Chapter Two

"Savannah, get up!"

"Huh?" She bolted upright, automatically reaching out as though to steady herself.

"It's six in the morning. Get out of bed. There's work to be done." The salt-and-pepper-haired man who stood next to the bed had worn a perpetual scowl for at least ten years, and this morning was no exception.

"I'm up," she mumbled. Although she wanted nothing more than to sink back into sleep, she knew better than to argue with her foster father. Past experience told her that it was a battle she wouldn't win. And so the minute he turned on one dusty heel and retreated back into the hallway, Savannah forced her sore limbs into action.

She quickly dressed and shoved her feet into a pair of well-worn boots before pausing in front of the mirror over her oak dresser. Her lips were red and swollen, and she touched a finger to them, her eyes wide with speculation.

The dream. It had been so vivid … so real. She had been there in the forest with him. They had…

She blushed, ducking her head as heat flooded her system at the memory of what had transpired between her and the dream lover. Of course, that was impossible. Yet her body clearly stated otherwise.

"Savannah!" Vern shouted up the stairs. "These cows aren't going to milk themselves!"

"I'll be right down," she called out, then hurried down the stairs to face another day.

* * *

"Bring her back—now," he demanded, struggling hard for control.

"You know I can't do that. There are laws, rules to be followed. You know that just the same as I. You had to cross the threshold. You had to be invited into the house."

"I would have been," he snapped.

"You have much to answer for, my son. The council is angry with you as it is. They say you had no right to touch the girl."

"I didn't force her."

"You were not invited in," the older man repeated, irritation evident in his tone at his son's blatant disregard for the laws of their society.

"It's an old custom." He shrugged. "And a ridiculous one at that."

"Demons have co-existed peacefully with humans for millennia. You dare to challenge the laws of our establishment? Ravishing that girl in the woods tonight…" He shook his head in disgust. "Have you forgotten what you are? Have you forgotten all of the others that came before you?"

"I didn't rape Savannah, and you know it."

"You're still an incubus. That's what they will say. People will fear us more than they already do if that girl talks, and it will begin all over again. The whispers, the hysteria—the fear will plague all of our kind once again."

"I want her here. I have to go back and find her. She belongs here, with me."

"I'm sorry. The elders have spoken. Your penalty has already been decided."

"Well?" he said through gritted teeth when his father fell silent.

"Five years. You are banned from contacting her for a period of five years. You are banned from crossing worlds for a minimum of five years." Here his father took a deep breath. "And you are banned from watching her during that time."

"No! To hell with the council—"

"You would risk exile and death for this woman?"

"I can't leave her."

"You must, for now. I'm sorry, son. It has been decided."

* * *

Her back ached, and her hands were raw from a full day's labor. Savannah propped a booted foot against the rail of the corral in the north pasture and stretched her muscles. The scuffed canvas gloves hit the ground with a soft thud, and she spent several minutes flexing her hands to work out her tired, knotted fingers.

She was leaving the farm in less than twenty-four hours. Her stomach knotted at the prospect of striking out on her own. She had very little money saved and a car she had bought for three hundred of her five-hundred-dollar savings. She still didn't have the foggiest idea of where she was supposed to go. Would she miss this place? The open fields beckoned to the south and west, begging to be run through.

Everywhere she looked, there was a familiar sight to behold, a memory to relive. Most of them were good. At least, they were as good as she could get—even if they were solitary memories, and especially considering that she was technically an employee here.

Savannah had come to the Willow Brook Ranch nearly ten years ago to the date through Iowa's foster care program. Vern and Myra Holbrook claimed to be a Christian couple with a desire to serve their Lord; they had vowed to care for then eight-year-old Savannah as though she were their own flesh and blood. Really, they had wanted a free ranch hand. What they got was even better.

Savannah was put to work, and the Holbrooks were paid a sizable monthly stipend. Until now, she silently amended. She'd turned eighteen yesterday. The checks were now a thing of the past, Savannah lamented with a trace of bitterness. The Holbrooks had graciously offered their home to her once again—this time as an official employee.

They had been waiting for her in the kitchen when she'd returned to the farm after her graduation ceremony. The stern-faced, middle-aged couple had reminded her that they had done their Lord's work—they had raised her—but she was more than welcome to stay in their home, with a few stipulations.

She would work a twelve-hour day on the ranch, six in the morning to six in the afternoon. In exchange, she would be granted room and board. Utilities would be included. Food, clothing, toiletries, and other necessities were not. She was encouraged to find paid work for the weekends in one of the nearby towns in order to solve the dilemma of keeping herself fed and clothed. There were no sick days and no holidays other than Christmas Day.

Should she be unable to complete her regularly scheduled workday, they explained, she would be charged a prorated amount for utilities and rent, equal to thirty-five dollars a day. She would, of course, continue to take her meals in the kitchen, as the dining room was reserved exclusively for the Holbrook family and their guests.

Vern and Myra had one grown daughter. Bayleigh Holbrook was twenty-six years old and lived on the neighboring farm. She had married the Blue Creek Ranch heir two years ago. Bradley Cook was a handsome cowboy who seemed to truly cherish the youngest Holbrook.

Savannah smiled and shook her head. It was no wonder, she admitted. Bayleigh was beauty and grace personified. How Vern and Myra had managed to create someone like Bayleigh was still a mystery to her. Bay was probably the only thing Savannah would truly miss from this place that was soon to be a fading landscape in the rearview mirror.

Well, she amended with one last long, lingering look at the orange-and-purple brilliance of the setting sun, that wasn't entirely true. She would miss the beauty and vast open space of the farm. She would miss the horses and the wheat fields that swayed like golden waves under the sun. Savannah sucked in a deep breath and glanced toward the white-washed, two-story house that was just barely visible in the distance. Her troubled gaze slid over the faint outline of the old junker that sat at the edge of the driveway. She certainly wouldn't miss the house. Ditto for Vern and Myra Holbrook, which she figured was mutual.

Still, Savannah was scared. Every time she tried to visualize a place that she could call her own, that at least had the potential to feel like home, she drew a terrifying, crippling blank. It was something she'd been trying to figure out since the beginning of her senior year, and now that the time to leave and strike out on her own had finally come, she was no closer to an answer than she had been during all of those long nights when she'd lain awake in the sparse upstairs bedroom. She remembered feeling adrift and alone, certain that the place on earth where she belonged … didn't exist.

Despite her fear and uncertainty, Savannah knew that she couldn't stay with the Holbrooks any longer—and she had no real reason to remain in Iowa. But how far would her ancient second-hand set of wheels take her? Probably not very far at all.

The last rays of the setting sun had long since faded when Savannah bent to retrieve her canvas gloves, decision made. Tomorrow she would get in her car and drive as far south as the used Buick would take her—to anywhere, to nowhere.

She would leave the Willow Brook Ranch.