Heart of the Night by Barbara Delinsky Page A

or couldn’t sleep.
    Kick in a cool three million.
    Kickin’ off a cool country streak …
    The similarity had to be a coincidence.
    Pushing the pad and pencil away, she retrieved the small recorder, rewound it to find her place, then resumed dictation. The music played softly in the background. If Savannah had felt it would carry onto the recorder, she would simply have lowered the volume. She wouldn’t have turned it off. Jared Snow was too good to miss.
    After finishing that memorandum, she dictated two letters for her secretary to type the next day. In the middle of the second one, Jared spoke to her again.
    â€œThat was Gary Morris, harmonizing with Crystal Gayle, and I’m Jared Snow,” he drawled, “sittin’ with you in the heart of the night. Don’t touch that dial. It’s set at 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence, all day, every day, your best bet for a little country in the city…”
    His voice faded as the music began, but she held its memory inside her far longer.
    He was tall and dark, she decided. Rakish, rather than suave. He had the lazy smile she associated with his voice, and more often than not it was crooked. She imagined broad shoulders, a tapering torso, long legs. He wore form-fitting sweaters with nothing underneath, and jeans that fit like a glove, leaving no doubt as to his sex.
    With a soft moan of dismay, Savannah snatched up the recorder, and inhaled, ready to speak. The breath silently seeped out. She had no idea where she had left off. Lips tight, she rewound the tape, listened for a minute, then finished the letter. She managed to quickly dictate another one before Jared returned.
    â€œRonnie Milsap, ‘Where Do the Nights Go.’ I spent some time with Ronnie not long ago. Nice guy. Nice song.”
    Savannah had been concentrating on her work, so she had not heard the song, but if Jared said it, it had to be so. Threading her fingers into her hair, she began to loosen the pins that had kept it in a neat twist since morning.
    â€œI’ve got lots more coming up for you from the home of cool country sounds, 95.3 FM, WCIC Providence, starting with one of the sweetest I’ve heard in a while, a new one from Dolly Parton.…”
    Dolly started singing, and Savannah’s hands went still in her hair. She disliked Dolly Parton. She wasn’t sure why. Dolly sang nicely enough, beautifully, in fact. But she was too short, too blonde, too busty. Jared had called her song one of the sweetest he had heard in a while. Maybe that was what bothered Savannah. Maybe she was jealous.
    â€œFor God’s sake,” she muttered and removed the hairpins with a vengeance. When they were in a neat pile on the desk, she ran her fingers through her long brown hair to relieve the little kinks that had set in. Then, tossing the mane over her shoulder, she picked up the recorder again. But she was feeling restless, not at all like working. A hot bath and a cup of warm milk sounded nice.
    Neither one hit the spot. No sooner had she sunk into the tub than she began to think about Megan. After no more than five minutes in the water, she climbed out, toweled herself dry and, drawing on a soft cotton nightgown, went for the milk. It left an unpleasant taste in her mouth.
    So she climbed into bed, set the radio to play for an hour, drew the covers to her chin, and waited for Jared Snow to speak. She didn’t have long to wait.
    â€œIt’s one-twenty,” he told her in the gently raspy tone that caressed her mind, “twenty minutes after one in the Ocean State. The WCIC forecast calls for clearing by morning, but I can still hear the rain on my roof. Don’t go out if you can help it, it’s a raw thirty-nine degrees, a perfect night to curl up with a blanket, a glass of wine, a special someone. I’m Jared Snow. In the heart of the night you’re tuned to WCIC, 95.3 FM. Still got more than four hours of the smoothest of country sounds.