Heart 0f Mine (Secrets 0f Savannah Book 6) Read online

  The nurse reached out and touched her shoulder. “Miss Alexander. It’s true. I saw them collect the baby myself. Sister Angela was with the family.”

  Without uttering a word, Hattie began to run in the direction of the nursery. A female voice called out to her. It was Sister Angela, the young nun who had ran the hospital nursery. She held her back with strong arms. Before she knew it, she was being taken away to a ward of the hospital where everything was pristine and stark white. Hattie flailed her arms and fought back against the heavy weight descending upon her. Sister Angela spoke to her in soothing tones. She felt something prick her arm, and the next thing she knew, everything faded to black.

  It wasn’t until a week later that Hattie knew day from night, right from wrong. Her heart once again felt shattered beyond repair. No matter what she did or where she went in her life from this point forward, Hattie knew she would never recover from these two losses. First Samuel and now Patrick. One had been thrust upon her while the other had been of her own making. She should have been stronger. Braver. More resolute. She should never have walked away from Patrick.

  Once again, she found herself in a constant state of agony. She was mourning the loss of her child and the life they could have had together. Hattie hated herself. And she imagined Samuel would have been heartsick at her actions. She had given away the last tie to Samuel—their precious child.

  She knew on some instinctual level she would never lay eyes on her beautiful son again. And as a penance against what she had done, Hattie vowed she would never have another child. She would never seek to replace Patrick.

  Lord knew she never could.

  September 1998

  Hope Matthews cradled her doll baby in her arms, making cooing noises to settle her down. She loved doll babies. They were so sweet and loveable. They needed her. She was their Mama. They didn’t laugh at her. They didn’t ignore her. They belonged to her. And she loved playing with them almost as much as her five best friends—Morgan, Olivia, Callie, Fancy and Charlotte.

  She was so angry. Daddy had told her this morning she was too old to play with dolls. She was only ten-years-old. And what did it matter anyway? There weren’t rules about how old you had to be to love dolls. It made upset just to think about it. Mama hadn’t said a word to correct him either. She’d just stood there with her arms crossed over her chest and nodding her head.

  She loved her Mama and Daddy. And most times she knew they loved her. But the problem was, they loved each other more than they loved her. They put each other first. One of these days, maybe she would be first. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so all alone.

  Holding her baby doll tightly in her arms made the loneliness go away. She was sitting in her backyard in the little house her grandmother had built for her. It was a mini version of the house her grandma lived in. Her nana’s house was beautiful, white and three stories, with big columns. She’d tucked herself away where nobody could find her. Not that they were really looking for her. She wasn’t important. She wished she didn’t always feel so small. So invisible.

  Whenever she went over to Savannah House, Miss Hattie reminded her to speak up. “Don’t ever lose your voice.” She was trying to use her voice, but no one seemed to be listening. Except Miss Hattie, her very best friends and her doll babies. They always heard her loud and clear. She was her best self when she was around them.

  “When I grow up I’m going to have lots and lots of babies. I’m going to find a husband who’ll love me better than anybody.” Hope wiped away the hot tears streaming down her face. “I’ll be first. Always.”

  She just wanted to be loved. And love in return. She wanted to be someone’s entire world.

  Hope didn’t think that was too much to ask.

  Maybe then this feeling in the pit of her stomach would go away.

  God. Can you listen for a moment? I know you’re a mighty powerful God. You can do anything. And when I go to church and hear the gospel, I feel like I can do anything. In your name. Can you please send me somebody who’ll love me no matter what? Maybe not right now because I’m still a little girl and all. But someday. And if you could make him someone I can swoon over, that would be nice too.

  To have and to hold. From this day forward. Till death do us part. She remembered hearing those beautiful words at her cousin Abigail’s fairytale wedding. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the church. That’s what she wanted. A love like that.

  “You never know when someone extraordinary is going to come into your life. God works in mysterious ways.” Pearl Lucas

  Chapter One

  Tybee Island, Georgia

  Hope Matthews wiped the sleep from her eyes and trudged over to her daughter’s crib in the next room. Last night had been a real beast. Ella had been running a nasty fever. As a result, she’d screamed and fussed throughout the night. Hope leaned over and scooped her daughter up from her crib, quickly testing her temperature with the back of her hand.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she said, uttering a sigh of relief that Ella’s forehead was cool. She couldn’t even put into words how frightened she’d been last night as her baby’s temperature kept climbing higher and higher. Being a single mother and dealing with the stress all by herself had reached a breaking point last night. Thankfully, the morning had brought peace for both of them.

  “Good morning, Ella,” she cooed. “I’m so glad you feel better today. Let’s go get some breakfast.” She carried Ella on her hip as she walked down the hall toward her warm, cozy kitchen. Hope looked around her, letting out a sigh as she admired her surroundings. This cottage had been the perfect solution to her housing problem. Living with her parents had been problematic due to their continued insistence on knowing the identity of Ella’s father. Their curiosity had culminated in a showdown where they had accused her of having a relationship with a married man. Horrified by their incorrect assumption, Hope had moved out lock, stock and barrel with Ella. Her parents had been close to the truth, but they had been wrong in one major way. Hope had no idea Ross was married throughout their relationship. She would never have knowingly been a party to adultery.

  Callie Duvall Holden—one of her best friends and co-owners of Savannah House—had been living in the cottage until her marriage to the love of her life, Jax Holden. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Now Hope lived a stone’s throw away from Savannah House where she worked as a fitness instructor and gardening specialist.

  Hope, along with five of her closest friends, had been the recipient of a very generous inheritance from their mentor, Miss Hattie Alexander. At the reading of Miss Hattie’s will, Hope had been shocked to discover she was suddenly a co-owner of the legendary bed and breakfast, Savannah House. Once owned by Miss Hattie’s parents, the resort had been a haven for folks looking for rest, relaxation, a picturesque setting and all the creature comforts a person could ever want.

  Hope still couldn’t believe her good fortune. It had come at a time when she had been considering a return to Savannah after a lengthy absence. Hope had come back with baby Ella in tow, shocking everyone in town, most especially her five dearest friends—Callie, Olivia Renault Rawlings, Fancy Tolliver Duvall, Charlotte Duvall and Morgan Lucas Duvall.

  Thankfully, none of the women had pressed her about Ella’s father. They knew her well enough to know that she would tell them everything in due time.

  With funds bequeathed to them by Miss Hattie, renovations had been made on the resort, making it more modern without losing any of its vintage appeal. The reboot of Savannah House was a resounding success. The inn was booked for months in advance and the summer bookings were completely full. It made Hope want to dance and twirl around like in her ballerina days.

  Hope loved early mornings at her cozy little cottage. Ella was such a happy little girl and she loved breakfast time. As Hope spooned baby food into Ella’s little mouth she giggled at the ridiculous amount of food on her daughter’s chin. These were some of the best moments in her entire life, Hope reali
zed. Ella hadn’t been planned. Hope had never imagined in her wildest dreams giving birth to a child as an unmarried woman. But she had made mistakes in her past. Ella’s father was a big old honking mistake. But Ella wasn’t. She was the single best thing in her world. And no matter how much she regretted ever looking twice at Ella’s father, Hope could never regret her sweet cherub.

  A loud rapping on her door immediately drew her attention away from Ella’s breakfast. Knowing her daughter was only playing with her food at this point, Hope lifted her up and placed her in the pack and play in the living room.

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy, sweetness,” Hope said in a sugary sweet voice. She let out a laugh. Why did mothers always talk baby talk to their little ones? It was sort of funny. Having a baby suddenly reduced you to a high-pitched, sweet talking nut.

  Hope made her way to the cottage door in a few easy strides and pulled it open. Standing at her doorstop was a tall, athletic looking man with striking features. Hope almost gasped out loud. With shoulder-length hair and blue-green eyes, he resembled one of those handsome men on the cover of romance novels. His tanned skin spoke of his love of the outdoors. Hope prayed she wasn’t staring. It had been a long time since she’d had this instant attraction to a man. She clenched her teeth. Life had taught her not to fall for good looking, sweet talking men who preyed on your vulnerabilities.

  “Can I help you?” she asked in a curt voice.

  “Hey. Sorry to bother you. Would you by chance have a bandage?” He pointed down at his foot. “I was surfing and I have a pretty big gash on my foot.”

  Hope looked down. He was leaning against her doorframe and standing on one foot. His surf board was propped up against the siding of the cottage. Wasn’t it fairly early in the season to surf? She frowned at the sight of so much blood. “Wait a second. Let me get a towel.” She ran down the hall and rummaged in the closet for a towel. She grabbed it and ran back to the door.

  She thrust it at him. “Wrap your foot in the towel and come inside,” she instructed, waving him on in. She really hoped he wasn’t a serial killer. She normally wouldn’t have invited him inside, but she couldn’t very well ignore a person in trouble. He hobbled inside the cottage, immediately dwarfing the premises with his large size.

  “Sweet place you’ve got here,” he said, wincing as he walked.

  On pure instinct, Hope reached out and grabbed him by the arm, guiding him toward one of the chairs in the kitchen. By the time they reached it, he plopped down onto it with a loud groan. Out of breath herself, Hope reached for his leg and propped it up on the other chair.

  “Can I take a look?” she asked.

  “Be my guest,” he drawled, sucking in a breath as she unwound the towel.

  “Oh my goodness.” The words slipped right out of Hope’s mouth. The cut was still bleeding and it was fairly deep. It also didn’t look very clean. It seemed as if sand had gotten into it. “Does it feel like something is in there?”

  “Yes, it does. I tried to pull it out but I think I only pushed it in deeper.”

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to hold this towel against the wound to try and stem the bleeding. I’m going to go get my first aid kit.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said with a grunt.

  Hope got up and peeked her head in the living room. Ella was making baby noises and playing peacefully with a toy. A sharp feeling seized her chest. Never in a million years had she ever imagined feeling such love for another human being.

  She dashed off to retrieve the first aid kit, returning after a few minutes of scouring her medicine cabinet. She was out of breath when she returned. “I’m back,” she said, placing the kit down on the counter. She reached out and took the towel away from his foot. The bleeding had slowed down some but still continued to flow.

  “This might hurt a little bit,” she warned as she took a cotton ball and swiped some alcohol on it. She then pressed it against the cut.

  He let out a strangled cry and began muttering under his breath.

  “I’m sorry but I had to do it. I need to make sure it won’t get infected and part of that is getting the glass out or whatever is in there.”

  “Probably glass,” he said, breathing in and out sharply. “People are so selfish with our national treasures. They treat beaches like dumping grounds. Have you ever seen those videos about the poor birds with the plastic around their necks? It’s enough to make you sick.”

  “I agree,” Hope said, grazing her finger over the cut. She could feel a sharp object prickling her finger. Before resorting to her tweezers, Hope tried to extract it with her finger.

  “Ouch. Take it easy, Florence Nightingale.”

  Hope swung her eyes up, a sharp retort at the end of her tongue. One look at his face changed her mind. He was clearly in agony, no doubt due to her attempts to take out the piece of glass.

  “I’m trying,” she said in a curt voice. “Doing my best.”

  “Sorry,” he said, his expression sheepish. He sure was attractive.

  Focus, Hope. The man needed his foot back minus the piece of glass.

  Hope turned and reached for her tweezers. She held them between her fingers, ready to conquer the piece of glass.

  “Hey!” he cried out sharply. “What is that? What are you doing?” He began to wiggle in his seat.

  “Don’t move,” she said in an authoritative tone. “It’s a pair of tweezers to take out this foreign body from your cut. If you’d rather I didn’t I can point you toward the hospital.”

  “No. No hospital. I want you to do it. Go ahead.” He squeezed his eyes shut and began to count to ten.

  Hope manipulated the tweezers so that she was under the little flap of skin and tugging lightly at the piece of glass. She applied a little pressure and pulled. The little chunk of glass slid out. “Whew!” Hope said, holding it up so he could get a view of what she’d extracted from his foot. “It’s a considerable size too. Take a look.”

  “Wow,” he said. “Thanks for helping me out.” He ran a hand through his chin-length dirty blonde hair. Yep. This guy was a bona fide hunk. She didn’t want to stare but he really was an attractive man.

  Hope held up a hand. “Wait. You’re not done yet. I still have to put some bacitracin on it and cover it with a bandage.”

  “Whatever you say,” he said with a pearly grin. Hope looked away from him and focused on patching him up so he could be on his merry way. She was wary of handsome men like this surfer who had the chiseled features of a male model and the laid-back attitude of one who didn’t have too many worries in life. He probably just blinked and women came flocking in his direction. She let out a sigh. Been there, done that. Her beautiful Ella was living proof of how foolish she had once been over a gorgeous smile and flattery.

  “There,” Hope said as she covered the cut with a bandage as the final touch. “You’re free to go back to your surfing, although the salt water might sting.” She wrinkled her nose. She had never quite understood the whole surfing thing. She much preferred swimming or boating.

  As he stood up and hobbled toward the front door, Hope felt a twinge of curiosity about this mysterious stranger. They hadn’t introduced themselves, which was a little crazy considering he was in her house with her baby nearby. If he hadn’t been bloodied and limping, she never would have let him inside. And she wasn’t about to tell anyone she’d been this foolish.

  “By the way I’m Hope. Hope Matthews.”

  “Mighty obliged, Hope. I owe you a big favor for taking such good care of me.” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Grayson. Grayson Holloway.”

  **

  Grayson knew by Hope’s reaction that she was familiar with his name. Her mouth hardened and she knit her brows together. Her jovial attitude turned on a dime. She looked as if she wanted to push him out of her house. It was a shame considering the lady was beautiful. Dark hair. Exotic eyes. A warm smile. Or at least it had been a warm smile before she knew his identity.
r />   He let out a sigh. Of all the luck!

  “Grayson Holloway.” She said his name as if it were poison.

  “Yes,” he said with a nod. He snapped his fingers. “Hope. Hope. I knew it sounded familiar. You’re one of the ladies who owns Savannah House, aren’t you?”

  She tilted her chin up. “Yes, I am.”

  He’d done his research about the six owners of Savannah House. Hope’s photos didn’t do the woman justice.

  “Well then, that makes us neighbors. I’m renting out a cottage right across the way.”

  Her eyes bulged. She began to sputter, opening her mouth, then closing it.

  She shook her head, disgust etched on her face. “I have to go. My baby needs me.”

  Before he could thank her again, the door slammed in his face. Ouch. So much for the sweet Florence Nightingale who had patched him up. Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t everyday a person tried to make a claim for the resort you’d inherited. He let out a chuckle. The look on her face had been frosty. It intrigued him, although she was probably taken. She’d mentioned a baby before she’d slammed the door on him.

  Hmm. Had she meant an actual baby or was she referring to someone as baby? Like a husband? He hadn’t spotted a ring on her fingers as she’d patched him up. But then again, not everyone sported a wedding band these days. Grayson wasn’t sure he would if he ever walked down the aisle. Just the thought of it gave him the shivers. Grayson had seen enough of his parents’ bad marriage to last him a lifetime.

  No thank you. He was happy being single and footloose and fancy free.

  You can’t live your life that way forever.

  His father’s voice buzzed in his ear, reminding him of everything he was fighting for. Identity. Transparency. A legacy. Hope Matthews could shut the door on him as many times as she pleased. He was sticking around Savannah long enough to lay claim to his ties to Savannah House and the Alexander legacy. Miss Hattie Alexander’s blood flowed in his veins. He was one of her only living heirs. That meant something! Or at least it should. And if things had played out differently, he might be running Savannah House now as the rightful owner.