"You don't know my friend, Lacy. She's amazing. She rallied all the townsfolk. Everybody's been working awfully hard to make it a viable place to live. Bring in new businesses. Startups. And a few grants with much-needed money for projects like what Holt's doing with the old buildings."
"But there's still no nightlife." Brett leaned back and rubbed his neck.
"No. I guess we're too busy keeping things going in the daytime to worry about nights."
"You like it here, Annie?"
"Yes." She grinned. "Even without nightlife."
"Then you must be used to ... ah, small-town living."
"Before I moved here, I lived in Phoenix. So I've had my share of fast, city living."
He raised his eyebrows. "And you didn't find the adjustment difficult?"
"Honestly, I've been too busy to notice." She refilled their cups. "After my divorce, I came here to take care of my terminally ill aunt. Then last year, Uncle Martin died and left me to run the whole farm. Believe me, it was a tremendous mess. He'd neglected it for years while Aunt Annalee was sick. We haven't had a profitable crop in at least five seasons. That's why this one is so important—I just don't have the money to carry it any longer."
"What did you do in Phoenix?"
"I was in banking and finance."
"Sounds like a pretty lucrative job."
"I was making more money there than I am here," she admitted.
"Then, why did you leave? Why not just sell this place and get out?"
She fiddled with her cup handle. "This probably isn't a good night to explain, but I like the challenges here. And the benefits. Work is seasonal, always something different. Of course, this freezing weather is a little too much. But out here, you have to take what comes. The physical part of the work is rewarding."
He picked up her hand and balanced it in his palm. Her heart pounded at his touch. "Is it worth this?" With a faint caress, he stroked the wind-roughened top of her hand, then turned it over to reveal a couple of old blisters. He pressed the center of her palm with two fingers, and she felt the gentle pressure throughout her entire body.
"I think so." Her voice was tight, and she swallowed hard to relieve the tension in her throat. "It's serene here."
"Serene? Isn't that another word for boring?"
"Maybe, from your point of view. It probably wouldn't satisfy someone who thrived in a faster paced life-style."
"I think..." He closed his other hand over hers, sandwiching it between his warm palms. "I think I'd like to go to a big city with you, Annie. We could have a good time together."
"Probably." Her heart was pounding so wildly inside her breast, she wondered if he could hear it.
"Maybe I could persuade you to go with me sometime. We could go to Phoenix or Vegas. Even some of the casinos near Tucson have shows."
"And ride in your Stealth Mercedes?" She smiled faintly, somehow not able to imagine herself in such a fancy car. She was more the four-wheel-drive type. As much as she liked Brett, she had to admit they were quite different. Her muddy boots contrasted with his shine and polish. Her rough hands clashing with his smooth ones.
"You'd look mighty fine in that car, Annie. With your hair blowing in the wind." His gaze swept over her tousled curls, and he smiled. "Oh yes, I can see you now. A big smile on your face and those beautiful brown eyes shining." He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
She felt chill bumps racing down her back. His touch was electric and she'd forgotten how to respond to a man who was putting the make on her. But, she refused to be drawn into his fantasy; it wasn't hers. "I... I can't picture that, Brett. I guess I'm too down-to-earth."
"How long has it been since you've been out of town, Annie?"
"Too long, I guess."
"I'd say so."
"I think we'd better put fantasies aside." Reluctantly she brought them back to the cold reality of their vigil. "It's time to check the temperature and the pots. Make sure everything's working."
He stood and pulled her to her feet, still holding her hand. "Be sure and get your gloves. It's real cold out there."
They stepped outside and Brett took a deep breath. "God, I'd forgotten how beautiful that full moon is out here in the desert."
"Diego says the full moon brings los espiritus," she said with a laugh. "Thanks for helping me tonight, Brett."
His arm swept around her shoulders and she felt his power all around her. "What are neighbors for?"
"You're a good one. And I'm going to return this favor as soon as I can. I'm a whiz at house painting."
He squeezed her shoulders. "I doubt if you'll have to bother, Annie. I probably won't be here that long. I'm afraid this isn't the place for me."
She felt as though he'd struck her. Won't be here long? Where had she gotten the idea that he was here to stay? From him? Or J.M.? Or was it her own private little wish? The brief time she'd spent with him had her imagining that something might develop between them.
She should have remembered that Brett Meyer was no longer a rancher. Now he was a worldly man, commended for being injured in the line of duty, someone accustomed to more excitement than firing smudge pots around a bunch of apple trees. She couldn't expect him to be satisfied with a quiet place like Silver Creek. Or with someone like her, seeking independence and serenity.
Annie followed Brett to his father's truck, their breaths making frosty white puffs in the frigid air. Well, she decided, the best she could say about Sheriff Meyer's hero son was that he was a hard worker. And she'd gotten her hopes up for nothing.
CHAPTER THREE
Annie drifted to sleep around five in the morning. They had fought their battle with Mother Nature and there was nothing more to do but wait. She had no patience for waiting.
Brett, on the other hand, had no trouble staying awake. He had done this a thousand times on surveillance missions, with much less interesting subjects to focus on than Annie Clayton. He felt a little like a voyeur, taking such pleasure in watching her sleep. Nevertheless, he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She had been such a surprise, such a refreshing delight to find in a place he thought was devoid of pleasures. Her natural beauty took on an innocent quality in her slumber. And innocence was something he'd found lacking in his world.
After ten years in the business of catching criminals, Brett, who'd started out with idealistic notions, was now somewhat cynical and bitter. The women he encountered were hard and streetwise. Even the nice ones were recovering from something ... drugs, alcohol, abuse, rejection.
But Annie was refreshingly different, and he was definitely attracted to her. Besides, she was a stable, practical woman who didn't shirk her duties, belying the fact that she looked delicate and fragile, like someone who couldn't quite handle it all.
He became intrigued by the sweetheart curve of her mouth. Right now, her lips were relaxed and soft and slightly parted—positively sensuous. In contrast, her hands were red-blotched and blistered, her nails short and unglamorous. One hand cradled her face as she slumped on a pillow, the other lay palm up and gently curved on her thigh. In spite of their flaws, they were pretty hands, hardworking hands, and he imagined what it would be like to hold them, to feel their caress.
With a low moan, he pushed himself upright in the chair and stretched. One hand went automatically to his rib cage, and he softly rubbed the scar below the last rib. It ached, and he felt very tired.
Before the injury, a night like this would have been no effort. He could have done anything – jump, lift, run, lose sleep, pick up a few hours in a catnap here or there nothing bothered him. As a man in excellent physical condition, Brett had always bounced back easily.
Now every exertion or change of pace sapped his energy and made him feel like hell for days. Maybe the agency had been right to pull him off the streets. He simply wasn't up to it anymore, although he would never admit that to anyone. What he needed was time to recuperate, which was why he'd come here.
He gazed a
t Annie. What he needed was... a good woman. Someone attractive and fun. Someone to bring a little laughter to his life. Perhaps someone like Annie.
Instinct told him, though, that Annie was not the type of woman who would go for a fling. And he wanted nothing more right now.
With effort, he pushed himself to his feet. Slowly he straightened his aching body. Damn! He hated what the injury had done to him, how it had changed his life. He ambled into the kitchen and fixed a pot of coffee. While the coffee sputtered through the drip system, he stepped to the back porch and checked the thermometer. She'd want to know. Then he walked over to where Annie lay sleeping and reached out to her. It was time.
Annie felt something caress her cheek. A low, masculine voice rumbled her name. "Annie, Annie."
She fought the heavy sleep that tried to hold her. "Huh? What?" Through her haze she saw a darkly handsome face with intelligent ebony eyes and a thin, noble nose. She blinked several times. "Who – oh, Brett?"
"It's morning. We need to check those blossoms again."
"Oh. Yes." She tried to focus, to force herself awake. Sitting up, she pushed her curls back from her face. "What time is it?"
"After nine."
"What's the temp?"
"Thirty-three on the back porch. It's rising." He walked toward the kitchen. "Coffee?"
"Hmm. Is it ready?" She followed him, rubbing her eyes and trying to straighten her hair with her hands. "I must look awful."
He noted the wild disarray of her hair and gave her a wry smile. "Where I come from, that's the style."
"Out here, style doesn't matter." She gazed out the window over the sink. "Now that the sun's up, we can close down the smokers."
"Right. I'll help you." He handed her a steaming mug of coffee.
She was encouraged by the sight of the sun glistening on the white-blossomed trees. "The damage is done, you know. It's over. They either made it, or they didn't."
"Yep." Those statements could apply to him as well as to the apple blossoms, he thought. The damage was done to him—to his career. Even though he hadn't intended to hang around here very long, maybe he should unpack, after all. At least, until he felt stronger.
Annie bent over the cup and inhaled the coffee's aroma. "Ahhh, smells good." She turned an innocent, fresh morning smile on him. "This is very nice of you, Brett, to stay the night and even fix more coffee. What would you charge to do this every day? I love waking up to coffee."
He grinned, thinking devilishly that a night spent in the beautiful neighbor's bed would do it. "I come cheap enough."
"Cheap enough for a farm girl?"
"Depends," he responded, knowing already that Annie was the wrong woman for what he had in mind. He wrapped his fingers around the cup's base, ignoring the handle, and drank his coffee.
She smiled grimly at him. "I'm really very nervous about the blossoms. I'd like to check them now."
"Sure." He could see that she was trying to cover up her uneasiness. Setting his cup onto the counter, he helped her into her jacket.
She paused. "Thanks for being here, Brett."
He nodded. The sight of the tension around her mouth and the fragile look in her chocolate eyes caused an uneasy tightening in his stomach. He realized then that he had to watch himself, or this woman could easily get to him. And he couldn't let that happen, not when he wasn't intending to stay around.
Brett grabbed the door and rested his hand gently on her shoulder to steer her out. What he really wanted to do was shove her away for a moment so he could draw a clear breath. He felt overwhelmed by her presence. But he couldn't avoid her; Annie was definitely there.
Within minutes, they were lurching along in the truck, heading for the orchards. Annie sat on the edge of the seat and motioned for him to stop at the first row of trees. She bounded out and ran to them with the eagerness of a child at Christmas. Brett followed her at a slower pace, reminded by his aching body that he wasn't young and invincible anymore.
The hopefulness in her face vanished; her shoulders drooped. "Some of these were hit. See? They're already starting to turn brown."
Brett stood beside her, examining the tree full of blossoms. He walked to the inside row. "Not all of them, Annie. Some made it. These are in better shape. That's the first row to be hit by the cold air as it comes across the valley."
"You're right. Let's spot-check all the way up to the mission ruins." She closed the still-smoking chimney of the nearby smudge pot and headed for the truck.
They drove the narrow roads between the small orchards of Granny Smiths and Rome Beauties, stopping occasionally to evaluate the blossoms and shut the chimney valves on the pots.
When they reached the mission, at the far end of the last orchard, Annie was encouraged. "They look better here. I don't see any brown ones at all!" She ran from tree to tree. "These are in very good shape, Brett! I don't think I lost many up here at all!"
He followed her, closing chimneys as he went. "They're protected by the mission walls."
She halted and looked at him. "The mission protected my blossoms?" Her gaze flew to the crumbling bricks of the ancient facade.
"Sure. The structure probably took the full brunt of the wind. Also, it's higher here. The cold air naturally drains down the slope."
Annie's voice held a touch of awe. "I know this sounds strange, but sometimes I feel that this place is special. Like now."
"Well, there is something to be said for a building that's lasted so long. What is it, a hundred fifty, two hundred years old?"
"Not just that. Sometimes I think that someone watches over things from here."
He straightened and raised his eyebrows. "Like who?"
"I don't know, but... it isn't unusual for people to feel strange or… or even to hear things when they're out here. My dog, Feliz, won't come around it. She stays in the 4-Runner when I bring her out here."
"So?"
"Sometimes animals sense things." Annie could see the skepticism in Brett's dark eyes, but it suddenly seemed important for him to understand. "Uncle Martin didn't like having this old mission here and wanted to tear it down. But Aunt Annalee intervened. She said this was a sacred place and should be left alone."
"So you think Aunt Annalee is hanging around out here?"
She shrugged. "Who knows? Sometimes I hear things. Like voices." She knew she was pushing her credibility with him.
"You hear people's voices? How often?"
"Only occasionally. And only out here." She hurried to qualify her statement. "Oh, not just anybody. Someone very close to me. My aunt, usually."
"You think Aunt Annalee speaks to you?" There was a growing degree of incredulity in his voice.
"She... her spirit seems very strong to me when I come here. Diego says los espiritus , those who have gone before us live here. That their eyes, los ojos, watch us." She made a nervous little laugh. "You don't believe this, do you?"
"In ghosts? No." His tone was definite. He propped his hands loosely on his hips and looked around.
Annie figured that now was not the time to tell him about her strange vibes from Aunt Annalee only two days ago when she related that someone was coming to help on the farm. And now, Annie felt that Aunt Annalee was referring to him. And to Lacy and her family. She was already pushing credibility with Brett. "But you must admit, there are some things that defy explanation."
"There's an answer to everything somewhere."
"Maybe so. But we can't know everything." She smiled sweetly, unwilling to concede her private beliefs, weird though they might be. "You don't feel los ojos watching us right now, even though we're supposed to be alone here?"
"Do you?"
She looked back at the mission. "Uh-huh. I feel... something."
"No, I don't feel eyes watching us," he said definitely, rocking back on his heels and eyeing her with skepticism. "Look, Annie, no one is going to finish this job for us. So why don't we forget this supernatural voices-in-the-mission nonsense and get on with our bu
siness?"
Annie agreed, thinking she had pressed the conservative-thinking Mr. Meyer far enough. She went down each row, moving from one glowing chimney to another. When she reached the end of the row, she noticed that a pot was missing where one should have been placed. She quickly dismissed it. Now was not the time to further speculate on vanishing items. They had a big job to finish. Besides, one of the kids probably missed a spot.
Climbing back into the truck, they drove past the mission, heading for another section.
"Wait!" Annie grabbed Brett's arm. "There it is!"
"What?"
She pointed. Beside the mission's crumbling corner was a smudge pot, glowing and apparently still lit. "The pot! One was missing from my row, and there it is."
They got out of the truck and approached the warm smoker. "Now, how do you explain that?" she challenged.
"Must be one of your ghosts," he scoffed. Reaching up with his gloved hand, he closed the chimney. "I'd be willing to bet that if you questioned those kids who were here last night, you'd find the culprit."
"Hmm." She nodded. "Okay, logic wins." She followed Brett back to the truck. She'd forgotten she was talking to a strong arm of the law. He could probably draw the truth from those dry adobe walls of that two-hundred-year-old mission. And he would never believe a poltergeist moved that heavy pot.
She didn't, either. Not really. But it was fun to speculate.
Brett stayed and helped her clean up a few things and promised to return later in the week to help store the pots.
Assured by the local weather report that there was no chance of another drop in the temperature, Annie took a hot bath that evening and donned her favorite nightgown. The forecast called for rain.
Under The Desert Moon (Desert Sky Series Book 2) Page 3