Sunflower Lane Page 18

  Like those women on all the Sex and the City reruns she used to watch with her roommate back in Philly. She needed to enjoy one day, one night at a time while it lasted, and not pretend this was anything more than what it was—having a lot of fun and incredible sex with a gorgeous ex-lawman who’d be moving on in a matter of weeks.

  Who’d actually helped her get over Zack, and what he’d done to her. Despite Wes’s imposing size and presence, despite what he’d done for a living and dealt with on the job all these years in an underworld of danger, not to mention the aura of toughness that defined him, she wasn’t afraid of him in any way.

  That was a miracle in itself.

  After Zack, she’d practically jumped out of her skin at the prospect of a first date with a man, always assessing him, looking for signs of jealousy or control-freak anger . . . or . . . anything that could signal trouble.

  With Wes, right from the beginning, she’d felt safe. Safe enough that she hadn’t even brought her Mace along to dinner last night. She almost always had it on her or in her purse at all times, but last night she hadn’t even thought to bring it. She’d felt utterly safe the entire evening alone with him, never once even stopping to watch what she said or did.

  But don’t get in over your head—he’s got one foot out the door, a tiny voice inside her warned as she pushed back her chair. Very soon she’d need to deal head-on with the fact of his leaving. But for today . . . for now . . . he was here. . . .

  “This may have been the nicest breakfast of my life.” She gathered both of their plates and washed them in the kitchen sink. “Still, unlike some of us,” she added with a smile—aiming for offhand and casual and normal, as if she had wild, crazy-intense sex with men once or twice a week and not . . . Well, she didn’t want to think how long it had been since she’d even invited a man to step inside her house after a date. . . .

  “I have some work to get to and it can’t wait any longer.”

  “Would that be chocolate-making kind of work?” Wes watched her sail down the cabin’s short hall toward his bedroom door—no doubt to dress in her scattered clothes from the night before. Right now she looked fresh and delicious as a strawberry sundae in one of his clean work shirts and nothing else. He realized he was hungry for her all over again.

  “If you need a taste tester—” he offered, but she cut him off with a smile.

  “Tempting, but what I need is to work. Seriously. Today I need to nail down a new ending to the choreography my tap students are performing after the parade. I’ll have to test it out on Megan and Michelle later—if they can handle it, the other tappers should be able to learn it quickly, too.”

  “What music are they dancing to?” Coffee mug in hand, he followed her down the hall. For some reason he didn’t want her to disappear into the bedroom, to take off that shirt, climb into her own clothes, and leave his cabin. He was stalling, trying to keep her talking, and there—and he wondered whether she knew it.

  “‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’—of course. What else?” She laughed, and in that instant he was sure it was the most appealing sound he’d ever heard. He almost ached with need just looking at her. She was so pretty. Those long gorgeous legs, totally bare, and those delicately pink-polished toenails.

  He fought a strong urge to bundle her up in his arms and drop her back into his bed, to tangle his hands in those wild blond curls and feel her long legs wrapped around him again.

  But it was the third week in June—and July Fourth was looming fast. Too fast. He had to keep a handle on this . . . whatever this was. Had to fight the almost irresistible urge to convince her to spend the entire day with him . . . to have amazing sex again this afternoon . . . and tonight—and first thing tomorrow morning. To take her on a damned picnic at Sage Creek, of all things, and maybe have sex with her on that thick grass, then take a dip with her in the creek . . . preferably a naked dip . . .

  What the hell was wrong with him? He must be loco.

  He suddenly remembered he had a session with the kids staying at Jake’s retreat today. Shit, he thought, glancing at his watch. He needed to be there in less than an hour.

  “I’ll give you a ride home,” he told her when she finished pulling on the dress and tank and low-heeled shoes she’d worn last night. “That track is too rough and uneven for heels.”

  Treasure rode along with them.

  “You should go with her, boy,” he told the dog as they both watched her dash up her porch steps and give a little wave before she slipped into the house.

  “You’re better off with her and those kids. Not with me. You need a home. And love. I need to move on.”

  Treasure licked his hand.

  “Remember the rules, mutt. Don’t get attached.”

  He said it in his sternest tone, but the dog just wagged his tail.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wes didn’t think anything could distract him from the amazing night he’d spent with Annabelle, but the session at Jake’s retreat came pretty damned close.

  He’d brought Ethan and his friend Jimmy along. From the moment Ethan heard what Wes was doing today, he’d begged to come, and then Jimmy’s mom gave in to her son’s pleas and dropped him off at Sunflower Lane so he could sit in on Wes’s talk, too.

  Those kids! he reflected later. Not just Ethan and Jimmy, but all the boys and girls at Jake’s lodge. There was a huge assortment of kids and ages—black, white, Hispanic, Native American, and everything beyond and in between. From eight-year-olds to young teens.

  Man, they were quiet and sat real still at first—they seemed very intimidated. But halfway through the session—right around the time he told them about how making a pile of three of anything—rocks, branches, whatever—was the international symbol of distress, they got into it and started bombarding him with questions, wanting to know whether he’d take them camping, and whether they could learn how to pitch a tent and make a fire, and if he’d teach them how to use a compass.

  Wes found himself loving every minute of it. Before he even realized it, he’d promised to look into the possibility of taking several groups on a hike before their time at the retreat ended.

  The kids crowded around him at the end of the hour, all smiles, and asking a million questions. Only when Jake’s beautiful redheaded wife, Carly, popped in and told them it was time for snacks and then riding lessons did they stream out the door.

  While Ethan and Jimmy tagged along to get some snacks, Jake came forward with a big grin and immediately started talking to Wes about plans for the prospective hike, perhaps later in the week. Right when he asked whether Wes would be willing to speak to the next group of kids coming in the following week, they were interrupted by the ring of Wes’s cell phone. He pulled it from his pocket.

  “Hey, I know you’re busy.” Jake clamped a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll talk later, try to figure out a schedule that works for you.”

  As Jake took off for the barn where another group of kids were saddling horses, Wes read the name illuminated by his caller ID.

  Teddy Hodge.

  He picked up, noting that Ethan and Jimmy were standing at the corral, admiring the dozen or so horses scattered inside the fence.

  “Wes, we got a situation here. Thought you’d like to know.” Hodge wasted no time with niceties. His tone was as grim as Wes had ever heard it.

  “What’s going on?” He wondered whether this had to do with Clay and his ex-wife and kid. What now? he thought with a frown. What did that asshole do? I should’ve beat the crap out of him in high school when he talked shit about Annabelle. Instead of letting it go on, looking the other way, barely noticing because I was so hung up on my own damned family problems. Namely Hoot . . .

  But the sheriff’s next words made it clear this had nothing to do with Clay Johnson.

  “That missing hiker? Turned up early this morning on Storm Mountain,” Hodge said
heavily. “Couple of hunters spotted him—what was left of him. Not far from Coyote Pass, at the bottom of a ravine.”

  “Aw, shit.”

  “Looks like the coyotes or wolves—or maybe a bear—got to him. Pretty ugly scene. The county medical examiner is taking a look, but it appears he must’ve had a fall, and died from a combination of his injuries and exposure.”

  “Sorry to hear it.” Wes was no longer seeing the kids racing around in high spirits, or hearing the whinnying of horses from the corral.

  He was seeing a man in the wilderness, dying alone.

  “I don’t think he had much experience in these parts, but he did have some other kind of knowledge. I finally learned what he was doing up there. The young man was a graduate student in American history, writing a dissertation on the Old West. Like too many fools before him, he must have got too deep into his research. Seems he was searching for gold—the missing gold bars stolen by the Henry Barnum gang. He had some maps and notes in his backpack. And a list of sources. Everything indicated he was headed for Coyote Pass.”

  Word spread quickly that the lost hiker the town had been speculating about for weeks had been found dead.

  Rumors that he’d been shot while searching for treasure swirled like dark smoke after a fire. Sheriff Hodge put out the flames, though, releasing a statement that Randy Kirk had died of injuries from a fall and exposure.

  A few days later, Kirk’s sister returned to claim the body.

  “Damn it,” the sheriff told Wes the next day in his office. He banged a thick fist in frustration on his desk.

  “We scoured those mountains, the valleys, the ravines . . . miles of ’em . . . searched high and low in every nook and cranny we could find, and we never spotted Kirk. Didn’t find a fucking thing. If he’d been conscious, able to answer our calls, maybe . . .” He broke off and shook his head.

  Wes’s mind raced, trying to recall the rugged terrain near Coyote Pass where the hiker had been found. He could picture the ridges and valleys and steep trails of the region in his mind. He hadn’t been back up that way in a lot of years, though when he was a kid, he’d been fairly familiar with it. There’d been a swimming hole deemed too remote and dangerous by parents and teachers, but of course he and Clay, Tobe, and his other friends had congregated there. Cougar Rock, the favorite high school make-out spot, was less than three miles from the swimming hole. Wes had wandered the area a whole lot back in the day, alone and with friends and girlfriends, but he hadn’t set eyes on it in a long time.

  “Teddy, you did your best.” There was sympathy in his voice. “He didn’t tell anyone where he was headed, and you had a lot of territory to cover. Welcome to my world, times a hundred. Why do you think so many agents in the DEA burn out after ten, fifteen, twenty years? You can only take so much blood and loss, and much of the time, murder and death, before you start to wonder if it’s worth it. Any of it. The losses usually add up a lot faster than the wins. But then—coming back to a place like this—”

  He paused, glancing briefly out the sheriff’s window with its view of Main Street. He could see women in the park, talking, pushing children on swings, and teenagers laughing, streaming into Head to Toe to buy T-shirts and jeans and bathing suits.

  “Maybe that’s part of why I came back,” Wes muttered. “I didn’t even realize it at first, but I don’t think it was just my grandmother’s accident that brought me. I guess I needed to remind myself of a few things. That there’s more to life than bullets and greed and bad guys. And that there are still good people and places in this world. Neighbors who care about each other. Families that stick together. Unfortunately,” he said in a low tone, thinking of the hiker’s brutal death, “sometimes the bad stuff still isn’t all that far away.”

  “I hear you.” Nodding, Sheriff Hodge leaned his big frame back in his chair and folded his arms across his middle. “Thank God I have Joanie to go home to every night. And Madison—that’s my granddaughter—she lives right here in town. I suspect she and her young man—Brady Farraday—will be tying the knot pretty soon—and then I’m looking forward to some great-grandchildren to bounce on my knee.”

  His eyes lit up as he mentioned his granddaughter. Wes was sure he’d never seen the sheriff look happier.

  “It does keep things in perspective when you have good things going on around you,” Hodge continued. “You don’t get so caught up in the ugly stuff. Of course, it’s the job; there’s no way around it—but a man needs something to keep the bleakness away.”

  His words hit home. They rolled around Wes’s head, and fell into place. Yeah. For a long time, he hadn’t let himself think it all the way through—at least not in so many words—but Hodge was damned right. A man needed something . . . someone . . . to keep the bleakness at bay.

  Instantly, an image of Annabelle seated at his kitchen table the other morning, fresh and laughing and gorgeous in nothing but one of his shirts, popped into his mind.

  He tried to push that pretty picture away as he stood and shook hands with the sheriff.

  “Hope the next one’s a win, Teddy.”

  “Me, too. Luckily, we’ve got a peaceful, decent town here. Good folks. And a nice influx of tourists adding to the economy in the past year,” the sheriff added.

  Then he gave his head a rueful shake, remembering the tourist who wasn’t going to make it back home. “Maybe after the Fourth of July and the parade, we can get an ordinance passed, letting us put up signs on the doors of every restaurant and shop in town. ‘Welcome to Lonesome Way but don’t wander out in the wilderness if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.’”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The following Saturday, Annabelle arrived at Charlotte’s bridal shower the same time as Tess, who looked glowing and happy and very pregnant. Realizing they were the first guests to arrive, they grinned and chatted excitedly as they walked up the path to the Victorian house of Charlotte’s aunt Susie, carrying their covered dishes.

  Charlotte’s aunt had offered her home for the shower and she greeted them warmly, as did Patricia, Charlotte’s mother. She looked bright and flushed with excitement in a pretty floral, cap-sleeved dress. Ushered through the bright, spotless house by the two women, Annabelle and Tess stepped out through a set of sliding glass doors and into a large delightful garden.

  “How beautiful,” Annabelle breathed. And it was.

  Susie Walker’s garden was a large, expansive space, gorgeously decorated with streamers and balloons and paper hearts dangling from tree branches. The two long tables where lunch would be served were draped with a lavender lace cloth and bedecked with potted mint plants and slender vases of flowers. Bright pink and cream dishes and glittering crystal glassware sparkled in the June sunshine.

  “You did bring your mother’s macaroni salad, didn’t you?” Patricia asked eagerly, and Annabelle smiled.

  “Of course.” She handed the casserole dish over. “And chocolates for all the candy dishes and favors. I have the favors in little gilt bags. Also a strawberry pie. I need to run back to the car for all that.”

  “Your mother brought that macaroni salad to my bridal shower,” Charlotte’s mother told her fondly. “Everyone loved it. It’s still my favorite.”

  Tess handed over her tray of delicate finger sandwiches to Susie. There was tuna salad, chicken salad, and egg salad. Charlotte’s aunt divided them into pretty oval silver trays on each table, beside pitchers of iced tea and large cut-glass bowls of fresh fruit salad.

  “I’m not sure we have enough food,” Tess joked, eyeing the tables, which were beautiful, colorful, and filled with an array of tempting dishes, from cucumber–cream cheese bites to veggie platters, a huge green salad, and deviled eggs.

  “Oh, there’s plenty more coming.” Aunt Susie laughed. “For one thing, my turkey casserole and buttermilk biscuits are still warming in the oven.”

  Then
more guests began streaming in, including Charlotte, lovely and flushed with excitement, greeting everyone and fairly bouncing in anticipation. She looked gorgeous in a bright blue silk dress and small gold heart earrings, and was smiling from ear to ear.

  When Sophie and her mother and grandmother arrived, Ava Louise Todd spotted Annabelle immediately, and zoomed right over, her long white braid sweeping elegantly down her back, her wrist still encased in a cast.

  “I heard my grandson is babysitting your nieces and nephew today.” Her face beamed. “From what I gather, he’s grown quite fond of those children.”

  “Yes, he has . . . I mean, I think he has. . . .” She found herself stammering. Damn it. Why did the very direct gleam in Mrs. Todd’s eyes always disconcert her? Probably because she knew just what Ava Louise Todd was up to, and everyone within hearing distance knew it, too.

  Annabelle saw looks and smiles being exchanged between Martha and Dorothy, and several other women, and felt a blush warming her cheeks. “Ivy was planning to babysit, but she called this morning and told me she has a cold, so Wes stepped in—” she explained, but Ava interrupted her with a broad smile.

  “Of course he did. Wes is a man you can count on in a pinch. And you know those children are in good hands with him. My grandson might look tough as all get-out—some might even consider him intimidating—but he’s the kindest, finest man you’ll ever meet. Next to Sophie’s Rafe, that is,” she added sunnily as she noticed the other women listening to the conversation. “And your Jake, of course, Carly. And your dear Travis, Mia,” she added, twinkling at the stunning blonde who was Sophie’s best friend and married to Travis Tanner. “And then there’s your John, Tess. And of course, Charlotte’s dear Tim—”

  “Gran.” Sophie snagged her good arm. “You’re right, the men in this town are all paragons. For the most part,” she added with a little shake of her head. “I just found your place card. Let me show you where you’re sitting—”