Sunflower Lane Read online

  Big Billy, who always looked so fierce but had the soul of a gentle giant, took a big step forward. “Sorry about the trouble, Annabelle. Next time you come in, your meal’s on the house. The kids’ meals, too, if you want to bring ’em.”

  “Thank you.”

  And then Wes’s strong hand was at her waist, guiding her to the door.

  Outside, in the glow of a luminous June moon, he turned toward her.

  “You look kind of shaky. How about you let me drive your car home? I can always get a lift back to town tomorrow for my truck.”

  Still in a haze of anger and mortification, she handed over her keys without protest, aware that her hands were trembling. Silently, she slid into the passenger seat of her Jeep.

  Wes didn’t speak as they left the lights of the Double Cross parking lot behind—or even after the darkened shops on Main Street receded into faint blurs in the rearview mirror. Not until he turned onto Squirrel Road did he glance over at her.

  Annabelle was staring straight ahead. He couldn’t see any tears on her cheeks, but he was pretty sure she was holding herself together by a few slender threads.

  “Don’t pay any attention to what that asshole said. Any man who goes down from one punch and doesn’t get back up isn’t much of a man at all.”

  “He’s a worm. And so’s Clay. Lower than a worm. Whatever that makes him. Them.”

  “Amoeba, maybe.”

  “Amoeba works.”

  “Didn’t we study amoeba in biology that year?”

  All she remembered about biology was how Wes had performed the frog dissection by himself. She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, distract her, but her heart felt like it was clamped in a bear trap.

  Wes tried again. “You handled yourself pretty well back there.”

  “Thanks. I’ve had a little practice. Though right now I wish I’d taken him out with a knife hand to the side of his neck.”

  In surprise, he glanced at her. “You’ve had training.”

  “Some. Enough to do some damage and get away from an attacker if necessary.”

  “Training for fun—or out of necessity?”

  She looked straight ahead. Her voice was low. “Necessity. My ex-husband had a violent streak. He was the jealous type. When I finally left him, I knew I needed to learn how to protect myself in case he ever showed up.”

  Wes scowled in the darkness. Driving down the deserted country road, he took in the enormity of what she’d just told him. “Sorry to hear that,” he muttered at last. “How long were you married to the bastard?”

  “Less than a year. Eight months, maybe. The insane jealousy didn’t show up until a month after we got back from our honeymoon. Up until then, I didn’t have a clue.”

  Shit, he hated to think of her with someone like that. He’d come across that type on the job, screwed-up bastards with sociopathic tendencies who wanted to own and control women.

  “Has he given you any trouble since the divorce?”

  “Some phone calls, the occasional threat. Especially if he was drinking. He showed up at my apartment once or twice when I still lived in Philly, before . . . before Trish and Ron had the accident and I moved back here. Luckily he’s still on the East Coast, and I’m not.”

  “So, are you saying you feel safe?” He glanced over at her, and as she met his eyes, he read the mixed emotions there.

  “Pretty much. Phone calls and text messages are easy to delete. And they stopped a while ago. So that’s good.”

  Wes was an expert at reading body movements and voices. Despite her attempt at a casual tone, the tension in her shoulders was obvious and the undercurrent of pain in her voice unmistakable.

  Steering around a jackrabbit crouching two feet into the road, he spoke quietly. “Did he ever threaten to come after you?”

  “Not in so many words.” She hesitated. “He implied it once or twice. I think he’s bluffing, but after his last call about a month ago, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to take some shooting lessons down the road. I’ve been meaning to get on that, not just because of him, but because we do live a fair distance from town, and we don’t even have any neighbors close by.”

  “I’d be happy to give you some pointers.”

  She turned to stare at him in surprise. “Th-thanks. I appreciate the offer. But . . . you’re doing enough. And I know you want time to visit your family, especially your grandmother. I’ll find someone to teach me—all I need to know is how to hit what I aim at. The trouble is, I’m a little nervous about having a gun in the house with the kids,” she admitted.

  Wes wished he could get his hands on that ex of hers for about thirty seconds. She spoke calmly enough about what she’d gone through, but he knew that beneath her calm, steady exterior, there was an uneasiness that probably rippled just under the surface pretty much day in and day out.

  Annabelle was plenty smart, and she had to know damned well that if that asshole ever showed up, she might have to protect those kids as well as herself.

  “Sometime when the twins and Ethan are all busy at a friend’s house, I could give you a few lessons. Some target practice, if you’re interested. Of course, since we have a business arrangement, I’d want something in exchange.”

  Her gaze flew to his face and she studied him warily. “What would that be?”

  “Strawberry pie. A whole one.”

  Her quick laughter warmed the darkness.

  “That’s it?” she asked, sounding more relaxed than she had since they left the Double Cross.

  “To help out a friend—you bet.”

  A friend, she thought. Yes. That’s what we are . . . or are becoming, perhaps. Friends.

  Silence ticked between them for a minute and then he spoke quietly. “I’ll have a word with Tobe when he’s sobered up. And I promise you he won’t bother you again.”

  “That’s not necessary, Wes,” she said quickly. “It’s my problem. I don’t want him trying to cause any trouble for you.”

  In the darkness she saw his grim smile. “I kinda hope he does.”

  “Men.” She muttered the single word under her breath.

  “Listen, Annabelle, Tobe’s not exactly the brightest bulb in town, but he was drunk tonight. Chances are he’ll be ashamed of himself by tomorrow. I doubt he’s going to try to cause trouble for either one of us. But what the hell is the deal with Clay? Maybe I should kick his ass. He still trash-talking you?”

  She stared straight ahead at the dark curving road, illuminated by a silver moon.

  “You know all about me and Clay. You two were friends.”

  “You mean way back when?” There was a wry note in his voice. “I didn’t actually have friends back then. I wasn’t too interested in friendship in those days, didn’t really get what it was. I kept to myself, in case you didn’t notice.”

  “Of course I noticed, but . . . you two hung out together. You were both on the wrestling team. A lot of the guys used to talk about me and I thought—”

  She broke off. Had she ever seen Wes pointing or grinning at her in a group of guys? She couldn’t remember.

  “I heard rumors,” he acknowledged, glancing at a fox lurking in the shadows beneath a tree. But his mind was on the past, those days in high school when he’d never had any close friendships. Those friendships hadn’t come until much later, until the DEA, when the bonds he forged with other agents in the field—life-or-death bonds, where partners and teams depended on one another, trusted one another, had one another’s backs—had taken hold.

  But in high school, he and Clay had hung out frequently, drinking and partying and looking for girls to pick up. They’d watched football games together, gone fishing in Sage Creek now and then with a couple of other guys, traded stories about girls they thought were hot.

  And yeah, Clay had talked about Annabelle. He’d talked a lot of tra
sh about her. And he wasn’t the only one. Annabelle Harper was easy—so most everyone said. She’d supposedly had random sex with Clay and Tobe and Matt, and oh yeah, Scooter—all on first dates. And with a couple of other guys, too, according to several who’d bragged in the locker room. You didn’t even have to take her to a movie, or buy her an ice cream cone at Lickety Split; all you had to do was get her alone, drive up to Cougar Rock or over to the drive-in, wait until the movie ended and the other cars were gone, and she’d get down and dirty in the backseat of a car or the bed of a truck in under a minute.

  He’d never known whether everything or anything those guys said was true, but he hadn’t doubted much of it. Hadn’t really thought about it, either—it was just Annabelle’s reputation. And since he’d been dating Marissa steadily most of his senior year, Annabelle, with her long-legged, graceful beauty, slutty reputation, and lame attempts to keep up in biology class, hadn’t strayed very often into his thoughts.

  “I didn’t pay a lot of attention back then to what Clay or anyone else said,” he admitted slowly. “I was sort of wrapped up in my own problems.”

  There was silence for a moment before she spoke. “You mean your father?”

  When he nodded, she felt her way along. “I knew there were issues. I heard some things about . . . all of that.”

  His eyes were trained on the lonely road that had begun twisting upward at a steep angle as they neared the turnoff to Sunflower Lane. “I can guess. That the two of us didn’t get along, that Hoot was hard on me, demanding, that he threw me out—”

  “No. That you beat the crap out of him one night and then left home and didn’t come back.”

  “Yeah. There was that.” Wes’s smile was grim. He shot her a quick glance. “Trust me, he had it coming.”

  He sounded so cool, so calmly unrepentant. Her thoughts flashed to her aunt.

  Aunt Lorelei’s affair with Hoot McPhee had finally been revealed years later and resulted in the destruction of both of their marriages. The mayor had filed for divorce from his cheating spouse and Diana McPhee had thrown her husband out of the family home.

  Hoot had toughed it out and stayed on in Lonesome Way, while Aunt Lorelei had fled all the way to the East Coast, as far from Montana as she could get. But it wasn’t long before everyone in town learned that Lorelei Hardin wasn’t the only woman Hoot had been seeing.

  There was a long list of others—both in and around town. And within a thirty-mile radius.

  As Wes turned the Jeep onto Sunflower Lane, he had to ease up on the gas as the wheels bumped over the rough road. Through the Jeep’s half-open windows, Annabelle caught the scent of daffodils and larkspur from her garden, mingled with the scent of sage drifting down from the hills.

  A night-light gleamed softly in the twins’ bedroom. Ethan’s room—once her mother’s sewing room—looked out over the back, with a view of the mountains, and she couldn’t see whether there was a light on there, but the lamp in the living room glowed.

  Ivy Tanner was probably stretched out on the sofa, watching a movie or texting on her phone.

  Everything was normal here, quiet. She drew a long breath, knowing she needed to compose herself before going into the house. The mad spinning of her thoughts had eased, at least, and her heart had stopped racing.

  Something about being here on Sunflower Lane always steadied her.

  Megan, Michelle, and Ethan needed her. She was the only one left to care for them and she had to be strong for them. They were the focus of her life. She couldn’t let Clay Johnson or Tobe or anyone else distract her from being the best she could be for Trish’s kids.

  Suddenly she noticed something, though—something hidden initially by the darkness.

  An old banged-up Silverado was parked in the shadows beside Ivy’s car.

  Annabelle froze.

  Does Ivy have company?

  The sudden clench of worry in her chest had her springing out of the Jeep almost before it came to a full stop.

  “No one’s supposed to be here when I’m gone. Those are the rules,” she said breathlessly as she strode toward the porch.

  Wes had noticed the two vehicles an instant before she did. He easily beat her to the steps and held the screen door open as she shoved her key into the lock.

  She went in first, but he was right behind her.

  Chapter Ten

  “Ivy?” Rushing into the hallway, Annabelle kept her voice low, trying to control her panic.

  In the same instant, the babysitter jumped up from the sofa, startled. “I’m sorry, Ms. Harper. I can explain!”

  A boy came quickly to his feet beside Ivy Tanner. A handsome, lanky teenaged boy, no more than sixteen years old, wearing ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. He had shaggy brown hair, an athletic build, and a guilty look on his face. He stood motionless as Ivy dashed forward, her eyes round and scared, but the moment she spotted Wes, she stopped dead in her tracks and looked like she wanted to run like a jackrabbit in the opposite direction.

  “Uncle . . . Wes,” she gulped. Pink color flooded her cheeks, matching the bright color of her jeans. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  “What’s up, Ivy?” He kept his tone easy. His sister’s stepdaughter looked like she was about to pass out with shame, but he’d already taken in the fact that she and the kid in the black T-shirt were both fully dressed.

  That was a relief.

  He didn’t see any joints, or smell anything funny, and there were no liquor bottles anywhere in sight.

  Annabelle seemed to have noticed this, too, because he saw her visibly relax.

  “Ivy.” She spoke very quietly, but there was a sliver of steel in her tone that Wes liked. “I thought I made it clear. No friends, no boys, no one else in the house without my permission while I’m gone.”

  “I know, Ms. Harper, I’m sorry, but Nate—um, this is Nate—Nate Miles—” She cast him a quick glance, her eyes glowing. “He’s my boyfriend—well, he was, and now he is again.” She flushed. “We had a fight and sort of broke up, but he found out from my friend Shannon I was babysitting tonight and he called me and wanted to talk. That’s all we did—we just talked! I swear, nothing else happened. And Megan and Michelle were already asleep when he got here. Ethan was still up reading his treasure book but he didn’t come down here or anything and . . . I’m sure he’s asleep by now. I’m . . . sorry.”

  “It’s all my fault, Ms. Harper.” Nate took a step forward. “I kind of needed to see Ivy right away. I had to apologize to her for being a jerk and making a big mistake. But we just talked, I swear. She didn’t want me to come, but I drove over here anyway. I was just on my way out.”

  Annabelle’s anger melted as she saw tears glimmering in the babysitter’s eyes. She let out her breath. “Listen, I understand. I don’t mind, Ivy, this time. As long as it never happens again. If you’re even thinking about having company while you babysit, call me and run it by me next time. Okay? And if I say no—”

  “Then it’s no,” the girl finished for her. “I promise!”

  She spun toward her uncle, worry etched in her young face. “Uncle Wes . . . are you going to tell Sophie and my dad?”

  “The way I see it, not much to tell, honey. But whatever there is—you might want to tell them yourself.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t.” She grimaced. “You can’t believe how strict my dad’s gotten ever since I turned sixteen. But I might tell Sophie. She’ll understand.”

  As soon as Annabelle pulled some bills from her purse and handed them to Ivy, the two teenagers practically raced outside. Nate stopped short on the porch and turned around, closing the door quietly behind him.

  “I didn’t expect any of that!” Sinking down on the sofa with a sigh, Annabelle pushed her wild blond curls back from her eyes. “Sorry. I’m not strict usually, but I need whoever’s babysitting to focus on the kids.
”

  “Can’t say I blame you. You’ve taken on a big responsibility here.”

  “You have no idea.” Skimming her fingers in frustration through her hair, she turned those golden brown eyes to him. “Three kids. Ages seven to ten. Depending just on me. Me. The free spirit of the family.” She groaned.

  “The dancer who left this town for the big city, wanting nothing more than to dance, and pursue my dreams of . . . perfection, I guess. No matter how many hours a dancer practices, technique can always be improved upon. I was really searching for the impossible dream. Trish used to call and tell me whenever she had a problem with the kids, or when she wasn’t sure how to handle something—like Michelle wanting to take her blankie everywhere when she was three, and Ethan getting out of bed ten times a night when he first had a big boy’s bed. But Trish knew what she was doing. I was only a sounding board. Now . . .” She swallowed and leaned her head back against the sofa.

  “Now it’s up to me to make all the decisions. To keep them safe, and on track, away from drugs, and from kids who do drugs, and who drink, and all that other stuff. I mean,” she added, “Megan and Michelle are too young for that, and Ethan’s only ten, but still . . .” She drew in a long breath. Then her eyes met his.

  “I never had to make rules for anyone before, or think five steps ahead as to what they might do or what might happen.”

  “Hey. It’s okay. Take it easy.” He joined her on the sofa and slipped a reassuring arm around her shoulder. “You’re doing just fine, Annabelle. Actually, I think you’re doing great.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” But she found herself relaxing against him, struck by his innate kindness. Not to mention his tall frame, which was so solid. So deliciously strong. She felt like she could sit here for hours, drawing comfort just from his wonderful hunky nearness. But she couldn’t do that, couldn’t give in to need, or let herself start depending on someone else to help with her problems.

  “I’m sorry.” She straightened. Get a grip. “I promise . . . no more venting. I’m sure the last thing you need is a hysterical woman unloading on you right now.”