Sunflower Lane (11 page)

Suddenly she noticed something, though—something hidden initially by the darkness.

An old banged-up Silverado was parked in the shadows beside Ivy’s car.

Annabelle froze.

Does Ivy have company?

The sudden clench of worry in her chest had her springing out of the Jeep almost before it came to a full stop.

“No one’s supposed to be here when I’m gone. Those are the rules,” she said breathlessly as she strode toward the porch.

Wes had noticed the two vehicles an instant before she did. He easily beat her to the steps and held the screen door open as she shoved her key into the lock.

She went in first, but he was right behind her.

“Ivy?” Rushing into the hallway, Annabelle kept her voice low, trying to control her panic.

In the same instant, the babysitter jumped up from the sofa, startled. “I’m sorry, Ms. Harper. I can explain!”

A boy came quickly to his feet beside Ivy Tanner. A handsome, lanky teenaged boy, no more than sixteen years old, wearing ripped jeans and a black T-shirt. He had shaggy brown hair, an athletic build, and a guilty look on his face. He stood motionless as Ivy dashed forward, her eyes round and scared, but the moment she spotted Wes, she stopped dead in her tracks and looked like she wanted to run like a jackrabbit in the opposite direction.

“Uncle . . . Wes,” she gulped. Pink color flooded her cheeks, matching the bright color of her jeans. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“What’s up, Ivy?” He kept his tone easy. His sister’s stepdaughter looked like she was about to pass out with shame,
but he’d already taken in the fact that she and the kid in the black T-shirt were both fully dressed.

That was a relief.

He didn’t see any joints, or smell anything funny, and there were no liquor bottles anywhere in sight.

Annabelle seemed to have noticed this, too, because he saw her visibly relax.

“Ivy.” She spoke very quietly, but there was a sliver of steel in her tone that Wes liked. “I thought I made it clear. No friends, no boys, no one else in the house without my permission while I’m gone.”

“I know, Ms. Harper, I’m sorry, but Nate—um, this is Nate—Nate Miles—” She cast him a quick glance, her eyes glowing. “He’s my boyfriend—well, he was, and now he is again.” She flushed. “We had a fight and sort of broke up, but he found out from my friend Shannon I was babysitting tonight and he called me and wanted to talk. That’s all we did—we just talked! I swear, nothing else happened. And Megan and Michelle were already asleep when he got here. Ethan was still up reading his treasure book but he didn’t come down here or anything and . . . I’m sure he’s asleep by now. I’m . . . sorry.”

“It’s all my fault, Ms. Harper.” Nate took a step forward. “I kind of needed to see Ivy right away. I had to apologize to her for being a jerk and making a big mistake. But we just talked, I swear. She didn’t want me to come, but I drove over here anyway. I was just on my way out.”

Annabelle’s anger melted as she saw tears glimmering in the babysitter’s eyes. She let out her breath. “Listen, I understand. I don’t mind, Ivy, this time. As long as it never happens again. If you’re even thinking about having company while you babysit, call me and run it by me next time. Okay? And if I say no—”

“Then it’s no,” the girl finished for her. “I promise!”

She spun toward her uncle, worry etched in her young face. “Uncle Wes . . . are you going to tell Sophie and my dad?”

“The way I see it, not much to tell, honey. But whatever there is—you might want to tell them yourself.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t.” She grimaced. “You can’t believe how strict my dad’s gotten ever since I turned sixteen. But I might tell Sophie. She’ll understand.”

As soon as Annabelle pulled some bills from her purse and handed them to Ivy, the two teenagers practically raced outside. Nate stopped short on the porch and turned around, closing the door quietly behind him.

“I didn’t expect any of that!” Sinking down on the sofa with a sigh, Annabelle pushed her wild blond curls back from her eyes. “Sorry. I’m not strict usually, but I need whoever’s babysitting to focus on the kids.”

“Can’t say I blame you. You’ve taken on a big responsibility here.”

“You have no idea.” Skimming her fingers in frustration through her hair, she turned those golden brown eyes to him. “Three kids. Ages seven to ten. Depending just on me.
Me
. The free spirit of the family.” She groaned.

“The dancer who left this town for the big city, wanting nothing more than to dance, and pursue my dreams of . . . perfection, I guess. No matter how many hours a dancer practices, technique can always be improved upon. I was really searching for the impossible dream. Trish used to call and tell me whenever she had a problem with the kids, or when she wasn’t sure how to handle something—like Michelle wanting to take her blankie everywhere when she was three, and Ethan getting out of bed ten times a night when he first had a big boy’s bed. But Trish knew what she was doing. I was only a sounding board. Now . . .” She swallowed and leaned her head back against the sofa.

“Now it’s up to me to make all the decisions. To keep
them safe, and on track, away from drugs, and from kids who do drugs, and who drink, and all that other stuff. I mean,” she added, “Megan and Michelle are too young for that, and Ethan’s only ten, but still . . .” She drew in a long breath. Then her eyes met his.

“I never had to make rules for anyone before, or think five steps ahead as to what they might do or what might happen.”

“Hey. It’s okay. Take it easy.” He joined her on the sofa and slipped a reassuring arm around her shoulder. “You’re doing just fine, Annabelle. Actually, I think you’re doing great.”

“I wouldn’t go
that
far.” But she found herself relaxing against him, struck by his innate kindness. Not to mention his tall frame, which was so solid. So deliciously strong. She felt like she could sit here for hours, drawing comfort just from his wonderful hunky nearness. But she couldn’t do that, couldn’t give in to need, or let herself start depending on someone else to help with her problems.

“I’m sorry.” She straightened.
Get a grip
. “I promise . . . no more venting. I’m sure the last thing you need is a hysterical woman unloading on you right now.”

“You’re hardly hysterical. Matter of fact, you sound pretty damned rational to me. From what I saw this morning at breakfast time, you’re doing a terrific job. You’re doing everything right.”

“Thanks, though I doubt that.” She laughed. Then her voice took on a wistful note. “I just wish Trish was back for one day—so I could ask her a million questions and she could give me some of her tips. She and Ron were such fantastic parents and I’m trying to do what they would have—”

Breaking off, she gave her head a shake. “Okay, don’t mind me. I’m rambling.”

“You’re not. You just miss your sister.”

Wes froze at the sudden sheen of tears in her eyes. She
nodded mutely at him.
Shit.
He’d faced down thugs, knives, guns, bombs, and fire, but a woman’s tears made him want to turn tail and run. He searched his brain for something soothing to say.

In the end, he reached instinctively toward her again and pulled her close against him.

“It’s all right to miss her, Annabelle. Trish was your sister. And a great one at that, I gather.”

“The b-best.”

Annabelle sniffed. For a moment she just leaned against him, going limp in his arms, her head resting against his chest.

She felt like a wimp, but . . . it felt so good to be held. A man hadn’t held her in a very long time. Of course, she hadn’t gotten close enough to let that happen. She’d been too scared. She should be scared of Wes, too. He was probably the strongest, most physically tough man she’d ever met—much bigger and taller and deadlier than Zack, and she was terrified of
him
—but here she was, melting into Wes, relaxing, letting her eyes drift closed as, for just a moment, she felt . . .

Safe.

Safe?
What was she thinking? She wasn’t safe.

Her eyes flew open, and common sense rushed back. Every semblance of safety vanished.

Wes might not be Zack, but he was a man—was he ever—and though she knew he’d never hurt her physically, she also knew men were no good for her. She’d figured that much out, at least.

She was about to pull away . . . except his arms felt so good around her, his body taut, rugged, and deliciously strong. Every inch of him packed with muscle.

Her resolve wavered. Lifting her head, she looked up into those intense green eyes and studied them.

Well, how much can it hurt?
she asked herself.
To stay
right here enjoying being close to him just a little longer? Looking into his eyes . . . such beautiful eyes . . .

A wave of heat sizzled through her. She knew she was dancing on the edge.

But as she watched his gaze grow warm, then drift lower, settling on her mouth, her knees went weak.

Stop being an idiot. Move away from the hunk
.

But she didn’t. She didn’t move an inch—and then it was too late because her hands lifted suddenly and encircled his neck, and at the same instant she leaned toward him, Wes tugged her onto his lap. His strong arms banded around her waist.

“That’s better. Much better, isn’t it, honey?” With a surprisingly gentle smile, he brushed his mouth against hers.

Fire shot through her. Instant, red-hot fire.

You’re doomed,
she thought.

And kissed him back.

They didn’t seem to know how to stop kissing. Annabelle found her senses whirling like a merry-go-round as his warm lips tasted hers slowly, gently, before eventually traveling down her throat to nibble at her collarbone. When she moaned with pleasure, he returned his attention to her mouth, kissing her deeply, and then deeper still, like a starving man who couldn’t get enough.

Neither could she.

He wasn’t just tasting her; he was savoring her. And she was savoring him right back.

She stopped thinking then, the words to describe it dissolving into bits of nothingness as her train of thought floated away. Fire sparked through her as he took each kiss deeper, hiking the intensity in slow degrees, making her blazingly aware of everything about him at once: the strength of those iron muscled arms around her, the dark male taste of him, the possessive way his warm mouth claimed hers.

She could barely breathe, but she didn’t care. No one had ever kissed her like this. Wes kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, of her taste, her scent, her very soul.

He must have an advanced degree
in French kissing, as well as a black belt,
she thought faintly as her hands slid to the warmth of his broad chest and she kissed him with a desperate, single-minded passion that made her forget who she was, where she was, everything.

Everything but him.

The two of them seemed to become one, devouring each other with an out-of-control need that deepened with each lick and taste. Their tongues danced a slow, sexy tango; then his hand slid up beneath her pink top to brush her breast. Annabelle gasped in pleasure. She didn’t want even an inch of space between her and Wes. She only wanted to melt into him, to kiss him forever . . . and then . . . what? She couldn’t think beyond that. She didn’t care. . . .

Whatever happened next, happened. Breathlessly, she shifted on his lap so her legs were straddling him. If the next step felt half as good as this, she thought, stroking her fingers through the thickness of his hair as his mouth devoured her, she was all for it. . . .

Wait, wait. This is
crazy.
This isn’t in the game plan. You swore off men. All men. And now you’re kissing perhaps the most dangerous man of all . . . a man who’s killed people, though probably for a good reason, if there is such a thing as a good reason . . . and he’s also leaving in a matter of weeks. . . .

But that could be a good thing, too. A temporary thing . . . a little kiss or two to tide her over. It had been so long since she’d even thought about kissing a man. . . . Maybe she needed this . . . needed him . . . not forever, but for just right now. . . .

He was pulling off her silky pink top and she was reaching for his shirt when suddenly a sound broke through the
pleasure and the heat. A creak in the floor, coming from above . . .

“Aunt Annabelle?”

She froze as the small voice floated down from the upstairs hall.

Instantly Wes’s hands dropped to his sides. She caught the slight lifting of his eyebrows as she yanked her top down, jumped up from his lap, and spun toward the stairs. Her nephew was stumbling toward the second-floor landing.

“I had a bad dream,” Ethan muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Oh God. Did he see anything?

Panic rushed through her. But no, he couldn’t have seen them—the poor kid appeared only half-awake. Maybe a quarter awake. He looked small and innocent and tired in his navy blue pajamas dotted with brown horses.

“You’re okay, Ethan. Everything’s okay.” Still feeling dazed from Wes’s kisses, and a little bit breathless, she hurried up the steps and met her nephew halfway. They both sat down, sharing a step as she slipped her arm around his shoulders.

Wes stayed downstairs in the hallway. He stood at ease, watching, but aside from one quick glance at him, Annabelle pinned her gaze firmly on her nephew.

“I can’t stop thinking about the treasure.” The boy leaned against her. “I dreamed that a bad man found it. But I need to find it first. I know it has to be here somewhere.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t really know that. I’ve told you—”

“It’s true, Aunt Annabelle. I read a lot more of the book before I went to bed and it says that Big Jed told a woman in the town of Fork’s Peak that he’d buried a clue to the treasure near Coyote Pass. In a place only he would know, and that if anything ever happened to him, no one would ever find it.”