A Letter for Annie (8 page)

Pete had pressed it on him before they shipped out for Afghanistan. “Just in case, buddy. Please. She’s out there somewhere. I know it. Please, just hold on to it. If something happens to me, someday maybe the time will be right and you’ll find her and deliver it.”

Kyle closed his eyes against the memory of their ensuing argument. “Number one,” he’d said, “give it up. She’s out of your life, man. Number two, nothing is going to happen to you.”

But it had. And here the letter was, lying accusingly on his dresser. Kyle stared at the two words written on the front in Pete’s familiar block printing:
For Annie.

When she had first come back to Eden Bay, Kyle had been too angry to give it to her, figuring she didn’t deserve it.

Now he was afraid to give it to her. Afraid it would upset the delicate balance between them.

But Pete’s memory demanded it.

K
YLE GAVE UP
on going back to sleep and headed for work around seven. The office was open until noon on Saturdays, providing a good time to process paperwork. On his way, he stopped at the doughnut shop for coffee and, figuring he deserved a reward for his sleepless night, overdosed on three maple sticks. It was dark and quiet when he let himself into the office. That suited him fine. He settled in his cubicle, Bubba at his feet, and dug into the stack of work orders needing his approval.

Then he turned to the specs for a clinic remodel his dentist had asked him to work up. He was running a few numbers on his calculator when a shadow fell across his desk.

“You’re an early bird today.”

He’d know that chirpy voice anywhere. He swiveled in his chair and looked up at Rosemary Nemec, dressed in a crisp pink tee and striped miniskirt, beaming down at him. A bubbly morning person, he thought to himself. Just what he needed after the night he’d had.

Doing his best not to growl, he said, “Good time to catch up.”

She leaned over to study the specs, brushing her
breast against his shoulder in the process and shrouding him in a cloud of citrusy cologne. “Dr. Adams’s office?”

“Yeah. I’m trying to figure a way to give him a decent estimate.”

She pointed a carefully manicured finger at the plans. “Why don’t you incorporate this bookcase into the receptionist’s desk?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, that might just work.” He shoved his chair away from her, hoping she’d take the hint and leave. “Thanks, Rosemary.”

Instead, she folded her arms across her chest and leaned against his desk, still smiling the happy little grin she wore most of the time. “I, uh, was wondering. Are you busy next Friday night?”

His heart sank. “Why? You have something in mind?”

“I’m hoping. Dad and Mother bought a table for the country club dance benefiting the library. I thought we might go together. That is, if you’d like.”

He’d rather do almost anything else. Maybe this was the time to get their relationship straightened out.

Before he could say anything, she went on. “Perhaps it was presumptuous, but I’ve already told Mom and Dad we’d love to come. I know I should’ve asked you first, but they were so pleased. Do say yes.”

He hated being manipulated. “I don’t know—”

“Oh, please.” She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder.

He gritted his teeth against the imploring look in her eyes. He always felt out of place at the country club and had no romantic interest in Rosemary. She’d make some man an adoring and dutiful wife. But what did he need
with adoring and dutiful? Okay, so maybe he’d go with her this one last time, use it as an opportunity to let her down gently, if that was possible.

“When shall I pick you up?”

Her body coiled with excitement and he feared she would actually jump up and down. Jeesh!

“Thanks, Kyle. You’re the greatest.” Then she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, seven. Yes, seven will be perfect.” She favored him with one last blinding smile before heading for her desk.

Perfect? Awkward as hell, that’s what it would be. He stuffed the specs back in a folder, pulled on his ball cap and whistled to Bubba. “C’mon, pup. Let’s get out of here.”

Fuming, he strode toward his truck. What was the matter with him? Here was a great girl practically throwing herself at him. But no. He had to make life difficult by obsessing about a woman who infuriated him, inspired guilt and shame, and, at the same time, made him want to chuck everything and carry her off into the sunset. Go figure.

D
R
. W
OODRUFF KEPT
Geneva in the hospital three more days. Annie worked at home in the mornings finishing the last of the purses for the Scottsdale boutique and found that losing herself in the designs and fabrics provided peace and a sense of normalcy, even if only briefly. Her work and early-evening walks on the beach were what kept her going.

Kyle had continued working on the house, even over the weekend, wanting to surprise Geneva with his
progress when she returned. To that end, he spent several hours a day working inside replacing window jambs, refinishing wood trim and leveling the kitchen floor. When he was there, Annie either fled to her room or left for the hospital. She couldn’t come to depend upon him. Accepting his help during her great-aunt’s crisis was one thing, but relying on him, taking comfort in his presence—that was not advisable. No, she would pour all of her attention and energy into caring for Geneva and try to forget Kyle and the unaccustomed and disturbing feelings he aroused in her.

She had just finished putting a zipper in one of the purses when Kyle knocked on her bedroom door. “May I come in?”

She cursed the pleasant flutter in the vicinity of her chest.
Control, Annie, control.
“Yes.”

When the door opened, the pure male scent of sawdust, sweat and varnish preceded him. “Hope I’m not disturbing you, but I need to look at your ceiling.”

“No, I was just finishing some work.” She shoved the handbag aside.

Kyle crossed the room and picked it up. “Hey, what’s this? It’s really nice. Did you make it?”

Against her will, Annie found herself warming to his interest. “I make one-of-a-kind purses for a shop in Arizona.”

He examined it. “I’m no fashion expert, but I would imagine there’d be a big demand for stuff like this.”

“This is a recent venture for me. But so far, so good.”

He looked at her appraisingly, then grinned. “I always suspected you were more than just a pretty face.”

A pretty face? Her glance swept briefly to the mirror over the dresser. No makeup, freckles, hair tied back in a scrunchie. But that was okay. It had been a long time since she’d worried about her looks. Not since that awful night. “It’s work I love to do.”

“That’s obvious.” He set the bag down. “Well, good for you. Now, then—” he studied the ceiling “—when would be a good time for me to tackle this?”

“I’m picking Geneva up at the hospital around noon tomorrow. Maybe you could work here in the morning. That way you wouldn’t disturb her when she gets home.”

“Deal. Except for one thing. Do you need me to go with you to get her?”

“They’ll help me at the hospital, and if you’re here when we get home and I need you, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, then.”

End of conversation, but he didn’t leave the room. Annie felt heat rising to her cheeks. He was staring at her, his mouth curved in a gentle smile, his eyes warm. Then he reached out and tucked a flyaway wisp of hair behind her ear, his fingers grazing her cheek. Rooted to the spot, she was helpless to fight the attraction—no, the need—surfacing in her.

“Annie, I know these next few days aren’t going to be easy for you. But when you feel yourself, well, uh…I guess I’m trying to say, I’m here for you.”

He was being so nice. Pete’s image rose in her mind. Pete, the one person she had always known she could count on, the one who had promised to be there for her always. What had she ever done to deserve two such good men in her life? And how it had pained her to dev
astate the one. Now, if she wasn’t very, very careful, she would almost surely hurt the other. “Thank you for your concern, Kyle, but I’m prepared to handle everything.”

The light faded from his eyes and he nodded. “Have it your way.”

After he left, Annie crumpled into the chair at her workstation and buried her head in her arms, so tired, so very tired. Despite her good intentions, she’d managed to hurt Kyle. Increasingly, everything about him reminded her of that last bittersweet spring in Eden Bay. She couldn’t indulge in such morbid trips down memory lane. She was going to need every ounce of strength to endure these precious final hours with Auntie G.

D
AMN IT
, damn it, damn it! Kyle knew he was hammering with more force than necessary, but physical activity had always been his emotional release. Annie was so friggin’ independent. He didn’t expect her to fall into his arms or gush with gratitude, but somebody needed to be there to help her through these next few days, and it looked as if fate had elected him. He sat back on his feet and rolled his eyes skyward.
Pete, if my relationship with Annie is one of your jokes, it isn’t funny.

But it would be just like Pete to arrange this—to see that the love of his life was taken care of.
Pick somebody else, please. I’m getting in too deep.

He resumed nailing, wondering how much longer he could keep his hands off Annie. A sympathetic hug was one thing; the sexual stirrings she aroused in him were quite another. He had spent way too much time imagining what was hidden under her baggy shirts and
bib overalls—round, pert breasts and firmly rounded buttocks. Crap! He was getting hot just thinking about it. The soulful quality of her expressions and the elfin grace of her movements were irresistible. Everything about her made him want to protect her and, at the same time, to explore all that lay beneath the surface.

But resist he must. Just as he’d told Bubba this morning, women were too damn much trouble!

T
UESDAY AFTERNOON
Geneva lay back in her own bed relishing the comfort of familiar surroundings. She’d take just a little snooze and then rally to sit in her chair by the living room window. She could breathe just as well—or just as poorly—there as lying here. Every day was a gift, despite the coughing fits and shortness of breath.

Dr. Woodruff had done her best with nutrients and medications, but Geneva could feel herself slowly drying into a husk of a person. Yet her thoughts raced. So much to remember. So many good times and interesting people, most of them dead now. Hers had been a rich and full life. Once a friend had asked if she’d ever regretted not having a husband. She’d come close to marrying a time or two, but reason had prevailed. Her feet were too itchy and her curiosity too vast to be confined for a lifetime by another’s, even a beloved’s, expectations. Each man in her life had brought different gifts—drop-dead handsome Pablo, the crazy Spaniard, with his easy laugh and sense of mischief; Reggie, dear Reggie, a public school Brit through and through, whose quick mind fascinated her; and then Whit, an
America’s Cup–caliber yachtsman who spared no expense in providing her with beautiful things. She’d had her share of lovers and had enjoyed their minds and their bodies. All in all, not a bad life. One she was content to leave…except for Annie.

She must’ve slept for a while because the next thing she knew, Annie was standing by her bed, holding out the telephone. “Who is it?”

“I think you’ll be pleased. It’s Carmen.”

Hearing the soothing accent of her housekeeper and companion was a tonic. Even better was the news that Carmen was coming for a visit the first of the week. When Geneva offered to pay for her airline ticket, Carmen demurred. “No, no,
señorita.
My daughter and her husband thank you so much for letting me come to help take care of the little one. They want to do this for me and for you.”

“Please tell them thank you. I shall so look forward to our time together.”

They talked a bit further, then hung up, but not before Carmen’s mellifluous voice uttered words that suddenly carried far more significance than ever before.
“Vaya con Dios, amiga,”
she said at the end of their conversation.

Annie took the phone from her, a smile brightening her face. “That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“The best, petunia.” She levered herself up in bed. “Now, I’m getting up.”

“But don’t you think—”

“I am not an invalid. I want to sit by my window and watch the birds and the clouds and the sea.” She swung
her legs over the side of the bed. “And where is that young man?”

“Kyle?”

“Yes. I want him to show me everything he’s done so far. I like that boy. He’s a hard worker.”

“He’s gone for the day, but he said he’ll be back in the morning. He’s done good work, I think.”

Geneva shoved her feet into her slippers and hoisted herself to her feet. “Please bring me the wheelchair.”

As Annie lowered her into the seat and draped a blanket over her knees, she said, “You’re sounding pretty feisty this afternoon.”

“I’m feeling better. Maybe I’ll lick this thing yet.” The words were brave and, for the moment, true. She did feel better than she had several days ago. But she knew it was a temporary reprieve.

Annie settled her by the window, fixed her a cup of tea and then disappeared into the kitchen to start dinner. The setting sun glared into the window. In earlier days, Geneva would have pulled the shade, but not today. Now she wanted to soak up every single ray of that incandescent ball slowly descending toward the horizon, before it sank into the sea, leaving behind only darkness.

It was right that Carmen was coming. She had been an integral part of Geneva’s life for nearly twenty years, traveling with her, laundering, cooking, generally making her life easier. They knew each other’s habits and understood when to give the other privacy. Their friendship had been choreographed by habit and proximity, but the time had come to say their goodbyes.

Geneva managed to eat most of the chicken breast,
potatoes and peas that Annie had fixed and then held on for one game of gin rummy, which her great-niece won handily. However, her mind wasn’t really on the game, but rather on choosing a time to talk with Annie about the reasons for her flight to Bisbee all those years ago. She was too tired tonight, and tomorrow Kyle Becker would be here. She acknowledged to herself that as much as this conversation needed to happen, she’d been delaying it. Making Annie any more miserable than she already was was going to be hard. But ignoring her niece’s pain and emotional paralysis was irresponsible. And so few days remained.

K
YLE MOVED
carefully through the living room, not wanting to disturb the old woman dozing in her chair. Adding a coat of stain to the mantelpiece was relatively quiet work. Settling down to the task, he became aware of movement from the work area in Annie’s bedroom. He imagined her hands playing over fabrics. He’d been impressed by her purses. As she’d told him about them, he’d recognized the enthusiasm that had been so much a part of her when they were younger. She’d had a spark back then—a spark he would love to ignite again under his own fingers. He shut his eyes briefly, willing away that distracting line of thought.