Sunflower Lane (14 page)

Wes made one stop before heading home to get some work done on the cabin. He took a detour to the Lonesome Way library and hit the shelves until he found just what he was looking for.

Afterward, driving back down Sunflower Lane, he was surprised to spot Annabelle at home, working in her garden. He braked alongside her and her pretty, winding rows of flower beds.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. No classes today?”

Peering up, she smiled at him, and stood with a grace that knocked him for a loop. He felt something like a punch to the stomach—but in a good way.

Then she brushed her hands on her denim shorts. Her sage green tee had specks of dirt on it, but they didn’t detract from the pretty picture she made, with her long legs and those delectable curves. He sprang out of the truck and strode toward her, no longer in a hurry to get to the cabin.

“Everything was canceled,” she told him. “Some kind of power outage in the building—all the kids were sent home.”

“Home? You sure? It’s awfully quiet around here.”

A small laugh burst from her. Wes realized it was a sound he liked. A lot.

“The kids are plenty busy; don’t worry—they’re just not
here
. Ethan’s spending the day with Jimmy—searching for the treasure again, of course. This time near Sage Creek. Jimmy’s older brother, Corey, was bribed into supervising—and Ethan’s going to sleep over there, too, so I dropped off a packed bag for him a little while ago. The same for the twins. They’re having movie night at Kaley Mattson’s house—
E.T.
and
Frozen
. It’ll be my turn to host the sleepover next week.” She shook her head. “Little girls do love their sleepover parties.”

“I’m fond of them myself.”

He liked the easy way she laughed at him and turned those soft honey eyes on his face.

“No surprise there. Never met a man who wasn’t.”

Especially when a man gets within ten feet of a woman like you,
he thought, but aloud he said, “The cabin’s coming along great. Still a ways to go, but—want to walk down and see what I’ve done with the place so far?”

“I’d like that.” The smile she flashed him was warm, but then she hesitated. “I have a few things to do first. Come in for a minute? There’s coffee.”

“Sounds good.”

Wes tried not to stare like a fourteen-year-old kid at the sway of her hips as she moved ahead of him into the house. He realized, not for the first time, how much he liked everything about her. Not only the way she looked, which was incredibly sexy, even with her hair haphazardly tied up in a messy braid, even in sneakers and shorts. But he liked how she took care of her sister’s kids, with equal parts energy and patience every day, and he respected the hell out of the way she’d upended her entire life to be there for them.

Since that night he’d kissed her, Wes had avoided being alone with her. He was too damned attracted to her, and he’d be damned if he’d act on that fierce attraction again. It wasn’t a smart move. And it didn’t make sense to start something here he couldn’t finish. She was staying put in Lonesome Way and he was leaving.

Soon.

More than that, he didn’t want to take the chance of hurting her. Annabelle had gone through plenty in her life without him adding any more complications.

Best to keep things simple. Businesslike. Which meant keeping his distance. And not starting anything that could end badly
.

He’d be gone before long and if he ever wanted to come back and see his grandmother and his family again, he didn’t need any messy loose ends or hard feelings waiting for him.

Entering the kitchen, Wes stopped short. She was scrubbing the dirt from her hands at the sink, but he stared around him at the old oak counters. They were full of chocolates.

The place smelled like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Round balls of chocolates rested on wax paper and baking sheets everywhere he looked.

Drying her hands on a brightly striped kitchen towel, she caught him staring and a smile curved her lips.

“Chocolate truffles. For Charlotte’s bridal shower on Saturday. I had some time this morning with the kids gone and busy, so . . .” She shrugged. “I need to wait and put them in the fridge in about . . .” She glanced at the old sunburst clock on the wall. “Ten minutes.”

“You made all these?”

“And lots more. Look.” She opened the refrigerator door and he peered inside. The shelves were filled with brightly colored storage containers with various chocolate candies packed inside. Some were heart-shaped; others looked like miniature wedding bells and bridal cakes.

“Seems to be you could open your very own candy shop. Looks like a lot of hard work, though.”

“It’s fun. It takes time and patience, but it’s not too difficult. I love making chocolate—I’ve been doing it since my college days. I used to make them for my friends’ bridal showers, and later for baby showers. I made them for Trish’s shower, too, before she and Ron got married.”

“I don’t suppose you have a few to spare?” He was joking, but she immediately reached into the fridge and pulled out one of the containers.

“These are some I put aside for the kids. Help yourself,” she offered, opening it and revealing an array of dainty chocolate hearts, roses, and wedding bells.

He plucked a wedding bell out—hoping that didn’t mean he was doomed to walk down the aisle someday—and popped it in his mouth. Immediately his eyes warmed.

“I knew you were a woman of many talents.”

She shook her head, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Only two talents, I’m afraid. Dance and candy making. I’m not good at crossword puzzles or bowling, and I’m awful at poker. Terrible at—”

She never finished the sentence because Wes closed the distance between them in the space of two seconds. When she caught the warm gleam in his eyes, her mind went completely blank. Any words on the tip of her tongue vanished—what she’d been about to tell him disappeared into thin air.

He stood right in front of her and slowly, firmly, pulled her close. A second passed where he just looked at her and she looked at him. She looked right into those amazing green eyes, with her heart slamming in her chest. She was certain she couldn’t move, but then he did.

He leaned down, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks. Ever since . . . that night,” he said by way of explanation.

Then he kissed her again, more slowly this time. More deeply. Intoxicatingly.

And without a second thought, she kissed him back, aching with hunger for him, a hunger that had been building since the night he’d brought her home from the Double Cross.

Y
ou’re an idiot,
a voice inside her screamed. She ignored it. She gave herself up completely to the kiss. When he deepened the angle, drawing her in even more, tasting her slowly, deeply, she gave a willing sigh, and nestled into his arms.

And then she thought of nothing but how wonderful it felt to kiss him, how her heart was pounding—and so was his.

When he lifted his head to gaze into her eyes, he still held her close.

“You’re good at kissing, Annabelle. Actually, you’re fantastic. Add it to your list.”

“That’s reassuring—since . . . until that other night . . . I . . . hadn’t exactly had a lot of practice lately.”

“We can fix that.”

“We can, but . . .” She tried to think through the dazing effect his kisses had on her. “Should we?”

“Definitely. One hundred percent.” He stroked a big hand gently through her hair. His eyes, dark and amused, were locked on hers.

Oh God, her pulse was racing way too fast. She leaned into him more closely, thinking of nothing but the sensations firing through her as he ran those strong hands down her back and caught her lips with his again.

Her mind went blank. All she knew was the strength of that rock-hard body pressed against her, and the way his mouth was tasting her slowly. She made a mewing sound as his tongue teased and stroked against hers.

This time it was a longer kiss . . . a series of kisses, really. Hot, soft, ever-deepening kisses, the kind that made her melt. She lost herself in him, kissing him with an abandon
that had him suddenly tangling his hands in her hair and groaning.

She didn’t know how long they stood like that in the middle of the kitchen, kissing and touching, surrounded by chocolates as the old clock on the wall ticked, and . . .

She froze and jerked back suddenly. “My truffles! What time is it . . . Oh, crap.” She pushed him away and whirled toward the trays of chocolates.

Eleven minutes had passed! Grabbing yet more storage containers from the lower shelf of a cupboard, she began loading the truffles in neat rows.

“You distracted me. Good thing I realized in time—”

“Gotta say, I didn’t distract you for very long. Must be losing my touch.”

“Trust me, you’re not losing anything.” Her fingers flew, plopping the truffles into their boxes.

“I’d like to take your word for it, but I think we need to test that out some more.”

She laughed, her cheeks flushing. No way. Any more “testing” would be purely crazy.

She did her best to muster both her common sense and her composure as she stuffed the truffles into the refrigerator, between a tray of heart-shaped chocolates and a jar of homemade spaghetti sauce. She needed to put a stop to this . . . whatever
this
was . . . right now.

Wes McPhee was so out of her league. And no good for her. But his way of kissing blocked her brain from working properly. When he held her, or stood close to her, all of her instincts for self-preservation against men seemed to implode.

Failing her when she needed them most.

If she wanted to get back in the kissing game with a man, she needed to pick one who was harmless—a man who wouldn’t make her heart shake when he touched her, and
who didn’t spark lightning-like flames through every inch of her skin.

But she couldn’t stop craving the feel of his mouth on her. Or wondering what that incredible, hard-muscled bod looked like beneath his shirt and jeans.

Or what it would be like to have Wes touch her. Kiss her.
Everywhere.

A deep shiver trembled through her.

“Ready?” He moved closer as she closed the refrigerator door, and wrapped his arms around her again, drawing her back to him.

“That depends. For what?” Her lips curved up into a smile at the same time she knew she should be running in the opposite direction. But Wes didn’t take the bait. He just grinned, a relaxed cowboy grin, and gently threaded his fingers through her hair.

Oh, she liked the way he touched her way too much. Heat fired through her at that oddly gentle stroking of her hair and at the easy, steady glint in his eyes.

“To take a look at what I’ve done with your cabin,” he said at last.

It’s better than seeing what you’re doing to me,
she thought, knowing she needed to put a stop to this before she did something wild, something totally unlike herself. Before she broke all her own careful, sensible rules.

“The problem is, I don’t have a lot of time—not right now. Maybe tomorrow. I’d love to see the cabin, Wes, to see everything, but I need to—”

She broke off. Her mind was blank. Utterly blank. She was sure there was something she had to do. . . .

She groped through the fog of what used to be her quite adequate brain and finally came up with it.

“I need to finish my planting. And do laundry.”

“Uh-huh. Planting and laundry. I get it.” Wes shook his head. “Annabelle, you really do know how to hurt a guy.”

“No . . . it’s not that—I’m just . . . busy. Very busy. With a million things . . .” Her voice trailed off, and then she saw his face change. The amusement vanished and he looked . . . accepting. Understanding.

“No problem. I get it.”

Her stomach dropped.

Really? He understands?
That meant . . .

He was backing off, too.

That was a good thing, right? He realized, too, that they were heading down a path that would only lead to complications.

Still, more than a twinge of disappointment pinged through her as for a brief moment she wondered what had happened to the brave, confident girl who’d gone off to Philadelphia to study dance.

The girl who’d worked and supported herself and yes, auditioned for
So You Think You Can Dance
—and had almost made it. The girl who’d dated and laughed and compared notes with her girlfriends, who’d enjoyed the company of men and felt confident being alone with them.

She’d had courage back then; she’d believed in herself. In her talent and her judgment and her ability to make good decisions and . . .

With a start she realized that thanks to some bad choices where men were concerned, she was now living only half a life. And a cautious life at that.

Even now, this minute, when the hottest, most handsome and easygoing man she’d ever met was standing right in front of her in her kitchen, close enough to kiss . . .

“Um, changed my mind. Let’s go down to the cabin. I think I really do need to see how things are coming along.”