Sunflower Lane Page 2

  Home. Or what had once passed for it.

  Wes didn’t feel as if he’d ever really had a home. He didn’t expect he ever would. But now that he’d left the DEA and was starting over after all these years, he wanted to have someplace . . . someplace he could hang his hat, park his truck, and live alone and at peace.

  He had a lot of bad memories to leave behind. Memories worse than those of life with Hoot McPhee in Lonesome Way.

  He’d seen death, cruelty, greed, evil.

  He’d lost friends. Good ones.

  Now he needed a change. A small space of peace. He knew he wouldn’t find it in the home of his childhood, but this was just his first stop. Someplace on the road ahead, he’d find what he was looking for. The DEA was behind him.

  Thanks to a fellow agent’s brother-in-law who’d helped him make some key investments over the years, he had a pretty big nest egg saved up. And a new line of work in mind. Along with a hankering for a piece of land, a cabin of his own. Nothing fancy, just a small place close to nowhere with a barn, a corral, and a couple of horses.

  Solitude and quiet. A place where he could look at the stars, roam the wilderness and mountains, forget everything he’d done.

  And everything he’d seen.

  And everything he’d lost.

  Fifteen minutes later, Wes tucked his grandmother’s frail, spider-veined hand into his own large palm.

  Gran’s still-piercing green eyes eagerly searched his face. “It’s so good to see you, dear. How long can you stay? Please tell me you’re finally home for good.”

  “Can’t. I’d be lying, Gran.” Seeing her forlorn expression, he pressed a kiss to her softly wrinkled forehead. “Hey, c’mon. I’ll be here for a few days—at least.”

  “A few days? Is that all?”

  He reacted without thinking.

  “Maybe a week.” Wimp, he thought an instant later. But it was too late to take it back now. “Someone has to make sure you’re behaving yourself, right? No more falling and landing in the hospital—you got that, Gran?”

  “Trust me, young man. That is not an experience I’d care to repeat.” She gave a tiny indignant snort. “Your mother keeps hovering over me as if she expects me to kick the bucket any moment, and that new husband of hers means well, but I’m not used to people constantly popping in and asking me if I need something. Up until this happened . . .” She glanced balefully at the cast that ran from her wrist nearly to her elbow. It was decorated with childish crayon scrawls made by Aiden, her great-grandson. “I was fit as a fiddle, just fine in my own apartment. And I will be again.”

  “I’m sure that’ll be soon, Mom. But only if you follow doctor’s orders.”

  Wes’s mother, Diana, spoke soothingly from the doorway. She looked calm now, but she’d let out a scream of shock and excitement when she’d first seen Wes standing at the ranch house door. Her face was still flushed with happiness at having her son home at last.

  “I always follow doctor’s orders.” It was almost a snap. Ava had never liked having to lie about—she’d always been active and independent. And, Wes noted, she didn’t appear interested in listening to her daughter telling her what was good for her.

  Instead she focused on Wes as if Diana weren’t even there.

  “Tell me about you, child. What are your plans now that you’ve left the DEA?”

  “Nothing real specific yet. Exploring something with an old buddy—ex–FBI—but I’m not ready to talk about it right now. Just feeling my way.”

  He leaned back in the chair he’d drawn up beside the bed in what had long ago been his mother’s crafts room. It was true; he did have an idea for his future but it was probably going to happen in Wyoming, not Montana, and nothing was set in stone yet. So he wasn’t ready to share with anyone.

  “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you, Wes?” His mother shot him a hopeful glance and smiled when he nodded.

  “Sure, Mom. Do you think I can walk away from whatever you’re cooking? It smells incredible.”

  “It’s just a potato-broccoli casserole.”

  “The one I love?”

  “Of course.” A smile curved her lips. She was still a very pretty woman. “Doug’s grilling steaks and the salad is already chilling in the fridge. I just invited Sophie and Rafe and the kids for dinner, too. I hope that’s okay.”

  She looked so unsure, Wes felt a stab of guilt. Did his mother think he disliked his family or something? Crap. Rolling to his feet in one smooth movement, he pulled her gently into his brawny arms and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  “I can’t wait to see them. Actually, I picked up a couple of gifts for Ivy and Aiden along the way. So bring ’em on.”

  A wistful look crossed his mother’s face. Wes knew she fervently wanted him to stay. For a year, ten years, forever.

  Well, he couldn’t give her that but he supposed he could give her a week. Maybe two. And, he thought resignedly, in the future I’ll have to keep more in touch. Visit more. Call . . .

  He gave her another little squeeze; then his grandmother started in.

  “You’ll stay here tonight, won’t you? In your old room?”

  “Don’t push it, Gran.” But amusement flickered in his eyes. He’d slept in all kinds of places in the past ten years since he’d entered law enforcement, most of them hellholes while he was undercover—some just a few yards of hard ground or mud, without a blanket, much less a pillow—but they’d all be preferable to staying in his old room from high school, under the same roof with his mother and grandmother in the ranch house that his father used to rule with an iron fist.

  He needed space, solitude, and silence.

  He needed air to breathe.

  He wasn’t used to being around people. At least not regular, law-abiding people, and certainly not his family.

  “I’ll probably catch a few winks in the barn.”

  “The barn?” His mother looked startled. “But it still gets quite cold at night. And there’s not even a cot in there anymore!”

  This time he couldn’t contain a grin. “I promise, Mom, it’ll be like the Ritz compared to some places I’ve been.”

  “Really? I don’t like to think about that,” she said quietly.

  Damn. Wes stood to his full six-foot-four height, and wrapped his arms around her. She was thin, beautiful, with soft fair hair peppered with gray and dignity in her bearing and an innate gentleness in her artistic soul.

  And she worried about him.

  He could kill three men in the space of four seconds, but his mother still worried about him as if each day she were sending him off to the first day of kindergarten.

  Thank God none of his buddies from the D Unit were here, he decided with a twinge of amusement.

  “Then don’t think about it, okay?” Giving her a gentle squeeze, he shook his head. “I’m done with the DEA and all that. Unless I miss it too much and decide to go back.”

  “Wes!”

  He grinned.

  “How about my apartment?” Gran piped up. “No one’s staying there. It’s right in town. First floor. I’m paying rent on it so you might as well use it—Martha lives in the same building, you know.”

  Whoa. Practically roommates with Aunt Martha. There’s an incentive.

  Wes held up a hand. “I’ll figure it out, Gran,” he said easily. “Thanks anyway.”

  Adroitly he switched the subject, asking to see the latest photos of Sophie and Rafe’s young son, Aiden, and of Ivy, Rafe Tanner’s teenaged daughter from his first marriage. By the time he finished scrolling through them, Sophie and Rafe had arrived with the kids in tow and his mother’s new husband called out that the steaks were done.

  Fortunately, by then, his mother and grandmother had managed to stop hovering over him like he was some frail little kid they needed to worry about, and not a decorated govern
ment agent for whom knife fights, gun battles, hand-to-hand combat, and dead-of-night drug raids were an almost daily routine.

  Two months ago, after an extensive undercover stint in Tijuana, he and his unit scored the most important coup of Wes’s career—busting Diego Rodriguez and his crew, all of whom were among the biggest suppliers of cocaine in South America.

  D Unit had chalked up more than a dozen arrests of key players in that takedown, and Diego’s son Manuel, twenty-two years old, deeply immersed in the family business, and with boatloads of blood on his hands, had been killed in a vicious firefight.

  So had Wes’s partner, Luis, who’d cocommanded the operation. It was supposed to have been his last.

  And it was.

  But not in the way Luis had thought. He’d been planning to retire and live with his wife, Carmela, in San Diego for the rest of his days. Instead he’d lost his life.

  And saved Wes’s.

  Diego Rodriguez had been wounded—badly—but somehow he’d gotten away. Probably the old drug lord had been dragged off and driven away by his number-one lieutenant, Cal Rivers, an American thug who’d started out as one of Diego’s bodyguards and advanced in the organization to primary hit man and confidante. Wes didn’t know whether Diego had ultimately survived his wounds, but it was possible he and Cal Rivers were both still out there—either deep underground or floating in the wind.

  If so . . . sooner or later, one or both would surface again.

  Wes had a four-inch scar across his chest from that last little encounter with Rivers. Not a big deal when he considered all the rest of his nicks and wounds.

  But now, after nearly ten years of doing battle mentally and physically, a new life loomed before him.

  And he had some decisions to make.

  “Wes, not to sound like Henry Higgins, but I think I’ve got it.” His stepfather, Doug Hartigan, snapped his fingers a short time later as Diana circled the dining room table, serving dessert—scoops of strawberry ice cream to go along with the frosted lemon cake she’d baked that afternoon.

  It had been too chilly once the sun went down to eat outside on the new deck Hartigan had built. The nights hadn’t begun to warm up yet, so they’d eaten in the dining room, bright with light and the colorful, twisted floating candles his mother made, her latest artistic endeavor. They glowed in a row all along the center of the table.

  “I have just the solution for you,” Wes’s stepfather told him. Doug Hartigan had taught high school geometry back in the day, and had a quick, methodical mind. “If you don’t want to stay here or in town, how about the old Harper cabin on Sunflower Lane? It’s close by and I’m sure Annabelle Harper won’t mind.”

  “Annabelle? She’s back in Lonesome Way?”

  Wes hadn’t seen Annabelle Harper since high school. Yet he could still picture the tall leggy blonde with the huge golden brown eyes, the saucily uptilted nose, and a figure that made all the boys drool. Back in high school, she’d had a reputation for being fast, an easy lay.

  And for being a bitch.

  Several of the guys on his wrestling team had bragged about being with her at some point or another—even if just for one night. Including Clay Johnson, Wes’s closest buddy back in those days.

  It was Clay who’d told Wes and the others all about how easy it was to get Annabelle Harper naked. How she’d do anything to make a guy happy. After hearing Clay describe how hot she was, and how easy, all the guys lined up to date her.

  But once someone broke up with that girl . . . whew. According to Clay, she got hostile in a big way.

  Wes had seen that for himself when Annabelle slapped Clay in the school hallway one day, apparently out of the blue. And when Clay had shoved her in response, she’d punched him in the stomach. Wes had been opening his own locker a few feet away, but had needed to hustle over and intercede after Clay grabbed her by both arms and rammed her up hard against his locker.

  Of course, Clay never should have put his hands on her, but that girl was trouble any way you looked at it.

  “I thought Annabelle left town right after high school.”

  “She did. Just like you,” Sophie told him. “But she came back to stay a year ago. And I’m glad she did. So’s the rest of the town.”

  “Annabelle really stepped up.” Lifting Aiden onto his lap, Rafe began rubbing the little guy’s back as he spoke. “She left her whole life and her dance career in Philadelphia to come home and take care of her sister’s kids.”

  “Why? What do you mean? Something happen to Trish and Ron?”

  Sophie looked chagrined. “Oh, God, Wes. You didn’t hear?”

  “There was a plane crash last January. It was terrible—they both died.” Rafe’s daughter, Ivy, spoke softly, her eyes solemn. “And they had twin little girls at home. Megan and Michelle are only seven. And then there’s Ethan, of course—he’s ten. So now Annabelle has to take care of all of them. I babysit them sometimes. They’re nice kids, and not any trouble at all.”

  Wes glanced at Sophie in shock. “How did this happen?”

  “Ron was regional manager of J. T. Stevenson Lumber,” she said quietly. “He needed to go to Portland for a company meeting, and Trish went with him so she could visit her old college roommate who lived there. They were only going to be gone one night, so they arranged for the kids to stay overnight at friends’ houses that evening and during the day. But their commuter plane developed engine trouble. It went down over Saddleback Ridge. There weren’t any survivors.”

  Wes sat back and let out a breath.

  He’d bumped into Trish and Ron in Merck’s Hardware store the last time he’d been home. They’d both looked great—and happy. He hadn’t seen Ethan, but they’d had their twins in tow. The girls had barely been of school age, he remembered. Tiny little puffballs of femininity. Little more than toddlers.

  Ron had mentioned a friendly poker game coming up at Dave Harvey’s home that evening—Dave had been the halfback on the football team in high school and Wes had barely seen anyone from back then in a whole lotta years.

  “Stop by if you have time,” Ron had suggested. “There’ll be tubs of chilled beer. And pizza.”

  He’d been friendly. Like most everyone in Lonesome Way. But Wes hadn’t gone to Dave Harvey’s to play poker. He’d still been grieving back then. It was only two months since Cara had died, and he hadn’t been in the mood for games or laughs or jokes.

  Cara Matthews had been perhaps the toughest DEA agent he’d ever come across—not to mention his partner on more than a dozen cases. She’d actually been more than his partner. She’d been more to him than any other woman he’d ever met.

  Cara had been in her mid-thirties, lean, tough, beautiful in an edgy way. They worked well together. Hell, they did everything well together. And she’d saved his butt more times than he could count. He should have been there to save her. If he hadn’t been tied up in Sierra Leone when she was assigned to a case in Bolivia . . .

  His sister’s voice broke into memories filled with regret.

  “Why don’t I give Annabelle a call and run it by her? She’s been wanting to rent out that cabin for extra income. But it needs some repairs first and she hasn’t been able to afford them. I know the roof needs to be patched. And some kids threw rocks and broke a couple of windows last summer, but the cabin has heat and a stove and a bed—”

  “Now, that is an excellent idea.” Gran spoke in her take-charge tone. “Wes, the Harper cabin will be like a five-star country inn compared to what you’re used to—and it’s close by. I bet Annabelle would let you stay there for free, especially if you’re willing to do a little fixing up while you’re in town. She can’t afford to hire anyone. Sophie, why don’t you call her and let her know that Wes is in town and needs a place—”

  “Gran, I’m a big boy,” Wes interrupted before she had him signing a lease. He’d noticed his
mother growing quiet during all the talk about Annabelle, and then he remembered why.

  Time to change the subject.

  “I’ll swing by Sunflower Lane and speak to Annabelle myself,” he said easily. “Meantime, fill me in on the Fourth of July parade stuff. I’m sure you’re still in the thick of all the planning for every community event, as usual.”

  “Of course I am, dear. But Sophie and Annabelle Harper happen to be working together on the entertainment committee this year. So if anyone can persuade Annabelle to let you stay in the cabin, it’s your sister.”

  Ava Louise Todd was not a woman easily distracted, especially when she set her mind to something. “I’d feel better if you’d let Sophie call her right now and make all the arrange—”

  “Gran,” Sophie broke in. “Wes has managed to return in one piece from all the hellish places he’s worked these past years, so I’m betting he can negotiate a place to stay with Annabelle Harper all on his own. Why don’t you let Doug help you into the living room while Mom and I clean up?”

  Their mother was already stacking an armload of plates onto the empty casserole platter.

  “I’m fine, Sophie. You all go and visit.” Diana spoke brightly, but Sophie and Wes exchanged glances, and Wes saw his stepfather frown.

  Damn. Obviously, talking about Annabelle Harper still made his mother uncomfortable and Wes couldn’t blame her for that. His father’s cheating with Annabelle’s aunt Lorelei, the mayor’s ex-wife, had been the final straw in Diana and Hoot’s marriage.

  Hoot had been a terrible husband and a worse father, but Diana had pretty much looked the other way until Hoot’s affair with the mayor’s wife and several other women exploded through the town. Only then had Diana kicked him out. His father had been dead for years now, and his mother was happily remarried, but that didn’t mean any mention of Lorelei or anyone related to her didn’t still sting.

  Maybe he should forget the Harper cabin, after all.

  But the moment his mother vanished into the kitchen, and Doug escorted Gran to a comfortable wing chair in the living room, his sister zoomed back into the dining room and placed a hand on his arm.