by Leigh Riker
“I’m so sorry about your family, Finn. Were you there when it happened?”
He took a breath, felt the knot in his throat tighten like a noose.
The nightmare he lived with now threatened to overwhelm him again, but all at once the words poured from him. “We’d just gotten out of the car. I took Alex from his seat, set him down and stepped back to get the big bag we carried everywhere with his stuff in it—when another car drew up at the curb. Two guys got out with guns. There was no time to react. I mean, I think I yelled at Caroline to get down but she was already moving toward Alex.” He swallowed. “She must have sensed before I did what was happening, and her first thought was of our little boy. She was a great mother.”
Annabelle’s gaze filled with empathy.
Lost in the memory, he said, “It was over before I moved. A few quick double taps—and they were lying there on the gravel.” Bleeding out. Finn swept one hand across his eyes. “I’ll never forget that sight. I see it all the time. Driving home, on my way to work, pulling into a parking space...in my nightmares. Over and over...” He took another quick gulp of air that didn’t seem to fill his lungs. “I keep replaying the whole scene, slowing it down, speeding it up, but there’s never anything I can do—in time—to help them.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
“But in a way it was my fault—and in that moment my training failed me. Days before, my partner and I had made a raid on The Brothers. But he—Cooper’s not married and doesn’t live near his mother—didn’t make the same target I did. They retaliated against me instead through Caro and Alex.”
“Because they knew that was the worst way to hurt you. With your family.”
Why was he telling her all this? He couldn’t take it back.
“It should have been me instead,” he murmured then turned away. “Go inside, Annabelle. Please.”
But no, she came toward him, letting the cold hit her like a slap and penetrate the pretty dress she’d worn for Thanksgiving, raising goose bumps on her bare arms and...before the thought could make itself known he’d turned to her, before he could keep from letting her see the devastation that must show on his face, before he could step away from her embrace. And then her arms were around him and she was weeping softly too. Finn tried to brush the tears from her cheeks but they kept coming like his, down his face and into the collar of his shirt, and he stopped wondering when she would leave Barren and the diner and Emmie behind, and all he could think of was being here with her on the freezing-cold porch with the oh-so-welcome heat of her against him. The last person he’d held like this had been Caro. He should pull away.
“Annabelle,” he began, but she raised her face to his, looked into his eyes for what seemed to be a long moment. Then her lips met his and they were kissing and Finn couldn’t think of a single reason why they shouldn’t.
For the first time, he wished Annabelle would change her mind about leaving Barren, would decide to give up the search for Emmie’s father and keep her, raise her right here among the friends who were her family now, and he could feel what it would be like to really care about someone again. If he dared.
* * *
ON MONDAY MORNING Annabelle wheeled into the parking lot behind Barren’s one-and-only day care center. Shadow, who’d recommended it, had assured her during Thanksgiving dinner that the facility had a good reputation. Because many local residents preferred to keep their little ones home on the ranch until kindergarten, it wasn’t that crowded. Emmie should get lots of attention, which Annabelle couldn’t give her during the day.
A few days after she’d kissed Finn on the porch at Wilson Cattle, Annabelle was still reeling. Had that been simply mutual comfort for their painful pasts? Did he have an interest in her after all?
Finn had an even sadder history than hers, one he might never overcome. And Annabelle had kissed him first. She couldn’t let a kiss he probably didn’t welcome complicate things.
The instant Emmie laid eyes on Mary Whitman, the director, an energetic twentysomething who’d taken over the center from her mother, Emmie burst into tears.
“You’ll be fine,” Annabelle tried to tell her. Although her friends always stepped in to help, they had their own children and businesses to consider. Before they burned out trying to juggle Emmie, too, Annabelle wanted to place her in a stable situation while she was at work. Here, in this inviting space, Emmie could play and learn while Annabelle saw to the diner—until it sold.
She surveyed the large room filled with toys, books and games. Low tables dotted the space, and child-sized beanbag chairs. She saw a dress-up area with racks of gowns, dozens of glittery tiaras on shelves, colorful boas that trailed feathers everywhere, pirate and soldier and firefighter outfits.
Emmie shrank against Annabelle’s side. Elizabeth Barnes, the mayor’s wife, stood nearby talking to her little boy, obviously giving him a pep talk. Annabelle knew her but only by sight. The other woman glanced up and met Annabelle’s gaze. “He doesn’t want to stay,” Elizabeth murmured.
Annabelle tilted her head toward Emmie. “Any suggestions?”
“I told Harry this would be easy.” She stroked one hand over the boy’s hair, fair like his father’s. Elizabeth wore her dark hair in a sleek bob. “I didn’t count on Seth balking, but I should have expected this. I never know how he’ll react.”
As if they were both mothers, Annabelle sent her an understanding look. Emmie had seemed eager to go to “school” like Nick and Ava, but now she had second thoughts about being separated from the familiar. What to do?
Emmie kept casting shy looks at Seth whose lower lip jutted out. He tugged at Elizabeth’s hand.
When the director turned from another child who’d been having trouble getting out of his little jacket, relief flashed over Elizabeth’s face and her green eyes brightened.
Holding the boy’s jacket, Mary approached then bent down to the children’s level. She pointed at the dress-up corner. “Seth, would you like to try on that police officer’s uniform?”
He glanced over at Emmie as if to ask her permission.
Annabelle relaxed a bit. She’d quickly learned the art of distraction when dealing with a child. Silently, she thanked Mary. “Look, Emmie, there’s a kitchen, too. Like my diner. Could you bake some muffins, sweetie? I won’t be gone long. We can share them when I get back.”
Mary nodded her approval, but tears streamed down Emmie’s face. “No.” Her gaze homed in on the police officer’s uniform and she swiped at her cheeks. “Finn can play with me?”
“Let me try,” Mary said, then to Emmie, “Maybe your friend Finn will be here later. Regression is normal,” she told Annabelle and Elizabeth, her voice low.
Annabelle tidied Emmie’s hair, pulling the soft blond strands through her fingers, wondering if she was doing the right thing. But worrying about Emmie at the diner instead of here, concerned she might rush out the door into the street or burn herself on the huge industrial stove, had never worked. She couldn’t keep taking Emmie with her or using her friends to babysit.
“Maybe I shouldn’t leave her today,” Annabelle said anyway. “She’s already been through so much...”
“I’m sorry about her mother, Annabelle. But, please, don’t change your mind.” Mary looked at both of them. “You either, Elizabeth. Seth and Emmie will have a great time with us and make new friends. The hardest part for both of you will be walking out that door.”
She was right about that. Would Annabelle harm Emmie more by leaving her here? A three-year-old seemed to be a confusing mixture of angel and demon, sometimes all in the same minute. Annabelle chose to remember the cherubic part.
“I’ll keep them with me,” Mary said, “until they’re ready to approach the other children. Curiosity is a great leveler at this age.” She turned to the children. “Would you two like to play?”
Emmie resisted fo
r a moment then took Mary’s hand. And so did Seth.
Talking softly, Mary led Emmie and Seth across the room. Midway to the dress-up corner, both children pulled away and Annabelle’s heart rate leaped. This wasn’t going to work. But instead of running back to her and Elizabeth, the kids sank down together onto a beanbag chair, talking, and when Mary lifted her gaze with a faint nod toward the door, Annabelle took the cue. She and Elizabeth stepped outside.
Annabelle breathed a sigh of relief. “We did it.”
Elizabeth gave a shaky laugh. “We did,” she agreed. “I hope.”
The door hadn’t shut behind them when Annabelle heard Emmie shriek. Her steps faltered. Keep going, a little voice said inside, or she’ll never adjust. I’m not really being cruel. But her heart thundered all the way to her car, and she imagined Elizabeth’s did too as they waved goodbye to each other.
As she tried to start the engine Annabelle’s hand shook so hard she couldn’t get the key in the ignition. What if Mary Whitman had been wrong? But in Annabelle’s view, if not Sawyer’s, Emmie’s language skills were lagging. The center, Mary had told her, might improve Emmie’s skills. But what if she ran away in panic from here instead of from the diner?
With a toot of her horn Elizabeth drove past, and Annabelle forced herself to stop obsessing about potential disaster. So far, she had managed, and she would keep on managing until she found Emmie’s father. She had to, no matter what Finn’s opinion was—she wouldn’t think of putting Emmie into foster care—or her grand plan to travel the world would become another unread chapter in her life. Unless she wanted to drag Emmie around, and perhaps risk her social development, she would have to remain in Barren.
As she drove off she could all but hear Finn saying she was the best person for Emmie, but Annabelle imagined she could still hear Emmie crying. Hurt and furious that Annabelle had abandoned her.
Like Sierra.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHANGING THE LOCKS for his new home obviously hadn’t done the trick.
Finn had just pulled in the driveway with another bunch of boxes to unload when he’d spied the Chevy Nova parked beside the house. There could be no doubt as to its owner, and by the time Finn jerked open the front door he was fuming. He should have expected this. Derek Moran wasn’t known to respect other people’s property, including Grey’s cattle. Did he think he could trample someone else’s privacy?
For a second he wished he’d brought Sarge with him. “How did you get in?”
Hearing Finn approach, Derek spun around in the center of the living room, his hands full of the framed pictures that had been on the mantel of the fireplace that didn’t work.
“Usual way.” His drawl riled Finn even more. “I jiggled the doorknob—and I’m in. Mama always scolded me for not taking my key.”
Finn should have bought a new dead bolt. The locksmith had warned him he couldn’t truly secure the entry as it was. The old door was too fragile, and the keys hadn’t kept Derek out. “In my job we call that breaking and entering,” Finn said. “Since you’re already ‘in,’ take your family mementoes—if that’s why you’re here—and get out. If there’s anything more you want, call me and I’ll be home when you come for them.”
“I’ll take them now,” Derek said.
Finn’s attention stayed razor-sharp on Derek. He’d learned his lesson with Sanchez and wouldn’t let another criminal get the upper hand.
At least this distraction would keep him from thinking about the kiss Annabelle had laid on him Thanksgiving night and Finn’s all-too-willing response. Not to mention his inability to keep his worst memories to himself. He could have drawn back, prevented that kiss, but he hadn’t.
Now he didn’t feel as though he’d been disloyal to Caro; he felt as if he’d betrayed her with another woman. Hauling his mind back to the present, he dogged Derek’s footsteps.
Finn had walked the property last night with Sarge at his side, and he had to admit he liked the notion of having these five acres to himself. He could see having roots here. Maybe that was what he’d wanted rather than isolation. “The lease I signed gives me one thing, Derek—the right to use this space. You’ve violated my privacy.”
Derek sneered. “Privacy? My daddy claimed he could come into any room in this house whenever he wanted, welcome or not.”
“Your father’s not here.”
“Neither is my brother,” Derek pointed out. “You should be glad I came to pick up the rest of my stuff and a few things Mama left. Then we’ll be out of your way.”
Finn doubted that. Like a bad penny—like Eduardo Sanchez—Derek always turned up. He ambled through the house into his old bedroom, which Finn planned to use as a home office. Finn stood in the doorway, watching Derek pick up a police manual Finn had left on the dresser. Derek passed it from hand to hand before he set the book down to choose a tarnished brass trophy of some high school track meet. His or Jared’s? “Mine,” he said. “Stop glaring at me. I don’t like you and you don’t like me. That’s okay but I done nothing wrong—at that apartment building, the cemetery, here... Grey trusts me. Why can’t you?”
“Because I know what you’re capable of even if he doesn’t.” Derek was one more of the same—like Sanchez. Rustling cattle was no petty theft, and in Finn’s experience one crime often led to another worse one. Like The Brothers cutting down Caro and Alex in front of him.
I’m so sorry about your family, Finn, Annabelle had said. Finn shifted his weight.
“If Grey wants to believe in you, I can’t stop him.”
Carrying the pictures and the trophy, Derek strolled into the hall, casting a look back over his shoulder, probably making sure Finn wouldn’t come at him from behind.
His gut in knots, Finn stayed on his heels until Derek breezed through the other rooms, taking a quilt off his mother’s bed and wrapping it around his treasures. At the next door he paused to study the faded posters on the walls of hot rods, rodeo stars and a few other celebrities. Jared Moran’s idols. The room reminded Finn of Annabelle’s with all the travel posters, and for an instant Finn thought he saw tears in Derek’s eyes. He juggled his belongings then ripped a poster off the wall. Except for his attitude, Finn might feel sorry for him.
He cleared his throat. “Your brother meant a lot to you.”
Derek stayed silent for another moment. “The way our daddy was, I guess Jared became my role model.”
Finn followed Derek to the front door. Had that glimpse of his pain been authentic? Like his mother, Derek was leaving the only home he’d ever known, his memories of his brother and Wanda’s son. Or was this another act?
From the doorway he tracked Derek to his car then down the rutted lane to the main road. The engine was blowing smoke, and he remembered Grey saying he was saving up to buy that new truck. Finn rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, dislodging a few splinters. The whole frame needed to be replaced, the door, too, and he would have that dead bolt installed.
Number one on his list would be to keep Derek out, but as he’d trailed him through the house Finn had changed his mind about something else.
The rental was to be for one year, but the expanse of land aside, the house needed more than new locks and a door. The roof and fencing had to be replaced, and the kitchen was an outdated disaster. On his first visit after signing the lease, the refrigerator had died a noisy, rattling death. And the one-car garage was falling down.
Finn mentally reviewed his finances. He’d lost money in the move from Chicago—had, in fact, practically given his house there away, as he suspected Annabelle would gladly do with hers—and Stewart County didn’t pay him nearly as much for being sheriff as Cook County had paid him as a cop. Still...
He shut the rickety door then locked it behind him. The job would be much bigger than he’d thought—and, as Wanda had said, at his expense. If he made those improvements alone, he�
��d be into the house for too much money only to move again. Finn had a better idea—number two—and went back inside to call her.
The third item on his list involved Annabelle Foster. After that kiss, and his betrayal of Caro, he needed to tell her where things stood.
* * *
WITH HER PHONE safely out of reach in the humid bathroom, Annabelle wiped beads of perspiration from her forehead. Leaning over the tub, she rinsed Emmie’s hair, trying to ignore the howls of protest that had made up their day for one reason or another. In midafternoon she’d had a call from the day care center that Emmie had not only wet her pants but most of her other clothes. It was suggested that Annabelle leave a spare outfit or two for her there tomorrow morning and she’d apologized for not having the foresight to do so. Then, all the way home, Emmie had cried, seeming to lecture Annabelle without words for leaving her in a strange place. At dinner she’d refused to eat a bite of the one-pot goulash Annabelle had served.
She’d managed to overlook Emmie’s full dinner plate and taken the silent lashing, but when the doorbell rang now, she felt tempted to swear, something she never did. She’d hoped to get Emmie to bed before Annabelle collapsed. She didn’t want a visitor.
Tempted to ignore the bell, she bundled Emmie into a towel and carried her downstairs. She opened the front door to find Finn, jingling the keys in his pocket, and she flushed to the roots of her hair. Would she never stop reacting to him like this? After that Thanksgiving kiss her crush on him seemed worse. Her own fault.
Without warning, wet towel and all, Emmie launched herself at him. Finn caught her but barely in time, and Annabelle saw him flinch. The damp package of little girl fresh from her bath, hair dripping, made Finn step back as Annabelle had thought he would on the porch Thanksgiving night.
Emmie didn’t notice. “Finn, I go school!”
“You did?”
“My school.” She chattered on about the blocks and books, what appeared to be her new friendship with Seth Barnes, the dress-up area with feather boas, “and I had a crown. They got a kitchen, too!”
