Sunflower Lane Read online

  “Don’t you even want to know why he’s back in town?” Martha stared at her suspiciously.

  “Why should I?” Ava’s brows lifted, and her green eyes rested indifferently on her friend’s face.

  “Because . . . because . . . he was your first kiss!” Dorothy exclaimed. “I remember specifically. You told us all about it. It was in sixth grade and you couldn’t stop talking about him. Dreaming about him. Everyone remembers their first kiss! Mine was Pete Miller. And Martha’s was Jack Carpenter. And yours was Ben Adkins.”

  Martha chimed in. “He kissed you in the playground, at the bottom of the slide after school let out—when everyone else had gone home. You told us every detail and said you were going to marry Ben Adkins one day—”

  “And you still were in love with him in tenth grade. And eleventh grade and twelfth—” Dorothy continued. “Until he left town without so much as a so long to you or anyone—and never came back.”

  “Nonsense. I was in love with my husband. We were married for forty-nine years. I barely remember Ben what’s-his-name.”

  The two other women exchanged glances.

  “If you say so,” Martha muttered.

  Dorothy still looked perplexed. “Of course you were in love with Clyde Todd, Ava; we all know that, but you didn’t meet him until you were twenty. That was two years after Ben took off. Before he did, you had the biggest crush on him I’ve ever seen. You wrote pages and pages in your diary about him every afternoon when you weren’t out riding across the pastures—or on a date with another beau. You sometimes read them to us—”

  “Oh, goodness, who remembers?” Ava stood. “It’s getting quite warm out here. I’d like a glass of iced tea. Can I get you some?”

  Martha and Dorothy exchanged glances again.

  “Tea would be nice.” Dorothy followed her old friend into the Good Luck Ranch house. She held the door for Martha, right behind her. The owner of the Cuttin’ Loose Salon stepped inside with a slight frown.

  “Well, if you don’t care that Ben is back in town, I can tell you a dozen women from our high school graduating class who do. There’d be more, I’m sure, but some of them aren’t with us anymore.” Martha carefully watched her friend’s face for a reaction, but Ava appeared totally indifferent.

  Putting on the teakettle, Ava changed the subject without commenting.

  “My daughter and I are headed to Big Timber today to buy a shower gift for Charlotte Delaney. Would you both like to come along? We’re stopping by A Bun in the Oven for pie on the way home.”

  Her friends agreed eagerly. Martha had already bought a shower gift online, but she enjoyed shopping in Big Timber. Dorothy needed a gift before Saturday.

  The subject of Ben Adkins and his unexpected return to town dropped away, as Ava hoped it would.

  But his name burned in her mind. She suddenly wished her friends would go away for an hour and leave her alone, as dear as they were to her, just so that she could absorb the news of Ben’s return privately.

  It sliced her like a scythe.

  Even after all these years, she reflected hollowly. Now, how could that be?

  He was your first love, she reminded herself. Her first heartbreak.

  He’d broken every promise he’d made to her. . . .

  I’m not leaving without you.

  That was what he’d said. He’d talked to her often about his urge to see the world, to go to New York, the business capital of the world, attend college, be somebody. Ava had made it clear she didn’t want to live anywhere but Lonesome Way.

  She straightened her shoulders and poured tea for Martha and Dorothy.

  None of it mattered now. Curious as she was, she didn’t want to see Ben again. She didn’t want to allow all of those silly memories and feelings to come sneaking back.

  But Lonesome Way being Lonesome Way, what were the odds she wouldn’t run into him the very next time she went to town? This afternoon, even, at A Bun in the Oven . . .

  What on earth is he doing here? Ava wondered, feeling a crack through a small piece of her heart. How does he still have the power to do this to me?

  She’d wanted to ask Martha and Dorothy more questions, to learn everything, but even more than that, she hadn’t wanted to reveal how much she wanted to know.

  They’d said he was still good-looking. Not that it mattered. He’d broken his word—and her heart—and left her feeling like a fool.

  Good looks were no substitute for character.

  She, Ava Louise, the most sought-after young woman in town, had pined for him too long after he left her—until she met Clyde and fell in love with him, of course.

  But she’d still thought now and then of Ben, and how he’d kissed her when she’d careened to the bottom of the slide. Her very first kiss—with a spatter of spring rain pinging down. She’d rocketed to the bottom and into his arms with a screech of laughter, stood up, and his arms had gone around her. They were twelve years old, on the verge of thirteen, and he’d been only a half inch taller than her.

  “Go ahead,” she’d dared, knowing what he wanted to do. Wanting to feel his lips on hers. Eager for her very first kiss.

  It was the one to which she’d always compared the rest.

  He was so handsome and funny, with his crooked, mischievous smile. She’d wanted him to be the first boy to kiss her—and he had been. It had been a soft, sweet first kiss that held a promise of more. That was what he’d given her when they were in sixth grade.

  But the next kiss hadn’t come until much later. When all the boys came calling on her, Ben had come around, too. He was the one she never got tired of, the one she always wanted to see at her door.

  He’d sworn one day in the barn when her parents had gone to town, and they’d climbed into the hayloft, that he was going to marry her on the day she turned eighteen. They’d come this close to making love in the hay, with her dear horse Country Boy snoozing in the far stall.

  But the day after graduation, Ben had left town. He’d run off and married Margie Forrester and they’d settled in Spokane, where her mother’s family lived.

  That was the story that whipped through Lonesome Way. Everyone whispered that Margie was pregnant. Nobody knew for sure.

  Ben hadn’t even bothered to say good-bye. Ava hadn’t ever heard from him again.

  She’d tried not to think about him.

  And she hadn’t given her heart away for a long time after that—not until she met Clyde.

  She didn’t believe she cared to see Ben Adkins again. But if she did, she reminded herself, it didn’t matter.

  He was nothing to her now.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wes made one stop before heading home to get some work done on the cabin. He took a detour to the Lonesome Way library and hit the shelves until he found just what he was looking for.

  Afterward, driving back down Sunflower Lane, he was surprised to spot Annabelle at home, working in her garden. He braked alongside her and her pretty, winding rows of flower beds.

  “Didn’t expect to see you here. No classes today?”

  Peering up, she smiled at him, and stood with a grace that knocked him for a loop. He felt something like a punch to the stomach—but in a good way.

  Then she brushed her hands on her denim shorts. Her sage green tee had specks of dirt on it, but they didn’t detract from the pretty picture she made, with her long legs and those delectable curves. He sprang out of the truck and strode toward her, no longer in a hurry to get to the cabin.

  “Everything was canceled,” she told him. “Some kind of power outage in the building—all the kids were sent home.”

  “Home? You sure? It’s awfully quiet around here.”

  A small laugh burst from her. Wes realized it was a sound he liked. A lot.

  “The kids are plenty busy; don’t worry—they’re
just not here. Ethan’s spending the day with Jimmy—searching for the treasure again, of course. This time near Sage Creek. Jimmy’s older brother, Corey, was bribed into supervising—and Ethan’s going to sleep over there, too, so I dropped off a packed bag for him a little while ago. The same for the twins. They’re having movie night at Kaley Mattson’s house—E.T. and Frozen. It’ll be my turn to host the sleepover next week.” She shook her head. “Little girls do love their sleepover parties.”

  “I’m fond of them myself.”

  He liked the easy way she laughed at him and turned those soft honey eyes on his face.

  “No surprise there. Never met a man who wasn’t.”

  Especially when a man gets within ten feet of a woman like you, he thought, but aloud he said, “The cabin’s coming along great. Still a ways to go, but—want to walk down and see what I’ve done with the place so far?”

  “I’d like that.” The smile she flashed him was warm, but then she hesitated. “I have a few things to do first. Come in for a minute? There’s coffee.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Wes tried not to stare like a fourteen-year-old kid at the sway of her hips as she moved ahead of him into the house. He realized, not for the first time, how much he liked everything about her. Not only the way she looked, which was incredibly sexy, even with her hair haphazardly tied up in a messy braid, even in sneakers and shorts. But he liked how she took care of her sister’s kids, with equal parts energy and patience every day, and he respected the hell out of the way she’d upended her entire life to be there for them.

  Since that night he’d kissed her, Wes had avoided being alone with her. He was too damned attracted to her, and he’d be damned if he’d act on that fierce attraction again. It wasn’t a smart move. And it didn’t make sense to start something here he couldn’t finish. She was staying put in Lonesome Way and he was leaving.

  Soon.

  More than that, he didn’t want to take the chance of hurting her. Annabelle had gone through plenty in her life without him adding any more complications.

  Best to keep things simple. Businesslike. Which meant keeping his distance. And not starting anything that could end badly.

  He’d be gone before long and if he ever wanted to come back and see his grandmother and his family again, he didn’t need any messy loose ends or hard feelings waiting for him.

  Entering the kitchen, Wes stopped short. She was scrubbing the dirt from her hands at the sink, but he stared around him at the old oak counters. They were full of chocolates.

  The place smelled like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Round balls of chocolates rested on wax paper and baking sheets everywhere he looked.

  Drying her hands on a brightly striped kitchen towel, she caught him staring and a smile curved her lips.

  “Chocolate truffles. For Charlotte’s bridal shower on Saturday. I had some time this morning with the kids gone and busy, so . . .” She shrugged. “I need to wait and put them in the fridge in about . . .” She glanced at the old sunburst clock on the wall. “Ten minutes.”

  “You made all these?”

  “And lots more. Look.” She opened the refrigerator door and he peered inside. The shelves were filled with brightly colored storage containers with various chocolate candies packed inside. Some were heart-shaped; others looked like miniature wedding bells and bridal cakes.

  “Seems to be you could open your very own candy shop. Looks like a lot of hard work, though.”

  “It’s fun. It takes time and patience, but it’s not too difficult. I love making chocolate—I’ve been doing it since my college days. I used to make them for my friends’ bridal showers, and later for baby showers. I made them for Trish’s shower, too, before she and Ron got married.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a few to spare?” He was joking, but she immediately reached into the fridge and pulled out one of the containers.

  “These are some I put aside for the kids. Help yourself,” she offered, opening it and revealing an array of dainty chocolate hearts, roses, and wedding bells.

  He plucked a wedding bell out—hoping that didn’t mean he was doomed to walk down the aisle someday—and popped it in his mouth. Immediately his eyes warmed.

  “I knew you were a woman of many talents.”

  She shook her head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Only two talents, I’m afraid. Dance and candy making. I’m not good at crossword puzzles or bowling, and I’m awful at poker. Terrible at—”

  She never finished the sentence because Wes closed the distance between them in the space of two seconds. When she caught the warm gleam in his eyes, her mind went completely blank. Any words on the tip of her tongue vanished—what she’d been about to tell him disappeared into thin air.

  He stood right in front of her and slowly, firmly, pulled her close. A second passed where he just looked at her and she looked at him. She looked right into those amazing green eyes, with her heart slamming in her chest. She was certain she couldn’t move, but then he did.

  He leaned down, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks. Ever since . . . that night,” he said by way of explanation.

  Then he kissed her again, more slowly this time. More deeply. Intoxicatingly.

  And without a second thought, she kissed him back, aching with hunger for him, a hunger that had been building since the night he’d brought her home from the Double Cross.

  You’re an idiot, a voice inside her screamed. She ignored it. She gave herself up completely to the kiss. When he deepened the angle, drawing her in even more, tasting her slowly, deeply, she gave a willing sigh, and nestled into his arms.

  And then she thought of nothing but how wonderful it felt to kiss him, how her heart was pounding—and so was his.

  When he lifted his head to gaze into her eyes, he still held her close.

  “You’re good at kissing, Annabelle. Actually, you’re fantastic. Add it to your list.”

  “That’s reassuring—since . . . until that other night . . . I . . . hadn’t exactly had a lot of practice lately.”

  “We can fix that.”

  “We can, but . . .” She tried to think through the dazing effect his kisses had on her. “Should we?”

  “Definitely. One hundred percent.” He stroked a big hand gently through her hair. His eyes, dark and amused, were locked on hers.

  Oh God, her pulse was racing way too fast. She leaned into him more closely, thinking of nothing but the sensations firing through her as he ran those strong hands down her back and caught her lips with his again.

  Her mind went blank. All she knew was the strength of that rock-hard body pressed against her, and the way his mouth was tasting her slowly. She made a mewing sound as his tongue teased and stroked against hers.

  This time it was a longer kiss . . . a series of kisses, really. Hot, soft, ever-deepening kisses, the kind that made her melt. She lost herself in him, kissing him with an abandon that had him suddenly tangling his hands in her hair and groaning.

  She didn’t know how long they stood like that in the middle of the kitchen, kissing and touching, surrounded by chocolates as the old clock on the wall ticked, and . . .

  She froze and jerked back suddenly. “My truffles! What time is it . . . Oh, crap.” She pushed him away and whirled toward the trays of chocolates.

  Eleven minutes had passed! Grabbing yet more storage containers from the lower shelf of a cupboard, she began loading the truffles in neat rows.

  “You distracted me. Good thing I realized in time—”

  “Gotta say, I didn’t distract you for very long. Must be losing my touch.”

  “Trust me, you’re not losing anything.” Her fingers flew, plopping the truffles into their boxes.

  “I’d like to take your word for it, but I think we need to te
st that out some more.”

  She laughed, her cheeks flushing. No way. Any more “testing” would be purely crazy.

  She did her best to muster both her common sense and her composure as she stuffed the truffles into the refrigerator, between a tray of heart-shaped chocolates and a jar of homemade spaghetti sauce. She needed to put a stop to this . . . whatever this was . . . right now.

  Wes McPhee was so out of her league. And no good for her. But his way of kissing blocked her brain from working properly. When he held her, or stood close to her, all of her instincts for self-preservation against men seemed to implode.

  Failing her when she needed them most.

  If she wanted to get back in the kissing game with a man, she needed to pick one who was harmless—a man who wouldn’t make her heart shake when he touched her, and who didn’t spark lightning-like flames through every inch of her skin.

  But she couldn’t stop craving the feel of his mouth on her. Or wondering what that incredible, hard-muscled bod looked like beneath his shirt and jeans.

  Or what it would be like to have Wes touch her. Kiss her. Everywhere.

  A deep shiver trembled through her.

  “Ready?” He moved closer as she closed the refrigerator door, and wrapped his arms around her again, drawing her back to him.

  “That depends. For what?” Her lips curved up into a smile at the same time she knew she should be running in the opposite direction. But Wes didn’t take the bait. He just grinned, a relaxed cowboy grin, and gently threaded his fingers through her hair.

  Oh, she liked the way he touched her way too much. Heat fired through her at that oddly gentle stroking of her hair and at the easy, steady glint in his eyes.

  “To take a look at what I’ve done with your cabin,” he said at last.

  It’s better than seeing what you’re doing to me, she thought, knowing she needed to put a stop to this before she did something wild, something totally unlike herself. Before she broke all her own careful, sensible rules.

  “The problem is, I don’t have a lot of time—not right now. Maybe tomorrow. I’d love to see the cabin, Wes, to see everything, but I need to—”