house had been given a coat of paint in the past year. White shutters bracketed the single front window. Before Savanna could knock on the door, it opened and a tiny woman in whitewashed jeans and a pink sweatshirt smiled at them. Silver curls sprang wildly around her head as her clear-sky eyes beamed happiness.
“Well, now,” she exclaimed. “If this just don’t beat all.”
“Georgia Martin?” Savanna asked.
“And you’re Savanna Stowe.” She spotted Christopher flapping his hands and her expression filled with instant love. “Christopher…”
“Chris, say hello to Great-Nana.”
“Hello, Great-Nana.”
“Just call me Nana, Chris.”
“Nana.” His gaze riveted on a small oil painting of a tabby cat in the entranceway. He rocked on his feet. “Cats are dangerous. They digest rodents because they’re carnivores, and they scratch your skin.”
“Only if they’re scared, Christopher,” Georgia said gently. She stepped aside. “Won’t you come in?”
Savanna spoke softly. “Would you mind taking the picture away, Georgia?” On the phone at the lodge, while Christopher brushed his teeth, she had given the woman a brief summary of what to expect with the boy, although Elke and Georgia had discussed autism at length in letter and phone exchanges. This morning the old woman had mentioned a Siberian husky but no cats.
“Of course.” Georgia took down the picture, shoved it into the drawer of a small antiquated hall table. “Tabs was once my pet.”
Christopher’s flapping lessened to finger tapping again, and Savanna led him into the house. “I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this,” she said.
“Oh, honey, I’m glad you did, but heartbroken over the circumstances.” Her eyes filled for a moment. “I was planning a trip down to see my granddaughter this summer. She’s—was my sole relative.”
“Elke was so looking forward to your visit.” Savanna touched the shoulder of the boy at her side and smiled. “You still have Christopher.”
“I do.” Georgia rolled her lips inward, blinked back tears and walked back to a tiny, cluttered kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”
“I’m fine. We had a big breakfast, thank you. Georgia, I know this is very presumptuous of me, but I need your help.”
“Anything, honey.” She darted a look at Christopher. “Is Will adamant?”
Over the lodge phone, Savanna had briefed her on Will, as well. “I’m working on that. It’ll take some time.”
Georgia laughed. “I’d say you have your work cut out for you, then. That boy has a stubborn streak twenty miles wide. But a good heart. What is it you need?”
“A place to stay while he and Christopher get to know each other.” She watched the child walk to the living room, where he sat yoga-style on a large round rag rug beside a husky, its tail slowly beating the floor. “Is your dog good around children?”
“Blue loves kids,” Georgia assured. “But arthritis is eating his hips and he’s half-blind. Now, he pretty much sleeps the day away. Chris is okay with dogs, then?”
“Yes,” Savanna conceded, and for a moment they observed boy and canine. “Let’s hope your Blue helps him adjust over the next twelve weeks—and I won’t have to make a decision.”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “Decision?”
“To take Chris back to my hometown in Tennessee—if he and Will don’t connect.” Savanna pulled the copy of Dennis’s will from her purse. “Georgia, your granddaughter and Dennis requested…” How to explain to this sweet elderly grandmother? “I was their second option to raise him,” she whispered in a rush before clamping her mouth shut.
Georgia read the highlighted paragraphs, her curls quaking from the tiny tremor of her head. Was she in the initial stage of Parkinson’s?
“I’m sorry,” Savanna whispered, picturing the latter phase of the disease. “I can’t imagine how you must feel.” On top of everything else.
The stationary quivered in the old woman’s hands. “No, they were right. I’m too old and…” She folded the testament carefully. “Well.” Eyes sharp as a blade, she handed back the copy. “Do you love my grandson?”
“As if he’d come from my own body.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Savanna’s shoulders relaxed.
“But,” Georgia said with a wink, “three months is a long time. Will and I just might convince you to become an Alaskan.”
Chapter Three
They arranged for Savanna and Christopher to temporarily move into Georgia’s home. Savanna had argued against the offer, but the old woman would not budge. She wanted a chance to know her great-grandson, she said. And Savanna. She wanted to understand the woman her granddaughter trusted with life’s most precious gift.
They used Georgia’s old truck to move the suitcases from the lodge. Done, they drove to Starlight Elementary where Savanna registered Christopher in fifth grade for the remainder of the school year.
She was walking through the six-o’clock dusk, back to the house from Larson’s General, with three king salmon steaks, when Will came up the street in a red Toyota 4Runner.
“Hey,” he said through the open window. Slowing to a crawl, he drove with his right hand atop the steering wheel while his left arm sat jacked on the sill. “Lodge said you’d checked out.”
She stopped, the grocery sack swinging against her leg. “We moved in with Georgia Martin.”
His brows jumped. “Didn’t know you were acquainted.”
“She’s Christopher’s great-grandmother.”
“I know who she is, Savanna. I just didn’t know you two knew each other, is all.” His eyes were ebony in the dusk.
“We didn’t until about eight hours ago. I needed a place to stay. She offered, so…here we are.”
He stopped the truck. “Get in and I’ll give you a lift.”
“What for? It’s right there.” She pointed a hundred feet up the street where lights welcomed the old lady’s home among the trees.
“Because,” he said, “we need to talk.”
“If it’s about us leaving, I’m not interested.”
“It’s about Christopher. I’ve changed my mind.” He nodded to the passenger seat. “Get in. Please,” he added.
The please went through her like butter, but she forced herself not to give in too quickly. “Are you always this charming?”
His grin rippled across her stomach. “Only with certain women.”
Certain women. She could imagine the type. Tittering at his whim. Blinking doe eyes. Women like Mindy the waitress, dreaming of dancing with the local macho pilot. Dirty dancing. Eager young women. Not one skipping toward menopause with the next handful of birthdays.
She raised her chin. She had not spent twenty years in the Third World without earning her wrinkles, her tough spine. Nine years and Will Rubens might, might, catch up to her wisdom.
“I am not certain women,” she said. “And I do not take orders easily.” Definitely not from young hotshots with dimples.
He laughed. “Feisty is good.”
She walked on. “We can talk at the house.”
“Savanna…”