Hard Rustler, page 13
But he had made a decision, one he thought even his mother would support, he thought as he returned from his ride.
“We got Annabelle’s house pretty much cleared out, but you’re right, she needs more help.” The words were barely out of Dawson’s mouth before his mother took off her apron, tossed it down and said, “So, what are we doing standing around here? Let’s pack up some food. I’ll get your brother up to help and make a few calls.”
When he hesitated, she asked, “That is what you want, right? Jason told me how hard you all have been working to help her get the house ready to sell so she can leave.”
He nodded. “That’s the plan, remember?”
Within minutes, his mother was on the phone lining up able-bodied men and a couple more trucks.
“I already helped,” Luke said when he was rousted from bed.
“So I heard. But today we’re getting everything out of the house to begin cleaning and painting,” she said, making her youngest son groan. “Get a few of your friends to meet us at the Clementine place.”
Luke groaned. “If I call them this early, they’ll kill me.”
“Tell them your mama said if they don’t get up and meet us there—”
“Got it.” He threw back his covers, then quickly pulled them over himself again. “Could I have a little privacy?”
“Like you have anything to hide,” Dawson joked from the doorway.
He had no idea what kind of reception they were going to get once they reached Annabelle’s grandmother’s house, but he didn’t have to worry.
The moment they drove up, Annabelle opened the door, looking both leery and surprised. She’d already filled a dozen more boxes and had them sitting at the end of the porch.
His mother was out of the truck in a shot, her arms full of food as she charged toward the door.
“Willie?” Annabelle said and looked to Dawson for clarification. As if he could control his mother once she set her mind to something.
“Point me to the kitchen.” But his mother was already headed there by the time Dawson reached the edge of the porch.
“I’m going to need your keys to move your car,” he said to Annabelle.
She looked a little dumbstruck as two more pickups arrived, both full of boxes. Luke trudged toward the house, a carton full of cleaning supplies in his arms.
As if sleepwalking, she reached back inside for her keys. When she dropped them into his palm, he gave her a quick nod.
But before he could turn away, he saw surprise and something more in her big blue eyes. Gratitude? Surely nothing more. That night outside the bar after he’d kissed her, she’d told him to stay out of her business. Then, last night, she’d seemed willing when he’d kissed her, before his senses had come back to him.
She couldn’t be anymore confused than he was about last night. But, in his defense, she’d been real clear about him leaving her alone and he hadn’t been listening. Still wasn’t. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t been sincere in what she wanted—and didn’t want—from him.
“Dawson,” she began.
“Annabelle?” It was his mother calling. She seemed about to say something more to him, but turned back into the house as Willie asked where they should begin. Luke’s friends simultaneously began to bring in the cardboard boxes.
Dawson didn’t see much of Annabelle after that. He kept busy hauling the last loads to the dump. Willie had put Luke’s friends to work filling boxes with old newspapers and magazines and dragging them out to the porch. If anyone could organize an army, it was his mother.
They broke for lunch. By then, Willie had managed to get both spare bedrooms and a bathroom cleaned. She put Luke and his friends to work painting.
“Neutrals,” Willie said in response to Annabelle’s surprise. “I called Mary Sue and asked her what we should paint the rooms. I just happened to have some paint. I hope you don’t mind.”
But Dawson could tell that she didn’t believe his mother had never-opened gallons of neutral colors just sitting around anymore than he did.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all of this,” Annabelle said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Willie reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “No need. We’re practically family.” She shot Dawson a look that said they would have been family if it wasn’t for him.
He lowered his head and sighed inwardly. His mother didn’t think he’d done enough to try to stop Annabelle from leaving thirteen years ago. Maybe she was right about that. But ultimately, nothing on this earth could have kept Annie in Whitehorse—certainly not him.
* * *
ANNABELLE COULDN’T MISS the look that passed between mother and son. Dawson appeared uncomfortable, taking a sandwich from the plate his mother passed around and going out to the tiny back porch rather than eating it in the crowded kitchen.
“I’m sure this is your doing,” Annabelle said when she joined him on the porch with a sandwich of her own. She sat down beside him to let her legs dangle over the side, much as she had when they were kids.
“My mother?” He shook his head. “You know how she is. She likes to help.”
“And she just happened to have a lot of neutral-colored paint she wanted to get rid of.”
He grinned over at her. “I told her how anxious you were to get the house sold...” He shrugged.
She looked off into the distance to the line of trees that marked the edge of the Milk River. The backyard was still lush in places, even after a hot summer and long fall. But she could tell the temperature was dropping. Soon the cold and snow would set in. She had to be out of here by then.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
She smiled, knowing what she must look like in her grandmother’s hand-me-down clothes, her hair under a bandanna, smelling of dust and old musty things. “I can see the floor now in all but a couple of the rooms. I’m feeling...better.”
He nodded. “What about your grandmother, the photos, the newspaper clippings?”
Annabelle shook her head. “I still can’t believe it. Frannie used to tell us stories about these outrageous parties she went to when she was, like, seventeen and all the crazy things men would buy her, furs and diamonds...” She laughed. “We never believed a word of it. I mean, look how she lived here in Whitehorse. I can assure you, there are no furs or diamonds that I’ve run across in this house.”
“I would agree if I hadn’t seen the photos.”
She drew out the hem of the dirty sweatshirt she had on. “Most everything I’ve found in her closet looks like this, only with gaudier designs. Frannie didn’t even own a car and she used what was left in her bank account to pay the utilities and taxes so I’d have time to sell this place.” Her voice broke. “This house was all she had when she died.”
She could feel the heat of his gaze as he looked over at her. “She had more than this house. Everyone in town loved her. She was always doing for others. She was rich in friends. To her, that was more important than furs and diamonds,” he said as he finished his sandwich and got to his feet.
“You mean her values were better than mine.”
He stopped and looked at her. “I wasn’t comparing the two of you.” He brushed again at the invisible chip on her shoulder.
“Last night...”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said quickly and looked away. “You’ve made it clear how you feel about me, this town, Montana in general.”
Had she? “I’m not even sure how I feel about a lot of things,” she said, looking up at him.
Willie called from the doorway. “I thought I would start cleaning the kitchen cabinets unless there is something else you’d rather I do.”
“No, that’s great,” she said, pushing to her feet as Dawson hopped off the porch to walk around front. “I’ll come help you.”
* * *
DAWSON OFTEN FOUND himself in awe of his mother. Just watching her in action was a sight to see. The afternoon passed in a blur of activity. The house smelled like cleaning products and paint, which was much better than dust and decay.
“We paint the kitchen tomorrow and finish the rest of the rooms,” Willie was saying. “I expect all of you back here after work tomorrow to help.”
Luke’s friends nodded. His mother commanded respect. He knew no cowboy stupid enough to go against Willie.
Annabelle started to object but his mother cut her off saying, “I’ll bring my chocolate cake.” As if anyone needed more incentive.
That got grins out of Luke’s friends. Willie’s chocolate cake was famous.
Dawson hadn’t said two words to Annabelle since their talk on the back porch. Mary from the local antique shop had come up and taken what she wanted. After everything had been removed from the house except for a chair in the living room, the bed and dresser in Annabelle’s old room, and the kitchen table and chairs, they called it a day.
Everyone began to leave. His mother packed up a few things to take home. When Dawson offered to carry them out to his pickup—since the two of them had ridden in together—his mother waved off his help. “I’m riding with Luke. See if there is anything else you can help Annabelle with.”
As if he was fooled by that. Annabelle wasn’t, either.
“Thank you, but you’ve done more than enough,” she said as Willie left.
She and Dawson eyed each other in the silence that filled the house following his mother’s exit.
“Look, I know you said—”
“Thank you.” She met his gaze. “It would have taken me weeks to accomplish all of this...” Her voice broke.
He shrugged. “You needed help. That’s what people do here for neighbors.” Then he tipped his hat and left, headed straight for the bar. “See you tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder.
Chapter Twelve
“What are you doing?”
At that moment, Annabelle was wondering why Mary Sue was calling her, let alone asking her such an inane question. There was music playing in the background and the sound of drunken voices.
“A few people from high school thought you might want to come down to the bar for a drink.” She sounded as if those few people were holding a gun on her, forcing her to make this call. A few people from high school? “We’re down at the Mint. If you’re interested...” Mary Sue also sounded like she’d already had a drink or two. “You have something better to do?”
Now, that really was the question, wasn’t it? “I just need to shower and change.”
“Great. See you soon.” Mary Sue disconnected.
Annabelle considered calling her back and declining. What had she been thinking, saying she would go? But really, did she have something better to do? Fall into bed exhausted. That also had its appeal, but she headed for the shower. When was the last time she’d been out with a bunch of women? She thought of her clubbing days and groaned inwardly. Those days were gone and she wasn’t even sure she missed them.
Showered and changed, she pulled her hair up and drove down to the Mint. A glass of wine sounded perfect. Maybe two. Then back home to bed.
The moment she walked in, she spotted Mary Sue with a handful of young women she wasn’t sure she recognized. But as she approached the table and each of the women greeted her, she began to remember them. Mary Sue had traveled in a different circle than Annabelle had in high school. But the school had been small enough that she’d still known everyone.
Mary Sue got her a glass of wine and some of the others pulled up a chair for her. There was the usual chatter around the table—men, mothers and work. Fortunately none of it was about her or why she was back in town. She figured Mary Sue had warned them not to try to interrogate her. She was just starting to relax when she saw Dawson nursing a beer alone at the end of the bar.
* * *
DAWSON LOOKED UP from his beer and saw her in the mirror over the bar. He swore under his breath. What was Annabelle doing here? Had she followed him?
He turned on his bar stool, surprised to see that she’d showered and changed, unlike him. She was sitting with a bunch of women, women she’d never associated with in high school. But they all seemed to be getting along as if old friends. Go figure.
He turned back to his beer, determined that she wasn’t going to ruin it for him.
At the sound of a commotion and sudden raised voices, he turned, shocked to see that Annabelle was at the center of it. A bar patron who’d clearly had too much to drink was trying to pull Annabelle to her feet, demanding a dance.
“You think you’re too good for us since you became some hoity-toity cover girl?” the man demanded in a loud, drunken voice. “You too good to dance with someone like me?”
Annabelle was trying quietly to tell the man that she was just there visiting with friends and didn’t want to dance. “I appreciate you asking, but I’m really tired.”
“Tired?” The man scoffed and jerked her to her feet and into his arms.
Dawson swore, put down his beer, slid off his bar stool and strode up behind the man. He recognized him as a cowhand from up north by the name of Clyde Brown. He laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let’s leave the lady alone,” he said.
“Lady?” Clyde scoffed as he looped his arm around Annabelle’s waist and started to haul her toward the dance floor.
“Let her go,” Dawson said quietly, afraid he could see how this was going to play out. Definitely wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he’d come here for one beer and a little peace, if not quiet.
“Stay out of this if you know what’s good for you, Rogers,” Clyde snarled drunkenly.
And just as he’d figured, the cowhand shoved Annabelle. She crashed into the table edge, drinks going everywhere, as Clyde spun around, leading with his fist.
Dawson saw it coming long before the cowhand took the swing. He blocked it and grabbed the cowhand by the back of the collar. “I don’t want to fight you. So let’s just—”
“She ain’t worth fightin’ over?”
Dawson looked past the man at Annabelle. Before he could answer, Clyde broke free and took another swing.
From behind Dawson, he heard the cowhand’s friends get up from where they’d been at the bar. He swore under his breath as he coldcocked Clyde and swung around to take on the rest.
Chapter Thirteen
Her face flaming from humiliation, Annabelle drove back toward her grandmother’s house. She would never think of it as hers. It was her grandmother’s, and she was suddenly angry that Frannie had left it to her. True, she needed the money from it to save herself, but right now she could overlook that.
In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Frannie had collected all that junk, filling the house full, just to keep her granddaughter in town for as long as possible. Not that that theory made any sense.
Within a block, she realized that the last place she wanted to be right now was in that house. She turned at the next street and headed east out of town. She had no idea where she was going. A part of her realized she was wasting precious gas, but at that moment, she didn’t care.
The night was dark. There was no one on the highway. She drove mindlessly, wishing she never had to stop. The fact that she had nowhere to go after she sold the house terrified her. She had no plan, wouldn’t have much money and had no idea what to do next.
At a sign for Nelson Reservoir, she turned off and drove down to the lake. The water shimmered even in the blackness of the dark night. She got out and walked to the edge of the shore, thinking about throwing herself into the icy-cold water. The thought actually made her laugh. As bad as things were, she still wanted to live.
She thought of Dawson, probably still back at the bar fighting those men—and all because of her. She kept seeing the expression on his face when the man he called Clyde had asked if she was worth fighting over.
Annabelle shook away that image, still embarrassed. Dawson had fought the man for her. He’d come to her rescue. Again. She shook her head and breathed in the night air. Mary Sue had gotten her out of there as the bar had erupted into a half-dozen fistfights. She’d passed a patrol SUV, lights and sirens blaring, headed for the bar as she’d left.
If only someone would make an offer on the house. Now it was more than a desperate need for the money. She had to get out of this town. She had to get away from Dawson before she ruined his life as well as her own. Right now he could be sitting in a jail cell because of her. If so, she didn’t even have the money to get him out. She owed him money for keeping her car from being repossessed, as it was.
She groaned, suddenly chilled by the November air, and headed back to her car. Just the thought of Dawson choked her up. Why did he have to be so nice to her? She’d hurt him. Why couldn’t he act like a jackass and make her glad that she’d left him as well as Whitehorse?
On the drive back, she reminded herself that the house was coming along nicely—thanks to Dawson and his family. Tomorrow most of the rooms would be finished, then there was no reason Mary Sue couldn’t start showing the house. By this time next week...
As she pulled into the drive, her headlights flashed across the front of the house. Her breath caught in her throat. She slammed on the brakes, her eyes widening in alarm at the sight of someone inside the house. She cut the lights and sat in the dark staring, telling herself that as upset as she was, she had to have imagined—
The figure moved past the window.
Annabelle threw the sports car into Reverse and stepped on the gas. The car roared backward and into the street. At the sound of screeching brakes, headlights filled the inside of her car. She had only an instant to realize how close she’d come to being hit before her car door was jerked open.
* * *
