Sunflower Lane (13 page)

Wes spent the remainder of the morning setting the new windows in their frames, measuring and cutting replacements for the sagging floorboards, doing a thorough check of the roof. The old place could use a brand-new roof, but he’d have to settle for patching it. Putting in a new one would take longer to complete and cost Annabelle a lot more money. He didn’t want to start something he couldn’t be sure of finishing in time. The patches would be good for a while if Annabelle wanted to rent out the cabin for a year or two before investing in a new roof.

As he carried the ladder to the narrow shed behind the cabin, he remembered how pretty she’d looked this morning. All that amazing fairy-princess blond hair twisted again into a long ponytail, making him wonder what it would look like if she let it all come tumbling down past her shoulders. She’d been wearing cut-off jeans and a lavender tee that hugged her curves. He tried not to think about those curves.

Or those long and shapely dancer’s legs.

Or those crazy-hot kisses last night.

But his mind kept going back to it, all of it.

Annabelle had kissed him like no other woman he’d ever met. She kissed like it mattered. Like she never wanted to stop. It had stunned him a little. He’d thought she’d taste good, but hell, she’d tasted amazing. Sweet as a peach pie in July. Everything about her was amazing. That casual, natural beauty—he was pretty damned certain he’d find himself thinking about that long after he took off for parts unknown.

Her skin smelled like sunshine and soft new rose petals—and there was no question she had a killer body. But the thing was, she’d just felt so . . . so good, so kind of right, in his arms.

Hey, so have a lot of other women,
he reminded himself, shoving the ladder into the gloomy back corner of the shed and trying to derail the track of his thoughts.

But he kept coming back to the idea that there was something special about her. Something sweet, spiced with a kind of determined toughness. Something honest and down-to-earth, he reflected, yet casually sophisticated all at the same time.

Something that made him want to know more . . .

And taste more . . . and touch more . . . a whole lot more.

But he sensed she wasn’t the type of woman to do short-term bed hops. Not with three kids under her roof and a sense of responsibility as big as the entire state of Montana.

Annabelle didn’t roll that way, despite the two of them getting a little carried away last night. He should steer clear.

Leaving the darkness of the shed for the sunshine, he strode to the porch and lowered his tall frame into the battered old rocker, wondering whether it would support his weight. It did, and before he knew what had happened, Treasure was there, curled up at his feet.

“Don’t get attached, fella. I’m moving on shortly and I’m not much for having company in my passenger seat.”

The dog ignored him, but that was okay because his cell phone rang. He looked at it and frowned.

Walt Carruthers? What the hell . . .

His first partner and former boss at the DEA was now on a fast track, set to lead the biggest division of the agency. The last time he’d talked to Walt, they’d been at a dusty airport in Colombia as rain hammered down, bribing and bullying their way out of the country on a battered old excuse for an airplane.

“Shit,” he said when Walt finished talking. “Is this intel credible? Kramer’s
sure
he saw Rivers?”

“Kramer positively ID’d Cal Rivers three days ago in El Salvador—the same day our man Carlos Arroyo turned up dead in an alley two miles away. Arroyo had been shot five times, then drowned.”

Wes gritted his teeth. Grief shook through him. Carlos Arroyo had been his friend throughout his years in the DEA, and was his third in command on the DEA mission that killed Diego Rodriguez’s son.

Shit, had Diego’s longtime hit man Cal Rivers killed him all on his own? Or was the old drug lord still alive and giving the orders? Perhaps ordering hits in revenge for his son’s death . . .

Wes’s gut told him Diego was behind this. But there was no proof.

“Kramer’s looking into it and we’re hunting for Rivers. Could be he’s setting up shop now for Diego—or for himself to go solo, taking over the operation. I know you’re out of it these days, Wes, but I thought you should know.”

“Thanks, Walt. Keep me posted.” Scowling into the distance, Wes saw not the stark beauty of the Crazies rising into the clouds, but a scene of blood and carnage from his past—the night Manuel Rodriguez had been killed.

“Will do. But . . . best you keep a lookout, Wes. If Rivers is on a payback mission, he could come for you or Rick Sutton next. You both were there when Diego’s son was killed. Who knows your location?”

“Me, my family, and everyone in this little town. And an old buddy from the FBI.”

“You didn’t tell anyone else where you were headed?”

“What do you think?”

Walt grunted. “Well, I know you’re retired, but I needed to make sure you haven’t lost your edge. Rivers and Diego—if that old bastard did survive and is running the show—will probably keep a low profile for now, but they’ll resurface as soon as they feel it’s safe. You could be next on their list.”

Cal Rivers is still at the top of mine,
Wes thought, but kept it to himself.

A click in his ear—and his old boss was gone.

At his feet, Treasure looked up at him and wagged his tail.

“It sure is quiet out here,” Wes muttered, and absently stroked the dog’s head.

Things needed to stay quiet. Which meant, right after the Fourth, and not a day longer, he’d be on his way. And make a little noise when he reached his next stop, wherever that might be.

If Rivers wanted to come after him, that was fine with him. As long as it was nowhere near Lonesome Way—or the ranch house on Sunflower Lane.

As the dog rested his head on Wes’s boot, he stared down at the stray. What the hell was he going to do about this dog?

Sophie might take him, he thought hopefully.

His sister and Rafe had a couple of dogs already. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even notice one more. Or else he might be able to get his mom and Doug Hartigan to take him in.

Wes couldn’t accept the thought of a shelter. Treasure would have to be locked up there. And Wes had been locked up a couple of times himself. In cages, in rooms bolted shut
with steel rods, in underground jails, in tiny, filthy cells where he was left for days without food, and where people had only come back to kill him.

He’d managed to kill them instead.

But he didn’t want Treasure locked up like that. There had to be someone in this town who’d give the mutt a real home. . . .

Too bad Megan was scared of dogs. If she could get over the fear, she’d be a lot better off. And then Treasure could live right on Sunflower Lane with those three kids. And with Annabelle.

He decided he’d feel a whole lot better about leaving here if Annabelle and those kids had a dog to look out for them.

Maybe,
he thought, scratching the top of Treasure’s head,
there’s still a way to make that happen.

A few weeks later, Wes drove over to the Good Luck Ranch house and spent the better part of a morning visiting with his grandmother.

He brought her an early-morning breakfast of cinnamon buns, banana nut muffins, and a fruit salad from A Bun in the Oven, and sat at the kitchen table beside her, drinking coffee and listening good-naturedly to all of the latest town gossip she’d gleaned from her friends, who stopped by daily to visit her.

He’d been coming by every few days to hold her good hand and listen to her stories, relishing her tales of her days as a renowned horsewoman who had her pick of a dozen suitors from miles around.

And every time, she’d squeeze his hand, peer into his eyes, and make him reaffirm his promise to stay until at least the day after the Fourth of July. He had to hand it to Gran—she was indefatigable. And Wes loved her for it.

Today when Martha Davies and Dorothy Winston arrived for lunch and an arranged meeting regarding the agenda and marching order for the big parade, he took advantage of the opportunity to cut and run. Gran had walked him out to the porch, and waved to her friends as they arrived. But after he tipped his hat to the ladies and headed past them down the driveway to his truck, he couldn’t help hearing Martha’s excited voice carrying across the clear morning air.

“Ava, you won’t believe who rolled into town this morning. Guess! No, you’ll never guess, not in a million years, not if I gave you a thousand hints!”

“It’s Ben.
Your
Ben
.
Ben Adkins!” Dorothy interrupted impatiently. “What do you think of
that
?”

There was silence. Total silence. When his grandmother didn’t answer, Wes turned and glanced back. She was seated on the porch swing, a startled expression frozen on her face. Her penetrating eyes stared into the distance with a look of shock that made him pause.

“Did you hear me, Ava?” Dorothy settled into a chair beside her.

“Of course she heard you,” Martha said, also taking a seat. “She has a broken wrist, Dorothy. She’s not deaf.”

“I heard you.” Ava spoke at last. “And I’m supposed to care why?” she asked crisply.

Ben Adkins
. Wes didn’t know the name. But he’d definitely caught an odd note in his grandmother’s voice, despite the fact that her sweet, still-beautiful face was now serene, and that she hadn’t moved a muscle.

As he stepped into his truck and accelerated down the lane, he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw her sitting in the sunshine with her friends, everything appearing normal.

But something about the exchange stuck in his head and left him wondering just who this Ben Adkins was.

“No need to get prickly about it,” Martha said after a prolonged silence.

“Who’s prickly?” Ava shot back.

“We just thought you’d want to know.” Dorothy bit her lip, concern settling into the lines of her face. “You don’t still have feelings for him after all these years, do you?”

“What do you think?” Ava’s expression was haughty. Then she smiled. “I barely remember the boy.”

“Well, he’s a man now. And still as good-looking—not to mention very successful! You know that chain of office supply stores—Office Super Plus?” Dorothy savored every word she spoke. “Ben just stepped down as CEO. Yep, a month ago. He retired, turned over the reins of his company to his grandson. I heard it myself from Winny Pruitt.”

“How nice for him.” Ava spoke airily. “It’s certainly no concern of mine.”

“Don’t you even want to know why he’s back in town?” Martha stared at her suspiciously.

“Why should I?” Ava’s brows lifted, and her green eyes rested indifferently on her friend’s face.

“Because . . . because . . . he was your first kiss!” Dorothy exclaimed. “I remember specifically. You told us all about it. It was in sixth grade and you couldn’t stop talking about him. Dreaming about him. Everyone remembers their first kiss! Mine was Pete Miller. And Martha’s was Jack Carpenter. And yours was Ben Adkins.”

Martha chimed in. “He kissed you in the playground, at the bottom of the slide after school let out—when everyone else had gone home. You told us every detail and said you were going to marry Ben Adkins one day—”

“And you still were in love with him in tenth grade. And eleventh grade and twelfth—” Dorothy continued. “Until
he left town without so much as a
so long
to you or anyone—and never came back.”

“Nonsense. I was in love with my husband. We were married for forty-nine years. I barely remember Ben what’s-his-name.”

The two other women exchanged glances.

“If you say so,” Martha muttered.

Dorothy still looked perplexed. “Of course you were in love with Clyde Todd, Ava; we all know that, but you didn’t meet him until you were twenty. That was two years after Ben took off. Before he did, you had the biggest crush on him I’ve ever seen. You wrote pages and pages in your diary about him every afternoon when you weren’t out riding across the pastures—or on a date with another beau. You sometimes read them to us—”

“Oh, goodness, who remembers?” Ava stood. “It’s getting quite warm out here. I’d like a glass of iced tea. Can I get you some?”

Martha and Dorothy exchanged glances again.

“Tea would be nice.” Dorothy followed her old friend into the Good Luck Ranch house. She held the door for Martha, right behind her. The owner of the Cuttin’ Loose Salon stepped inside with a slight frown.

“Well, if you don’t care that Ben is back in town, I can tell you a dozen women from our high school graduating class who do. There’d be more, I’m sure, but some of them aren’t with us anymore.” Martha carefully watched her friend’s face for a reaction, but Ava appeared totally indifferent.

Putting on the teakettle, Ava changed the subject without commenting.

“My daughter and I are headed to Big Timber today to buy a shower gift for Charlotte Delaney. Would you both like to come along? We’re stopping by A Bun in the Oven for pie on the way home.”

Her friends agreed eagerly. Martha had already bought
a shower gift online, but she enjoyed shopping in Big Timber. Dorothy needed a gift before Saturday.

The subject of Ben Adkins and his unexpected return to town dropped away, as Ava hoped it would.

But his name burned in her mind. She suddenly wished her friends would go away for an hour and leave her alone, as dear as they were to her, just so that she could absorb the news of Ben’s return privately.

It sliced her like a scythe.

Even after all these years,
she reflected hollowly. Now, how could that be?

He was your first love,
she reminded herself. Her first heartbreak.

He’d broken every promise he’d made to her. . . .

I’m not leaving without you.

That was what he’d said. He’d talked to her often about his urge to see the world, to go to New York, the business capital of the world, attend college, be somebody. Ava had made it clear she didn’t want to live anywhere but Lonesome Way.

She straightened her shoulders and poured tea for Martha and Dorothy.

None of it mattered now. Curious as she was, she didn’t want to see Ben again. She didn’t want to allow all of those silly memories and feelings to come sneaking back.

But Lonesome Way being Lonesome Way, what were the odds she wouldn’t run into him the very next time she went to town? This afternoon, even, at A Bun in the Oven . . .

What on earth is he doing here?
Ava wondered, feeling a crack through a small piece of her heart.
How does he still have the power to do this to me?

She’d wanted to ask Martha and Dorothy more questions, to learn everything, but even more than that, she hadn’t wanted to reveal how much she wanted to know.

They’d said he was still good-looking. Not that it
mattered. He’d broken his word—and her heart—and left her feeling like a fool.

Good looks were no substitute for character.

She, Ava Louise, the most sought-after young woman in town, had pined for him too long after he left her—until she met Clyde and fell in love with him, of course.

But she’d still thought now and then of Ben, and how he’d kissed her when she’d careened to the bottom of the slide. Her very first kiss—with a spatter of spring rain pinging down. She’d rocketed to the bottom and into his arms with a screech of laughter, stood up, and his arms had gone around her. They were twelve years old, on the verge of thirteen, and he’d been only a half inch taller than her.

“Go ahead,” she’d dared, knowing what he wanted to do. Wanting to feel his lips on hers. Eager for her very first kiss.

It was the one to which she’d always compared the rest.

He was so handsome and funny, with his crooked, mischievous smile. She’d wanted him to be the first boy to kiss her—and he had been. It had been a soft, sweet first kiss that held a promise of more. That was what he’d given her when they were in sixth grade.

But the next kiss hadn’t come until much later. When all the boys came calling on her, Ben had come around, too. He was the one she never got tired of, the one she always wanted to see at her door.

He’d sworn one day in the barn when her parents had gone to town, and they’d climbed into the hayloft, that he was going to marry her on the day she turned eighteen. They’d come
this close
to making love in the hay, with her dear horse Country Boy snoozing in the far stall.

But the day after graduation, Ben had left town. He’d run off and married Margie Forrester and they’d settled in Spokane, where her mother’s family lived.

That was the story that whipped through Lonesome Way.
Everyone whispered that Margie was pregnant. Nobody knew for sure.

Ben hadn’t even bothered to say good-bye. Ava hadn’t ever heard from him again.

She’d tried not to think about him.

And she hadn’t given her heart away for a long time after that—not until she met Clyde.

She didn’t believe she cared to see Ben Adkins again. But if she did, she reminded herself, it didn’t matter.

He was nothing to her now.