heard about it from Mrs. Perez.”
There was a moment of silence. “I guess you think I’m overreacting. But after all the trouble Jack dragged you and Charlie into, can you blame me for being edgy?”
“That depends on whether you called Charlie to lay down the law, too.”
“I don’t lay down the law. A little advice from your big brother—”
“Which tends to sound a whole lot like orders. I think I’ve mentioned this habit you have of thinking I’m still fifteen and in need of a curfew.” Annie had been ten when their parents were killed. Ben had been twenty-two. He’d quietly put his own life on hold in order to keep the family together, a sacrifice she was only beginning to understand. But he drove her crazy sometimes.
Which was why she hadn’t told him about Jack. Her conscience twinged. She changed the subject. “I’m going to swing by the grocery store on my way home. Is there anything you need? You do remember that it’s your turn to cook tonight, don’t you?”
Ben made his usual grumbling protest, and the familiar debate over who was cooking, who was cleaning up and who had the night off soothed her. It was almost like old times. Her second-oldest brother, Duncan, was in the Special Forces, so she rarely saw him. But her next-oldest brother, Charlie, was a long-haul truck driver, and when he was in town he lived with her and Ben in the old house where they’d all grown up.
“All right,” Ben conceded finally. “I’ll fix chili if you’ll pick up some jalapeño peppers. Get a half dozen.”
“Two.” Even without the fresh peppers, Ben’s chili could dissolve a spoon if you didn’t eat fast.
“All right, all right. Look, I’m sorry I jumped all over you earlier, half pint. I guess I did act as though you were still in school and trying to hide whatever you and Jack were up to.”
A sick lump formed in the pit of her stomach. “I’m used to it,” she said lightly. “Listen, I’d better go before this call eats up my entire earnings for the day.”
As soon as her brother said goodbye she disconnected, swallowing hard, but the sour taste of guilt didn’t go away. She’d lied to her brother. Of course, that was nothing new—she’d been lying to him, by omission if not out loud, for months now. But she’d also lied to Mrs. Perez. Shoot, she’d been trying to lie to herself.
Annie had a pretty good idea why Jack was in town. Much as she might try to deny it, she thought she knew what he wanted.
A divorce.
Day was sliding into dusk as the bruised-looking storm-clouds rolled in. On the McClains’ front porch, a man paced. He had an easy way of moving in spite of a slight limp, and the kind of smooth, rangy body that draws women’s eyes. His hair was short and mink brown, as dark as the clouds overhead.
As dark as the scowl on his face.
Pacing made Jack’s knee ache. He’d been on one plane or another for fourteen hours yesterday, followed by the drive here from Denver, and his stupid knee had stiffened up. He didn’t consider sitting down to wait for Annie to get home, though. After only one day in this blasted town, his feet were already itching to leave.
Highpoint wasn’t the only reason for his restlessness. He’d left a lot unresolved back in Borneo, and the need to find out who was responsible for that mess burned in him. He’d have to make a trip to Denver soon to see what he could do to track down the thief.
But he didn’t intend to leave without Annie. Not this time.
Fortunately he had plenty of room for pacing. The McClains’ front porch ran the entire length of the house. It was the sort of porch people used to sit on during long summer evenings, a place where a young boy might steal a kiss from his first girlfriend. Not that Jack had stolen any kisses here. Annie McClain had been the little sister he’d never had, a freckle-faced tagalong who had turned into a good friend.
Somewhere along the line, she had changed. Or he had.
There was a wooden porch swing at one end of the porch. It was painted a bright, incongruous turquoise. Annie’s doing, Jack thought, pausing. The hard line of his mouth softened. Annie loved bright colors. Not in any big, splashy way, of course. Annie didn’t do anything in a big, splashy way. Her love for vivid color had to sneak in under those cautious fences she’d built around her life, popping up as a turquoise porch swing or a pair of screaming red sneakers.
A marmalade-colored cat the size of a bear cub lazed on that porch swing. In the half hour Jack had been waiting, the sum total of the animal’s movement had consisted of an occasional twitch at the tip of its tail. The cat watched him pace with a certain lazy interest, much as an adult might keep an indulgent eye on a child’s energetic antics.
“So,” Jack said, sticking his hands in his back pockets, “you seem to belong here, big fellow. What time does Annie usually get home?”
“About now.”
The voice came from behind him. Jack turned around slowly. “Annie.”
She stood at the foot of the steps that led onto the porch, her arms wrapped tightly around two brown grocery bags as if their weight could keep her earthbound in the gusting wind. Now that she was here, standing in front of him, he didn’t know what to say. He just wanted to look at his old friend without words, without letting the needs of the present and hurts of the past crowd in.
Her hair was slightly longer than it had been the last time he’d seen her—long enough for her to pull into a ponytail that the wind was whipping around. It was the same soft, reddish brown as always, though. He liked it pulled back that way, liked the way it left her face bare to the world. Annie had a pretty face, with a soft curve to her cheeks and forehead, a stubborn chin and eyes as green as the Irish hills she’d never seen. At the moment, those eyes were bright with suspicion.
He stepped closer, looking down at her. She was such a little thing. He tended to forget that. Physically there wasn’t that much of Annie, yet she vibrated with so much energy it was easy to forget her actual size, as if she’d been given more life than such a slight body could contain without it spilling over onto those around her. “You’re looking good,” he said softly.
“Oh, sure. I always look my best in work clothes, with no makeup and my hair all over the place.”
He shook his head. “The proper response to a compliment is ‘thank you.”’
Suspicion vanished in a flash of humor. She chuckled. “Imagine you worrying about the proper response to anything.”
His eyebrows went up. “Believe it or not, I do have a few ideas about what’s proper. For one thing, I think a married woman ought to wear a wedding ring. Where’s yours?”
She bit her lip. “Have you told anyone about—about Vegas?”
“No. Once I realized you preferred to keep our marriage a deep, dark secret, I covered for you. Haven’t I always?”
“It usually worked the other way around,” she said dryly. “Look, we have to talk. I know that. But could we do it inside, out of the wind?”
Jack stepped aside, letting her come up on the porch. He didn’t offer to take her bags, though it was obviously awkward
