Sunflower Lane (6 page)

“He’s going to fix it up for us in exchange for free rent. And breakfast,” she added, making the turn onto Squirrel Road. “Then we can try to rent it out.”

“If we rent it out, we’ll have extra money, right?” Megan was beaming.

“Some extra.” Annabelle slowed as a deer and two of the tiniest fawns she’d ever seen strolled across the road.

“Enough money to get a horse?” Megan asked.

“Two horses?” Michelle chimed in hopefully. “I really wish I could have my very own.”

In the rearview mirror, Annabelle saw the twins’ eager smiles and her stomach twisted a little.

“I don’t know if we’ll have enough for horses, but there should be enough to buy all of you some new school clothes for the fall.” She knew their dad had promised them a few years ago that he was saving up to build a new barn and to get them a couple of horses so they could ride regularly. But that wasn’t going to be possible now.

Her own salary and savings didn’t include building a barn or the upkeep of two horses.

“If Jimmy and me find the treasure, I’ll buy us a whole barnful of horses,” Ethan announced.

“Well, that sounds great.” Annabelle managed to hold back a laugh. But something tore at her heart. Her sister’s kids had lost their parents, and if she could give them the world—horses, barns, treasure—she would. Let Ethan have his dreams. And let the twins have theirs.

Her dream was to raise them the way Trish would have wanted them raised. Loved, safe, healthy.

Instead of two parents, they now had one measly aunt. An aunt who knew more about pliés and arabesques and an awful marriage than she did about homework, rules, and schedules. But she was learning. Adjusting. One step at a time.

“Everyone out. Hurry.”

Annabelle rolled into a parking spot in the lot flanking the community center at exactly two minutes before nine. The kids raced for the building, and she started to follow.

She was just breaking into a run herself when suddenly a green SUV roared into the lot like a tank and nearly mowed her down, swerving at the last second. Her heart skittered in a hundred different directions. Shaken, she watched the driver slide into a parking spot and spring out of the car.

Her chest tightened. Clay Johnson.

She should have known.

The scumbag who’d ruined her reputation in high school for sheer sport was in his mid-thirties now, a divorced father, but from what she’d seen and heard since she’d come back to Lonesome Way, all the arrogance of the rangy blond captain of the wrestling team was still intact. And the boy who’d lied about her and boasted how easily he’d supposedly gotten her naked in the back of his truck out at Cougar Rock still lived on in the man.

She spun away and kept walking, focused on getting to the community center gym where eleven little girls were waiting for their first day of summer dance class.

“You need to look where you’re going, Annabelle,” Clay called out, his voice every bit as smug as she remembered.

“You need to slow down behind the wheel.” She spoke crisply without glancing backward but felt her spine stiffen.

Ignore him,
she ordered herself. That was what she usually did when she ran into Clay. He’d become one of the wealthiest men in Lonesome Way after taking over his father’s string of automobile dealerships across Montana and Wyoming, and he was on the town’s planning board, tight with the mayor, and a big donor to the upcoming Fourth of July fund-raiser, which was intended to raise enough money to add an indoor basketball court and track to the community center.

Since she always had the urge to punch him in the stomach—or kick him squarely in the balls—she tried to avoid running into him. But avoiding a power player like Clay wasn’t easy in Lonesome Way.

His son, Connor, a year younger than Ethan, was on Ethan’s basketball team this summer. He was small for his age, with a sallow, subdued face, and looked the exact opposite of his strapping, broad-shouldered father. The boy had also climbed out of the car, and now stood uncertainly beside the SUV.

“Go on inside, Bear. You don’t need me to walk you in. I have a meeting at city hall with the mayor,” Clay said dismissively, waving the boy away.

Bear
. The most unlikely name for the small, timid-looking boy, but then, Clay no doubt nicknamed him that because that was what he wanted his son to be. A bear. Big, bold, mean.

Like him.

Annabelle smiled at the boy who trotted past her, eyes downcast, then ignored the man behind her, until he suddenly lengthened his stride and deliberately blocked her path the moment his son disappeared ahead of her inside the one-story brick community center.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Halting, she stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Get out of my way. Now.”

“Every time I see you, you’re always in a hurry.”

“You’re right. In a hurry to get away from you.” She veered around him, half expecting him to try to cut her off, or follow, but instead she heard his low, curt laughter trailing after her, the same laughter that had followed her in the halls of Lonesome Way High when he and his buddies were trading lies about her, calling her an easy lay. A slut.

Don’t stop, don’t look back, don’t pay any attention to him,
she told herself, but she couldn’t keep her heart from thumping with a combination of anger and wariness.

The man was a bully. Always had been, always would be. And Annabelle detested bullies. She felt sorry for his son, who was only in town for the summer. Patty Ann Benson, who worked at her father’s drugstore on Main Street, had mentioned at one of the parade committee meetings that Clay’s ex-wife moved to Helena after their divorce. Though she had full custody of the boy throughout the school year, he spent the summer months with Clay.

Poor kid.

Annabelle knew a thing or two about bullies. Zack was a bully, too—not that she’d realized it before she married him. All smiles and charm on the outside, but beneath the veneer he was jealous and suspicious. He’d begun shoving her around early in their marriage if she even spoke to another man—belittling her, bullying her, trying to control her.

Oh yeah,
I know how to pick ’em,
she thought, bursting into the community center. Good thing she’d sworn off men even before she moved back to Lonesome Way.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she sprinted down the hall to the gym.

“We’ll start with a warm-up first,” she told the class of young girls lining up along the barre. Michelle was already there, shifting into first position as Annabelle punched on the warm-up music.

“First position,” she called breathlessly, and kicked off her sandals, then stripped down to her leotard. “This will be our starting point every day.”

Pulling on her ballet slippers, she darted toward the barre.

“Like this, ladies.” She raised her arms in a graceful arc. “Arms bent at the elbow, feet turned out. Chin up, everyone. Now hold. That’s it. Tummies in, girls, backs straight, heads up. Stand tall, as tall as you can. Keep those feet turned out. Beautiful! Moving on now. Second position . . .”

The tense rush of the morning slipped away. She gave herself up to the joy of teaching dance.

Years ago, in a tiny Livingston dance studio, she and Trish had been just like these young girls, their eager faces tight with concentration, as they fulfilled their own need and longing to dance. Now it was her turn to teach little ones with eyes full of stars how to leap and spin and fly.

“Tell me the truth. Isn’t this the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Charlotte was seated beside Annabelle at a table in A Bun in the Oven, holding her engagement ring finger up to the afternoon light.

The square-cut diamond on a slender silver band sparkled like a summer star. With her dark brunette hair pulled up into a long smooth ponytail, and her eyes alight, Charlotte gazed at her ring, clearly enraptured by the diamond glittering with cold fire on her finger.

“It’s gorgeous, Char. Tim did good.” Annabelle broke off a chunk of a cinnamon bun and popped it into her mouth.

“It’s downright perfect—that’s what it is,” Tess added. Her own left hand rested on her baby bump, while the other held a forkful of warm apple crisp in midair. Tess was the picture of maternal contentment in loose jeans and a bright yellow maternity top, her shoulder-length, burnished red
hair curled gently around her lightly freckled, girl-next-door pretty face.

“Oooh.” Suddenly gasping, she set her fork down with a clatter. Then a huge smile spread across her face. “Wow. That one was something. Anyone want to feel this mini linebacker or ballerina kick?”

“I do!” Annabelle and Charlotte spoke in unison and reached out at once.

“That is so . . . awesome.” Annabelle spoke in a whisper as she felt the rolling motion beneath her fingers. Her heart filled at her friend’s rapturous expression. Tess had been pregnant before, a little more than a year and a half ago. But she’d lost the baby late in the pregnancy.

She and John had been devastated, barely getting through each day for months after. Though Annabelle saw hope and excitement in her friend’s eyes today, she knew Tess was worried, nearly as anxious as she’d been back in seventh grade when her parents decided to divorce. She hid it well, but Tess wouldn’t truly relax until her baby was delivered, alive and healthy and snug in her arms.

“I can’t believe you don’t want to know if it’s a boy or girl,” Charlotte teased.

“I like surprises.
Good
surprises,” Tess amended quickly, a shadow of unease flitting over her face, then vanishing. “It’ll make everything even more exciting when the time comes.”

“You know, don’t you, that you’re going to be humongous when you walk down the aisle at my wedding?” Charlotte mused; then, as Tess and Annabelle both stared at her, brows raised, she clapped a hand to her mouth.

“Sorry—how rude am I? I’m sure it’s good luck to have a hugely pregnant woman at your wedding, right? Let me look that up on my phone. There has to be some good karma there—”

Annabelle laughed as Charlotte’s dainty thumbs danced across the buttons of her cell phone.

“You understand there’s always a chance he or she will make an appearance before the wedding,” Tess pointed out, then shot Charlotte a puzzled glance. “I don’t understand why you’re getting married in late July anyway. The planning will be so rushed. And if you push it back just a month or so, say to late August or September, I might even be back to my normal size and won’t have to wear a tent down the aisle. Not that I’m telling you what to do or anything.”

“Forget it. It’s bad luck to postpone a wedding.” Charlotte’s mouth was set with determination. “And it’s very good luck to get married on the night of the full moon, so that’s the date I chose. Besides, I’m not giving Tim any chance to chicken out. Exactly two weeks and five days after the Fourth, I’m dragging that man down the aisle.”

“Something tells me there won’t be a whole lot of dragging involved.” Annabelle popped another gooey chunk of cinnamon bun into her mouth. “I mean, have you seen the way he looks at you?”

She’d seen the way Tim looked at Charlotte. With love, with longing, with a kind of softness in his eyes. Sometimes she couldn’t help feeling a tiny twinge of envy.

She had two best friends whom she’d known since the first grade. One of them was glowing and pregnant, the other glowing and newly engaged. She was so happy for both of them. They’d found good, solid, wonderful men. Men who loved and admired them.

She, on the other hand, had let herself be deceived by a man with all the charm of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Her thoughts broke off as she noticed Charlotte studying her thoughtfully.

“Something good’s going to happen soon to you, too, Annabelle. I have a feeling.”

“Oh, man. Again with the feelings?” Tess grinned.

Charlotte was into horoscopes, good-luck charms, Ouija boards, and “feelings.” She had been since the sixth grade.

Only she frequently called them “intuitions.”

“You better believe it. I read Annabelle’s horoscope the other day and according to what it said, a new man is coming into her life. And soon. Then everything will change for the better.”

“Romantically speaking, it can’t get much worse.” Calmly, Annabelle took a sip of her coffee.

“I’m serious here. I see you with someone . . . not someone like your dipshit of an ex, but someone good—”

“Like my grandson?” a voice chirped out of nowhere. Actually, it came from the back of the bakery.

Annabelle froze. Twisting in her chair, she saw Wes’s grandmother, Ava Louise Todd, seated at a table at the back of the room. Annabelle had been so excited to see Charlotte’s ring after her last dance class ended that she hadn’t even noticed anyone else in the place, but there were about a half dozen other customers at various tables and booths, enjoying fresh coffee, baked goods, salads, and sandwiches. Now she realized that across from Ava Louise Todd sat Ava’s daughter, Diana.

Wes’s mother.

Her stomach lurched. Then her glance shifted to another table.

Marissa Fields and Darby Kenton sat there, nibbling on salads.

Marissa had been Wes’s eighth-grade girlfriend at Lonesome Way Middle School. Though their “relationship” had lasted only a few weeks, typical for a couple of thirteen-year-old kids, Marissa had later dated Wes in high school for the last five months of senior year.

And back then, five months had been a record for Wes McPhee to be with just one girl.

He and Marissa had even gone to prom together.

Both Darby and Marissa were paying no attention at all to their untouched glasses of iced tea and had apparently been listening to every word.

“Mom, please . . .” Diana spoke quietly to her mother, but Ava Louise Todd seemed not to have heard.

“You could do worse than our Wes, you know,” the tiny white-haired woman called out to Annabelle, her soft but commanding voice carrying through the bakery. Her arm was in a cast at her side, and a wedge of blueberry pie sat on the plate before her—forgotten.

Her expression was as imperious as if she were the Queen of England.

She raised her voice. “I believe my grandson is staying in the cabin on your property, isn’t he, Annabelle? That’s what he told Sophie when he stopped by at lunchtime. He’s a fine-looking man; don’t you agree?”

“Gran. Stop, please.” Sophie’s expression was stern as she darted from the kitchen carrying plates of lemon meringue pie. She set them down in front of two women drinking coffee at a booth, then whirled back to her grandmother. “Please, Gran. Not another word.”

“Well, why not?” Ava dimpled. “Aside from your Rafe and those good-looking Tanner brothers of his, our Wes is the handsomest cowboy in this town. In any town, come to think of it. Don’t you girls agree? Tess, Charlotte, Annabelle, be honest. You must have noticed, my dears.”

“Wes is . . . very handsome,” Annabelle managed to squeak out.

“Of course he is. And sexy to boot!”

“But some of us are already taken, Mrs. Todd.” Tess intervened quickly as Annabelle sat frozen, fighting the temptation to slide beneath the table. “And”—Tess glanced at Annabelle curiously—“some of us didn’t even know that Wes was back in town.”

“Not to mention staying at your cabin,” Charlotte murmured, her expressive eyes pinned to Annabelle’s face. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I . . . didn’t have a chance. Besides, it’s no big deal. He needed someplace to stay—”

“Because he wants to be here while I’m recovering,” Ava announced proudly. “He promised me he’d stay until the Fourth of July. So it occurred to me that perhaps one of our lovely young single ladies in this town might draw his eye and convince him to stay on permanently.”

She peered carefully around the bakery, her gaze pausing momentarily on Darby and Marissa.

“That’s what I’m
hoping
, at least. And if anyone can convince him to stay here, I’d be in their debt.”

Then her twinkling eyes shifted to Annabelle once more. And softened.

“Did you hear what I said, Annabelle?”

“Please don’t look at me, Mrs. Todd. I have my hands full and I’m definitely not in the market for a man.”

“Even one as handsome and smart and wonderful as my grandson?”

“Gran!” Sophie choked out the word, then drew a breath. “Wes will take off like a shot if he hears you talking like this. We’ll never see him again.”

“But he’s not here, dear. This is just girl talk. I’m getting the word out there, as people say. It’s not like I’m going on some online dating site and putting up a profile for him.”

Diana Hartigan jumped up from her chair. “Mom, let’s take our pie with us and get you home. This is your first day out since your accident. You need to rest. I think your concussion is speaking.”

“Nonsense. My concussion is gone. But I do want to stop by the Cuttin’ Loose and say hello to Martha, and everyone getting their hair done.” Ava allowed her daughter to help her to her feet as Sophie exchanged speaking glances with
her mother and hurried to get them carryout boxes for their leftover pie.

“You girls have a nice afternoon, now—and don’t forget to spread the word,” Ava instructed anyone listening as Diana bit her lip, her shoulders tense as she tried to hustle her mother out of the bakery without jostling the arm in the cast.

The moment they were gone, Sophie sank down into a chair beside Annabelle. Her eyes were wide with dismay.

“I’m so sorry about that! She gets worse with age. I swear, Gran, Martha Davies, and Dorothy Winston think they’re everyone’s fairy godmothers. Now you know why I call them Bippity, Boppity, and Boo.”

The other patrons in the bakery had been listening in on the entire discussion, and a wave of chuckles ran through the room.

“Honestly, it’s no big deal.” Annabelle tried to ignore the flush she felt heating her cheeks, and hoped everyone else would do the same. “Your grandmother’s as cute as can be, Sophie.”

“She’s a handful! Please don’t ever tell Wes about this, okay? My brother might take off for parts unknown even sooner than he already plans to. We hardly ever see him as it is.”

“Lips sealed,” Annabelle murmured.

Sophie shot her a grateful smile and returned to the bakery counter as a noisy group of preteen girls crowded into the shop, followed by a couple of older kids in shorts and tees. All of the kids knew exactly what they wanted—the fresh-baked brownies and peanut butter cookies in the bakery case.

Darby and Marissa strolled over to the table, their faces alight with interest.

“So give us the scoop. How
is
Wes?” Darby asked Annabelle.

She’d been married to Stan Hadley, the assistant principal
at the middle school, for the past three years, but she was obviously still curious to hear about her friend’s eighth-grade crush. After Annabelle replied that Wes seemed fine, though she hadn’t really spent any time with him, Marissa broke in.

“What I want to know is this—is he still in a relationship with that woman?”

Annabelle stared at her blankly. “What woman?”

“Last time he was in town—maybe three years ago—I ran into him at the Tumbleweed and he told me there was someone in his life, some woman he worked with. Cara something. It sounded semi-serious.”

Marissa was petite, with a fluff of short, toffee-colored hair. She was also divorced, supersmart, knew how to apply makeup perfectly, and worked as a stenographer at the courthouse.

“I . . . have no idea,” Annabelle said truthfully.

“No biggie.” Darby shrugged, moving off toward the bakery counter. “I’m sure we’ll find out all the deets before long. This is Lonesome Way, after all.”

Marissa lingered, her gaze thoughtful. “Was he wearing a wedding ring?”

“I don’t think so.” Annabelle felt like the most unobservant person on the planet. She hadn’t even looked at Wes’s hand to see whether he wore a ring. She’d been too caught up in that rugged, handsome face, that longish hair, that chest. . . .

“I’m sorry, Riss, I’m not exactly a fount of information, am I?”

“No problem.” The other woman’s lips curved upward in a confident smile. “By tomorrow or the next day we’ll likely know everything. Every girl we went to high school with who’s still single will be checking him out at the Double Cross and the Tumbleweed—you wait and see.”

The moment the two women left, Annabelle realized that both of her best friends were staring at her curiously.

“What? Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“Wes McPhee, you idiot,” Tess murmured. “Why didn’t you tell us he was staying in your cabin?”

Charlotte leaned forward, her eyes dancing. “Dish. Is he as handsome as he was in high school?”