Sunflower Lane Read online

  “You’re hardly hysterical. Matter of fact, you sound pretty damned rational to me. From what I saw this morning at breakfast time, you’re doing a terrific job. You’re doing everything right.”

  “Thanks, though I doubt that.” She laughed. Then her voice took on a wistful note. “I just wish Trish was back for one day—so I could ask her a million questions and she could give me some of her tips. She and Ron were such fantastic parents and I’m trying to do what they would have—”

  Breaking off, she gave her head a shake. “Okay, don’t mind me. I’m rambling.”

  “You’re not. You just miss your sister.”

  Wes froze at the sudden sheen of tears in her eyes. She nodded mutely at him. Shit. He’d faced down thugs, knives, guns, bombs, and fire, but a woman’s tears made him want to turn tail and run. He searched his brain for something soothing to say.

  In the end, he reached instinctively toward her again and pulled her close against him.

  “It’s all right to miss her, Annabelle. Trish was your sister. And a great one at that, I gather.”

  “The b-best.”

  Annabelle sniffed. For a moment she just leaned against him, going limp in his arms, her head resting against his chest.

  She felt like a wimp, but . . . it felt so good to be held. A man hadn’t held her in a very long time. Of course, she hadn’t gotten close enough to let that happen. She’d been too scared. She should be scared of Wes, too. He was probably the strongest, most physically tough man she’d ever met—much bigger and taller and deadlier than Zack, and she was terrified of him—but here she was, melting into Wes, relaxing, letting her eyes drift closed as, for just a moment, she felt . . .

  Safe.

  Safe? What was she thinking? She wasn’t safe.

  Her eyes flew open, and common sense rushed back. Every semblance of safety vanished.

  Wes might not be Zack, but he was a man—was he ever—and though she knew he’d never hurt her physically, she also knew men were no good for her. She’d figured that much out, at least.

  She was about to pull away . . . except his arms felt so good around her, his body taut, rugged, and deliciously strong. Every inch of him packed with muscle.

  Her resolve wavered. Lifting her head, she looked up into those intense green eyes and studied them.

  Well, how much can it hurt? she asked herself. To stay right here enjoying being close to him just a little longer? Looking into his eyes . . . such beautiful eyes . . .

  A wave of heat sizzled through her. She knew she was dancing on the edge.

  But as she watched his gaze grow warm, then drift lower, settling on her mouth, her knees went weak.

  Stop being an idiot. Move away from the hunk.

  But she didn’t. She didn’t move an inch—and then it was too late because her hands lifted suddenly and encircled his neck, and at the same instant she leaned toward him, Wes tugged her onto his lap. His strong arms banded around her waist.

  “That’s better. Much better, isn’t it, honey?” With a surprisingly gentle smile, he brushed his mouth against hers.

  Fire shot through her. Instant, red-hot fire.

  You’re doomed, she thought.

  And kissed him back.

  They didn’t seem to know how to stop kissing. Annabelle found her senses whirling like a merry-go-round as his warm lips tasted hers slowly, gently, before eventually traveling down her throat to nibble at her collarbone. When she moaned with pleasure, he returned his attention to her mouth, kissing her deeply, and then deeper still, like a starving man who couldn’t get enough.

  Neither could she.

  He wasn’t just tasting her; he was savoring her. And she was savoring him right back.

  She stopped thinking then, the words to describe it dissolving into bits of nothingness as her train of thought floated away. Fire sparked through her as he took each kiss deeper, hiking the intensity in slow degrees, making her blazingly aware of everything about him at once: the strength of those iron muscled arms around her, the dark male taste of him, the possessive way his warm mouth claimed hers.

  She could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. No one had ever kissed her like this. Wes kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, of her taste, her scent, her very soul.

  He must have an advanced degree in French kissing, as well as a black belt, she thought faintly as her hands slid to the warmth of his broad chest and she kissed him with a desperate, single-minded passion that made her forget who she was, where she was, everything.

  Everything but him.

  The two of them seemed to become one, devouring each other with an out-of-control need that deepened with each lick and taste. Their tongues danced a slow, sexy tango; then his hand slid up beneath her pink top to brush her breast. Annabelle gasped in pleasure. She didn’t want even an inch of space between her and Wes. She only wanted to melt into him, to kiss him forever . . . and then . . . what? She couldn’t think beyond that. She didn’t care. . . .

  Whatever happened next, happened. Breathlessly, she shifted on his lap so her legs were straddling him. If the next step felt half as good as this, she thought, stroking her fingers through the thickness of his hair as his mouth devoured her, she was all for it. . . .

  Wait, wait. This is crazy. This isn’t in the game plan. You swore off men. All men. And now you’re kissing perhaps the most dangerous man of all . . . a man who’s killed people, though probably for a good reason, if there is such a thing as a good reason . . . and he’s also leaving in a matter of weeks. . . .

  But that could be a good thing, too. A temporary thing . . . a little kiss or two to tide her over. It had been so long since she’d even thought about kissing a man. . . . Maybe she needed this . . . needed him . . . not forever, but for just right now. . . .

  He was pulling off her silky pink top and she was reaching for his shirt when suddenly a sound broke through the pleasure and the heat. A creak in the floor, coming from above . . .

  “Aunt Annabelle?”

  She froze as the small voice floated down from the upstairs hall.

  Instantly Wes’s hands dropped to his sides. She caught the slight lifting of his eyebrows as she yanked her top down, jumped up from his lap, and spun toward the stairs. Her nephew was stumbling toward the second-floor landing.

  “I had a bad dream,” Ethan muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  Oh God. Did he see anything?

  Panic rushed through her. But no, he couldn’t have seen them—the poor kid appeared only half-awake. Maybe a quarter awake. He looked small and innocent and tired in his navy blue pajamas dotted with brown horses.

  “You’re okay, Ethan. Everything’s okay.” Still feeling dazed from Wes’s kisses, and a little bit breathless, she hurried up the steps and met her nephew halfway. They both sat down, sharing a step as she slipped her arm around his shoulders.

  Wes stayed downstairs in the hallway. He stood at ease, watching, but aside from one quick glance at him, Annabelle pinned her gaze firmly on her nephew.

  “I can’t stop thinking about the treasure.” The boy leaned against her. “I dreamed that a bad man found it. But I need to find it first. I know it has to be here somewhere.”

  “Oh, honey, you don’t really know that. I’ve told you—”

  “It’s true, Aunt Annabelle. I read a lot more of the book before I went to bed and it says that Big Jed told a woman in the town of Fork’s Peak that he’d buried a clue to the treasure near Coyote Pass. In a place only he would know, and that if anything ever happened to him, no one would ever find it.”

  She hugged him tight, her pulse finally slowing from the heat of Wes’s kisses. “Well, the clue hasn’t been found, not in all these years. It could be anywhere on that mountain—if the story’s even true. And Big Jed could have moved the treasure someplace else after that—if he ever really had
it. There’s no proof that there even was a treasure, Ethan, or that one of his partners didn’t take it and hide it someplace else. It could be up in the Crazies or the Absarokas or at the bottom of Blackbird Lake for all we know.”

  Ethan struggled to smother a yawn. “Naw. I’m sure it’s somewhere near Coyote Pass,” he insisted sleepily.

  Hugging him again, she smoothed her fingers through the unruly cowlick of his hair. “We’ll talk about it more tomorrow. You need to get some sleep. No more reading until morning, promise?”

  By the time she tucked him back into bed, and left his door half-ajar, Wes was no longer downstairs in the living room. She realized that he’d let himself out the door and was standing on the porch, one big hand resting on the railing as he stared out into the night full of stars.

  She joined him, quietly closing the screen door behind her. Fields full of crickets hummed and sang in the darkness, but she paid no attention. She was focused on how broad his shoulders were, how darkly handsome he looked silhouetted against the inky sky. And remembering with a wonderful shiver how his mouth had felt as it intimately explored hers, how his eyes had softened when he pulled her closer, so close that the more he kissed her, the more they felt like one . . . joined by their mouths so close together, by the delicious heat and tension of her body pressed up against his, by something elusive she couldn’t quite put her finger on. . . .

  She walked toward him as he turned to face her.

  “Ethan all right?”

  With a smile, she wrapped her arms around herself as a sudden cold gust blew down from the mountains and her silky top fluttered. “Aside from being treasure-hunting crazy, Ethan’s fine.”

  A grin touched his lips. At the same time, a wolf gave a far-off howl in the darkness—a wild, lonely sound—reminding her how far she was from town, how isolated. Much closer to prairie and mountains than to Lonesome Way.

  “All little boys dream of finding treasure.” Reaching out, he stroked his fingers through her curls. For a moment those green eyes lingered on her face; then his gaze dropped to her mouth, and a shiver of electricity spiked through her.

  She thought he might kiss her again. She hoped he would. But his hand dropped to his side.

  “You’ll need to be up early tomorrow. I should say good night.”

  Disappointment pinged through her. Some part of her wished he would stay. The foolhardy part.

  “Thanks for . . . what you did back there.” She shook the vestiges of Tobe’s ugly words and contemptuous sneer away. “I appreciate your defending my honor,” she said as lightly as she could.

  “Anytime, Annabelle. You know where to find me.” His slow smile lit something wild and yearning inside her. Something she didn’t know was still there.

  When he touched her cheek as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, another slow wave of heat trembled through her.

  She tried to focus. “Can I . . . give you a lift back to town in the morning? We’re headed to the community center again, same time as today—”

  Before he could answer, she heard another sound, one far less familiar way out here than the call of a wolf. She broke off, head tilted, listening as it came again.

  “That sounds like . . . a barking dog.” Her brows knit as she peered toward the sound. “We don’t have any close neighbors . . . much less one with a dog. . . .”

  “Sorry—guess I forgot to mention it. Came across a stray in town—a mutt—and brought him back to the cabin. Just for the night. Hope that’s okay—I plan to take him to the vet tomorrow for a thorough exam and shots, and then drop him at the shelter. That is . . .” He smiled into her eyes. “Unless you tell me you and those kids want him?”

  Annabelle loved dogs, but she was forced to shake her head. “Megan’s afraid of dogs. Even little tiny ones. I’d like to change that, but until I do, I really can’t bring one into the house. She’d absolutely freak out. Sorry.”

  “Maybe there’s a way to get her past that.”

  “I wish, but I’m not so sure. I suppose we could try. . . .” Her voice was soft with doubt.

  Wes lingered on the porch another moment. His gaze locked with hers. “About that lift—I’m planning to get some work done in the cabin first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll find a ride to town later.”

  She nodded, and he took the steps two at a time, then suddenly turned and sprang back up onto the porch, right in front of her.

  “Just wondering—what’s for breakfast tomorrow?”

  “Scrambled eggs and biscuits.” A quick smile curved her lips. “You’re welcome to come inside and join us if you’d like so your eggs don’t get cold.”

  “Nah, don’t want to cause you any extra work. Biscuits and coffee left on the porch will do fine.”

  Yet still he lingered, gazing down at her as if reluctant for this crazy evening to end. For a moment she thought he might kiss her again, and for an even crazier moment she thought about raising up on her tiptoes and kissing him first, but then it was too late, because he brushed a thumb gently down her cheek, turned, and ambled down the steps.

  He set off along the dark rocky path to the cabin without another word. And without looking back.

  She watched him go, a sense of disappointment filling her. He walked swiftly, making little sound in the night, which was astonishing for such a big man. She waited until he disappeared over the ridge that sloped down toward the cabin. It was too dark to even make out the shape of the cabin beyond the ridge or to hear any sound except the crickets chirping up a storm. Even the dog had stopped barking. The night was silent.

  She might have been alone in the world.

  But she didn’t feel alone.

  Stepping inside, she locked the door. To her surprise, she didn’t think at all about Clay or Tobe or anything that had happened in the Double Cross Bar and Grill. She ran up the stairs and thought about how Wes had touched her, kissed her, looked at her, and again felt that electric shiver of heat.

  You know better, she told herself as she kicked off her shoes, pulled on a peach-colored cotton sleep tee, and glanced at herself in the mirror. Things with men never work out. Not for you. Pretend it didn’t happen and try not to want it to happen again.

  But she did want it to happen again. She loved the way Wes kissed her, the way he made her heart race. She loved the way he tasted and the easy way he moved, and the feel of his hard body pressed close to hers.

  And the way he’d stood up for her . . .

  She wasn’t used to anyone but her girlfriends doing that.

  She tried to talk herself out of it as she opened her bedroom window a few inches, letting the fresh, nippy breeze slip in. Sinking into bed, she did her best not to think about Wes.

  She noticed that the dog hadn’t barked again. Peace had settled into the darkness. But she didn’t feel particularly peaceful.

  He’d been back in town only a few days, but she wanted to feel Wes McPhee’s arms around her again. Wanted his hot, searching mouth on her lips, and his tongue doing that sexy dance with hers.

  She wanted . . . Oh, no, she wanted way too many things, all of them involving wild, endless sex with Wes. But that wasn’t a good idea. Not at all.

  Punching her pillow, she turned over, the blankets twisting as she stared at the ceiling. Whatever attraction there was between them, no matter how searing hot it might seem, she had to fight it. She could do that. And she would.

  But as an owl hooted at the stars overhead, and the old bones of the house creaked pleasantly around her, she fell asleep still trying to come up with a battle plan that would save her from herself.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Run out to the car, guys—quickly. I’ll be there in a minute!”

  Annabelle had pushed herself out of bed fifteen minutes earlier today and woke the kids up a little earlier, too, so they wouldn’t be so rushed. Someho
w, though, she was still racing the clock and trying not to be late for class.

  Today the girls started their art program at the community center and Ethan had basketball camp, and she was teaching teen and adult ballet and contemporary dance all morning. She had to get going, but she really wanted to load the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and clean the table where Michelle had spilled some blackberry jam. She’d thought of sending Ethan down the dirt road to make sure Wes hadn’t changed his mind and wanted a ride to town to get his truck, but in the hustle and bustle of getting everyone up and moving, she hadn’t remembered to do it.

  “Buckle yourselves in,” she called as the girls—in matching pink shorts and white T-shirts with a single pink heart in the center—rushed past her out the door. “I’ll be right there.”

  Ethan bounded out behind them, apparently determined to reach the car first.

  The screen door had barely slammed behind him before she heard a high-pitched scream that made her spin away from the counter and dart outside.

  Her heart flew into her throat as a million dangers crowded into her mind. She thought of coyotes and foxes and snakes . . . of that wolf she’d heard last night somehow wandering down their lane . . .

  But she skidded to a stop, her eyes widening as she saw . . .

  A dog.

  An excited, medium-sized black and white dog whose tail was wagging furiously as Ethan and Michelle knelt on the ground petting him.

  “Hi, Treasure!” Ethan nuzzled the dog happily, and Michelle kissed the top of his scruffy head. But Megan stood frozen on the garden path, the bones of her small face clenched with fear and her brown eyes wide as pansies.

  Oh God. Annabelle sprinted toward her. “Megan, honey, don’t be scared. It’s okay.”

  Dropping to her knees, she clasped the little girl’s hand. “This dog is friendly. See? Look how nice he is—he’s giving Michelle and Ethan lots of kisses—look.”

  But Megan clutched her hand tightly, refusing to look at the dog who was licking her brother and sister repeatedly, as if they were long-lost friends.