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“Are you okay now?”
“I still have all kinds of bad dreams. And I’m not using Blair as my last name anymore. Everyone here knows me as Emma Logan.” She blinked up at Wyatt. “But I think I’m pretty safe here.”
“Let’s keep it that way, okay, Emily…Logan?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“I’d better get you back to work now. But listen. I’m staying across the street at that little hotel,” he pointed to The Faded Rose, a quaint, pale yellow building with flower baskets adorning the porch. “Room 102. You call me if you need anything, okay?” Standing, Wyatt pulled her to her feet.
“I will.” She slipped an arm around his waist as they walked back to the grill. “Wyatt, I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you here.”
“I’m glad, too.”
He held the door open for her and Geraldine, noting Emily’s blotchy, tear-stained complexion and red-rimmed eyes, scowled.
“Geraldine, I’ll be back on the floor in five.”
“I’m here, honey. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
“I don’t think Geraldine likes me,” Wyatt murmured.
“She’ll come around.” Emily moved to the other side of the counter, poured him a cup of coffee and motioned for him to take one of the empty stools. “Can I get you something to eat?”
“Yeah, come to think of it, I’m starved. The special will be fine. And, Em, before you go, listen. I know it’s going to be hard, but you are going to have to continue to lay low until Austin and Rand have enough solid evidence against Patsy to bring to the police.”
“Poor thing. Something awful must have happened to make her this way.”
Wyatt’s admiration for his kid sister jumped up yet another notch. Trust Emily to have compassion for the woman who tried to end her life. Again, she reminded him of Annie. “Oh, and one last thing. I know Keyhole is a growing town, but I just wondered if you’ve ever met a woman named Annie Summers. I heard from Rand that she kept her maiden name when she married. Anyway, he says she owns an antique store in the area.”
Emily nodded. “Of course I know Annie.”
“You…do?” Wyatt felt his stomach clench.
“Sure. Keyhole’s not that big. She owns Summer’s Autumn Antiques, next door. I used to help out there on my days off. Annie and I are friends. In fact, that’s her over there.” Emily pointed to the other side of the restaurant. “She comes in for lunch with her twin boys, Noah and Alex, pretty much every Saturday.”
Wyatt felt a bolt of lightning blast through him the likes of which he’d not experienced since that Valentine’s kiss, so many years ago. Slowly, his gaze followed the direction Emily pointed and, for the first time in years, settled on the wonderful face of Annie Summers. Luckily, she was too busy to notice him and he took the time to look her over.
She hadn’t changed a bit.
She was neither graying, nor age-spotted, nor knock-kneed, or even snaggle-toothed, the way he’d hoped. No, she was still the smooth-skinned, fiery-haired young woman that he’d fallen in love with back in college. In fact, if possible, she was even more attractive than before. Motherhood definitely seemed to agree with her. Even though she had two kids now, she was still as trim as ever. Her facial features had lost their girlishness and were now more angular and womanly, highlighting the enormity of her eyes and the fullness of her lips.
Unnoticed, he watched as she interacted with the two frolicking puppies that were so obviously her sons. Her kids had creased a permanent smile into the corners of her eyes and mouth and she looked content in her new life. More than content. Happy.
A cloud of self-doubt rolled in and settled over his heart. Surely, she wasn’t pining away for him, the way he had been for her. Just by looking at her, he could guess that meeting up with the unresolved past and all the emotions that went with it was not on her agenda for today.
He watched as she dipped a napkin into her water glass and mopped the mustard from her boys’ freckled faces. They resisted her ministrations in a typical reaction for their age. One of them picked up a napkin and dabbed at something on her face, causing her laughter to ring out.
Wyatt closed his eyes and struggled to inhale. The sound of her laughter caused such an explosive reaction in his body, he could barely breathe. For him, nothing had changed. The past seven years evaporated like a puddle on a midsummer’s day and he was vexed to discover that he was as fiercely in love with her this minute, as he’d been the day she said goodbye.
Clenching the countertop, he watched her gather her things and herd the boys to the cash register, only two dozen feet away, to pay her bill. Dressed more sophisticatedly than the simple jeans of their college days, she wore a pair of khaki slacks and a white blouse. Her wonderful hair was swept into a knot at the top of her head, but curly wisps escaped, still defying her attempts to tame them.
After she’d signed her credit receipt, she called her boys and with a bing-bong, was gone.
“Where is she going?” Wyatt wondered aloud.
“Back to work, right next door. The place we were sitting in front of, a minute ago. She works there till five on Saturdays.”
Distracted, Wyatt scooted off his stool and stood. He bent to press his lips against Emily’s temple.
“How do you know Annie?” Emily asked.
“You too,” Wyatt answered and laid some cash on the counter.
“Me too, what?”
“You’ll call me tonight, right?”
“Okay, sure, but—” Emily watched him go, a puzzled frown marring her brow. “Uh, wait a minute. Where are you going? What about your lunch?”
“Thanks, Em,” he called and was gone.
What on earth was that all about? Emily leaned over the counter and watched Wyatt stride past the window after Annie Summers. She pulled her pencil from her bun and thoughtfully scratched her head with the eraser tip. He’d had the strangest look on his face when he’d looked at Annie. It was almost as if they’d known each other. But Wyatt had never lived in Wyoming, so that couldn’t be it.
Her thoughts were distracted by the front door’s bell.
Lean and lanky, Toby Atkins, Keyhole’s resident law officer, pushed through the glass door, his gaze searching for, and immediately landing on, Emily. His boyishly handsome face lit up at the sight of her, and Emily returned his smile.
She moved behind the counter to pour him his usual cup of coffee. “Pie?” she asked, as he straddled a stool on the other side of the counter. “We’ve got your favorite. Lemon meringue.”
“How can I say no?” Toby’s fond gaze followed her as she cut his pie and found him a fork.
“So,” Emily asked, as she set his plate before him, “what’s new, Toby?”
“Nothing much. I did want to mention to you that there have been some reports of petty thievery in the Nettle Creek area. So, I thought I’d swing past your place several times each night on my nightly rounds for while. Thought it might be a good idea, all things considered, but I didn’t want you to worry if you saw me.”
“I don’t worry when you’re on the job, Toby,” she said gently, and meant it.
His fair features flushed a charming shade of red.
Emily knew that Toby believed he was falling for her. It was evident in his smile, the way his gaze followed her as she worked, the interest he’d taken in her.
Even now, she could feel his deep blue gaze protectively following her every move. Emily caught his eye and they exchanged an awkward, bashful moment. He was such a darling. And she was exceedingly relieved and grateful that he was taking such care with her safety.
But that was all. When it came to returning his feelings, Emily wished she could. Toby was a good man. One of the best. Her smile grew melancholy. Unfortunately, she was simply not in love with him.
Annie Summers felt the tips of her ears grow fiery hot and a tingle spread from the base of her spine throughout her entire body. Light-headed, she took several steps backward until she bumped into the ornately carved arm of a settee, which she grabbed onto to keep from slumping to the ground.
The man who stood silhouetted in the door looked exactly like Wyatt Russell, but the shadows that fell across his familiar face made it impossible to tell for sure.
No, she assured herself. It couldn’t be. Wyatt here in Keyhole? Impossible. He was in Washington D.C., making a name for himself as a hotshot lawyer. He had no business here in Wyoming. It had to be her imagination playing tricks on her. She simply had Wyatt on the brain because she thought she’d heard his voice in the restaurant.
Marshaling her powers of concentration, she donned her most professional smile, smoothed her wacky hairdo and forced herself to move to the front door.
“Hi. May I help you?”
“Annie?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Okay, this was just too weird. This guy not only sounded exactly like Wyatt, he knew her name. “Yes?” More rattled than ever, she squinted into the sunlight, slowly sidestepping, looking for a spot in the shade to better help her see.
“It’s good to see you.”
She wished she could say the same. “I—uh—”
“It’s me.”
“Oh.” It was Wyatt. The scar upon her heart tore open again, making her defensive. Vulnerable. Disoriented. “Hello.”
“Hello.”
He took a step toward her into the shadows and she could suddenly see that the person in question was indeed the Wyatt of old. And, except for a few lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, he looked exactly the same as he had the day they’d said goodbye. His still-steely arms were crossed over his still-steely chest, and he leaned against an armoire in that still nearly cocky manner she knew so well.
However, under his confident pose lurked the same uncertainty she was feeling and this emboldened her even as myriad emotions warred within her mind. Extreme joy and, at the same time, extreme agitation. Agitation bordering on fury.
How dare he come waltzing in here after she’d taken so many years to purge him from her heart?
And without calling first?
Her hands traveled to her hair, tucking, fussing, smoothing. The unmitigated audacity. Showing up, out of the blue and still irresistible.
Well, she could resist him now. She’d had plenty of time to fortify her defenses over the years. She wished she would have freshened her lipstick, and changed her mustard-stained blouse, after she ate. For heaven’s sake, she must look a sight. She wanted to run and hide under the little tent in the playroom with her boys. From here, their voices rang out, giggling, bickering, bossing.
Save for the two of them and the boys, the store was empty. Silent. Annie was sure he could hear her heart knocking against her ribs.
“What are you doing here?” she ventured when she finally found her voice.
“Had some business in the area and thought I’d stop in and say hi.”
He had business in the area? Business in Keyhole? “Hi?”
“And to see how you were doing.”
“I’m…uh, fine.” At least she was a minute ago.
“So.” His arm swept the showroom floor of her store. “This is where you work.”
She could only guess that the soft tone in his voice indicated pity. He’d moved on to the big time, and she’d never left Keyhole. Instead of taking the New York art galleries by storm, her paintings hung on the walls of her family’s shop, alongside the work of other amateur artists.
“Yes. I run the store and refinish furniture. And, in my spare time, I still like to paint.”
“You were always good, Annie. Very good.”
“I…thank you.” But not good enough to make it out of Keyhole, he was probably thinking. She licked her lips and squaring her shoulders, tried to appear a little taller. More confident. Put together. Lord only knew how she compared to the sleek, well-dressed career women in Washington D.C.
Wyatt pushed off the armoire and began to wander a bit, looking here and there, pausing to pick up an object and then set it back down. She wondered what he thought of her little shop. Following his movements with her gaze, she tried to see what it might look like through his eyes.
Quaint, to be sure. Smallish. Homey. Creatively decorated. Inviting. Cheerful. Cluttered. Almost too cluttered. Rather messy, actually. For the first time, she noticed that the boys had left toys strewn about, and that Chopper was shedding black Lab hair in fluffy tufts in the aisles where he liked to doze when the kids would let him.
In a shaft of sunlight, the cobwebs that she hadn’t seen before this very minute were quite visible, as was the slight layer of dust that coated…everything. All mirrors from the level of four feet on down sported streaks and fingerprints. Have mercy, didn’t she ever clean this place? She allowed her eyes to slide closed in order to hide her disgust.
Summer’s Autumn Antiques was a pit. A glorified junk shop. Nothing like the places she was sure Wyatt must frequent in D.C.
Once again, Annie wished she’d had time to check her appearance in the mirror. Heaven only knew if there was a chive or something stuck in her tooth.
“You get a lot of business on Saturdays?” he asked conversationally as he turned to face her.
Oh, my. Annie’s heart did a little flip. She’d have thought that by now she’d become impervious to that curl in his upper lip. “Some. It’s late in the winter season and early in the summer season, so we’re kind of…between seasons.”
He wasn’t listening. She could tell. He was staring. Taking in every detail. No doubt noting the mustard splotches and the bad-hair-day thing.
She swallowed and the ticking of several grandfather clocks seemed inordinately loud all of a sudden. But still, they stood. After a moment, some customers came in and moved through the store, murmuring to each other over various objects of interest.
“You were in the café for lunch?” She tried to fill the yawning chasm in their conversation with idle chat.
“Yes. You knew? You should have come up and said hello.”
“I didn’t see you. I heard you. Sort of. I thought. There was a lot of noise.”
From the back room, there was an explosion of five-year-old laughter and Chopper’s loud barkings. In an abstract way she wondered what they were up to now. But, rooted as she was to her spot, there was no way to tell.
“You have children,” Wyatt said, seeming to refocus from the past to the present.
“Yes. Two. You?”
“No. Never married.”
Again, Annie’s heart stalled. “No?”
“Never felt the need. Never found the time. Never—” he shrugged “—fell in love.”
“Oh.” She echoed his shrug with a small lift of her own shoulders. “There is still time.”
“There is always time.”
At a complete loss, Annie stood, her gaze darting about, her tongue searching her teeth for a piece of spinach she just knew was there. It seemed that no matter how they tried, their conversation was awkward and feeling the strain of the years and a messy break-up.
Just when she felt she couldn’t take another minute of the emotional stress, her sons, shrieking with laughter, burst from the playroom, leading poor Chopper by—she stopped and stared in mortification—a bra strap.
“Look, Mom! Chopper’s got a hat!” Alex pointed to the bra cup that they’d pinned over the dog’s head. Poor Chopper, looking quaintly Amish and decidedly miserable, cast a baleful look upon Annie for a rescue. The second cup was strapped under the dog’s chin and, in the style of a good mountain rescue St. Bernard, they’d tucked in a plastic juice bottle.
