Page 1 of Darlin'

CHAPTER 1

Lost and Found

"Oh, my..."The warmth and skill of his soft, masculine hands make my toes curl, and my head dang near spins from the euphoria of his expert touch. "Right there...a little harder." A trembling moan escapes my parted lips as he increases the pressure. "Oh, yes. Right there... harder... harder?—"

"Savannah Jean Kingsley!"Shoot. I snap open my eyes, twisting my neck toward my mother's scolding voice as she pointedly glances up at my masseuse. "I apologize for my daughter's"—she glares at me, shimmying up her massage table—"inappropriate outbursts."

"Nothin' to apologize for Mrs. Kingsley." Zackery chuckles under his breath, continuing to hammer out all the kinks in my shoulders. "All it tells me is that I'm doing a fine job, ain't that right, Savvy girl?"

"Mhmm," I hum, my mother's icy gaze lowering the temperature in the room by several uncomfortable degrees.

Momma raises a meticulously plucked brow. "Asimple 'you're doing a good job' would suffice, would it not?"

"You're doing a good job, Zack," I mutter under my breath, resting my cheek against the raised pillow head on the table. I glare at Momma. "Better?"

"Much," she says. "See? Look how easy it is to be a lady."

"Right, a lady," I grumble, suddenly much more tense than I was prior to the massage. "Remind me again why I agreed to this mother-daughter outing?"

"Because, Savannah, preliminaries are two months away, and if we're to win Miss USA, then I needyouto berelaxed," she replies in a clipped tone, pursing her ruby-red lips. "Seriously, child, you're looking like a hunchback these days." Her gaze skims down my bare spine and she clicks her tongue. "Posture matters, Savannah. You think the judges are gonna crown you queen if you look like you have a part-time job scaling the sides of Notre Dame? I don't think so."

Miss USA. It's all I've ever heard since the moment I could comprehend the English language. Momma made sure that she used my entire childhood to prepare me for this coveted title. Honestly, I find the idea of stuffing pageant flippers into a child's mouth totally ridiculous, but the trophies on my shelf prove that it's essential for a win.

Twenty-one years of waving, smiling, and twirling for judges does a number on a girl, mentally, physically, andposturely...is that word? Screw it. 'Tis now.

"If relaxation was the goal of this little bonding day," Isay, scowling, "then I'm afraid to tell you that you've failed. I donotfeel relaxed right now."

"You seemed rather relaxed a second ago," she notes. "Perhapstoorelaxed."

"Well, that was short-lived," I mumble. "Now I'm stressed again. Thanks, momma."

"There's relaxation, Savannah, and then there's fornication," she states with a huff. "We're at a massage parlor, not a house of ill repute."

Here we go again.

"A house of ill repute?" My jaw drops. She's somehow becoming more uptight as the years drone on. "That is just plain rude, momma." I crane my neck up to Zackery. "Do I look like a lady of the night toyou?" I wiggle my brows, tossing him an air kiss. "Wouldyoupay for some of my sugar—" I pause, giggling. "Sugar?"

"Savannah!" Momma gasps, swatting my shoulder. She rolls over and jerks upright off the table, pupils alarmingly wide. "I think it's time for us to leave now." She wraps the cotton sheet around her torso, nodding to the door. "You, gentlemen, are excused. Thank you."

"We've still got twenty minutes left, though," George says, stepping away from Momma's table as he glances at Zackery. "Y'all sure you don't wanna finish up here? It's paid for already."

"We're fine," Momma says, dismissing the boys. "Forty minutes of listening to my daughter moaning and groaning seems to be my limit these days." She blinks at Zackery and George as they hover awkwardly around us. "Well? Go on now."

"Right away, ma'am," Zack mutters, hustling out the door with George in tow.

"That was a bit unnecessary, don't you think?" I hop off the table and stride toward the dressing room. I drop the sheet around my ankles and grab the baby blue sundress off the hanger, slipping it over my head. "I could've kept quiet for twenty more minutes."

"Could you?" Momma's incredulous laugh floats into my stall. "Really?"

"Yes," I state with absolute confidence as I struggle to zip up my dress.

I check the sizing tag and frown. Did she really return this dress for a smaller size? Is this supposed to motivate me?

"I highly doubt that," Momma says. "The last time you stayed silent for more than ten minutes was when you had laryngitis, and even then, you sang like a croaking bluebird."

"Sometimes I wishyou'dget laryngitis," I grunt, strapping on my heeled sandals before whipping open the changing room curtain. I glare at my mother as she straightens out the broach pinned to her blazer. "Perhaps then we'd finally knowworld peace."

"Save it for the judges, Savannah," she sighs, looping her handbag over her forearm as she passes me my purse. She studies my designer bag with a scrutinizing gaze. "I don't like all the chains on this. It's very demonic, not at all feminine."

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