A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  "She doesn't talk about it much, not even to me, and I'm her best friend," Beth said. "I just know she never planned to stay in Whiskey Creek. She was only passing through and had car trouble. By the time Jed down at the gas station had her car going again, she'd bought the Limber Pine, just like that. Paid cash too."

  Strange, he thought, his lawman's curiosity piqued.

  "She doesn't have family around?"

  Beth shook her head. "All she has is her mom in St. Louis. But she's been a good friend to me and to just about everybody else in the valley. We've all sort of adopted her, so be nice to her, or you'll suffer the wrath of the whole county, especially me. You got that, big brother?"

  He hadn't exactly been brimming with good manners around the woman, he mused. Seemed like she brought out the worst in him. "I'll consider myself warned."

  Beth was still chuckling when Jace and Emily came tromping into the kitchen. Will and Emily left not long afterward, and Emily complained all the way to their new quarters.

  It was too hot. Too slow. Too boring.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he preferred her grousing to the silent accusations in her eyes—maybe because that was exactly what he saw in his own eyes every time he looked in a mirror.

  How could he blame her for being angry with him? Maybe she was just beginning to realize the truth that had burned itself into his cells that terrible day three years ago as he held his dying wife in his arms.

  He'd killed Emily's mother.

  Oh, he hadn't pulled the trigger, but he might as well have. If it hadn't been for him and his idiotic idealism—his ridiculous, outdated concepts of honor and decency—Sarah would still be alive.

  If he'd only taken the payoff when those bastards offered it to him, to keep him away from their paltry racketeering schemes, Sarah would be here, laughing and teasing him as she'd always done.

  When Richie Zamora's bribes hadn't worked on him, the crime boss had turned to threats. And Will had laughed. Laughed and told Zamora where he could stick his bribes and his threats and that he damn well better find a good lawyer.

  He'd been so arrogant. And naive. Incredibly, stupidly naive.

  The next day Sarah, six months pregnant with their son, had died in a hail of gunfire spat from a passing car. And most of him had died with her.

  His chance would come, he reminded himself yet again. Zamora was the only one out of the four sons of bitches involved in Sarah's death that he hadn't caught yet. Two would spend the rest of their miserable lives in prison, and the third had died in the same gunfight Will had been wounded in. He would have had Zamora, too, if not for the damn bullet the crime boss had managed to fire into his shoulder.

  "When are we going to be there?"

  Emily's plaintive voice jerked him out of the past.

  "It's not far."

  As they neared the Limber Pine, Will wrenched his mind away from the thoughts of vengeance that wouldn't do him any good while he was stuck here in Whiskey Creek.

  Instead, he thought of his new landlady. He'd never been able to resist a mystery. It was why he'd become a cop in the first place and why he'd earned a reputation as a tenacious investigator.

  Why had she settled in this one-stoplight town? What was it that had sent her running here and put those shadows in her eyes? Not your business, Tanner, he told himself again.

  "Listen, Em, I need you to do something for me," he said suddenly.

  "What?" Suspicion coated her voice.

  "I need you to stay out of Ms. McPhee's hair while we're living here. She's used to peace and quiet and doesn't need to be disturbed."

  "Why would I want to bug some old lady?"

  Will frowned, puzzled by the remark, then remembered that Emily had been too busy checking out the preschool to have paid much attention to Andie. "Old lady"? He thought of dewy skin and tempting curves, then gritted his teeth and shunted away the images as guilt washed through him.

  "Just try, okay?"

  She picked at a hangnail. "Sure. Whatever."

  As soon as he'd unlocked the door to their cottage, Emily bounded past him to look at her room, and Will walked into the kitchen wondering what he could possibly make for dinner. He should have had the foresight to go grocery shopping at the little store in Whiskey Creek. Instead, he'd spent the day going over paperwork at the jail and wondering about Andie McPhee.

  He scanned the meager contents of the cupboard—a few measly boxes and canned goods Beth had given him the night before. He finally settled on macaroni and cheese and was waiting for the water to boil when several sharp raps indicated a visitor at the back door.

  It was his landlady, wearing tattered cutoffs and a bright pink T-shirt and sporting a bulging paper grocery bag. She walked inside and placed the bag on the table before he could say anything.

  "I just picked my first sweet corn of the year, and I thought you and Emily might like a few ears for dinner."

  Visions of buttery corn on the cob made his mouth water, but Will frowned. "You didn't have to do that."

  "I know, but I picked more than I can eat. I don't want to go to all the trouble of freezing it yet, so it's either you guys or the goat."

  "It might keep the blasted thing away from my Jeep," Will grumbled.

  Her laugh rippled over him. Hell, what was it about this woman that so easily tightened his nerves?

  He poured the macaroni into the boiling water, and Andie peeked over his shoulder to see what he was making. Intense awareness whipped through him, of her lavender-and-vanilla scent, of her tantalizing heat. Not your business.

  "Mmmm. Mac and cheese. I lived on the stuff when I was in school." To his relief, she eased away and perched on his kitchen table.

  "Where was that?" his innate curiosity compelled him to ask.

  "St. Louis. I didn't stray too far from my parents."

  She started husking the corn in quick, graceful movements. "I grew up, went away to college, met my husband, and settled down all within a five-mile radius. How's that for an adventurous life?"

  Her husband? He stared at her, his gaze flying to the fingers of her left hand. No ring. Still, that didn't mean anything.

  She caught the direction of his gaze and flushed. "My ex-husband." She concentrated on the corn.

  "What about you?" she asked, a blatant attempt to change the subject. "Why did you leave Wyoming for Arizona? Beth tells me you practically raised her."

  "Beth is the undisputed queen of exaggeration."

  Andie chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

  "I didn't exactly raise her. She was already in high school when our folks died, Dad when a tractor turned over on him, and Mom a year later from pneumonia. I just hung around long enough for her to finish high school, then we both agreed to sell the ranch."

  "Was that hard for you, selling the ranch you'd worked all your life? Do you ever regret it?"

  "At the time, no. I couldn't wait to leave."

  "But now?" she prodded.

  He gazed out the window for a minute, then back at her. Her hands had stilled on the corn, and her eyes were soaked with compassion. He didn't want to see it. Lord knows, he didn't deserve it. "Yeah. Sometimes."

  He'd never felt any particular tie to the land like his father had. He'd wanted adventure, excitement. Something more than birthing calves and riding fence. But if he hadn't been in such a hurry to shed the Wyoming dirt from his boots, he probably would never have become a cop. Never met Sarah. And never lost her.

  "Dad, where'd you put my iPod?" Emily demanded from the kitchen doorway.

  Then again, he thought, if Sarah hadn't blown into his life, he never would have been given the chance to know the funny, stubborn girl who was his daughter.

  "I didn't put it anywhere, Em. It should still be in one of the boxes."

  "I've looked everywhere. Are you sure we didn't leave it at Aunt...?" Her voice trailed off as she finally caught sight of Andie, and she stared.

  "Hi, Emily," Andie said. "I've been wa
iting to meet you."

  "Who are you?"

  Andie ignored the rudeness. "I'm Andie McPhee. I live across the driveway."

  The girl studied her out of eyes the same silver gray as her father's. "You don't look old."

  She couldn't help laughing at the accusation. "Why, thank you. I think."

  "Dad said you were some grumpy old lady who didn't want us to bother you."

  Andie glanced at Will and watched, fascinated, as a ruddy tinge spread across his cheekbones.

  "I never said you were old," he began.

  Before he could say anything more, Emily interrupted. "You're that lady from the little kids' place, with the puppet show thing we saw, aren't you?"

  She looked intrigued, and Andie smiled. "I am. You're welcome to come back anytime."

  "That stuff’s for babies."

  Andie shrugged. "Maybe. But if you're interested, we've got a baby-sitting training program for girls your age. Several girls come in once in a while to read to the children and play with them, just so they can get a feel for being around preschoolers. Who knows, you might even make some new friends before school starts."

  "Who wants a bunch of cowboy hicks for friends?"

  Emily concentrated on the old linoleum floor, but Andie sensed more than a little loneliness in the girl's tone and in the hunched-up set of her shoulders. She chanced a look at Will and saw bleak frustration in his eyes as he studied his daughter. Stay out of it, she reminded herself sternly.

  Still, she smiled one more time at Emily. "If you change your mind, let me know. We don't expect the girls to work for free and we'll pay you for the time you spend at the school. Think about it, okay?"

  "Okay," Emily mumbled. She left in a cloud of hair spray and attitude.

  "I swear, I never said you were old," Will said with such chagrin in his voice that Andie laughed.

  To her shock, he actually smiled back, and for a moment it was all she could do to remember to breathe. The man was gorgeous. A simple smile transformed those craggy features into somebody warm and friendly. Sexy and intriguing and masculine.

  A slow warmth uncurled in her stomach as she watched him standing there, a lock of brown hair dipping into his eyes and his smile melting his reserve.

  She took a shaky breath and tugged down the husk on the last ear of corn, then pushed herself away from the table.

  "I need to get back. Um, enjoy the corn."

  She left in a hurry, the screen door slamming shut behind her.

  ***

  Andie fluffed a pillow and squinted at her alarm clock. One A.M., the blasted thing blared in glowing red numbers, and here she was still wide awake.

  The room, with its graceful old furniture and flowery wallpaper, seemed stifling. Overpowering.

  A little breeze, moist and cool, danced in through the open window and puffed into the lace curtains, sending them billowing like the sails of a ship. Andie suddenly craved the feel of that breeze. She slipped from her bed and peered out the window. A storm lurked out there; she could feel it crackling in the air. Probably a good, pounding August thunderstorm.

  That's what was keeping her up, she told herself, the storm and all those negative ions floating around. Liar, a voice whispered deep inside, and she had to acknowledge that, as usual, the know-it-all voice was right. What was keeping her edgy and awake had nothing to do with any storm and everything to do with a wounded, angry sheriff with hot, haunted eyes and a dangerous smile.

  Well, no use moping around in here. She wasn't going to sleep any time soon, so she might as well go out and enjoy the night. Without bothering to turn on the light, she donned a robe over her nightgown and went downstairs, stepping out the front door onto the broad porch.

  The porch that wrapped all the way around the old house was one of the reasons she'd bought the ranch. A silly reason for such a significant life change, she'd often thought. But the first time she saw the ranch, she'd immediately envisioned sitting there on a summer night while a storm percolated just out of view.

  She sat on the porch swing, pulling her bare feet up under her. Fred, the tiger-striped tom with the torn ear and fifteen pounds of bad mood, pounced onto her lap for affection. Not to be outdone, Wilma—his long-suffering mate—joined him, and soon their combined purring vibrated through the night.

  Andie smiled and inhaled air rich with the promise of moisture and the heavy perfume of sweet peas and the wild roses that climbed the lattice around the porch.

  The wind picked up, tossing the tendrils of the weeping willow into wild contortions. She could hear the storm gathering force in the mountains, and as she stroked the cats, she imagined the violence there, the pounding rains, the low drum roll of thunder.

  Where were the dogs? she wondered. Usually a good rousing thunderstorm set them to howling, or at least scratching on the door looking for cover. She often gave in and let them sleep inside, but tonight they were nowhere in sight.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, lightning suddenly jagged across the sky, and she saw both big yellow Labs heading around the corner of the barn at a full run toward her.

  She grinned as she watched them streak across the yard, until she saw the figure step out behind them. Her heartbeat quickened and her mouth suddenly felt dry. Will Tanner followed the dogs around the barn, and she knew instantly when he spied her. His strong, purposeful stride faltered and he stopped.

  "I thought I was alone out here with the storm," she called.

  He walked to the steps of the porch, then stood there looking as dark and foreboding as the clouds that churned overhead.

  "I couldn't sleep," he said.

  "Neither could I."

  The rain began spitting from the clouds in huge drops, and another rumble of thunder shook the night.

  "You're going to be soaked to the skin in a minute if you stay there," she warned, curling her fingers into the fur of one of the dogs. "Why don't you come sit down and enjoy the storm where it's warm and dry?"

  She thought he would refuse, that he would turn and march back across the driveway to his own place. But he just shrugged, climbed the steps, and settled into the spacious old rocker beside her.

  Chapter 4

  With a push of her foot, Andie set the porch swing swaying again, its chains rattling. The sound, combined with the slow creak of Will's rocker, set a gentle backbeat to the storm whipping around them.

  It was oddly intimate, she thought, sitting comfortable and dry on the porch while the weather spewed its fury just a few feet away. The hard rain slanting down created a shimmery curtain of sorts, a wall of privacy between them and the rest of the world.

  They sat in silence for several minutes while the storm picked up in intensity. She could sense Will relaxing, in contrast to the storm, settling into the old chair as if it had been years since he'd sat down. Through the watery moonlight she saw him lean his head back and close his eyes, and she couldn't hide her pleased smile.

  "That's a wonderful smell, isn't it?" she said softy. "The rain soaking into the earth. Like hope and birth. Life."

  He inhaled deeply. "A rainstorm smells different here in the mountains than the desert. Softer somehow. In Phoenix there's always an edge of desperation to it, like each drop is going to be the last."

  One of the dogs stuck its nose in Will's lap, and he opened his eyes and scratched its ears absently. The gentleness there startled her. He was a man of contradictions: kind one moment, gruff the next; affectionate with the dogs, abrupt with her. She didn't quite know how to deal with him.

  "I watched you last night," she said, "walking around out here to check the place out."

  His mouth twisted in a self-mocking grimace. "Sorry. Old habit, I guess. I've been in too many situations where a little knowledge of my surroundings made the difference between taking a bullet and walking away."

  "I didn't mind. It was kind of ... comforting."

  He shot her an inscrutable look. "This is a pretty isolated spot for a woman on her own."
/>   She shrugged. "It's only three miles into town and three more the other way to the Bar W."

  "Well, I couldn't find one single sign that you've taken any kind of security precautions. Don't you realize you'd have no way of calling for help if anything happened out here? I could do anything I wanted with you right now and nobody would ever hear a thing."

  With any other man she might have felt threatened by the ominous statement, even though he delivered it in a cool, matter-of-fact tone. But somehow Andie knew he would never pose a physical danger to her, despite the ease with which he sent her emotions into turmoil.

  "I don't scare easily, Sheriff."

  He snorted. "That's about the stupidest thing I've heard you say. You let down your guard even for a second, and you can be certain somebody's going to take advantage of you."

  "Sounds like a pretty miserable way to experience life, if you ask me," she said mildly. "I'd rather have a little faith in other people."

  "So would I," he said in a clipped voice. "And I'd rather believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy too."

  A spear of lightning illuminated his face, and she saw a grim tightness around his mouth, shadows in his gray wolf eyes. He had seen things in his life as a police officer, things she could never even imagine. It was no wonder he had so few illusions about human nature and, like those desert storms, so little softness left in him.

  Thunder, harsh and close, plowed through the night, rattling the windows on the old farmhouse. Andie shivered.

  "You're cold," he said. "Maybe you ought to go inside."

  "Not yet." She summoned a smile. "A good summer storm is too precious to waste watching from the inside. In another few months that will be snow out there, and I'll have more time indoors than I can stand. Then I can remember tonight, with the rain stirring up the dirt and the wind blowing fresh and clean from the mountains."

  "How do you manage here in the winter? Unless it's changed since I lived in the state, Wyoming in January is a whole lot of nasty."

  She chuckled. "It's not that bad. Neighbors take care of each other out here. That's one of the reasons I love it so much. By the end of October, Sam Wyatt down the road always brings me plenty of firewood, and Jace comes by with his tractor after every big storm to dig me out."