by Leigh Riker
“I’d have a short commute from here to the station,” he said at last. “Sarge would have his room to run.” But just being here reminds me of Derek...and Eduardo Sanchez. “Let’s take a look,” Finn said though he didn’t have high hopes. As they walked the property, Jack fell into step beside him. Wanda went ahead, pointing out this and that, like a tour guide—which only made Finn think again of Annabelle.
Inside the house, Finn walked through the rooms, from the shabby living area and kitchen—it was one space and likely a first of the open concept idea that was so popular now—down the short hall to the one bath then back toward the front of the house. One of the bedrooms had been Derek’s. Finn knew his father had been a hard man and not always an honest one. Could that explain Derek’s behavior? Finn had never considered that before.
They found Wanda in the kitchen staring out the window. With a resigned look in her eyes she turned. She didn’t seem to like Finn. “I’d rent furnished,” she said, “if I rent at all.”
Jack smiled. “Second thoughts, mon petit choux?” he said. “Let’s not be delusional.” He waved a hand at the old recliner whose sagging seat nearly reached the floor. “Your furniture is not worth a single franc, or should I say euro?”
Wanda bristled. “That chair belonged to my dead husband. It has sentimental value. So does the rest.”
“I can appreciate that,” Finn put in, starting to reconsider the old cabin by the creek instead.
She glared at him. “Not sure I want the sheriff who intended to give me some eviction notice living in my home, not to mention that sheriff has something against my Derek.”
“Wanda.” Jack stepped forward, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Calm down. We talked about this. You don’t need the house any longer. Derek finally moved out too—more or less,” he said, “and even your chickens are happier at my place. Why cling to something that belongs to yesterday?”
To Finn’s surprise, her eyes filled. “It’s the only home I ever knew.”
“Until you moved in with me. Be reasonable.”
Finn held up a hand. “I know how painful this—even renting—can be. When I sold my home in Chicago, the memories—good and bad—rose up to choke me.” He’d been eager to never see the house he’d shared with Caro and Alex again, to get away from the everlasting vision of them lying in the driveway, the sound of gunshots echoing down the narrow space between his and his neighbor’s house. Yet... “It was like letting go, forgetting everything that happened there, everything that was a part of me.” He still hadn’t left it behind. Because of Jared’s shooting death, Wanda must feel the same way.
She gazed at him for a too-long moment. In the months she’d lived with Jack, Wanda had begun a new chapter in her life and found the love that had long been denied her with Derek’s father. But if she wasn’t ready...
She shrugged out from under Jack’s touch then leveled a hard look at Finn. “All right. You can have it. For the rental price I set.” She marched through the living room, not even glancing at her husband’s old recliner. “You want me to turn over a new leaf, Jack, I will.” Then she turned again to Finn. “But if you want the roof or the fence repaired, Sheriff, that’s on you. That’s the deal. I’m done.”
Finn followed her and Jack out onto the falling-down porch. He wasn’t sure he’d gotten that good a bargain, and the rent was more than he wanted to pay, but it seemed he and Sarge had a new place to live.
The first thing he’d do—remembering Derek—would be to change the locks.
* * *
ANNABELLE WAS LATE for work, which almost never happened, or hadn’t until she’d become Emmie’s temporary guardian. She’d phoned earlier to tell her prep cook she needed to drop Emmie at Shadow’s house for the day, but getting Emmie dressed and in the car had taken far longer than she’d scheduled. Until she found Emmie’s father, Annabelle needed a better solution for her care.
She was still puffing like a steam engine when she rushed into the diner and found Finn waiting for her. For a second, she froze, then went on into her office to hang up her coat.
She hadn’t seen him since the doughnut episode a few weeks ago, but she supposed he hadn’t changed his mind about what was best for Emmie—meaning Annabelle.
Finn had followed her. He stood in her doorway, and Annabelle wanted to tell him to go away. Their laughter over Emmie’s doughnut hadn’t eased her memory of being dismissed before at his office or what he’d said about Emmie staying with her.
Two could play that game. She turned, but she never managed to block out the sight of him, broad shoulders, dark hair, aviator sunglasses. “Yes, what is it? I got a late start this morning—”
“I won’t keep you.” He leaned against the doorframe, the motion pulling his shirt taut over his shoulders and biceps. He reached into his pocket for a folded sheet of paper. “I’ve spoken to the rest of those DAs who brought charges against Sierra. These are their contact numbers. All you need to do, like with the first warrant, is to send them—”
“The death certificate.” She took the paper without glancing up and scanned it. Why should she care that after their brief laughter at Emmie’s face smeared with doughnut glaze, she hadn’t seen him again? That Finn was obviously eating his meals elsewhere? The problem was hers. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it. Looks like I’ll need more copies.”
He came into the office then shut the door. “Annabelle,” he said again. “You know I wish all this hadn’t happened—Sierra’s death, those warrants, Emmie being orphaned—and I wish the fallout hadn’t landed on you.”
“I didn’t know,” she admitted.
Finn stared down at his boots. “Anyway, I’ve followed Sierra’s trail to the corporations that filed the charges. In every case she was suspect, all right. I wish that wasn’t true either but it is. She had a bad habit of skimming money, padding expense accounts—and by the time they found out she’d already moved on. No one, sad to say, spoke kindly of her. They just want their money back. Not that they have a chance of getting it.”
“Which only proves your point about her,” Annabelle said.
She immediately regretted the words. It didn’t do her any good to give Finn the cold shoulder.
“What if you called those same people again,” she said. “Ask about Sierra’s contacts within each company? Maybe they’d be willing to point us to a friend, some confidante of hers. Sierra might have mentioned Emmie’s father.”
“I’ll try,” he said. “No one seemed interested in talking to me about anything except that missing money.”
Annabelle glanced at her computer screen as an image of Prague rolled past in her slide show. And remembered Emmie’s comments last night. Mama had lots of works and My mama work for a lion.
She told Finn, who said, “That’s interesting. Could be the last job Sierra left in a hurry before she headed for Barren to see you—or whoever else she wanted to tie up those loose ends with.” Finn’s eyes, rimmed by thick lashes, darkened almost to brown. “Annabelle. Wait. Since Sierra was in the events business, what better place than Las Vegas? Caro and I went there for a long weekend before Alex was born. It’s like Disney World for grown-ups. Have you been there?”
“No.”
“Vegas is all about big conventions, which would suit Sierra perfectly. This may be a long shot, but she might even have worked for the MGM Grand. The resort’s not one of those that charged her, but Emmie may have been onto something.” He cracked a smile. “Their corporate trademark is a roaring lion. In Vegas, they actually have big cats on display.”
Annabelle knew about the logo from movies, but she’d never been to Nevada or anywhere near a casino. She envied Finn his trip.
“Real lions?”
“Yeah, and they would have made quite the impression on a child. You can walk around underneath them in the glass enclosure—like in one of the newer aquarium
s. Mostly, they’re sleeping so Emmie might not feel afraid but they’re really something to see.”
Annabelle said, “I’ll put them on my bucket list.”
“And I’ll put in a call to the resort. Maybe HR will talk to me. It would be just the spot for a woman who worked the convention circuit. In fact, she might see that as the epitome of success to have gotten a job there.”
“Thank you, Finn.” This time she meant it. “If that leads to finding Emmie’s father, I’m all for it. I haven’t gotten anywhere since I last saw you.” Annabelle ignored the twinge of regret that flowed through her. Locating Emmie’s dad meant honoring what amounted to a deathbed promise to Sierra, hoping he’d be eager to take responsibility for Emmie, and that she would be well provided for. Only a few months later than she’d planned, Annabelle would be free to leave town.
So why did she suddenly feel that when Emmie left, Annabelle’s heart would break?
In the brief silence Finn opened the door. “Sorry about the doughnuts. Did Emmie eat the rest of them?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “She didn’t seem to feel guilty that I didn’t get even one.”
They exchanged smiles. For a moment, like that other night, they were joined in their shared affection and concern for a little girl who had lost her mother. It didn’t mean Annabelle and Finn could have anything more. It didn’t mean she wanted to stay—or that Finn had changed his mind about letting anyone into his life.
“Tell Emmie I’ll bring her more doughnuts.”
The sparkle in his eyes told her he’d been kidding. “Don’t you dare,” she said with a laugh, and at his gaze warmth spread through her straight to her soon-to-be-broken heart. Until Finn stepped out into the hall then said over his shoulder, like a challenge, “See you at the ranch on Thanksgiving.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHEN HE COULD eat no more, Finn pushed back from the table in the dining room at Wilson Cattle. And glanced at Annabelle. She wore a pretty autumn-hued dress that brought out her eyes and matched the holiday pattern of Emmie’s skirt. Frankly, he’d been amazed to find them here. When he’d mentioned Thanksgiving, Annabelle’s face had closed as if she’d slammed a door.
In fact, he was half surprised at himself to be sharing the holiday with his newfound friends, a first celebration of any kind for Finn since tragedy had struck in Chicago. Yet, having accepted the invitation, he felt less...alone, less isolated.
“I’m finished,” he said, smiling at the people around the table. Among them were Blossom, her husband, Logan, their baby and Sam Hunter, Logan’s grandfather, who’d come from the Circle H next door. Two of their ranch hands were seated beside each other. Olivia and Sawyer, who was Logan’s twin, plus her son Nick, were here along with Grey who was Olivia’s brother. His wife, Shadow, their daughter Ava, Grey’s father and stepmother, and of course Annabelle and Emmie completed the group. Finn had trouble keeping everyone straight.
Derek was notably missing. Finn had heard he’d joined his mother and Jack for Thanksgiving pheasant.
The huge table at Wilson Cattle was laden with food when Finn arrived: golden turkey, platters of roast beef from Grey’s Black Angus herd, Virginia ham with a honey-mustard glaze and plump gulf shrimp. Side dishes—candied sweet yams, creamy “smashed” potatoes, which would please Emmie, roasted root vegetables, Annabelle’s cranberry relish and different dressings, one with oysters—adorned the long buffet and side tables. The warm air smelled of the yeasty dinner rolls Blossom had brought.
Now most dishes stood empty, though that didn’t mean the food was gone. The ranch kitchen held even more.
“I’m taking orders for dessert,” Shadow said, a notepad in hand. She was co-hostess with Olivia for the first time since Shadow’s marriage to Grey. His stepmother Liza had demurred, saying she was still a part-time resident, although her Dallas condo had recently sold and she and Grey’s father would move to the ranch after the closing. “We have pumpkin, apple, pecan and mince. Vanilla ice cream, whipped cream...” Shadow trailed off as more satisfied groans sounded and Grey’s dad, looking distinguished as always, patted his stomach.
“I’m ready for round two,” Everett Wilson said, touching Shadow’s arm. Apparently the longstanding feud between the Wilsons and Morans over Jared’s death had been mostly resolved, except for Wanda. “Put me down for pecan, Shadow. Heavy on the whipped cream.”
“Everett,” Liza said in a softly chiding tone.
“I’ll watch my waistline tomorrow,” he said, “when the leftovers are gone.”
“Next week,” Grey put in, sharing a private look with his daughter Ava beside him. As Shadow passed by, he hooked an arm around her waist. “Sit down. I’ll get the desserts.”
But Shadow sent him a teasing glance. “Follow me.”
When Ava offered to go with them, they quickly said “No, thanks,” then disappeared into the kitchen. With her nose wrinkled, Ava said “Eeeww, kissing,” and the whole group laughed. Finn did too, but a fresh wave of sorrow washed over him. He’d always loved Thanksgiving with Caro and Alex. There wouldn’t be another.
“The honeymoon continues,” Everett said. “Liza and I announce ourselves whenever we enter a room.”
She swatted his shoulder. “That is not true. Ava, don’t listen to your grandfather.”
Looking curious, Emmie climbed onto Finn’s lap. She framed his face in her sticky hands. “What’s a honeymoon?” Which produced more laughter.
“Grown-up stuff,” he said. Even with his arms around Emmie, Finn was already wondering when he could make his excuses and go—as he’d abandoned Annabelle at Sierra’s funeral. He’d enjoyed the meal more than he expected, but there was nothing like a raucous family gathering to make him miss Caro and Alex even more. He glanced at Annabelle and noticed she looked the same way. Was she wishing Sierra could be here, too?
Finn rose from the table and put Emmie in his chair. “Think I’ll step outside before dessert. Annabelle, could I have a word?”
Curious gazes followed them as Finn shut the door then inhaled a quick lungful of cold air. “Going to snow soon,” he said, “but nothing like Chicago in the winter.”
Annabelle, he remembered, had a poster of the skyline on her bedroom wall. She stayed in the shelter provided near the door, and Finn turned to face her from the railing. He crossed his arms to ward off the chill inside and out and tried not to notice the glint of light on her hair, the warmth in her eyes that seemed to heat the colder air around them, or at least inside him.
“Lake Michigan,” he said. “The wind blows hard enough to stop you in your tracks. You have to duck into a store every hundred feet or so to get warm enough to go on.”
“You must miss your family today,” she said, but then she didn’t mention Sierra. “My parents didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving like this,” she said, gesturing toward the house. “They always kept the diner open.” We have no time for holidays. Get to work, Annabelle, she could hear her mother say. “They made turkey and all the trimmings for anyone who stopped by, and a number of people did. So I helped.” She looked past him at the nearby field. “I suggested they serve free of charge, but even Thanksgiving was an occasion to make money, especially from people who had nowhere else to go.”
Finn crossed his legs at the ankles. Annabelle was too easy to talk to. “On Thanksgiving my dad usually found something to complain about. He wanted to be on the job, and by the time we sat down to eat no one was talking. It was better when my uncle was there—he was on the force too and knew how to handle my father—but Pat never married, had no kids and after a quick drop-in to get his to-go bag of my mom’s turkey, he worked a double shift so other cops could be with their families.”
“He sounds like a kind man,” Annabelle said.
“Uncle Pat got me through my teens.” When his father’s neglect had made Finn think about a life of crime to send his dad’s
blood pressure through the ceiling, Pat had stepped in to cool things off. “He taught me to fish, took me to baseball games and my first rock concert, watched me play football, talked me down whenever my temper got out of hand...”
“And you followed in his footsteps, too. When did you become a cop?”
“Right out of college. Majored in criminal justice.” He’d never expected murder to strike at home, though, to see crime scene tape stretched around his yard. His throat closed. “What about you, Annabelle?”
“I didn’t go to college. My parents needed me at the diner, and the older they got, the more they relied on me. Then my dad’s heart began to fail. After he died, my mother’s health declined pretty quickly too, and before I knew it they were both gone. They passed away before you came to Barren.”
“Leaving you the diner you don’t want.”
She studied the herd of grazing Angus, picking through the last sparse sprigs of green grass. “Would you believe it? My Realtor hasn’t shown it even once. I keep hoping but...small town, few possible takers.” She paused. “Today is all the more difficult because I feel guilty. I closed the diner as my parents wouldn’t have, and I keep wondering what those people who always count on it for their holiday meal must be thinking.” She looked back at him. “I donated meals to the local shelter, but I just couldn’t work again—and I wanted Emmie to have something special today.” Her only Thanksgiving here with Annabelle? At least she had that.
Finn gazed into the middle distance. “My son loved Thanksgiving. His first year he ate pureed turkey—baby food. The next he was old enough to have us cut his meat, enjoy ‘smashed’ potatoes like Emmie and screw up his face at cranberry sauce, which he termed no. Then not long after his third Thanksgiving, he was...” Gone. Why was he telling her this? He didn’t want to ruin what was a touchy holiday for Annabelle, too. Why did he keep opening up to her?