Larkspur Road Page 6

  Damn. She looked as drop-dead sexy in those jeans and that tank top as she had in that slinky red dress that had been stuck in his mind for the past year and a half.

  And maybe even twice as beautiful.

  Just the sight of all that shiny blond hair twisted atop her head made him long to undo that tiny white clip and watch it all spill down around her shoulders in a golden waterfall.

  She’d worn it short and lusciously sexy the last time he’d seen her, at Rafe and Sophie’s wedding, but now it was long again.

  And he had no trouble at all remembering how those thick, silky blond strands had felt sifting through his fingertips. Particularly that winter day years ago when they’d made out on a blanket in the bed of his pickup as fragile snowflakes drifted down around them.

  It was December and Mia had been wearing a white down parka. Snow had melted on her eyelashes. Her full, sweet mouth had tasted of pink lip gloss when he kissed her.

  And her hair—her hair had brushed as soft as a wish against his skin….

  He suddenly felt an almost irresistible urge to touch it again. To touch her again.

  But every grain of common sense he possessed shouted at him that it was too late to make things right. To go back. He had to find a way to shake off all the feelings for her he’d never quite been able to forget, even after he walked out on her.

  Still paused in the hallway, he saw her move toward the counter with a grace that would draw any man’s eye. She lifted the lid of the white bakery box Sophie held out toward her and was so engrossed in their conversation, he realized, that for her, he’d probably already ceased to exist.

  No doubt she’d already even forgotten he was back in town.

  His jaw clenched. He told himself it was better that way. That the past was done and gone.

  Then he turned and took the stairs two at a time.

  Chapter Six

  “He’s gone now,” Sophie murmured. “He went upstairs. I’m sorry you had to find out that way about Travis being back—I should’ve called you.”

  “Makes no difference to me if Travis is back—,” Mia began, setting the bakery box on the kitchen table, but Sophie cut her off.

  “Oh, please. I knew you way back then, remember? I was at your house that day fifteen minutes after he broke up with you—after he left.” Her eyes brimmed with concern as she gave Mia a quick hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to warn you he was on his way home. I’ve been so distracted with Aiden being sick that I completely forgot to give you a heads-up—”

  “You don’t have to ‘prepare’ me for Travis coming home. Travis and me—all that—it was a million years ago.” Mia waved an airy hand. “But do we have to talk about him? I’d rather not.”

  Instead of replying, Sophie studied her. Mia suspected her friend could see right through the blithe indifference she was trying so hard to project. It was impossible to hide much from Sophie or from Lissie—and normally she wouldn’t even bother to try. But over the years, the topic of Travis had always been pretty much avoided by all three of them by unspoken consent.

  That had been easy to do while he was away at college and then living in Arizona, far from Lonesome Way. It might be a bit more tricky, Mia realized with a sinking feeling, now that he was back.

  If he really was back.

  “Of course we don’t have to talk about him.” Sophie turned to slice two generous wedges of banana bread from the loaf beside the coffeepot. She set one slice on a pretty yellow plate for Mia and the other on a plate for herself. “If I wasn’t so wiped out, I’d know to just stay out of it.”

  “Nothing to stay out of.” Accepting the plate Sophie offered her with a smile, Mia slipped into a chair and popped a bite of warm banana bread in her mouth.

  “I’m a big girl, Soph. All grown up. Not that lovesick kid who cried like a baby for three days after Travis broke up with me. Considering my divorce from Peter and that mess when I ended things with Zeke, what happened with Travis was a mere blip in the grand scheme of things.”

  “You’re due for something good to happen. For someone new to come into your life.”

  “Someone has. In a way.” Mia smiled. “Guess who’s spending the summer with me? Here’s a hint. She used to call you Aunt Soapy.”

  “Brittany?” Sophie looked astonished. “I thought she was staying with her dad while Sam’s off on her honeymoon.”

  “Apparently Brittany loathes that idea. I’m still not sure why. But Samantha wants her to find a summer job. So I was wondering…” She shot her friend a hopeful glance. “Do you by any chance have any openings at A Bun in the Oven?”

  “Since two of my high school kids up and quit the day before yesterday, I actually do.” Sophie sank into a chair, shaking her head. “Those two seemed to think all they’d have to do to work at a bakery was eat brownies, drink coffee, and flirt with every guy under thirty who came in the door—not actually, you know, work. When Gran let them know otherwise, they walked. So Brittany can start tomorrow, if she’d like. Eight thirty A.M.”

  “I owe you, Soph. Big-time.” Polishing off the last crumbs of her banana bread, Mia carried her plate to the dishwasher and leaned down to set it inside. Much as she’d like to stay and chat with Sophie, she had places to go—and a grumpy old woman to see.

  And Travis could be coming back down those stairs any minute now.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind my taking that pie for Aunt Winny? Let me pay you for it.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Sophie scooped up the box and thrust it into Mia’s hands. “Maybe some pie will sweeten her up. Honestly, I don’t know anyone who’s ever seen Winona Pruitt give so much as a hint of a smile when she’s come to town. Martha Davies told me a few months back that she was beautiful when she was a young girl. And wild…wild as one of those mustangs in Coldwater Canyon, she said.”

  “Was she? Really?” Mia stared. Mia and Sam had never found so much as an old photograph of Winny when they’d pored through their grandmother’s things. Martha Davies, the owner of the Cuttin’ Loose hair salon and the treasurer of Bits and Pieces, apparently knew more about Mia’s great-aunt than Mia ever had. “I knew Martha and Gram were friends,” Mia said slowly, “but Martha’s never mentioned Aunt Winny to me.”

  None of Gram’s friends ever had. No one ever seemed to talk about her. Except to comment on how unneighborly she was, having nothing to say to anyone in town, never pausing to speak to a soul on the rare occasions she drove into Lonesome Way.

  “I think half the time people forget about her—she comes to town even less these days than she used to. And now with the accident and all…” Sophie shook her head. “Between poor Winny and Brittany, you have a lot on your plate right now, don’t you?”

  “Not as much as you do.” Mia glanced at her friend sympathetically as the wail of a crying infant burst from upstairs. Sophie jumped up, her face tense, and rushed into the hall.

  “Give Aiden a kiss for me,” Mia called after her. “I hope he feels better soon.”

  Sophie was already racing up the steps.

  On the front porch, as the summer sun slanted down, she paused at the sight of Grady gathering sticks near the edge of the woods. Travis’s son glanced at her, then quickly away, back to his task as the dogs dashed in circles all around him, trying to grab the sticks he was collecting.

  He looked to be about nine or ten, close to the age of most of her students. With his slight build, tousled light brown hair, and solemn eyes, he looked nothing at all like Travis, but then, they weren’t biologically related, so why would he?

  She knew Travis had married a woman in Phoenix and adopted her young son. She’d also heard they’d later divorced.

  None of it was any of her business.

  And neither was this lonely-looking boy.

  But the divorce might explain that moment of tension she’d sensed between Travis and his son. Grady had wanted to ride Pepper Jack right that minute. And had clearly resented it when Travis said no.


  Of course, Grady was nearing those ever-so-tricky tween years, the time when kids started inching toward independence, pushing their boundaries. That was probably all it was. She dealt with children that age from September until June, and she knew it was a time of emotional ups and downs, a long season of push and pull.

  She waved to the boy when he glanced up again as she started toward the Jeep, but he returned the gesture halfheartedly and immediately went back to trying to pry a stick away from Tidbit.

  There was a melancholy twist to his mouth even as he played with the dogs. Backing out of Sage Ranch’s long paved driveway and back onto Squirrel Road, Mia refused to let herself wonder why.

  Travis yanked on an old navy blue T-shirt and swiped a comb through his hair. It was clear Mia had been anything but thrilled to see him, and she’d seemed to have no difficulty forgetting he was even at the ranch the instant Sophie showed up.

  Still…

  In all his years at the FBI, Travis had learned to trust his instincts. And now, as he sat down on the bed and pulled on his boots, those instincts told him that whatever had once been between them might not be gone for good. He’d felt something the moment he looked into Mia’s eyes. And he’d be damned if she hadn’t felt it, too.

  Not that she’d ever admit it.

  He couldn’t blame her. After what he’d done…and the way he’d done it…

  Hell. He never wanted to hurt her again. He needed to be damned careful. And sure. Sure of how he felt, sure of where things were going. If they got going at all.

  Part of him still thought it best to just steer clear. Another part couldn’t forget how good it had felt to actually be close to her and talk to her again.

  Hearing the sound of a car’s engine revving, he strode to the window in time to see her Jeep backing out of the drive below. He stared down at her profile, at those high sharp cheekbones and her delicately sculptured jaw, his gaze drawn to the firm set of her beautiful, kissable mouth.

  He wanted to watch until she disappeared, but then he caught sight of Grady, sprawled on the grass near the front porch, throwing sticks for the dogs to catch and retrieve.

  Waiting for him.

  Travis strode to the door and tried not to think about the girl he’d left behind, as he went downstairs to join his son.

  Chapter Seven

  Mia turned off Sweetwater Road and drove slowly along the lumpy heap of gravel that passed for a driveway leading to her aunt’s cabin. Parking a dozen yards from Winny’s ancient Ford pickup, she gazed at the tiny log dwelling practically teetering on the hillside.

  Could her aunt possibly have found a lonelier spot? Surrounded by towering peaks and ponderosa pines, the cabin was a humble speck on the hip of the mountain. A hawk circled through the sapphire sky above, its cry the only sound piercing the silence. The closest house, old Abner Floyd’s place, was at least four miles down the road.

  In winter, it would be impossible to get in or out of here without a snowmobile. Good thing Winny hadn’t taken this tumble in January.

  Straightening her shoulders, Mia stepped down onto the gravel and drew out the basket of food and the pie. She started toward the cabin, noting in surprise the pretty row of lilac bushes abloom alongside the cabin and the pink and white hydrangeas and rosebushes planted in front. She’d never been out here in summer before, and if not for its weathered, ramshackle appearance, the cabin looked almost charming framed by those colorful blooms. She was so caught up in the pretty play of colors and the scent of the lilacs that she gave a small, startled cry when a small, almost feral-looking orange tabby suddenly lunged from the brush, darted up the porch steps, and beat her to the front door.

  As she followed it, the cat arched its back and glared at her.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I come in peace,” Mia said.

  The tabby emitted an ear-piercing screech. But when no sound came from within the cabin, and the scarred door remained closed, the creature whirled with a huge swish of its tail and, without another glance at Mia, leaped off the porch, past the glowing roses, and disappeared into the brush.

  Don’t even dream you’re getting rid of me that easily, Aunt Winny, Mia thought.

  She shifted her weight on the creaky front porch, noticing the loose board that had caused her aunt’s fall and making a mental note to call Denny McDonald, who owned a construction firm with his father, to come out and fix it.

  “Aunt Winny? It’s Mia. I heard about your accident. Ellis Stone told me this morning. Please open the door—I’d like to help.”

  Silence as deep as a forgotten canyon greeted her words. Mia felt a stab of worry.

  “Aunt Winny, are you all right?” she called again, more urgently.

  The faded floral curtain at the front window moved. It was only a tiny, almost imperceptible flutter, but she knew suddenly that Winny was there, listening on the other side of the door, as stubborn and aloof as ever.

  “I was sorry to hear about your fall,” Mia called again. “I’ve brought you some supper. Please, won’t you open the door?”

  The curtain hung motionless. An almost eerie silence settled over the clearing. With the rough grandeur of the mountain and the vivid color of the flowers, it was actually a lovely spot, marred only by the rusted mailbox leaning sideways toward the road, and the old dank leaves from the previous autumn still matted beneath the tree trunks.

  “Aunt Winny, there’s a fresh blueberry pie here with your name on it. Please open the door. I’ve brought roast chicken. A salad, too. And…did I mention the pie? I’m not leaving until I know you’re all right.”

  “Since when am I not all right? And what do you care anyway, young lady?”

  The barked words rang with surprising force from behind the closed door.

  “I do care.” Mia spoke quietly in contrast to her aunt’s harsh tone. “And if you’ll open the door, I’ll show you. Please let me help.”

  “Get off my land.”

  “I just—”

  “Go away. And take that food with you. I’ve no use for your pity or your charity.”

  Mia closed her eyes a moment. Injured or not, Winny was always the same. Gruff. Ill-tempered. Gram had been so sweet—determined and strong-willed, yes, or she never would have finished such a wide array of intricate quilts—but also gentle and kind and wise. Her sister, on the other hand, had never seemed to possess an ounce of sweetness or a kind bone in her body. But Mia knew nobody could be all sour anger and vinegar.

  Not for the first time, she felt curiosity pricking at her. What had gone so terribly wrong between two sisters separated by less than two years in age? What could have caused such a rift, that the younger daughter of Louis and Abigail Sullivan had shut herself off from every other member of her family?

  “All right, if that’s what you want, I’ll go. But this basket is staying on the porch. If you don’t want it, that’s fine—the cat will have it. Suit yourself. But call me if you need something. A ride to the doctor’s office or…anything. I’m writing my cell phone number down, and leaving it in the basket, so put it somewhere safe.”

  She might as well have been speaking to the clouds. Reaching into her purse, she dug around for a scrap of paper. She knew she had a notepad somewhere in her bag….

  There. Ripping off a sheet of pink-and-white-striped paper, she scribbled her cell number and stuck it under the plate of chicken. She left the basket and the bakery box on the porch chair, a relic of sturdy wood and peeling blue paint.

  There was still no further sound from inside the cabin.

  “I’m going now, Aunt Winny. But you know how to reach me. And I’m not promising that I won’t be back.”

  She waited a moment, listening, but apparently her aunt had used up her maximum number of words for the day. Mia headed to the Jeep. The orange cat was hiding not five yards away. Lurking in the brush, wary, silent, and still.

  Well, at least I tried, she told herself as she slammed the Jeep’s door. I did my best.


  So why did she feel so guilty about leaving? It was what her aunt wanted. To be left alone. Apparently it was what she’d always wanted.

  Reminding herself that she had a runaway niece sleeping in her guest room who’d probably be starving when she woke up, Mia backed up the rough gravel drive and headed toward home.

  Winny waited until the sound of the car’s engine faded away. Then she waited some more, her back straight, pressed against the cabin door, the cane the doctor had given her gripped in one spider-veined hand. Her once plush and perfectly shaped mouth was set in a harsh line.

  She didn’t want the damned food. Didn’t need it either. Didn’t she have perfectly good soup and ham in her refrigerator? And a loaf of bread she’d baked herself yesterday morning?

  She had milk and eggs and cat food. She’d gone to Livingston only last week and stocked up.

  Besides, if she did need something, she’d call Abner, not that great-niece of hers. Alicia’s granddaughter.

  Not for the first time, she wondered what Alicia had told her granddaughters about her all these years. Wondered what she’d told everyone. Did everyone in Lonesome Way and their children and their children’s children know what she’d done? What they thought she’d done?

  Not that it mattered. She didn’t care. Not anymore. It had been more than half a century ago. She’d been ashamed then, and furious, and had wanted nothing more than to put as many miles between her and her family as possible. And now…

  Her mouth twisted into a grimace.

  Now it was much too late to ever set things right. So what difference did it make if the girl knew? Maybe she should know.

  Then she might stay away and not drive out here bothering people with picnic baskets and pies.

  The girl who’d come knocking on her door today was no more family to her than the cat who happened by now and then.