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“What does it mean?” she asked in alarm.
“That you’ve been reading too many vampire books?” he replied, his voice light.
She stared at him. Was that all it was? Just her imagination supplying images to go along with her night-time fantasies? That had to be it. What else could it be? She had to admit that when she read his books, she always pictured him as the hero, and his heroes were usually vampires.
She forced a smile. “I’m sure you’re right,” she agreed.
But she wasn’t sure at all.
Chapter Fourteen
Shannah stood on the sidewalk in front of her parents’ house, an overnight bag in one hand.
She hadn’t been home in over a year and she was blown away by the changes her folks had made. The house, once a rather insipid shade of beige, was now a cheerful country blue with bright white trim and a red door. Shannah smiled as she walked up the red brick path to the porch. For as long as she could remember, her mother had been trying to convince her father to paint the house blue. After thirty-three years, her mother had finally prevailed.
“Shannah!” Verna Davis came through the doorway as if she had been shot out of a cannon.
“You’re here!”
“Hi, Mom.”
Verna engulfed her daughter in a hug and held on tight.
“Mom. Mom, please don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it,” Verna said, sniffing. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“I’m doing fine, Mom.” Shannah removed her sunglasses. Squinting against the sun, she dropped them into her pocket. “Really.”
Verna stood back, her gaze moving over Shannah from head to foot. “You look wonderful. Have they found a cure?” she asked hopefully.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Then how…?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m in some kind of remission. All I know is I feel better than I ever have in my whole life.” Shannah slipped her arm around her mother’s waist. “You’re looking good, too, Mom. You’ve lost some weight, haven’t you?”
“Maybe a pound or two.”
Shannah smiled. Her mother was a pretty woman, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes and a figure that, while a little plump, still made men turn and stare.
“Where’s Dad?” Shannah asked as they walked up the porch stairs.
“Oh, he’s out in the backyard puttering around.”
Shannah dropped her bag inside the front door, her gaze moving around the living room. There was a new coat of pale green paint on the walls and a new flat screen TV, but other than that the place looked the same as always. Her father’s well-used leather recliner stood in the corner, there was a bag of knitting beside her mother’s favorite chair. Pictures of the family lined the mantel. A wooden rack held her mother’s salt and pepper shaker collection, many of them older than Shannah.
“I’ll just get some lemonade,” Verna said. “Why don’t you go out and say hi to your dad?”
“All right.”
Shannah found her father working on one of the sprinkler heads in the backyard.
He looked up when he heard the back door open. “Hey, Stinky, you’re home!”
Shannah grinned at the familiar nickname. “Hi, Dad.”
Rising, Scott Davis wiped his hands on his jeans before enfolding his daughter in a bear hug.
“I’m glad to see you, girl,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“I’m glad to see you, too.”
Her father was a big man with black hair and blue eyes. As usual, he wore jeans, a plaid shirt, and work boots. He had been a construction foreman for over twenty years. As a child, she had loved stomping around the house wearing his big boots and hard hat.
He gave her another squeeze, then let her go. “You’re looking well.”
“I feel wonderful. I like what you’ve done to the house.”
“Oh, that,” he muttered. “She finally got her own way.”
“It’s about time, too,” Shannah said, giving him a playful punch on the arm. “Admit it, it looks great.”
“Yeah, but don’t tell her I said so.”
“Don’t tell me what?” Verna asked, coming up behind them. Setting the tray she was carrying on a redwood table, she glanced between her husband and her daughter.
“Nothing,” Shannah’s father said, reaching for one of the glasses.
Verna looked at Shannah. “What’s he hiding now?”
“Nothing, Mom. He just told me not to tell you how good the house looks.”
“Oh, that!” Verna rolled her eyes. “Everybody thinks it looks a hundred percent better. I don’t know why we didn’t do it sooner.”
Shannah sat down in one of the lawn chairs and her mother and father took seats on either side of her. Besides lemonade, Verna had brought out a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies and some cheesecake.
Shannah glanced around the yard, remembering all the hours she had spent playing there as a child. Her old rope swing still hung from the big oak tree in the corner. Someone had given her playhouse a fresh coat of yellow paint and patched the hole in the roof.
“So, Shanny,” Verna said, passing the cookie plate around, “what brings you to New York?”
“Oh, Mom, you’ll never believe this! I’m pretending to be a famous author.”
Her mother stared at her, a cookie halfway to her mouth. “What? Why on earth would you do that?”
“I met this romance writer. He writes as Eva Black…”
“Eva Black!” Verna exclaimed. “I just bought one of her books…did you sayhe ?”
Shannah nodded. “Eva Black is a pen name. His real name is Ronan. You’ll meet him later.”
“He’sthe friend you’re bringing here? But we’re just having pot roast…and the house is a mess, and…” Verna ran a hand over her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing a famous celebrity home? Oh, dear, I’m a bigger mess than the house.”
“Mom, calm down. You’ve never looked better.”
Rising, Verna headed for the back door. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Eva Black was coming to dinner.”
“He probably won’t eat anything,” Shannah called, but it was too late. Her mother was already in the house.
“So,” her father asked, “why are you pretending to be this guy?”
