Sunflower Lane (5 page)

Not that he didn’t think he could change her mind about that—if he was inclined. Which he wasn’t.

He’d been through enough fireworks abroad, fighting warlords and drug kingpins. He didn’t need to stir up trouble in his hometown.

“I’ll come by sometime tomorrow and you can let me know what else needs work and what you need,” she said a little breathlessly. “I have more towels and linens I can spare—”

“Whatever’s there will be plenty. See you tomorrow, Annabelle.”

The last glimpse he had of her as he pocketed the key and turned away were her arms wrapped around herself from the cold, her empty coffee mug still resting on the porch steps, her eyes watching him warily in the darkness. The stillness of the night was broken only by the hiss of crickets and the shadow of a lone hawk hunting and swooping through the treetops.

By the time Wes started his truck and drove beyond the old ranch house and onto the narrow dirt road that wound behind it, Annabelle Harper had disappeared. The front door of the house was shut and the porch light off.

Only the warm gleam from the first-floor windows still lit the old place.

Tired from the long days on the road, Wes knew he’d fall dead asleep as soon as he hit the bed in the cabin—whether it had sheets on it, a blanket, pillow, or nothing at all.

The only thing he wanted right then was to somehow stop picturing Annabelle Harper slipping naked into that bed with him.

Because that just wasn’t going to happen.

He was passing through. And she had a normal life. She was no doubt looking for a regular Joe, with roots and morals, and a sense of family, of community.

He wasn’t that guy, not by a long shot, and he never would be. He’d done things he could barely stand to think about. He’d seen things women like Annabelle couldn’t begin to imagine.

Cara could. She’d seen things, done things, too.

But Cara was gone.

No one else could possibly ever get him the same way. And though he hadn’t been in love with Cara, Wes knew no other woman could possibly mean as much to him as she had.

He was passing through town briefly, then heading out. Getting involved even on a superficial level with Annabelle Harper was out of the question. He’d crossed a lot of lines in his career, but she had enough going on in her life—and that was one line he wouldn’t cross.

So, with the total concentration and commitment that had carried him through nearly forty overseas missions, he gunned the engine and rattled over the bumpy dirt road to the Harper cabin, mentally deleting Annabelle Harper from his brain.

“We can’t be late,” Annabelle muttered to herself as she ran toward the base of the stairs.

“Megan! Ethan! Please come down here right now!”

“I can’t find my tap shoes.” Her eight-year-old niece sounded frantic.

“Did you look in your dance bag?”

“Yes, I . . . Just a minute—oh! Got ’em!”

Annabelle sighed in relief and rushed back to the kitchen, where her other niece, Michelle, was eating Cheerios from the box, chugging chocolate milk, and reading
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
all at the same time, oblivious to everything going on around her.

It was only the second day of summer vacation, and Annabelle was scheduled to teach her first ballet class of the season at the Lonesome Way Community Center at nine
A.M
. sharp. But if Megan and Ethan didn’t get a move on, all
those little ballerinas between the ages of seven and nine would be tapping their feet waiting.

“Michelle, do you have your ballet shoes?” she asked, quickly smearing a bagel with cream cheese for Megan, who would probably have to eat it in the car if she didn’t get to the breakfast table in the next four minutes. With relief she heard Ethan racing down the stairs.

“Mm-hmm. They’re in my dance bag, Aunt Annabelle.” Michelle, the organized, focused twin, lifted her orchid blue eyes from her book for a brief moment. “I’m glad I’ll have two hours to read later when you teach adults,” she murmured, then lapsed into silence once again, her attention morphing back to Hogwarts with lightning speed.

Annabelle downed a final gulp of coffee and finished the last bite of her own bagel just as Ethan skidded toward his chair. Her hair was scooped up in a loose ponytail, and she wore a purple leotard under her jeans, and a scoop-necked pink tank. After Michelle’s ballet class, she’d teach Megan and Michelle’s seven- to nine-year-olds tap class; then she had an hour each of adult yoga and teen jazz, all before lunch. This afternoon she had only one more class—a ballet class for ages four through six.

Then she’d spend an hour or two in the office helping Charlotte update all the files while they brainstormed ideas for the entertainment at the Fourth of July festivities.

She still needed to choreograph a tap routine for the kids to perform in the square after the parade, and design costumes that the kids’ mothers could either sew or pull together.

Megan and Michelle were spending the afternoon at their friend Katie’s home after their classes today, and after basketball, Ethan was signed up for a class on how to design your own video game, before getting picked up by his friend Jimmy’s mom, who was taking the boys for lunch at Pepperoni’s Pizza and then over to the park.

A long day,
she thought. And arriving late for the first day of class wouldn’t be a good way for anyone to start. She forced herself to draw a calming breath as her nephew plopped down at the table.

“I’m ready to roll right now, Aunt Annabelle.” Dumping milk from the carton into his cereal, Ethan began shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth. He glanced over at the counter where a strawberry pie perched beside a pair of ceramic apple salt and pepper shakers.

“Can I have pie with my breakfast?”

Her brows lifted. “Nice try. You can have fruit and a bagel—or a blueberry muffin.” She pushed a bowl brimming with raspberries and grapes in the center of the table closer to him. “Maybe tonight for dessert you can have pie. And maybe on Sunday for breakfast. I sometimes make exceptions on Sunday for pie.”

Grinning, he grabbed a handful of grapes. “Can I have pie when I get home from Jimmy’s later? I really like your strawberry pie. It tastes just like Mom’s.”

“That’s because your grandma taught us both how to make it.”

“I know. Mom used to tell us that all the time, too.”

For a moment a little silence fell in the kitchen. Michelle glanced up from her book, and her lip quivered. Annabelle touched her hand, and smiled at Ethan.

“Your mom made much better cherry cupcakes than I ever did. But my fudge was always better than hers. And we were equally good at baking strawberry pie.”

“Mom always talked to us about you,” Ethan said in a low tone. “How you were living your dream. She said you almost made it onto
So You Think You Can Dance
!”

“Not exactly,” Annabelle said as lightly as she could, relieved when they both started to eat again. “I was close, but not that close.”

“Weren’t you, like, in the top thirty?”

“Yes, but you needed to make the top twenty to get on the show.”

“But you’re good!” Michelle set down her book with a thunk. “You’re the best dancer ever! Everyone’s jealous that we get to have dance lessons at home whenever we want.”

“And you were in a movie.” Megan sounded breathless as she dashed into the kitchen. Annabelle hadn’t heard her come down the stairs, but her tomboy niece slid into her seat like a baseball player sliding home, her straight, dark blond hair poking out from beneath a ball cap. “A movie with Jack Black!”

“I was just an extra.” She shrugged, but Megan took a bite of her bagel and spoke with her mouth full.

“But you danced. In a real movie! You did a pirouette, and then that guy dancer threw you in the air!”

For a total of fifteen seconds on-screen,
Annabelle thought in amusement. “Listen, if we don’t make it to class on time, some angry mothers of your friends are going to throw me, all right. They’ll throw me to the wolves. So no more talking—just eating. We’ll talk in the car!”

She barely got the words out before there was a knock on the back door.

Charlotte.
A smile burst across her face.
She’s probably too excited to wait until later to show me her ring. Or maybe it’s Tess.

Tess Stone, her other best friend, was a petite, practical redhead who worked as an accountant and lived on Absaroka Drive, right at the edge of town. She and her husband, John, were expecting a baby in July.
By now Charlotte must have told Tess she’s engaged,
Annabelle thought.
Tess must want to talk wedding shower plans. . . .

“Keep eating,” she told the kids, hurrying to the door. “We need to leave in under two minutes.”

But when she yanked open the door, it was neither Charlotte nor Tess who stood there.

Wes McPhee loomed over her. He looked hunkier than ever in the crystalline morning light in faded jeans, a white tee, and sunglasses. Along his jaw was the sexiest stubble she’d ever seen in her life.

“Morning.”

That killer smile might send countless women to their knees, but Annabelle locked hers in place.

“Uh . . . g-good . . . morning. I . . . didn’t expect you so early.”

As he pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, she was nearly blinded by the intense green of his eyes. Now that there was daylight, she could see flecks of gray and gold in them. It was impossible not to stare.

“Bad time?”

“Um, yes. We’re leaving for town in . . . about thirty seconds, I’m afraid—”

“Dance class,” Megan piped up. “We’re gonna be late.”

Megan was the social, talkative one of the twins, but Annabelle saw that Michelle had actually set down her Harry Potter book and was gazing at Wes as well.

Ethan popped a couple more grapes in his mouth, chewing while he watched Wes with interest.

“My class starts before yours.” Michelle flipped her book closed and smiled shyly at Wes. “I take tap and ballet. Ballet is very hard. But I like it.”

“Cool.” Wes nodded gravely. “My niece, Ivy, took ballet once, I think.”

“Oh, shoot. Be right back, Aunt Annabelle!” Shoving back his chair, Ethan bolted toward the stairs. “I forgot my treasure book and my basketball!”

“Hurry, please!” Annabelle called after him, but her nephew was already gone, his feet pounding up the steps.

“Girls, leave your dishes in the sink and run out to the car, buckle yourselves in. Wes, sorry, but we have to leave now.”

She suddenly realized she felt flustered, not only by the
prospect of being late for work, but by the fact that Wes looked just as good this morning as he had last night. He looked even bigger today, if that was possible. Maybe because instead of that leather jacket, he wore that white tee that clearly revealed those sculpted biceps.

Good Lord, he really could have been a beefcake model in a commercial.

But this man was no pretty-boy model. The man standing in her kitchen looked like he could handle anything that came along. Cyclones or motorcycle gangs. Drug dealers, blizzards, or escaped murderers.

Rough and tough were understatements when it came to him. He wasn’t just insanely handsome; he looked . . . edgy.

Dangerous.

Sexy as hell.

Even if she was interested in going out with a man—which she wasn’t—he was so out of her league.

Not that it mattered. He certainly wasn’t interested.

She couldn’t read anything in his expression other than patience as the girls streamed past him with their dance bags hitched over their shoulders. The kitchen screen door slammed behind them.

“I’ll get out of your hair. Just wanted to let you know I’ve made a list of repairs. Going to town for supplies soon and I’ll get started today.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She started shoving dishes in the dishwasher as fast as she could, and speaking just as rapidly.

“Hope everything was good in the cabin last night. Did you have what you needed? No, don’t tell me now; we’ll discuss later. I’ve got to get to the community center. I’m teaching almost a full morning of dance classes and working in the office all afternoon. But I’ll be home after that.”

“No problem. Catch you later—”

But he broke off, stopping in his tracks. He stared across the kitchen, and Annabelle followed his gaze.

He’d spotted the half-full coffeepot and the strawberry pie sitting on the counter.

“You know, I’m not quite ready to face my whole family for breakfast this early in the morning,” he admitted, then shot her a grin. “Don’t have even a crumb of food in the cabin yet. Any chance I can steal a cup of coffee and a slice of that pie?”

“What . . . Oh. Sure.” Slamming the old dishwasher closed—the only way to get it to latch properly—she thrust a cobalt blue mug at him. Hurriedly she grabbed a plate and slid a wedge of pie onto it. “You’ll have to take it with you. We need to leave right now—”

“Ready!” Ethan yelled, racing back into the kitchen, his treasure book sticking out of his backpack and a basketball clutched within one skinny ten-year-old arm.

Suddenly, though, he skidded to a stop as he saw Wes holding the plate of pie.

“Aunt Annabelle, you said no pie for breakfast!” Ethan spun toward her, his eyes sharp with accusation. “That’s not fair.”

“You can have pie when we get home later, Ethan. Right now, Mr. McPhee is our guest. And we have to go.”

“But it’s not fair!”

“Why can’t the kid have a piece of pie?” Wes asked her.

“No pie for breakfast. That goes for you, too.” She grabbed the plate away from him even as he raised the fork toward his mouth. Scooping up a muffin from the basket on the table, she tossed it to him.

“Here, take this—and your coffee. And go. Ethan, get in the car and buckle up. Now.”

“But—”

“Ethan!”

The boy shot her a frustrated glance and raced out the door.

Wes shook his head. “Bossy,” he muttered. “Maybe I don’t want to work for you, after all.”

Her mouth dropped open before she saw the glint of humor in his eyes.

“You’ve already slept in my cabin and accepted the job, so you can’t chicken out now.”

Snatching up her purse and her own dance bag, she slung both over her shoulder and flew toward the door. “Just keep a list of whatever you need and how much it costs and slip it under the door.”

He followed her, taking a bite of the muffin.

Since he gripped the steaming mug in one hand and the muffin in the other, she held the door for him, then closed it firmly behind them both.

“I might want to rework our arrangement,” he said.

The words stopped her in her tracks. She whirled to face him.

“What does that mean?”

“Any way we can agree on room and board? This muffin’s great. So’s the coffee. How about including breakfast? I can come by every morning, pick it up, take it back to the cabin, and get to work.”

“Done. So long as you don’t expect a five-course buffet.” Darting to her Jeep and tugging open the driver’s side door, she wondered why she still felt flustered, and resolved not to let him see it. “I’ll leave it on the porch for you if you’re not here when we have to take off.”

“That’ll work.”

Nodding, she slid into the Jeep, refusing to allow herself to peek into the rearview mirror as she roared away up the lane.

“Who was that man?” Michelle asked.

“He’s kind of scary looking,” Megan declared.

“Why were you going to give him some pie?” Ethan demanded.

“Calm down, guys. You know Sophie Tanner from A Bun in the Oven? That’s her brother. He’s visiting Lonesome Way and he’s staying in our cabin for a few weeks.”

“That place? It’s a mess!” Ethan looked startled. “You won’t even let us play in there.”