Sunflower Lane Page 9

  Tess leaned forward after Charlotte rushed toward Tim and pulled him to the dance floor.

  “So, Charlotte’s aunt Susie called me this afternoon. She offered to have the shower at her house. Charlotte’s mom will help with everything. Susie suggested ordering cupcakes from A Bun in the Oven, and she’ll make finger sandwiches—tuna salad, chicken salad, and cucumber–cream cheese bites, along with fruit and a veggie platter. I’ll bake a lemon chiffon pie and deviled egg casserole. Can you make your mom’s strawberry pie and her macaroni salad? And maybe some chocolates?”

  “Way ahead of you.” Annabelle’s eyes sparkled. “I’m thinking chocolate hearts, bells, and tiny chocolate wedding cakes. And truffles. The pie, too, of course.”

  “Love it!”

  “We’ll need two or three party games and flowers for the tables,” Annabelle mused, but she broke off as John appeared suddenly and leaned down to kiss Tess on the cheek.

  “Hear that?” he asked with a grin.

  Randy Houser’s “Runnin’ Outta Moonlight” boomed from the jukebox. “Playin’ our song, honey. How about a dance?”

  “Go on—dance with the man,” Annabelle ordered, as Tess glanced at her, hesitating. “I’ll guard your sundae when it gets here. Won’t even take a teensy taste, I promise. Go on.” She touched Tess’s arm. “Once that baby comes, you two might not get out much together for a while.”

  After watching John put a protective arm around Tess’s waist and lead her to the dance floor, she found herself fighting off the urge to glance again at the table where Wes and Jake were seated. Finally, she allowed herself a quick peek across the room. They were deep in conversation. What could they be talking about?

  And why do you care? she asked herself crossly. Pushing Wes from her mind, she watched Christy set down a huge slice of gooey marshmallow fudge cake, along with the peach cobbler, two scoops of vanilla ice cream, and Tess’s peanut butter sundae.

  Yum. But even all that scrumptious deliciousness didn’t distract her for long. A moment later, she couldn’t resist glancing again toward the two men. Or rather, toward Wes, who was speaking steadily to Jake. He wore his jeans and boots well, she couldn’t help noting, and with the sleeves of his navy shirt rolled up, revealing darkly tanned, muscular forearms, he looked better than any dessert on the Double Cross menu.

  He’s bad for you, she told herself as she tore her gaze away. All men are bad for you. And don’t forget it.

  Chapter Nine

  “Survival camp?” Jake Tanner’s eyes lit up. “Man, that’s a great idea. Especially in these parts. Damn, I wish I’d thought of it.”

  Wes took a chug of his beer. “Struck me it could be useful. Too many folks think they know what they’re doing. Figure they’ve got a backpack, a compass, a cell phone, and they’re good to go.”

  “They’re the ones who get into trouble.” Jake nodded. “There was a lone hiker up on Storm Mountain a few weeks ago, headed to Coyote Pass. You hear about that? A young guy from back East—he told Lem over at Benson’s Drugstore he was a student, doing research on the Old West. He was planning to follow the old Beacon Trail to Coyote Pass, all alone. Next night, a storm blew up, a bad one—and he never made it back. Sheriff Hodge sent out search parties, the whole town organized volunteers—and no one’s found a trace of him, or any of his stuff. Didn’t see any traces of blood or clothing, either—the rain must have washed it all away. His sister from back East came out, offered a reward. More people searched.”

  Jake sighed. “People think they’re smart and prepared, and that they know what they’re doing, but stuff happens out in the wilderness, stuff no one expects.”

  Wes leaned forward. “That’s why I’m thinking a course that prepares them for every contingency might be valuable. It could save lives. I figure all the daredevils and adventurers out there might like it, too—a way to challenge themselves on a whole other level. I’ve got a buddy in Wyoming—former FBI guy, Scott Murray. He’s married now, got his family there—mentioned he might want to go in on it with me.”

  “Wes, once this thing gets started, I bet you could even franchise it out. Could be a big market for this across the entire western United States—and in some places back East, too.”

  “I’m not planning that big—or that far ahead, Jake. Not yet. Just thinking I’ll make a start somewhere—maybe Wyoming with my buddy, or if we decide to open two at once, I’d start mine at the same time in Colorado. I’ve read about a whole lot of people who’re used to camping someplace flatter, tamer—country not so far from civilization. And then they think the mountainous regions in the West are a challenge, but maybe not so different from what they’re used to. Some of ’em get hurt when they try it, and some—like your hiker—don’t make it back.”

  “Why not start right here? Livingston and Big Timber are only a stone’s throw away. They attract thousands of campers and hikers each year. More and more have been passing through Lonesome Way, too, these past few years. We’ve got a bunch of great trails practically right in our own backyard, and some of them are pretty damned tough. The Cottonwood Lake Trail in the Crazies, the Trespass Trail. A lot of folks come for the views of the Absarokas and the Bridger Mountains. Pretty steep hiking up that way. Folks don’t realize how quick bad weather can blow up. Then they get stranded, can’t get back down to the campgrounds.”

  Wes drained his beer. “Yeah. The idea really came into focus while I was driving here from Denver. Heard about a family that got stranded in the Rockies. They were rescued after three days, just when their rations were running out. The father had a broken leg—no one in the family knew how to set it. They had no meds, no cell phone service, and their shelter blew the hell away in the storm. Seems like there’s a need for some training, considering all the people into hiking, fishing, and just plain exploring. Too many don’t have a clue how to survive out there if the weather turns nasty on a dime, or if something else goes wrong.”

  “You know,” Jake said thoughtfully, signaling to the waitress for another round, “if you want to kick things off here, I’d love to incorporate a class or two into my program for the kids. Nothing too complicated, just basic survival stuff. I bet they’d enjoy it, and it could come in handy some day. I realize this is small stuff compared to the course you have in mind, but—”

  “Let’s do it.” Wes looked him squarely in the eyes. “I like what you’re offering for those kids and their families. It’s a great thing you’re doing, Jake. And it would be easy for me to tailor some tips for them. Basic survival skills can add a lot to a kid’s confidence level. I can start with that while I plan out the full course and explore my options. My buddy in Wyoming found an old lodge near the mountains he thinks could be used as a headquarters. I haven’t checked it out yet, but in the meantime—”

  He broke off abruptly in mid-sentence.

  Not that he’d been paying attention, but Annabelle had been sitting at a table across the room with her friends, and suddenly he noted she was alone. Sipping wine and watching Tess and Charlotte dancing with John and Tim.

  It seemed like a damn shame to see such a breathtaking woman sitting there all by herself. Not that she appeared to mind. She watched her friends with a smile on her face, looking relaxed and at ease. And more luminous than any other female in the place.

  Kelly Clarkson’s latest hit blared through the bar. Laughter and music and the hum of the crowd filled the room up to the rafters. He saw Annabelle lift a fork and take a delicate bite of the cake on the table before her. He felt something heat up and tighten inside him.

  Jake was speaking to him, but he didn’t catch the words as he noticed Tobe Flynn beating a path straight toward her.

  Flynn. That guy had always been a hanger-on. He’d been one of Clay Johnson’s closest friends way back as far as grade school—a run-of-the-mill jock on both the football team and the wrestling team, but he’d had no interest in s
chool except scraping by enough to graduate. He’d been one of those who’d joked endlessly with Clay about Annabelle in the locker room, going on and on about how easy she was. How she’d not only given it up for him on the first date, but had begged him for more. Again. And again.

  As Flynn beat a path toward her, Wes tried to refocus his attention on what Jake was saying—something about how he’d like to schedule two one-hour classroom survival sessions for the group of kids arriving in ten days’ time.

  “Sure, I can do that,” he replied automatically, then felt a light hand on his shoulder.

  Glancing up, he saw Marissa standing beside his chair, looking sleek as a cat in a white halter top and tight jeans. Beside her was Darby Kenton, and another girl from high school whose name he didn’t remember.

  “So what did you do with the dog?” Marissa’s pink-glossed lips curved into a wide smile.

  Wes stood, and offered her his chair. “Dog’s hanging at my place. Tomorrow he goes to the shelter.”

  It struck him that there was a time when he would’ve been caught up in how good Marissa looked in that tight halter top, and how good she smelled—some pretty, light floral perfume clinging to her skin—and by how eager she seemed to reconnect—but instead, he was focused only on Annabelle, noticing from the corner of his eye that she was headed to the dance floor with Flynn’s beefy arm wrapped around her waist.

  He forced his attention back to his own little corner of the bar as Jake pushed to his feet to greet the women, then tossed a few bills down and announced he was headed home to his family.

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he told Wes before he made his way to the door.

  Automatically pulling up chairs for the women and one for himself, Wes remembered his manners enough to ask what they’d like to drink.

  “Mojito,” Marissa said instantly, sliding into a chair with catlike grace, while the other two women debated a moment between wine and cocktails.

  Jake signaled for the waitress, but before she could make her way through the throng surrounding the pool tables, he saw something that made his eyes narrow.

  He shoved back his chair. “Excuse me a moment.”

  Without a glance at any of the three women, he took off across the room.

  Oh, crap.

  Annabelle’s heart had sunk the moment she saw Tobe Flynn rise off a barstool and amble straight toward her.

  Great. Tobe was one of her one-timers. A stocky, average guy who thought he was God’s gift to women. He’d spent the first half of their one and only date informing her how he was the highest paid, most in-demand ranch foreman in the county, and then ran through every detail of what he did to make the Circle O ranch profitable. Next he spent the second half of their date trying to convince her that they were going to end up having mind-blowing sex in the bed of his truck one of these days, so why not start right away?

  She’d been ignoring his calls ever since, and fortunately hadn’t run into him in town—until now.

  “Annabelle. How’s it going? I got the impression lately you don’t want to talk to me much, since you haven’t returned any of my calls. But we don’t have to talk while we’re dancing, now, do we?”

  Before she could answer, he reached for her hand and tugged her out of her chair.

  “Tobe, I’m not really in the mood to dance. Sorry I didn’t call you back. I’ve been busy with the kids and work and—”

  “And you don’t want to go out with me again? Hurts my feelings, you know.”

  He grinned and drew her toward the dance floor, one lean arm snaking casually around her waist as all around them couples melted into each other, swaying to the music. “Just tell me what I did wrong, Annabelle honey, and I’ll fix it.”

  Where do I start? she wondered. Too much phony charm and way too sure of yourself. And tonight, she realized suddenly, he’d had too much liquor. Tobe hadn’t been drunk the night they went to the movies in Livingston, but he was definitely drunk now. His face was flushed, his eyes overly bright.

  “The truth is, I just don’t have time to date anyone, Tobe. Or even to go out much. I’m too busy taking care of my nieces and nephew and it’s going to be that way for a while—”

  “You know what they say about too much work and no play. What you need is someone to teach you how to have some fun.”

  “I know how to have fun.”

  “I’ll just bet you do. But I can teach you new ways.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  He laughed loudly. His thick hand strayed from her waist to her bottom and gave a hard squeeze. Annabelle reached behind her and shoved his fingers away.

  “We’re dancing here, not groping. Learn the difference.”

  On the words, she tried to pull away, but he tugged her back and held on tight.

  “I like you, Annabelle. You’ve got spunk.” Chuckling, he let his gaze dip down from her outraged face to her breasts. He appeared fascinated by her floaty pink silk top that reached just to the waistband of her jeans. “Know what? I think you like me back; you just don’t want to admit it.”

  Planting her feet, she tried again to pull free, but he grinned and swung her back, right up against his chest.

  “Got news for you, Tobe. I don’t like you nearly as much now as I did ten minutes ago. That’s enough. Let me go.”

  She was about to kick him in the shins—or the balls; she couldn’t decide which—and was strongly considering a side kick to the knee when another voice came from right beside her.

  “You heard the lady.” Charlotte’s fiancé, Tim, stood beside her.

  “Back off, Flynn. Now.” Tess’s husband, John, was there, too, staring hard into Tobe’s face.

  “Thanks, guys, it’s okay, really,” she said quickly. Her heart sank as she looked beyond them and saw everyone in the bar turning to stare. A scowling Big Billy thundered around the bar with quick, heavy steps to break things up before any trouble erupted. Charlotte and Tess suddenly slid to either side of her and other people were lining up, glaring at Tobe.

  “Holy crap.” Letting go of her arm, he peered around uneasily, a frown darkening his broad face. He hiccupped.

  “Fine. Suit yourself. You’re not worth it, you know that? Clay said you put out for every guy in high school, but now you act like you’re too good for everyone. Or maybe you just think you’re too good for me. Is that it? Don’t you know you’re nothing but a cheap little skank not good enough to—”

  That was as far as he got. Annabelle kneed him in the balls and he sank with a scream to the floor.

  He crouched there, groaning, his face twisted with pain, until suddenly a ranch hand from the Circle O pushed through the crowd and hauled him to his feet.

  “Let’s get you outta here, boss,” the ranch hand muttered, but Tobe jerked away and rounded on Annabelle again.

  “You damned dirty little slut—”

  A fist shot out like a cannonball and sent him spinning downward. He crumpled to the floor and lay there, dazed and moaning.

  Wes stood over him, his face dark with anger, his huge fist still clenched even as a gasp of shock circled through the room.

  “You okay?” His expression grim, Wes glanced at Annabelle.

  She couldn’t speak. She was shaking too hard. She felt like she was going to throw up.

  Those words. Those lies. They lived on. Still.

  Clay was still bad-mouthing her, telling everyone those bald-faced lies . . . repeating those ugly words.

  Skank. Slut.

  She’d thought she’d left them all behind. All those names she’d been called. The whispers in the hallway she’d hoped had withered into silence, like barbed arrows buried in dust.

  “Annabelle?” Suddenly Charlotte was hugging her.

  “Honey, are you all right?” Tess’s face was pale. “Don’t let him get to you
. Come on back to the table and let’s all have dessert.”

  “Char, Tess . . . I can’t. I’m sorry. . . .” She felt shaky. Sick. Forcing herself to look at her friends, she drew a couple of deep breaths, noting the anger in Tess’s normally gentle blue eyes, the tension in Charlotte’s face.

  “Annabelle, honey, it’s over now.” Tim tried to calm her with his gentle smile. “Let’s all go back and sit down awhile.”

  She shook her head, choked with fury, shame, disgust, and a sickening sense of déjà vu.

  For a moment all the whispers and laughter and snide locker room glances from long ago collided in her brain again. Then a deep, lone voice broke through the ugly swirl of memories.

  “Annabelle. You want to stay—or go home?”

  It was Wes. Speaking quietly.

  All of the other voices and words seemed to fade into a void.

  Except for his.

  Her gaze fastened on his face. “Home,” she whispered.

  She needed to get away from here. As she met his eyes, she realized there was no hint of anger in his face now—only something that might have been concern.

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  Charlotte dashed back to the table and snagged Annabelle’s handbag. “Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, rushing back to Annabelle and studying her worriedly.

  “Positive. But I need to get out of here now. I need to be with the kids. Char, Tess, I’ll talk to you both tomorrow.”

  Tess squeezed her hand, her usually gentle eyes flashing with anger. “He’s a jerk, honey. Don’t let him get to you!”

  “He didn’t. Not so much. Hey, don’t be upset. It’s not good for the baby.”

  Tess’s cheeks were pale and she looked a little shaky, even with John’s arm snug around her waist.

  “Go sit down,” Annabelle ordered. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I just need to go . . . home.”