suppressed an annoying shiver.
It was Sloan all right, though older and with more muscle. His nearly black hair was shorter now—no more bad-boy curl over the forehead, but bad boy screamed off him in waves just the same. He was devastatingly handsome, in a tough, rugged, manly kind of way. The years had been kind to Sloan Hawkins.
She really wanted to hate him, but she’d already wasted too much emotion on this outlaw. With God’s help she’d learned to forgive. But she wasn’t about to forget.
Mouth twitching in a face that needed a shave, Sloan stretched his arms out to the sides. “You can put away your weapon. I’m unarmed.”
She glanced at the forgotten saucepan and then lowered it to her side. After what he’d done, she should thump him with it for good measure.
She found her voice. “The bad penny returns.”
The quirk of humor evaporated. His expression went flat and hard. “That’s what they say.”
“Sneaking in the back way, too. Typical. Sneak in. Sneak out.”
Annie didn’t know why she’d said that. She wasn’t normally hateful, but Sloan had walked out on her twelve years ago without a word. To say she was shocked at his sudden, unexpected reappearance would be a massive understatement. Shocked, yes, but deeper emotions rattled around in her belly and set her insides to trembling. Anxiety. Anger. Hurt. All of them were stupid because she’d been over Sloan and that difficult time for years.
“You Redemption folks sure know how to roll out the welcome mat,” he said in a quiet voice edged with steel. He reached in the back pocket of his tattered jeans and pulled out a yellow paper. “No more than hit town and I get a ticket. Compliments of your old man. He still loves me, too.”
She ignored the too. What had he expected after what he’d done? A brass band and helium balloons? “You must have broken the law.”
Gaze holding hers, Sloan slid the ticket back into his pocket. “That’s what he always thought. Why change now?”
She wasn’t going to get into this. There had been a lifetime of animosity between Sloan and her police-chief father. Apparently, time didn’t change some things. She had a little animosity going herself, come to think of it.
“I suppose you want to see your aunt.” Though why he’d bothered to come now, when time was running out, mystified her. Where had he been all these years? If he cared anything for the elderly aunt who’d taken him in when no one else would, he should have come home before now.
“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Considering I just rode thirteen hundred miles and I’m in her house, I’d say you’re right.” He shifted his weight to one hip. Something metallic jingled at his feet.
“Still got a smart mouth, I see.”
“One of my many talents.” He allowed a small display of teeth that looked nothing like a smile. “What are you doing here? The welcome committee send you out to harass me?”
“You think too highly of yourself, Sloan. No one knew you were coming and I doubt anyone cares.”
“Ouch.” He crossed his arms over that muscled-up chest. “When did you grow fangs?”
Annie drew in a deep breath. She wasn’t a rude person, but Sloan’s sudden appearance seemed to bring out the worst in her. If she was any kind of Christian, she’d stop letting him affect her right now.
“I’m Lydia’s nurse as well as her friend. I care for and about her.” She said the last as a dig. So much for not letting him get under her skin. She cared about the elderly woman who was everyone’s friend. She was here for Lydia. He hadn’t been. But then, “that Hawkins boy” had a history of running from responsibility.
He frowned. “A nurse. Full-time?”
Apparently, he hadn’t been in close contact or he would know his aunt was dying. “I look after her during the day. She stays alone at night, though she shouldn’t. Her choice, though.”
He swallowed. “How bad is she?”
Some of the fire went out of her.
“Some days are better than others,” she said softly. “But her heart is failing fast. I’m sorry, Sloan.” And she meant it.
With his hands fisted at his sides and a hard line to his mouth, he looked lethal. If sheer will could cure Lydia’s heart disease, Sloan would make it happen.
“Why isn’t she in the hospital?”
“Surely you know your aunt better than that. She wants to die here in her own home with her gardens and memories around her.”
He swallowed again and she could see he hadn’t been prepared for the news to be this bad.
“Her heart is only functioning at about twenty percent. She puts on a good show for company, but she tires easily.”
Sloan had no flip response. Annie would have felt better if he had. With a short nod, he headed to the staircase and started up.
“Sloan.”
He stopped, one hand on the polished banister as he looked down with narrowed eyes and a strange little twist to his mouth. “What now? You want to frisk me?”
The smart mouth was back. She was going to ignore it. “Lydia can’t negotiate the stairs anymore. We moved her things to the garden room.”
Those stunning eyes fell closed for three seconds before he retraced his steps and headed toward the opposite side of the house. But in those three seconds, she saw past Sloan’s tough facade the way she had in high school. Whether from guilt or out of love for his aunt, he was hurting.
Annie didn’t want to think of Sloan Hawkins as vulnerable or sensitive. She wanted to remember him as the self-centered teenager who’d abandoned her when she’d needed him most. Better yet, she wanted him to go back to wherever he’d been hiding and leave well enough alone.
As soon as he was out of sight, Annie slithered onto the couch and put her face in her hands.
The wild and troubled boy she’d loved in high school was back in Redemption messing with her emotions and threatening her hard-earned peace of mind.
Looking upward, she murmured a prayer. “Lord, I know Lydia needs him and I’m trying to be glad for her. But Sloan Hawkins can’t possibly bring anything but trouble.” She glanced toward the staircase. “Especially to me.”
Chapter Two
You could have knocked him over with a feather. Or with a two-cup, stainless-steel saucepan. Sloan’s lips quivered.
He’d expected to run into Annie Crawford sooner or later, but he hadn’t been prepared to see her here in Lydia’s house, working as a nurse.
His smile disappeared before it could bloom. She wasn’t Annie Crawford anymore. She’d married Joey Markham, a decent-enough guy, had kids, made a life.
Good. Fantastic.
