you?” He ruffled the dog’s fur. Still, he found himself squinting after the sports car as it climbed the mountain on the other side of the river and disappeared around a curve. “What’s a woman who said she’d never set foot in Whitehorse doing back here? If I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes...”
For just a moment there, earlier, before she’d asked for gas, he’d thought...
Hell, he didn’t want to think about what he’d thought as he shoved his hat back on. “Let’s get on home,” he said to the pup as he reminded himself that Annabelle Clementine’s coming back had nothing to do with him.
He told himself that he shouldn’t have been surprised that she hadn’t changed. Still, it galled him. Her clothes might be more expensive and she drove a much fancier car, but she was still the same girl who’d looked down her nose at him—and Whitehorse—all those years ago.
It nagged at him. What could have brought her back? He shook his head, telling himself it was obviously none of his business. Best thing he could do was to forget about her—something he’d been working on for some time now.
After two weeks in hunting camp, he recalled that before he’d seen her, all he’d wanted was to get home, have a hot shower and climb into a warm, soft bed. If he hadn’t stopped beside the road to take a leak, let Sadie out and give the pup a snack...well, he might not have seen her at all.
The only thing that didn’t surprise him, he told himself as he lifted Sadie into the pickup’s front seat and climbed behind the wheel, was that the woman hadn’t given him the time of day. Hell, he couldn’t even be sure she remembered him. After all, it had been... How many years had it been? He wondered with a frown as he started the truck engine.
Thirteen. He let out a low whistle. Sadie’s ears perked up, but she lay back down and closed her eyes for the ride home.
And it wasn’t like Annie had ever given him a thought since she’d been gone, he reminded himself. She’d made it perfectly clear that they had no future before she’d left right after high school to find fame and fortune.
Dawson pointed the pickup toward Whitehorse, all the time trying to imagine what could have brought her back. Certainly not her grandmother’s funeral. Only her two sisters had made it back for that. Of course, they’d attended the funeral and left right away, but at least they’d shown up. He shook his head, thinking that he’d expected better of the girl he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. Given how much her grandmother had doted on her...
But he reminded himself that he’d always been wrong about the woman. He could no more predict what Annabelle was going to do than predict the Montana weather. He thought of that young fool cowboy who’d saved every dime he made that year to promise her something that would make her stay. He growled under his breath at the memory.
Well, he wasn’t that young fool anymore. Which was why he was going to give her a wide berth as long as she was in town. Not that he suspected it would be for long. Knowing her, she would be hightailing it back to California as fast as she could. Back to her fancy life in the spotlight.
“Which is just fine with us, huh, Sadie,” he said to his pup. “Don’t need the likes of her around here messing with our minds.” Sadie barked in answer and curled closer to him, making him laugh. “This was before your time,” he said to the dog, “But that woman was once nothing but walking heartache for this cowboy. Fortunately, I’m not that man anymore.”
His words sounded hollow, even to him. He felt his face flush at how much gas he’d given her and mentally kicked himself. He should have left her beside the road to fend for herself. But then, he’d never been able to say no to her—even when he should have known that a girl like her wanted something better than a cowboy like him.
* * *
ANNABELLE PUT THE cowboy and his dog behind her as she drove north. She was determined that nothing would get in her way. Once she did what she’d come for, she was out of here. Another one of those limited options.
She took the back way into the small Western town. The first settlement of Whitehorse had been nearer the Missouri River. But when the railroad came through, the town migrated north, taking the name with it. Old Town Whitehorse, as it was now known, was little more than a ghost town to the south.
Not that Whitehorse proper was a thriving metropolis. The whole town was only ten blocks square. Nothing but a siding along the railroad tracks more than a hundred years ago, it had become a small rural town like a lot of small rural Montana towns.
Why her grandmother had settled here was still a mystery, but when Annabelle’s parents had been killed, Grandma Frannie had taken Annabelle and her two sisters in without hesitation. Annabelle had grown up here, dreaming of a life she envisioned far from this dusty old Western town.
As she drove down the tree-lined street with the large houses that backed onto the Milk River, images of her childhood flickered like the winter sun coming through the leafless cottonwood trees. From as far back as she could remember, she’d grown up with one thing in mind: getting out of this town and making something of her life.
That sick feeling she’d become acquainted with over the past few months now settled in her stomach. Right now, she couldn’t face even thinking about how she’d messed up. Sitting up a little straighter behind the wheel of the car, she assured herself that everything was going to be fine.
She would just take care of business and put all the unpleasantness behind her. As she tried to look for a silver lining in all this, she noticed that she still had plenty of gas. It should last her for what little time she would be here, thanks to that cowboy. She shoved away the guilt. If she ever saw him again...
Down the block, she spotted the house. Her foot came off the gas pedal, the car slowing as she felt a rush of déjà vu. The house hadn’t changed—just like she doubted the town had—and for a moment it was as if she’d never left. So much had happened to her, she’d expected this part of her past would have changed, somehow.
Instead, it looked so much the same, she almost expected Frannie to come out on the porch as Annabelle pulled up in front of the large, two-story house and shut off the engine. The key to the front door was in her pocket, but she wasn’t ready to go inside. Not yet. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she’d gotten here early. There was no sign of the Realtor. Taking a breath, she let it out and tried to relax as she studied the house.
The white siding could use an overall paint job and the emerald trim needed a touch-up. But if she closed her eyes, she could picture herself and her sisters, the three Clementine girls, on that wide porch drinking Grandma Frannie’s lemonade and giggling like the schoolgirls they’d been.
She hadn’t realized that she’d closed her eyes until she felt them burn with tears. Her guilt was like one of her grandmother’s knitting needles to her heart. Yes, she should have made it to Frannie’s funeral. She’d had her reasons, and they hadn’t all been out of embarrassment for the way her life had turned out.
Her grandmother would have understood because Annabelle had always been the favorite. At least, that’s what she told herself.
“You’re so much like me, Annabelle Clementine, that sometimes I swear you’ll be the death of me.” Then Grandma Frannie’s expression would soften and she’d press a cool palm to Annabelle’s cheek. “So much like me. It’s like seeing myself at your age.”
“That’s why I’m your favorite,” she’d say, and her grandmother would
