“I let you go with him today because I thought if I kept on, you might be in danger.” Jordan still didn’t look at me. “I made a bit of a show of it. I wanted him to think he’d scared me off. I didn’t want him going back there and blaming you for something you hadn’t done.”
I nodded my thanks, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.
“You do that a lot, you know. You nod a lot. Like you’re just trying to be agreeable, or something.”
I jerked my gaze around to him. “I do?”
“You do. Everything I say, you nod in response. When you don’t want to speak, you nod.”
He reached out, and I tensed. He immediately withdrew his hand, holding it aloft.
“Sorry. I won’t touch you.” He brought his knees up and rested both elbows on them, lacing his fingers together out in front of him. After a few moments, he asked, “Does he hit you?”
And just like that, the peace around us evaporated. I straightened my shoulders, my jaw tight, and stared down at the soft curve of Killian’s sun-kissed cheek. I did not nod this time.
Jordan stood suddenly and took several deliberate steps away. He scooped up a golf ball-sized rock and chucked it as hard as he could out into the lake. I looked up in time to see it hit the water with a plunk and tried to track the ripples to see how far they went before they faded away. I could hear Jordan pacing behind me.
“Why do you stay?” He crouched down beside me, ready to spring up again at my response. “Why? That guy is dangerous, you know.”
The ducks must have sensed something brewing because the mama made a few grunting noises through her closed bill and all three babies’ heads popped up, turning in her direction. They clambered off Killian’s lap and waddled away. Thankfully, Jordan kept his voice low, and Killian didn’t stir. I clenched my jaw tighter.
“And he’s a—a womanizer. He thinks he’s some kind of Don Juan or Casanova or something.” Jordan stood again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He’s a cheat, Savannah. I saw him with that woman, that fortune teller. Believe me, they weren’t chatting about business.”
“I saw them too,” I stated, forcing my voice to stay calm. I didn’t correct his use of my real name this time. “He never made me any promises, Jordan. We’re not married.”
“What?” The word shot out of his mouth, cracking like a teenager’s. “You’re kidding me, right? He claims you as his woman—” he made air quotes around the words, “—but you have no such claim on him?” His voice was beginning to grow in volume, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“I am the mother of his child.”
“And he is the father of yours!” Jordan lifted his hands in frustration.
“He has given us a home.”
“No, you work for your home. Just like everyone else in your—your—caravan.” He said the word as if he still couldn’t quite believe it was really a thing. “He’s given you nothing.”
“He’s given me a son.”
“No! He hasn’t given you a son, Savannah!” When he dropped to his knees beside me, his voice was tight and urgent. He grabbed my chin, clearly having forgotten his promise not to touch me, and made me look him in the eye. His grip was gentle, though, and my skin warmed under his touch. “Killian isn’t a gift from Casanova over there.” He pointed with his other hand toward the huge bow of Captain Francis Drake’s ship that marked the entrance into the Faire. “Your son is a gift from God. Every child is. Stop giving credit where credit isn’t due.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled my chin free of his grasp. “You sound like my father. And now, you’re acting like Marek.” I brushed my fingers over my chin so he would know what I meant. He was certain to recall Marek doing the same thing to me earlier today… right before he kissed me. The unexpected thought of Jordan following through in the same way sent a jolt of memory up my spine. I knew what that would feel like. After all this time, I still remembered.
“No, damn it! I sound like me.” He surged to his feet again. “I sound like a guy who actually does care about you. And I do not—nor will I ever—act like Marek. Is that even a real name?” His fists were clenched at his sides now, and I warily eyed him. I’d seen Marek in that stance too many times to count. “I sound like a man who thinks the guy you’re with is a dangerous monster, and honestly, Savannah, I’m afraid for you. And for your son!”
“Well, don’t be!” I twisted so I could scoop Killian up, and then I awkwardly stood. Jordan jerked into motion and rushed to my side, supporting me with one hand on my back and one under the elbow. It was nearly my undoing, but I took a few stumbling steps away, righted myself, and turned back to face him. “You don’t know anything about me and my life anymore, Jordan.” I kept my voice low, relieved to feel Killian’s head lolling against my shoulder. He was out cold. “I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances I’m in, and I don’t need some do-gooder coming along, trying to coerce me into abandoning what I have, just because he thinks he knows me better than I know myself and my needs.”
I bent over to pick up my basket, but Jordan beat me to it, snatching it up and taking a quick step away from me. “Really? Give it to me, Jordan.” I rolled my eyes in an attempt to look derisive, but my pulse was throbbing so hard I could hear it pounding in my head.
“Really?” he echoed, mimicking my tone. “Some do-gooder? You think that’s what I am? You think I’m trying to coerce you? The only one I see coercing you into anything is that jackass Gypsy king in there!” He waved angrily behind him. Stepping forward, he grabbed my arm just above my elbow. “Come away with me, Savannah. Come home. Let’s just leave this place.”
I wanted to demand he let go, but his grip on my arm, although nothing like Marek’s, triggered some kind of automatic response in me. Cringing, I covered Killian’s head with one hand and ducked my own, my eyes squeezed shut, in frozen anticipation of whatever came next.
“Oh, Savannah, no!” Jordan’s words came out broken and despairing. “I would never—”He took a tentative step forward and eased his arms around both of us, his gesture consoling, protective. “What has he done to you?”
He didn’t stroke my back or play with my hair the way a lover might; he just held me upright, offering his solidness to my weakness. I didn’t cry again, but I was sure if he let me go, I wouldn’t be able to stay upright on my own.
It took several moments, but I finally began to relax, to lean into him a little. I turned my head so it rested in the crook of his shoulder. Killian, too, seemed to slump toward Jordan, and I realized the man actually had one of his arms beneath my son’s bottom, supporting his weight as well. I took a deep, steadying breath and slowly let it out.
He smelled of California sunshine, a not unpleasant sweaty male scent, and of home. He actually smelled like Maple Avenue to me, the pleasant tang of the sycamore trees that stood like jolly sentries up and down our block, fresh-cut grass, and messy two-car garages where there was inevitably only room for one car to park. And paint. Jordan smelled faintly of paint, lacquer thinner, and a hint of cologne or aftershave applied hours ago.
Jordan Ransome smelled like memories.