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Fatigue pulled at her body and Annabelle couldn’t keep her thoughts straight. She’d lied to Dana, but only because she didn’t want her to worry. Buddy King was up for parole much sooner than a year. It had been just another reason to leave Hinkley behind. She doubted he’d try and track her down. Annabelle didn’t suppose he enjoyed prison so much he’d want to return to it.
The night air had the scent of rain, though Annabelle hadn’t heard that a storm was coming. Emmett’s Mill was so different from the dustbowl nothingness of Hinkley. Sadie Nichols would’ve called it God’s Country, a scenic place with wondrously wild smells, its Sierra Nevada greenery broken only by the vibrant fall colors of changing leaves on the trees and spots of dry earth as it hungered for moisture.
It was a place anyone would love to call home. She glanced at her half-empty glass and wondered if such a place existed for her. As a child she’d prayed for a fresh start for her and her mom but it had never come. Now Annabelle had found that perfect place, but she still felt like an outsider looking in—a beggar child pressed against the windowpanes of a cozy house belonging to someone else.
She drained her glass and reached for the bottle sitting on the scarred coffee table, but, as her fingers curled around the neck, she decided against a refill. One glass was enough.
A twig snapped outside and Annabelle jumped as she peered nervously into the dark. The sound of a tomcat yowling echoed in the night. Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she forced a light laugh at herself for acting like the heroine in a scary movie. There were no boogeymen in Emmett’s Mill.
Not even ones named Buddy.
WHATEVER had been bothering Annabelle the day before was gone today and Dean was thankful. She wore another sundress, only this one she wore with a light cardigan that covered her most bountiful assets and Dean told himself that was a blessing. Except, when she smiled she brought the sunshine with her and he momentarily forgot what he’d been saying or doing. Flustered, he returned to his calendar, ready to hit the job site. He noted Annabelle glancing in puzzled amazement at the various baby-proofing items throughout the office: latches on drawers, doorknob protectors, plastic covers for electrical outlets, a gate blocking off the bathroom. Granted, he might’ve overdone it.
“You really didn’t need to go that far,” Annabelle said, although her eyes were shining. “Clients are going to think you run a daycare on the side.”
He chuckled. “I just don’t want Honey stuck in that pen all the time. Babies need to stretch their legs, too.”
Annabelle nodded, appreciation evident in the way her mouth played with a subtle smile. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
For a split second a violent hunger to taste those full lips ripped through him and stole the air from his chest. He cleared his throat with difficulty on the pretense of having something caught, and made a concentrated effort to get the hell out of there before he did something stupid—like give in to his baser needs—but he was met at the door by his mother.
“Dean, sweetheart, just the person I wanted to see,” Mary exclaimed, moving around him with the ease of a woman who knew what she was doing. She approached Annabelle with a warm smile. “You must be Annabelle. Sammy and Dana have told me very good things about you.”
Annabelle looked clearly nervous and Dean could understand why. Mary Halvorsen was a woman to be reckoned with. After raising three boisterous sons, each of whom had grown to over six feet tall, she didn’t scare easily or get sidetracked from her purpose. And right now, she had her sights set on Annabelle for some reason.
“Mom, don’t be wrangling Annabelle into one of your committees. I doubt she wants to spend her time in a quilting circle with a bunch of old biddies.”
“Watch your tongue, Dean Emmett Halvorsen,” Mary said in a dulcet tone threaded with steel. “Besides, I didn’t come to invite Annabelle to the Quilters Brigade, unless, that is, you would like to join…” Mary pinned Annabelle with an expectant stare until Annabelle shook her head. “Right. I didn’t think so. Although it’s a stereotype that only old women quilt. Dean knows this. He used to quilt himself.”
Dean bit back a groan, unable to believe his own mother had outed him like that. His cheeks flooded with warmth. “Not to rush you, Mom, but what did you come by for?”
“Well, I came by to see if Annabelle would like to volunteer on D-Day. We still need volunteers and I haven’t heard from Brandon and his girl, Jessie. We need some young, strong backs to carry supplies and run refreshments to the crews.”
Bewildered, Annabelle asked, “D-Day? As in the battle of Normandy?”
Mary chuckled, her stout body jiggling with mirth. “Goodness no, child, but kudos to you for knowing your history. No, D-Day in Emmett’s Mill is Restoration Day. We’re restoring the mill next month.”
Annabelle stared blankly. “What mill? And why do you call it D-Day? Shouldn’t it be R-Day or something like that?”
Mary gave Dean a look that said he was falling down on the job if Annabelle didn’t even know about the town’s namesake and why they were restoring it. “My dear, Emmett’s Mill was named after our very own Waldon Emmett. The Halvorsen family is directly descended from the original Emmetts who settled here, which is why Dean’s father and I chose Emmett as Dean’s middle name. As for why we call it D-Day, the committee wanted something grand to commemorate this auspicious day in our local history, and since Waldon Emmett was of French descent, well, we thought calling it D-Day would give it a sense of importance.”
“I see.” Annabelle looked a little lost and Dean didn’t blame her. The committee’s logic was tenuous at best. “Well, it certainly does sound grand,” she agreed, looking to Dean as if for a sign that she hadn’t somehow offended his mother. It was endearing but unnecessary. Mary Halvorsen had skin thicker than a rhino.
“Mom, don’t bore Annabelle with our family history,” Dean said, smothering a chuckle. “Not everyone is fascinated with other people’s history. It’s like watching home movies of total strangers. Those kinds of things are barely tolerable for the people who are in them.”
“Oh hush. No one asked you,” Mary retorted, eyes dancing as she returned to Annabelle. “Am I boring you, dear?”
“No, I think it’s fascinating. Please do continue.” Annabelle reached down to pick up Honey, who had begun to fuss a little. “I think it’s great that you know so much about your family and that your history isn’t something you’d rather hide.”
Mary turned a triumphant smile Dean’s way before continuing. “Thank you. So, as I was saying, Waldon Emmett built the flour mill in 1832 and made his fortune selling freshly milled flour to the neighboring cities, except by the time he died his son, Waldon, Jr., wasn’t much of a miller and quickly drove the business into the ground. Wallie, as he was called, spent most of the family’s fortune on a host of get-rich schemes that inevitably failed. All that remains is the mill. It was finally donated to the historical society and we’ve formed the nonprofit organization heading the Emmett’s Mill Restoration project.”
“Aren’t you sorry you asked?” Dean asked Annabelle wryly, but she looked taken in by the story. “Are you a history buff?” he asked.
“Not particularly, but I enjoy hearing about local history. It must feel wonderful to have such deep roots here in Emmett’s Mill,” she murmured.
His mother jumped in, loving her captive audience. “You should come to dinner tonight—”
“Mom,” Dean interjected, alarmed at where the conversation was headed. Mary blinked at him in annoyance for interrupting her, but he wasn’t about to let his mom drag Annabelle to a family dinner. A Halvorsen dinner wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was loud, chaotic and usually there were at least three conversations happening at once. He couldn’t see Annabelle feeling comfortable at all. Not to mention he was having enough trouble dealing with his inappropriate mental wanderings, he didn’t need to complicate matters. “Leave Annabelle with a flyer. I have to get going.”
“So go.” Mary dismissed him, alighting on Honey without missing a beat. “Who is this angel?”
Annabelle smiled with genuine joy. “This is my daughter, Honey. She’s sixteen months old.”
Mary sighed with longing. “A granddaughter. That’s what I’m missing. I adore my grandsons but I’ve never had anyone to pamper. I’m holding out hope that one of my sons will deliver. Your mom must be thrilled to have a granddaughter.”
Annabelle shot Dean a quick look, which he wasn’t sure was one of distress or one of annoyance for his mother’s questions but she answered just the same. “My mother died before Honey was born.”
Mary’s expression lost some of its happiness. “Oh dear. That settles it. You have to come to Sunday dinner this weekend. I won’t take no for an answer.” She turned to Dean with instructions. “You’ll bring her? I don’t want her driving that road at night with a baby. You know how those twists and turns can be tricky for people not used to them.”
She pulled a flyer from her purse and placed it in front of Annabelle with a warm smile. “I have to go. Here’s the information about the project. Please give it some thought. It’s a wonderful way to get to know your new community and it’s a worthwhile project.”
And then she was gone.
Dean expelled a heavy breath and suddenly felt the all-over body fatigue that always happened when he got caught in the maelstrom that was his mother.
He turned to Annabelle, hands spread in apology. “She’s pretty passionate about some things,” he said by way of explanation, but he realized Annabelle hadn’t minded.
“You’re so lucky,” she said with a catch to her voice. “Tell your mom I’d be honored to be a part of the restoration project, but I’ll have to pass on dinner. I don’t think it’s a good idea to cross the lines,” she said, shocking him with her refusal. He’d thought he might have to somehow dissuade her, but she’d beat him to it.
He couldn’t agree more. So why did he feel so disappointed?
“Are you sure?” he heard himself blurt. “There’s plenty of food. My mom cooks enough to feed a platoon. It’s a miracle none of us grew up to be fat. It’s probably a good thing we all work in jobs that are fairly physical, otherwise all that good eating might’ve gone straight to our waistlines.”
“I didn’t think guys cared about stuff like that,” she teased lightly.
“Are you kidding? We care. We just hide it better. No guy likes to see his gut hanging over his belt. And that’s the truth even if we don’t want to admit it.”
“Really? Well, from where I’m standing, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
The innocent comment made his mouth dry up. Had she been checking him out? Noticing him in the same ways that he couldn’t help but notice her? He started to stammer a response with all the eloquence of a prepubescent boy but Annabelle unwittingly saved him from himself when she sighed wistfully.
“I really like your mom and I’m betting dinner would be great, but it’s just not a good idea, you know?”
He did. Thank God, one of them was thinking clearly. “Don’t worry, I’ll let my mom down easily.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
No problem—except for the part where he wanted her to come to dinner. Wanted to ignore that blinking caution light in his brain. And wanted to get to know Annabelle in a way that was more than professional.
Dean wanted everything he’d told his son he absolutely didn’t want from Annabelle.
And that didn’t feel so good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“WHERE’S your friend?” Mary Halvorsen asked as Dean stepped into the dining room for Sunday dinner. Her disappointed tone spoke volumes. “I set an extra place setting.”
“She’s not my friend, Mom. She’s my office manager. An employee. You don’t invite George or Paulo over for Sunday dinner. I don’t see why you felt the need to invite Annabelle.”
“George and Paulo have their own families to go home to,” Mary answered with a slight clip, making him feel like a kid again. How did mothers manage to hold on to that tone even after their kids were grown? “It’s obvious that young woman needs a family. She’s alone and needs someone to take her under their wing. Besides, she’s a friend of Dana’s so she’s practically family anyway.”
Dana smiled at Mary. “That’s so sweet but I know Annabelle and she’d never cross the line between employee and employer. It’s something she’s a bit of a stickler for.”
“Oh? How come?” Mary asked, intrigued by this bit of information. Truth be told, Dean was curious, too.
Dana must’ve realized she’d divulged too much for she looked to Sammy for help.
“Anyone hear from Josh and Tasha?” Sammy asked, giving Dana a subtle wink.
A shrewd light entered Mary’s eyes but she allowed the subject change, answering with good cheer. “I did this morning. They’re still in Punta Gorda but they’ll be leaving soon.”
“Why can’t they go to a normal place for a vacation?” Dean grumbled, mostly because Josh was his best welder. “What’s wrong with Hawaii? Or Oregon? South America is nothing but a jungle.”
“You know why. Tasha loves Punta Gorda and this was the first time she’s been able to get back since the wedding. She may have quit the Peace Corps to marry Josh and raise a family here but I think a part of her heart is still with those jungle people.”
Dana giggled at Mary’s use of jungle people but Dean was surly and didn’t find the humor in anything. He gestured to Sammy. “You get that cement guy to come down on his price?”
Brian, the Halvorsen patriarch, came in from his study and after clapping each of his sons on the shoulder, took his place at the head of the table. “Who are you using for cement?” he asked, his ears perking at the construction business talk, but Mary put her foot down.
“No shop talk at the table. You know that. Where’s Brandon? I expected to see him tonight. With Christopher gone to visit his mother for a few weeks I feel deserted by my only grandsons.”
Dean smiled. “Brandon is having dinner over at Jessie’s house tonight. He told me to tell you he promises not to enjoy anyone else’s mashed potatoes as much as yours.”
“Smart boy,” Mary said with no small amount of pride. “I like that Jessie. She’s a sweet girl, though watch that those hormones don’t go and get him into trouble.”
“Brandon’s a good kid. He won’t do anything stupid,” Dean said, though a frisson of alarm followed. Maybe he needed to have a talk with Brandon, make sure that they were using protection if they were sexually active. Ugh. The thought made him feel old. For some reason he’d always assumed Beth would be the one to tackle that conversation. She’d been good at handling the things that made Dean squirm.
Dinner conversation flowed around him and he participated with one-word answers, wishing he’d called off dinner with his parents. He wasn’t good company tonight. And it came down to one simple reason. He’d wanted Annabelle there. And that made him angry with himself.
The woman became more beautiful the more time he spent with her, which should’ve been impossible as she was already prettier than anyone had a right to be. Moments went by when he lost track of his thoughts simply because he’d caught a whiff of her skin or hair and an irrational desire to bury his nose in it always followed. He wondered how she got her skin to sparkle as if it had been dusted with sunshine, or how her brown eyes could appear softer than warm chocolate. Worse, he wanted to know what memory left that haunted look behind when it visited.
Heaving a private sigh, he returned to his mostly untouched plate and swore at his dilemma.
He had no business being attracted to Annabelle. The reasons were many and varied but the biggest reason had to do with his heart. When Beth had died, his heart died with her.
Annabelle deserved more than he could offer.
ANNABELLE, with Honey at her hip, walked into the small deli, and quickly found Dana in the back already sipping an iced tea.
“Starting without me?” Annabelle joked as she settled Honey into a baby chair.
“Sorry. I was parched.” Dana assessed Annabelle openly. “You look good. I see working with Dean agrees with you.”
“Having a steady paycheck agrees with me,” Annabelle corrected her but smiled, knowing Dana was just giving her a hard time. “So, I’ve joined the D-Day committee. Tell me, have I made a huge mistake or what?”
“Depends. I think it’s a good way to connect with the community. The whole town seems to be involved, but on the other hand, do you want to be that involved? I mean, no offense, AnnaB, but you’ve never been what anyone would call a joiner.”
“I’ve never been somewhere I felt welcome to join,” Annabelle answered. “It’s not like Hinkley was a wealth of open arms. When was the last time anyone cared what happened to the people living on Bleeter Street?”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Dana muttered. “God, I hate that place.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Annabelle’s thoughts went immediately to the single-wide mobile home of her childhood that smelled perpetually of stale beer and musty carpet no matter how many times she’d tried sweeping it out. Dana’s mobile had been two trailers down. Sometimes Annabelle could hear the muffled shouts that came from Dana’s family as they brawled within the claustrophobic space. The next day, Dana had often had bruises.
Dana broke the silence first, saying, “Well, good for you for joining. So, what has Mary put you in charge of?”
“Refreshments.” Annabelle shifted in her chair with a frown. “But I’m not quite sure what that entails. I was going to ask but the meeting got a little chaotic and I forgot. Those quilters are a wild bunch.”
“You’ll be in charge of bringing drinks to the construction crew. Lemonade, water, stuff like that. But don’t worry, you’ll have a bunch of kid volunteers at your disposal. It’s going to be like an old-fashioned barn-raising, except we’re not raising a barn, we’re relocating a mill.”
“I still can’t believe they’re going to do that,” Annabelle said. “Makes me nervous just thinking about it.”
“I wouldn’t worry. A company from out of town is going to do the actual moving and then once the mill is on the museum property, that’s when everyone else will get involved.”
“It’s hard to believe so many people care,” Annabelle said.
The two women caught each other’s stare. Dana reached over and grasped Annabelle’s free hand. “No place is perfect but Emmett’s Mill comes close. This is a town where people care about their neighbors. If I hadn’t seen it myself I wouldn’t have believed it. This town takes care of their own pretty well. It feels good.”
Annabelle was wary of anything that sounded too good to be true even if she wanted to believe. She tried pulling away but Dana wouldn’t let her.
“You’re so used to being on the defensive that you don’t know how to feel when no one is trying to attack you. I know. I felt the same way until I met Sammy. He showed me that not everyone has an agenda.”
Annabelle forced a laugh and pressed a kiss to Honey’s head as she gestured for Dana to stop. “I surrender. This talk is too serious for lunch. C’mon, I don’t want to spend my lunch hour arguing the merits of Emmett’s Mill. I agree with you, it’s a great town, otherwise I wouldn’t have moved here. Although,” she said, pausing with pursed lips, “I think I got a prank call last night.”
“What do you mean? Did they say anything?”
“No. But I could hear them breathing. It was probably just some kids playing a joke but it was a little creepy. I was weirded out for a while afterward but now that I think about it, it’s probably nothing.”
“Maybe you should tell Dean.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes. “And why should I do that?”
“Because maybe he could look into it for you.”
“Dana, I don’t need a man to chase away bad-mannered teenagers. That’s all it was. I almost didn’t mention it.”
Dana looked worried. “Well, I’m glad you did. If it happens again, please tell me you’ll let Dean know. I don’t like it.”
