. Maybe your job is to bust illegal gambling rings and the nefarious business that it inevitably attracts. Hmm?”

  He runs his filthy hand across and back over his medium brown, close-cropped hair, “Nah, I’m sure as hell not a cop, baby. By the way, why do you keep calling me ‘cowboy’?”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve been around awhile and I call it like I see it. You are one, aren’t you? Because I’ve never met a man who wears a battered Carhartt jacket better. Then there are those fine tattoos, not to mention your scarred-up hands. You speak like you’ve been living on a ranch most of your life. All that’s missing is the horse and a dusty Resistol hat.”

  His eyes rapidly drop down to his battered hands before latching back onto mine as I continue, “Those are the reasons I call you ‘cowboy.’ ”

  “Name’s Colton.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  His chin lifts. “You got one, wildcat?”

  “I do.”

  He shakes his head slowly back and forth and grins, revealing the miniscule gap between his otherwise flawless front teeth. “I like a fire in my woman.”

  “Well then, good luck finding that woman.”

  “Just did. Where we off to tonight, sweetheart?”