Читать книгу An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love - Kimberly Van Meter - Страница 13

DEAN TRIED not to notice how Annabelle had practically run from the room to disappear into the bathroom, but it was pretty hard. His eyes seemed to find her no matter where she went and no matter how hard he tried to ignore her.

Tried to ignore was about the right choice of words, too. Removing her from his mind was the only thing that kept him focused. But of course the more you try to avoid something, the more your mind makes you ultrasensitive to it. All this failed avoidance strategy was giving him a headache.

Honey made a distressed sound and he turned to regard her with apprehension. “Yeah?” he asked, as if she could answer him.

She toddled to her feet and pressed her little body against the side of the playpen, raising her chubby arms. She wanted him to pick her up. Dean glanced at the closed door and willed Annabelle to return, but she didn’t, and he wondered if everything was all right.

Honey’s big blue eyes widened and she shook her hands at him with an expression that couldn’t get any clearer.

“Your mama should be out in just a minute,” he said and tried focusing on the paperwork in his hand, but when he glanced back at the kid he could’ve sworn he saw her lip tremble in disappointment. His heart did a little uncharacteristic stutter.

“I get it, you’re tired of being in that pen. I don’t blame you. Brandon never did like these things, either,” he said, reaching down to pick her up. He expected the baby to stiffen in alarm since he was a stranger, but she snuggled up to him, quite content in the crook of his arm. “Haven’t you ever heard of stranger-danger?” he asked with a chuckle as Honey cooed up at him and offered a grin full of tiny white teeth. “Yeah, you’re pretty cute and you know it.”

He didn’t remember babies smelling this good, he noted in surprise. Maybe it was true that boys and girls were made of different stuff because he remembered Brandon smelling…less sweet.

He bent down and sniffed at Honey’s crown, and his suspicion was confirmed. This baby smelled like powder, sunshine and rain on a summer day all wrapped up in one. “No wonder women go nuts over babies,” he murmured, taking Honey with him to the file cabinet where he’d left off.

There was something nice about holding Honey. She watched as he searched through the cabinet with his one free hand and seemed content just to hang out while he did whatever he needed to do.

He shifted her to the other side and fell into a rhythm, a part of him starting to worry about Annabelle and the other wishing he and Beth had been able to have more kids, when the main door opened and Brandon walked in.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked, gesturing to Honey. “Why are you holding her kid?”

Her—as in Annabelle. Dean shifted Honey again and she offered a sweet smile to Brandon, which his son ignored. “Annabelle is in the restroom. There’s no reason for you to be rude to Honey.”

“Honey? What a stupid name. Is your new office manager a hippie or something? Is this kid her love child?”

Dean stiffened at the ugliness in Brandon’s tone, and he pinned him with a short look that communicated how much he appreciated his attitude. “You were born in the wrong era even to know what a love child is. She’s a cute kid. Once you get to know her, the name actually fits. What are you doing out of school?” he asked, redirecting the conversation.

“It’s a pro day. I told you that yesterday,” Brandon answered, his scowl still firmly on his face. “I guess you had other things on your mind.”

“You got something you need to say?” Dean asked, getting straight to the point of Brandon’s attitude. “Because your mom and I didn’t raise you to be so ugly to an innocent child.”

Instantly chastised, Brandon made a visible effort to shake off whatever feelings were rioting in his brain, and Dean let up.

“I need a couple of bucks,” Brandon said, still eyeing Honey with faint distrust. “Me and Jessie want to go down to Merced and catch a movie. I’m short a few until payday. Can you front me?”

Dean nodded and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. Tossing it to Brandon, Dean instructed him to pull out two twenties. “Home before ten, right?”

“Yeah.”

Brandon was doing a better job of hiding his feelings but Dean knew his son well. “Brandon, I’m not adopting her. Relax.”

Brandon swallowed but nodded. “Sorry, Dad. It just freaked me out for a minute. You’re right. She is kinda cute. For a baby.”

Dean smiled, his chest loosening from the pent-up tension between them. “Hey, why don’t you and Jessie sign up for D-Day? You know your nana could use a couple of young hands to help out.”

“Sure, Dad. I’ll see what Jessie says and I’ll get back to you.”

Brandon left, and Dean turned to see Annabelle standing by the bathroom door, watching with a slightly frozen expression on her face.

“She was fussing,” he said by way of explanation but he moved to return Honey to the pen, feeling distinctly as if he’d trespassed. “I waited for you to come out, but she seemed pretty upset…”

“That’s fine. Thank you.” Annabelle flashed a bright smile and settled behind the desk, once again the model of efficiency, yet Dean sensed something was off-kilter. “Don’t forget you have a subcontractor meeting at 3:00 p.m.,” she said, adeptly avoiding meeting his gaze. She double-checked the calendar. “Dayton Plumbing. They’re going to meet you at the job site.”

“I haven’t forgotten. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Beth had always accused him of being Neander-thalishly blunt when it came to some things, and he could almost hear his wife’s annoyed sigh as the words tripped out of his mouth.

Annabelle pinned him with a short look. “I’m fine. Please stop asking. I don’t like to be badgered, especially when there’s nothing wrong.” She added stiffly, “Thanks for your concern.”

Case closed. Dean shrugged. Plainly, there was something bothering her, but out of the two of them she was being the smart one by not inviting him into her business. He knew when to stop pushing his nose where it didn’t belong.

“Good. I’m heading out after my meeting with Dayton. I probably won’t return to the office. I’ll come in tomorrow before you get here to baby-proof everything.”

She offered him another smile by way of gratitude and he accepted it at face value.

Women were too complex for the likes of him. Beth hadn’t been high-maintenance and he’d loved that about her. For a fleeting moment he wondered what kind of woman Annabelle was. There was an air of mystery about her, so different from Beth, who’d been completely down-to-earth and practically an open book. An odd tickle at the base of his spine warned him away from delving too deep into Annabelle’s secrets. Something told him he might not like what he found.

THAT NIGHT Annabelle sat staring into the darkness of her rundown duplex and sipped a glass of wine. It wasn’t like her to be so maudlin, allowing her thoughts to wander into dangerous territory, but seeing Dean holding Honey as if it were the most natural thing in the world had made her sad in a way that was too close to self-pity for Annabelle’s comfort.

Dean was not hers. Nor would he ever be. Annabelle would no sooner wish for the moon to fall into her hands than wonder what could be between them.

That had been Sadie’s problem. She was always looking for love in the wrong places. Her mother’s romance track record—God love her—was as clichéd as a country song.

Fatigue pulled at her body and Annabelle couldn’t keep her thoughts straight. She’d lied to Dana, but only because she didn’t want her to worry. Buddy King was up for parole much sooner than a year. It had been just another reason to leave Hinkley behind. She doubted he’d try and track her down. Annabelle didn’t suppose he enjoyed prison so much he’d want to return to it.

The night air had the scent of rain, though Annabelle hadn’t heard that a storm was coming. Emmett’s Mill was so different from the dustbowl nothingness of Hinkley. Sadie Nichols would’ve called it God’s Country, a scenic place with wondrously wild smells, its Sierra Nevada greenery broken only by the vibrant fall colors of changing leaves on the trees and spots of dry earth as it hungered for moisture.

It was a place anyone would love to call home. She glanced at her half-empty glass and wondered if such a place existed for her. As a child she’d prayed for a fresh start for her and her mom but it had never come. Now Annabelle had found that perfect place, but she still felt like an outsider looking in—a beggar child pressed against the windowpanes of a cozy house belonging to someone else.

She drained her glass and reached for the bottle sitting on the scarred coffee table, but, as her fingers curled around the neck, she decided against a refill. One glass was enough.

A twig snapped outside and Annabelle jumped as she peered nervously into the dark. The sound of a tomcat yowling echoed in the night. Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she forced a light laugh at herself for acting like the heroine in a scary movie. There were no boogeymen in Emmett’s Mill.

Not even ones named Buddy.

WHATEVER had been bothering Annabelle the day before was gone today and Dean was thankful. She wore another sundress, only this one she wore with a light cardigan that covered her most bountiful assets and Dean told himself that was a blessing. Except, when she smiled she brought the sunshine with her and he momentarily forgot what he’d been saying or doing. Flustered, he returned to his calendar, ready to hit the job site. He noted Annabelle glancing in puzzled amazement at the various baby-proofing items throughout the office: latches on drawers, doorknob protectors, plastic covers for electrical outlets, a gate blocking off the bathroom. Granted, he might’ve overdone it.

“You really didn’t need to go that far,” Annabelle said, although her eyes were shining. “Clients are going to think you run a daycare on the side.”

He chuckled. “I just don’t want Honey stuck in that pen all the time. Babies need to stretch their legs, too.”

Annabelle nodded, appreciation evident in the way her mouth played with a subtle smile. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”

For a split second a violent hunger to taste those full lips ripped through him and stole the air from his chest. He cleared his throat with difficulty on the pretense of having something caught, and made a concentrated effort to get the hell out of there before he did something stupid—like give in to his baser needs—but he was met at the door by his mother.

“Dean, sweetheart, just the person I wanted to see,” Mary exclaimed, moving around him with the ease of a woman who knew what she was doing. She approached Annabelle with a warm smile. “You must be Annabelle. Sammy and Dana have told me very good things about you.”

Annabelle looked clearly nervous and Dean could understand why. Mary Halvorsen was a woman to be reckoned with. After raising three boisterous sons, each of whom had grown to over six feet tall, she didn’t scare easily or get sidetracked from her purpose. And right now, she had her sights set on Annabelle for some reason.

“Mom, don’t be wrangling Annabelle into one of your committees. I doubt she wants to spend her time in a quilting circle with a bunch of old biddies.”

“Watch your tongue, Dean Emmett Halvorsen,” Mary said in a dulcet tone threaded with steel. “Besides, I didn’t come to invite Annabelle to the Quilters Brigade, unless, that is, you would like to join…” Mary pinned Annabelle with an expectant stare until Annabelle shook her head. “Right. I didn’t think so. Although it’s a stereotype that only old women quilt. Dean knows this. He used to quilt himself.”

Dean bit back a groan, unable to believe his own mother had outed him like that. His cheeks flooded with warmth. “Not to rush you, Mom, but what did you come by for?”

“Well, I came by to see if Annabelle would like to volunteer on D-Day. We still need volunteers and I haven’t heard from Brandon and his girl, Jessie. We need some young, strong backs to carry supplies and run refreshments to the crews.”

Bewildered, Annabelle asked, “D-Day? As in the battle of Normandy?”

Mary chuckled, her stout body jiggling with mirth. “Goodness no, child, but kudos to you for knowing your history. No, D-Day in Emmett’s Mill is Restoration Day. We’re restoring the mill next month.”

Annabelle stared blankly. “What mill? And why do you call it D-Day? Shouldn’t it be R-Day or something like that?”

Mary gave Dean a look that said he was falling down on the job if Annabelle didn’t even know about the town’s namesake and why they were restoring it. “My dear, Emmett’s Mill was named after our very own Waldon Emmett. The Halvorsen family is directly descended from the original Emmetts who settled here, which is why Dean’s father and I chose Emmett as Dean’s middle name. As for why we call it D-Day, the committee wanted something grand to commemorate this auspicious day in our local history, and since Waldon Emmett was of French descent, well, we thought calling it D-Day would give it a sense of importance.”

“I see.” Annabelle looked a little lost and Dean didn’t blame her. The committee’s logic was tenuous at best. “Well, it certainly does sound grand,” she agreed, looking to Dean as if for a sign that she hadn’t somehow offended his mother. It was endearing but unnecessary. Mary Halvorsen had skin thicker than a rhino.

“Mom, don’t bore Annabelle with our family history,” Dean said, smothering a chuckle. “Not everyone is fascinated with other people’s history. It’s like watching home movies of total strangers. Those kinds of things are barely tolerable for the people who are in them.”

“Oh hush. No one asked you,” Mary retorted, eyes dancing as she returned to Annabelle. “Am I boring you, dear?”

“No, I think it’s fascinating. Please do continue.” Annabelle reached down to pick up Honey, who had begun to fuss a little. “I think it’s great that you know so much about your family and that your history isn’t something you’d rather hide.”

Mary turned a triumphant smile Dean’s way before continuing. “Thank you. So, as I was saying, Waldon Emmett built the flour mill in 1832 and made his fortune selling freshly milled flour to the neighboring cities, except by the time he died his son, Waldon, Jr., wasn’t much of a miller and quickly drove the business into the ground. Wallie, as he was called, spent most of the family’s fortune on a host of get-rich schemes that inevitably failed. All that remains is the mill. It was finally donated to the historical society and we’ve formed the nonprofit organization heading the Emmett’s Mill Restoration project.”

“Aren’t you sorry you asked?” Dean asked Annabelle wryly, but she looked taken in by the story. “Are you a history buff?” he asked.

“Not particularly, but I enjoy hearing about local history. It must feel wonderful to have such deep roots here in Emmett’s Mill,” she murmured.

His mother jumped in, loving her captive audience. “You should come to dinner tonight—”

“Mom,” Dean interjected, alarmed at where the conversation was headed. Mary blinked at him in annoyance for interrupting her, but he wasn’t about to let his mom drag Annabelle to a family dinner. A Halvorsen dinner wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was loud, chaotic and usually there were at least three conversations happening at once. He couldn’t see Annabelle feeling comfortable at all. Not to mention he was having enough trouble dealing with his inappropriate mental wanderings, he didn’t need to complicate matters. “Leave Annabelle with a flyer. I have to get going.”

“So go.” Mary dismissed him, alighting on Honey without missing a beat. “Who is this angel?”

Annabelle smiled with genuine joy. “This is my daughter, Honey. She’s sixteen months old.”

Mary sighed with longing. “A granddaughter. That’s what I’m missing. I adore my grandsons but I’ve never had anyone to pamper. I’m holding out hope that one of my sons will deliver. Your mom must be thrilled to have a granddaughter.”

Annabelle shot Dean a quick look, which he wasn’t sure was one of distress or one of annoyance for his mother’s questions but she answered just the same. “My mother died before Honey was born.”

Mary’s expression lost some of its happiness. “Oh dear. That settles it. You have to come to Sunday dinner this weekend. I won’t take no for an answer.” She turned to Dean with instructions. “You’ll bring her? I don’t want her driving that road at night with a baby. You know how those twists and turns can be tricky for people not used to them.”

She pulled a flyer from her purse and placed it in front of Annabelle with a warm smile. “I have to go. Here’s the information about the project. Please give it some thought. It’s a wonderful way to get to know your new community and it’s a worthwhile project.”

And then she was gone.

Dean expelled a heavy breath and suddenly felt the all-over body fatigue that always happened when he got caught in the maelstrom that was his mother.

He turned to Annabelle, hands spread in apology. “She’s pretty passionate about some things,” he said by way of explanation, but he realized Annabelle hadn’t minded.

“You’re so lucky,” she said with a catch to her voice. “Tell your mom I’d be honored to be a part of the restoration project, but I’ll have to pass on dinner. I don’t think it’s a good idea to cross the lines,” she said, shocking him with her refusal. He’d thought he might have to somehow dissuade her, but she’d beat him to it.

He couldn’t agree more. So why did he feel so disappointed?

“Are you sure?” he heard himself blurt. “There’s plenty of food. My mom cooks enough to feed a platoon. It’s a miracle none of us grew up to be fat. It’s probably a good thing we all work in jobs that are fairly physical, otherwise all that good eating might’ve gone straight to our waistlines.”

“I didn’t think guys cared about stuff like that,” she teased lightly.

“Are you kidding? We care. We just hide it better. No guy likes to see his gut hanging over his belt. And that’s the truth even if we don’t want to admit it.”

“Really? Well, from where I’m standing, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

The innocent comment made his mouth dry up. Had she been checking him out? Noticing him in the same ways that he couldn’t help but notice her? He started to stammer a response with all the eloquence of a prepubescent boy but Annabelle unwittingly saved him from himself when she sighed wistfully.

“I really like your mom and I’m betting dinner would be great, but it’s just not a good idea, you know?”

He did. Thank God, one of them was thinking clearly. “Don’t worry, I’ll let my mom down easily.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

No problem—except for the part where he wanted her to come to dinner. Wanted to ignore that blinking caution light in his brain. And wanted to get to know Annabelle in a way that was more than professional.

Dean wanted everything he’d told his son he absolutely didn’t want from Annabelle.

And that didn’t feel so good.