Forget Me Never by Sable Hunter (books successful people read txt) 📗

“Where did you come up with that and how did you know Ciara means black?” Jayco asked.  Jayco was their flanker and there was no better man to watch your back than the Texas good ole’ boy.

“It’s them damn romance novels, Hawke is an avid reader of historical romance.”  Patrick couldn’t resist hoorawing his buddy.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.  Those books are damn hot.  One handed reading, if you know what I mean.”  He moved his fist up and down in a jacking off motion.  “Beats the hell out of getting the clap from the brothels in Kabul.  Those Chinese lovelies they’ve brought in are sweet, but I’m picky.”

“Hey, Patrick,” Jayco grinned.  “Who’s Savannah?”

“What do you mean?” Patrick put the small dog down and began walking, whistling to see if she would follow.  She did.

“When you were napping in the jeep earlier, you were moaning her name.  It sounded like a serious moan to me.”

Patrick didn’t blush, but he did narrow his eyes and flash fire at his buddy.  “Savannah is a beautiful woman that I met the day before I shipped out.  And if anybody is moan worthy, it’s Savannah.”

“I bet she’s a Nordic beauty like Heidi. Right?”  Jayco thought he had Patrick figured out.

“Nope, Savannah is petite with dark hair, dark eyes and a smile so sweet it makes the birds sing.”

“Damn Hawke, our Alpha has a lady.”  The flanker had no ridicule in his tone, if anything it was a hint of jealousy.

“That’s right, and if you all will excuse Ciara and I – we’re going to go email my lady. She needs to know about this other woman in my life.”

“Patrick,” Hawke’s voice stopped him in his tracks.  “I’ve heard rumblings.  We’re about to be knee deep in trouble, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, don’t get too comfortable.  It looks like Lucas has done it again.  I think we’re about to get sent out on a reconnaissance mission.  There’s a raid coming down the pike and if you’re a praying man – now’s the time.”

*****

It had been two days since she had heard from him and Savannah had convinced herself Patrick had experienced a change of heart.  Logically she knew he was on a mission, and being in a war zone was not conducive for opportunities to chat on the computer all the time.  But all the reasonable thinking in the world didn’t prevent her from worrying.  What Patrick did was dangerous, there was no denying that.

Even though she would have liked to sit in her office and stare at the computer monitor, Savannah had several projects vying for her attention.  PROOF had called and reported they had received final permission from the owners to investigate the grounds of The Grove plantation near Baton Rouge.  It had burned down in the 1960’s after it had been struck by lightning.  Some of the ghost stories told about the place were fantastic, so Savannah couldn’t wait.  She had been asked to take part in the filming and had agreed to do so.  So to get up to speed, she had begun to research the topic and get ready for her maiden voyage into the paranormal.   After checking out a few websites, she had placed an order for some equipment and printed out all the protocol and tips she could find on how to have a successful ghost hunt.  Just for fun, she was going to head to the local cemetery the first chance she got and see if she could find anything on her own.  And today was Wednesday – the children would be at her house in about an hour and a half, so she had some things to do to get ready for them.  Today’s project was cookie makings in a jar.

But first, she was going to pick up the genealogical research she had ordered for Patrick from the South Louisiana Historical Society.  As it turned out, there was much more available on the Melancon family that she could have imagined.  He would have to look at it, however, and see if any of the names meant anything to him.  In fact, she intended to go ahead and send it to him as soon as she got back to the house.  Hopefully this would be information his grandfather could use.

Heading to the parking lot she walked up on Fred March before she could make a move to evade him.  What was he doing here?

“Hello, Savannah.  Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

She always tried to be polite; Mrs. Mosby had ground southern manners into her very soul, but this man tried her patience.  She didn’t trust him one iota.  There was just something about him that didn’t ring true.  “I’m on my way home, Mr. March.  Have a good evening.”  Now wasn’t a good time, she had no desire to fend him off.  And what he was doing at the Cultural Center, she didn’t even want to think of it.

“Don’t be in such a hurry, Savannah.  How about we go out for a drink?”

Fred was tall and thin.  The suit coat he wore was rumpled and his shoes needed shining.  Rivulets of revulsion skated over Savannah’s skin.  “No, thank you.  I appreciate you asking, though.”

“I don’t know who you’re saving yourself for, Savannah.  It’s not like there’s a line of suitors waiting to take you out.  You’re lucky that I waste my time on you.  If you think that soldier has any real interest in you, you’re just fooling yourself.”

She didn’t answer.  What could she say? He began to walk toward her and Savannah was just about to panic when Mr. Davis called his name.  She had never been more glad to see her boss.  “Professor, may I help you?”

“I’ve got an appointment with Randolph,” March volunteered.

As Fred made nice with Mr. Davis, Savannah made her escape.  She’d apologize to her boss later, but right now all she wanted to do was get in her car and