Sunflower Lane (9 page)

“I have surgeries scheduled at nine
A.M
. and ten
A.M
. Bring him in at eleven thirty and I’ll perform a thorough exam. Angie from the shelter will be here assisting me tomorrow, so she can always take him over there afterward, if you don’t want to stick around. Thanks for bringing him in, Wes. We’ll take good care of him.”

Wes shook the vet’s hand, then strode to the door. The dog bounded after him like a shot.
He can’t wait to get out of here, poor guy.

Wes couldn’t blame him.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I’m bringing you home for one night,” he told the mutt as they headed toward his truck. “One night only, then you go to the shelter. Got it? But we’ll pick up some burgers at the drive-through first.” He glanced down at the dog trotting eagerly at his side. “Don’t get any ideas, though. It’s only because I’m hungry, too.”

“Okay, you two. It’s time to make a decision.”

Annabelle regarded her friends over the giant dessert menu at the Double Cross Bar and Grill. “What’s it going to be?”

She was seated at a big square table across from Charlotte and Tess, enveloped by the blast of lively country music, rowdy laughter, and the incessant click of pool cues.

Tess was still peering at the menu. She finally looked up and took a sip of her decaf iced tea before answering. “First we need to narrow it down to the top three.”

“That works for me.” Annabelle glanced at the menu again. There were too many tantalizing choices, but she finally made a decision.

“My picks are the double-fudge marshmallow cake, the fresh peach cobbler, and a peanut butter sundae.” Her eyes danced with anticipation. “All in favor, speak now.”

The three women had polished off a large salad and a pizza, while the guys had devoured steaks and double-baked
potatoes. As usual, the Double Cross was packed, nearly every seat taken, the cavernous room alive with laughter and chatter, accentuated by the excellent sound system and Jason Aldean’s voice crooning from the jukebox.

“Help me out here, guys,” Annabelle demanded over the music. “I refuse to make such a big decision all on my own.”

“All of those sound awesome. Let’s split them three ways.” Tess’s dark auburn hair glowed in the bright light of the bar as she glanced at Charlotte for confirmation.

But Charlotte bit her lip. “Sorry to be a downer, but I vote no on the sundae. Let’s split the cake and the cobbler between us and call it a night.”

“What? No sundae?” Tess questioned, her eyebrows shooting up.

“Not for me. Tomorrow I’m shopping for a wedding gown with my mom. I need to cut back—
way back
—on desserts, on everything—at least until after I walk down the aisle.”

“That’s so not fair,” Tess protested. “
I’m
eating for two.”

“That means you get to order as many desserts as you want,” Annabelle said soothingly. “And chances are, the guys will want some, too.”

Her gaze flitted to Tim and John, still totally immersed in shooting pool.

“Oh, never mind them.” Tess waved a dismissive hand toward her husband’s broad back. “By the time they drag themselves away from that pool table and come over here for dessert, I’ll be ready for seconds.”

It was a good thing Big Billy—the Double Cross’s owner and bartender—had a huge space here, complete with a dartboard and plenty of pool tables, along with a big dance floor, because nearly every inch of the place was packed. The giant, noisy bar was a sea of men in cowboy hats, jeans, and boots, and an ocean of women wearing short skirts and skimpy tops, or jeans with glittery tees or silk blouses, and boots or high heels.

Annabelle sipped her wine, taking in the tourists swarming around the long, curving mahogany bar. Lonesome Way had become an increasingly popular destination for tourists over the past few years, and her gaze swept from an obvious Easterner wearing stiff new designer jeans and a polo shirt to a woman with a haircut that looked way too sophisticated for the Cuttin’ Loose Salon.

She also caught sight of Darby and Marissa on the opposite side of the dance floor, seated on barstools at a tall table, and surrounded by local ranch hands—guys they’d all gone to school with. Some of them were men Annabelle had gone out with when she’d returned to Lonesome Way—her “one-timers,” as Charlotte called them.

Annabelle had gone out on a date only one time with each of them. Though they’d all asked her for a second date, she’d said no, explaining that it wasn’t easy getting a sitter, and she didn’t like leaving the kids too often at night.

Especially so soon after their parents’ deaths.

Of course, if she’d met someone who knocked her socks off, things might have been different. But she hadn’t.

And that was a good thing, she’d told herself more than once. Because the last man who’d knocked her socks off was Zack—and he’d also knocked her into a wall when she gave directions to a lost tourist in Philly—a young man simply trying to find the Liberty Bell Museum.

Zack, who’d been looking out the window of their apartment, happened to see her talking to the man—smiling, standing close to him as she gave him directions.

And he’d flipped out.

When she’d come up to their loft, he’d thrown her against the foyer wall. Hard. Pinned her there, shouted in her face . . .

She swallowed now, closed her eyes a moment.

No more men. No more mistakes.

She hadn’t gone out on a second date with any man in
Lonesome Way. Her friends knew everything that had happened with Zack, but they simply didn’t believe she was serious about being done with men.

Oh, they were sympathetic. They were horrified by what she’d gone through. And protective.

But they hadn’t been there. Not in the loft where she and Zack had lived, or in the building’s elevator, when he’d accused her of flirting with the new tenant on the sixth floor. They hadn’t been in the hotel, either, the time she and Zack had gone to Atlantic City, when the doorman had complimented her new silk dress as she passed by.

They hadn’t felt the fear, the pain, the shock of Zack’s hands crushing her wrists, of his fist slamming into the bones of her face the moment they reached their room.

Men weren’t worth the trouble, the letdown, or the heartache.

Sounds like a country song,
she thought to herself, even as her glance skimmed past Dick Tyson, owner of a ranch on Mule Road, who’d taken her out to a fancy dinner in Livingston. He was nice enough, but he had beer breath, and talked endlessly about his ex-wife, who’d cheated on him with a stockman from Laramie.

She didn’t need a man. She had three young children to care for, and friends to celebrate good times with, and a cabin she might be able to rent out soon. . . .

And maybe, just maybe, a little chocolate business that she might get going one of these days . . .

I’ll make dark chocolate truffles for Charlotte’s bridal shower favors,
she decided, her heart lightening.
And maybe caramel chews and milk chocolate mint hearts—plus some mini chocolate wedding bells. Wrap them in delicate little gilt bags tied with silver ribbon and . . .

At that moment, the door of the Double Cross opened and Wes McPhee strode in, all six foot four inches of magnificent, hunky male.

Oh God, give me a break
. Her pulse pumped faster at the sight of him. Honestly, why did he have to look so . . . so . . .

Hot.

There was just no other word for it.

Those sharp green eyes swept the entire place in the space of an instant, sizing up the room like a boxer sizing up any opponent who could possibly step into the ring.

When he saw her, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, a slight quirk of his lips, then nonchalantly strode toward the rows of tables and booths on the opposite side of the dance floor. Annabelle didn’t want to do it, but she couldn’t help herself from craning her neck to see where he was headed.

A flicker of surprise rippled through her when she saw him shake hands with Jake Tanner, then slide into a chair opposite him at a small table.

Now, what’s that all about?

Not that it was any of her business. Nothing about her temporary new tenant was her business.

“Wow, can you feel it?” Charlotte murmured in awe.

“Feel what?” Annabelle asked.

“The electricity.”

Tess grinned, and waved her hand over her face as if she was fanning herself. “Oh, yeah. I think every single woman in the place is tingling right now. And a few married ones. Even me. But don’t tell John,” she added quickly, with a blush.

“Honestly, Annabelle, your life is going to be so interesting, what with Wes living so close by. Right down the lane, really,” Charlotte murmured. She studied Annabelle from beneath her dark lashes. “I can tell you, if I wasn’t engaged and madly in love—”

“Not another word, either one of you.”

Thankfully, their waitress, Christy, a mother of four, interrupted, skidding up to the table to take their dessert
orders. As soon as Christy strode off, Annabelle changed the subject.

“Let’s talk about something important. Like your wedding shower.”

That got Charlotte’s full attention, and she trained her gaze on her friends, apparently forgetting all about Wes.

“Tess and I need to start planning ASAP,” Annabelle continued. “You should go dance with Tim while we work out a few preliminary details.”

“But—here’s the thing.” Charlotte drew a breath. “Don’t be mad, but . . . I . . . I still don’t even know if I want a wedding shower. First I have to do a little more research and make sure it isn’t bad luck—”

Suddenly, though, she broke off, her eyes brightening as her gaze fell upon her fiancé, slapping high fives at the close of a game of pool. “Well, all right,” she declared, pushing back her chair. “If you insist, I’ll go dance with that handsome man over there. Talk amongst yourselves.”

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.

“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 school 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.