by Leigh Riker
A fresh wave of gratitude washed through Annabelle. He’d just come in wearing a white shirt, dark blue suit and somber striped tie. She’d wondered if he would come tonight or if he’d feel he’d already done his part. As soon as Annabelle’s friends had begun to stream into her house that first morning, Finn had made his excuses and left for work.
When Emmie bounded into his arms, Finn’s gaze flickered. He looked as if he had no choice but to catch her, an expression she’d seen before, then carried her across the room to Annabelle. A few other early mourners were here too, and several interested glances took them in, as if she, Finn and Emmie had formed a little family.
Annabelle touched his sleeve. “Thank you for coming.”
Finn didn’t respond. She said the same words to everyone who stopped to offer their condolences. Within the first half hour most of her friends had showed up, the room was full, and Emmie had left Annabelle’s side again to dart among the crowd, greeting people she knew. Shadow, who looked stunning in a well-cut black suit with killer heels, leaned close to Annabelle. “I know how hard this has to be.” She looked toward Grey, who stood near the closed casket talking to Blossom’s husband. “When my brother Jared died, my whole family fell apart. If there’s anything I can do—” She broke off. “Of course there isn’t, really, or not enough. What are you going to do, Belle?”
“I should have been on the plane today but of course I canceled my trip to Denver.” Later, she’d have time to regret the missed opportunity. With the funeral and Emmie to worry about now, her studies had no longer seemed all-important. “But that’s not what you mean, is it? All I know is, when this is over I have to find Emmie’s father,” which was never far from Annabelle’s mind.
Blossom had joined them to kiss Annabelle on the cheek. “I’ll keep Emmie for you tomorrow unless you’re taking her to the service?”
Annabelle hesitated. “I think she’s too young.” She and Finn had discussed that, deciding Emmie would be okay here tonight; tomorrow would be a different story. “I wasn’t sure about bringing her to the viewing either, but she seems to think this is a party.” Annabelle glanced across the room at Emmie who was chattering away with one of the diner staff. “At least for the moment.”
“Do you have plans following the interment?”
Annabelle shook her head. “But people are welcome to come to the house,” she said. “I must have two dozen casseroles in my freezer already.”
Blossom and Shadow beckoned to Olivia, who had just walked in with Sawyer.
Olivia folded Annabelle in her arms. “Sorry we’re late. We dropped Nick at a friend’s birthday sleepover and his mother wouldn’t stop talking. I think she was afraid to be left with eight little boys.”
“Who could blame her?” Shadow asked. “Ava is sulking in her room because she wasn’t invited to the party. You know how she and Nick are—best friends forever. Grey’s parents are with her at the ranch. They’ll drop by here after we get home, Annabelle.”
Olivia released her. “You don’t have to do another thing. Focus on this—” she gestured at the room “—and on Emmie. We’ll handle the rest tomorrow.”
Annabelle’s face crumpled. She’d expected them to show their support, but their generosity broke the last of her control. “Oh, no. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”
The women formed a group hug, whispering words of comfort and avoiding the other topic that troubled Annabelle. She could get through this viewing, through the service tomorrow and the limo ride to the cemetery to lay Sierra to rest. Then she would have to somehow decide what was best for Emmie.
For now it would be disloyal to her cousin’s memory for Annabelle to even think about her own future.
* * *
THE RAIN STREAMED down in torrents. At noon the next day the sky stayed a dark, forbidding black with occasional flashes of cloud-to-ground lightning and, standing beside Annabelle, Finn wished he was anywhere but at this gravesite. Sierra Hartwell’s casket would soon be lowered into the raw earth. Annabelle had made the right decision to leave Emmie today with Blossom at the Circle H, even in tears. She seemed to have finally grasped the concept, at least in part, that her mother was gone.
Finn had ridden with Annabelle in the limousine, but after the memorial service he’d retrieved his car at Annabelle’s house for the drive to the cemetery. In spite of the abandoned expression in her eyes, Finn needed a personal escape hatch. Funerals were never a welcome event, and the reminders of Caro and Alex were now making him tremble inside.
Half listening to the minister intone a few words to end his graveside remarks, Finn felt Annabelle lean against his shoulder. A few people standing on the opposite side of the green canopy cast curious glances at them but Finn didn’t care. For the first time since Sierra’s accident, and for the past few difficult days, he and Annabelle weren’t at odds about the outstanding warrant or her continued loyalty to a woman Finn believed was not innocent. And, of course, about Emmie. Finn had his opinion on that subject, and he meant to voice it. But not today.
He waited beside Annabelle while the others filed around the casket, each person laying a single red rose on top. Then it was his and Annabelle’s turn. Finn wanted to step away, let her have this last moment with the memory of someone she’d loved, yet he couldn’t seem to make himself move. Just as he hadn’t delivered the sad news that night then climbed back in his cruiser—his official duty done—and gone straight home. She needed his support, and Finn also felt sorry for Emmie.
When Annabelle swayed, he steadied her and fought another strong urge to run for his car. He didn’t want the feelings she roused in him, or to see the soft sorrow in her eyes. The faint scent of lavender rising from her skin drew him like a bee to a flower. Though he didn’t want to get any closer, he guided her to the casket, handed her a rose from the nearby standing vase and took one for himself. Rain dripped steadily through a hole in the canopy above.
And, not moving, Finn could no longer help but remember another day like this one except colder. In Chicago the gray December sky had looked ominous and thick with the threat of snow. He’d shivered in his dark suit from the chill—or the shock that had frozen him from the second he’d heard the first gunshot, seen Caro fall, then Alex. Dear God. He still saw their faces...the dying light in their eyes.
“Daddy,” Alex had moaned. Caroline hadn’t said a word.
There had been two caskets then, one of her favorite oak, the other white for their child’s innocence. My son. Alex had been cut down before his life really began.
Finn looked toward the hillside. He needed to get a grip before he fell apart. After placing their roses, most of the other mourners, friends and acquaintances, including the town’s mayor, had slipped away, walking toward their cars across the still-green grass. Water droplets hung from the red-and-orange-and-russet leaves of nearby trees, falling and soaking into the spongy ground.
A few people were still climbing the hill, but one man looked out of place. Dark hair spilled from his hooded sweatshirt and he stopped for a moment, gazing down at the place where Annabelle stood. His gaze seemed to single out Finn.
Finn tensed. Derek Moran. He’d always had a hunch that Eduardo Sanchez had come to his family’s funerals, staying hidden from the crowd as he surveyed the devastation he’d wrought. But why was Derek here? A second later he was gone, striding the rest of the way up the rise, almost as if he hadn’t been there at all.
His hand trembled on the rose as Annabelle said, “Finn?”
She was waiting for him to place his flower. Then hers would be the last. And still he stood there, mute and frozen as he had in his driveway that other day, the car filled with Christmas presents. If he’d reacted in time... “Sheriff,” the pastor prompted him.
His shoulder brushing Annabelle’s, Finn reached out, blindly laid the rose across the walnut casket beaded with raindrops and said “Sorry�
� in a strangled voice.
Then he ran, leaving the minister to see Annabelle to the waiting limousine.
* * *
ANNABELLE WASN’T SURPRISED that by the time she got home, Shadow and Olivia had the dining room table set for a buffet that practically groaned with every sort of food. Sliced ham, beef and turkey. Potato salad, coleslaw and baked beans. All kinds of salads. Desserts including fruit pies and cobblers, cheesecakes, cookies and candies, none of which Annabelle had to prepare. Odd, that this was her first day off in years. Even yesterday she’d overseen breakfast at the diner.
Blossom arrived with more covered dishes and her husband Logan stepped inside the suddenly too-small house carrying Emmie.
Annabelle hoped Emmie would come to her as she had after her fall at the playground, but instead she looked around the room. “Where Finn?” She stuck her thumb in her mouth.
Annabelle couldn’t answer that question. Finn had been like her Rock of Gibraltar until he’d gotten that odd look on his face at the cemetery then sprinted for his car. “I don’t know, sweetie,” she said. “Maybe he’ll be here later.”
But Finn never showed, and even though she tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, and she was wrong to rely on him, his abrupt departure had bothered her. So did his absence.
“Want Finn,” Emmie insisted.
Having overheard them, Shadow approached. “Let’s get you something to eat, baby. Are you hungry? I’ll fix you a plate.”
Emmie shook her head. “I not a baby. I eat with Finn.”
“Oh, dear,” Shadow murmured at which point Grey crossed the room. He took Emmie’s hand and asked if he would do for now, and Emmie gave in, going with him to the buffet table where Grey helped her select what she was willing to eat. “Am I a lucky woman, or what?” Shadow asked, then, “I wonder where Finn is.”
“At the cemetery, after you left, he...” Annabelle trailed off. “He left too. I don’t know where he went. Maybe he had to answer an emergency call.”
“Strange, even so, that he’d disappear without an explanation.”
Annabelle twisted her hands together. “He was so good with Emmie this week, but sometimes I get the feeling he’d rather not be spending time with her.” Or with me.
She needed to remind herself of that.
Her feelings for Finn had always been hopeless, and they weren’t important now.
Annabelle had bigger problems. She had to figure out what would be best for Emmie. Which meant finding her father.
CHAPTER NINE
FINN DROVE THROUGH the gates at Wilson Cattle to see Derek Moran. So far his day had been a bust.
On his way out of town, Finn had stopped to eat lunch at the café located at the other end of Main Street, the back of his neck prickling the whole time. In his usual rear booth at Annabelle’s Diner, he wouldn’t have that problem; he wouldn’t be seated in the middle of the restaurant, fully exposed and half expecting Eduardo Sanchez to burst through the door and start shooting. But for several days, since Sierra Hartwell’s interment, Finn had stayed away from the diner even though he preferred watching Annabelle serve coffee to her customers, chatting and laughing over the news of the day, and sometimes commiserating with them when that news was grim.
Not long ago the bad news had been hers about Sierra. And Finn had behaved badly. What kind of jerk am I? Running out on Annabelle at the cemetery? Turning his back on her surprised expression? Her disappointment in him? He couldn’t think how to make that up to her, or if he should try. She would be better off—he would be better off—if he stuck to himself, as he’d done ever since he’d fled Chicago. Or since Caro’s and Alex’s deaths months before that. His only confidant then had been his partner, but even Cooper had backed off. If Sanchez was still around, Cooper couldn’t find him.
Wishing he’d handled Sierra’s funeral better, Finn went up the dusty drive, passing the ranch house where Grey and Shadow lived with their daughter Ava. As he approached the barn, his muscles tightened. He didn’t see Grey anywhere.
Just as well. His friend wouldn’t approve of this visit. Grey’s foreman stepped out into the sunlight, blinking and holding a bridle in one hand. A former rodeo rider, Dusty Malone had graying sandy hair and washed-out blue eyes. He wore a battered gray Stetson, a striped Western-style shirt with faded jeans and a huge prize belt buckle from some past event. He had the bowed legs of a longtime cowboy, and Finn wondered if he knew Derek meant to replace him.
“Hey, Finn,” he said. “What brings you by?”
“Grey not here?”
“Went into town with Shadow. Important doings,” the older man said, cracking a smile. “Miss Ava has outgrown her clothes again. So they went shopping. Grey does love to spend money on that girl.”
“Tell him I said hey.” Finn touched his gun belt. “I’m actually here to see Derek.”
Dusty gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “Mucking stalls inside. Don’t expect to find him in a good frame of mind.” Pause. “Is he in some trouble?” Finn didn’t answer and Dusty looked toward the nearby pasture where a small herd of Grey’s prized Black Angus cattle munched grass, their soft lowing sounds drifting on the afternoon air. Most were cows with calves at their sides. Finn inhaled the gamy aroma of hides and hooves and, of course, manure. Similar odors floated toward him from the barn, making Finn sneeze. He wiped his nose on his handkerchief.
Dusty ran a hand through his hair, which was getting sparse on top. “Would you believe? Rustling his own brother-in-law’s cattle. Don’t have to tell you, Grey and I see that differently. I heard about Derek’s continuance. Nothing since then?”
“Just waiting on the judge. Without charges from Grey, the state may have to settle for less—even a dismissal.”
“No trial?” Dusty obviously sided with Finn, not Grey.
“We’ll see.”
Dusty walked with him into the shadowy barn where the sound of a pitchfork clanging off metal set Finn’s ears to ringing. The foreman waved him toward the far stalls. “Moran’s in there. Fair warning. He can be mean as a rattler.”
Finn passed by the stalls, some empty, some with horses that stared out through the bars as if they were in prison waiting for parole. Finn recognized most of them: the buckskin appropriately named Bucky. The horse called Nugget. Next came Cinders and then Grey’s own horse, the huge sorrel he’d named Big Red. Finn passed the stall and skirted a wheelbarrow in the middle of the aisle, then stopped.
Derek stood in the adjoining stall, which was Big Brown’s, pushing soiled bedding around with a pitchfork. Finn would bet he’d heard him come into the barn.
Derek looked around Brown to peer at him. “What can I do you for?”
Finn wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Every time he saw him, he felt the same way and Derek obviously knew it. He liked to pull Finn’s chain and Finn wasn’t good at hiding his feelings where guys like Derek—and Sanchez—were concerned.
“A few days ago I thought I saw you at the cemetery.”
Derek leaned on the pitchfork’s handle.
“My brother’s there,” he said, his gaze narrowed. He recited the dates of Jared’s birth and death then finished, “‘Beloved son and brother.’” Derek straightened then, holding the pitchfork, ducked under Brown’s muscular neck to step into the aisle. He shoved the pitchfork and it banged into the wall beside Finn, startling Brown. “I see Jared whenever I can. We talk,” he said. “About whatever’s on my mind, the weather, what’s new in town, who’s seeing someone...”
“So you were there to ‘visit.’”
“Yessir. Why is that your business? A man grieves however he can.”
Finn had to agree. He crossed his arms. “Well, it seems that after the funeral someone toppled a bunch of headstones. You know anything about that?”
Derek couldn’t hold back his smile. “Zero, nada. Whose fune
ral was it again?”
“Sierra Hartwell. Annabelle Foster’s cousin.”
Derek raised one eyebrow and shoved past him. He opened the door to a stall across the way then pushed the wheelbarrow over. He retrieved the pitchfork, coming close enough to Finn to make him step back or get hit with the handle.
“You got probable cause to hassle me?” Derek asked.
“No,” Finn said. “Just asking questions.”
“Then maybe you better climb in that cruiser and hightail it to the road. Before I file charges against you for police harassment.”
* * *
WHEN THE LUNCH SHIFT had ended, Annabelle walked down the street to the sheriff’s office. Finn wasn’t there so she waited by the front reception desk until he finally came in. “Late lunch?” she asked. Obviously, he hadn’t eaten at the diner.
Finn’s gaze focused on the desk sergeant. “Kind of a busy day, Annabelle.” He started toward his office. “Come on in. I’ve got five minutes.”
Annabelle followed him, though she didn’t exactly feel welcome. Finn hadn’t even looked at her except for a first, startled glance when he walked into the station. She should have told him she was coming. Was he avoiding her? Maybe that should be okay with Annabelle, but Emmie kept asking for him.
She dropped into the chair in front of his desk. Sarge lay in his usual position by the window that overlooked Main Street, one hind leg twitching in some doggie dream. His face wore what could only be described as a faint smile so it must be a good one.
Finn tracked her gaze. “He’s staying here a lot of the time. Got kicked out of my apartment. His howling disturbed the neighbors. Apparently Sarge has separation anxiety. I need a bigger place anyway.” He said, “My landlord says move by the end of the month or the rest of the town might learn I’m being evicted. Frankly, that would be embarrassing—as he pointed out.”
