Hard Rustler. B.J. Daniels
* * *
ANNABELLE PUT THE cowboy and his dog behind her as she drove north. She was determined that nothing would get in her way. Once she did what she’d come for, she was out of here. Another one of those limited options.
She took the back way into the small Western town. The first settlement of Whitehorse had been nearer the Missouri River. But when the railroad came through, the town migrated north, taking the name with it. Old Town Whitehorse, as it was now known, was little more than a ghost town to the south.
Not that Whitehorse proper was a thriving metropolis. The whole town was only ten blocks square. Nothing but a siding along the railroad tracks more than a hundred years ago, it had become a small rural town like a lot of small rural Montana towns.
Why her grandmother had settled here was still a mystery, but when Annabelle’s parents had been killed, Grandma Frannie had taken Annabelle and her two sisters in without hesitation. Annabelle had grown up here, dreaming of a life she envisioned far from this dusty old Western town.
As she drove down the tree-lined street with the large houses that backed onto the Milk River, images of her childhood flickered like the winter sun coming through the leafless cottonwood trees. From as far back as she could remember, she’d grown up with one thing in mind: getting out of this town and making something of her life.
That sick feeling she’d become acquainted with over the past few months now settled in her stomach. Right now, she couldn’t face even thinking about how she’d messed up. Sitting up a little straighter behind the wheel of the car, she assured herself that everything was going to be fine.
She would just take care of business and put all the unpleasantness behind her. As she tried to look for a silver lining in all this, she noticed that she still had plenty of gas. It should last her for what little time she would be here, thanks to that cowboy. She shoved away the guilt. If she ever saw him again...
Down the block, she spotted the house. Her foot came off the gas pedal, the car slowing as she felt a rush of déjà vu. The house hadn’t changed—just like she doubted the town had—and for a moment it was as if she’d never left. So much had happened to her, she’d expected this part of her past would have changed, somehow.
Instead, it looked so much the same, she almost expected Frannie to come out on the porch as Annabelle pulled up in front of the large, two-story house and shut off the engine. The key to the front door was in her pocket, but she wasn’t ready to go inside. Not yet. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she’d gotten here early. There was no sign of the Realtor. Taking a breath, she let it out and tried to relax as she studied the house.
The white siding could use an overall paint job and the emerald trim needed a touch-up. But if she closed her eyes, she could picture herself and her sisters, the three Clementine girls, on that wide porch drinking Grandma Frannie’s lemonade and giggling like the schoolgirls they’d been.
She hadn’t realized that she’d closed her eyes until she felt them burn with tears. Her guilt was like one of her grandmother’s knitting needles to her heart. Yes, she should have made it to Frannie’s funeral. She’d had her reasons, and they hadn’t all been out of embarrassment for the way her life had turned out.
Her grandmother would have understood because Annabelle had always been the favorite. At least, that’s what she told herself.
“You’re so much like me, Annabelle Clementine, that sometimes I swear you’ll be the death of me.” Then Grandma Frannie’s expression would soften and she’d press a cool palm to Annabelle’s cheek. “So much like me. It’s like seeing myself at your age.”
“That’s why I’m your favorite,” she’d say, and her grandmother would shake her head and laugh before telling her to run along outside.
But it had to have been true. Otherwise, why would Frannie have left her the only thing she had of any value—this house. And left it only to her instead of to all three sisters?
A tap on the passenger-side window startled her. Her eyes flew open, but it took a moment to chase away the bittersweet memories along with the guilt and the tears.
* * *
REALTOR MARY SUE Linton glanced at the silver sports car and shook her head. Leave it to Annabelle to show up in something like that. She shouldn’t have been surprised since this was the Annabelle Clementine she’d known since grade school.
She had been surprised, though, when her former classmate had called and asked Mary Sue to represent her in the sale. Not surprised. Shocked. The two of them had never been friends, traveling in a completely different circle of friends, even as small as the classes had been. The truth was that Annabelle hadn’t uttered two words to her throughout four years of high school. Did people still say stuck-up?
Blonde and blue-eyed, with a figure that Mary Sue would have killed for, Annabelle was The Girl Most Likely to Become Famous. At least, that’s what it had said in their senior class yearbook. Everyone knew Annabelle was going to be somebody. Annabelle had said it enough times.
But, then again, she’d also said that she would never come back to Whitehorse. And here she was.
Still, why come all this way to sell her grandmother’s house? Mary Sue had told her on the phone that she could deal with everything but the paperwork and save her the trip. She had expected Annabelle to jump at it. Instead, the woman had insisted on coming back to “handle” things.
“If you don’t trust me to get you the best price...” Mary Sue had started to say, “you can kiss my—”
But Annabelle had interrupted with, “It’s my grandmother’s house.”
Right. Just like it had been her grandmother’s funeral. Everyone in town had turned out. Annabelle’s two sisters had flown in and out. No Annabelle, though. So was Mary Sue supposed to believe the house had sentimental value to this woman? Not likely.
After tapping on the sports car window, she bent down and looked in. One glance and it was clear that her former classmate had aged well. She looked better than she had in high school. Mary Sue felt that old stab of jealousy.
She started to tap again, but to her surprise, Annabelle appeared to be furtively wiping away tears. Shocked at such a sign of emotion, Mary Sue was taken aback. Maybe she was wrong about Annabelle. Maybe she did have a heart. Maybe she did care about her grandmother. Maybe she even cared about this house and Whitehorse and the people she’d once snubbed.
The thought almost made her laugh though as her former classmate climbed out of the convertible sports car saying, “Okay, let’s get this over with so I can get out of this one-horse town.”
* * *
DAWSON UNLOADED THE horse trailer, parked it and went into the ranch house he’d built himself. He’d worked hard the past thirteen years and now had a place he was proud of on the family ranch. The oldest son of two, he’d had to take over helping his mother run the ranch after his father had died. He’d worked hard and was proud of what he’d been able to accomplish. Annabelle wasn’t the only one who’d done well over the years, he told himself with no small amount of defensiveness.
“Got a chip on your shoulder, do you?” he grumbled with a curse. He’d been thinking about her again. All the way to town he’d been trying to exorcize her from his thoughts with little luck. Before she’d left town, she’d made him feel as if he was never going to amount to anything. It still stuck in his craw.
He kept seeing her sitting in her car while he refueled it. She hadn’t even had the good grace to look at him—not to mention acknowledge that she’d once known him. Known him damned well, too.
Dawson gave that memory an angry shove away. When Annabelle Clementine had left town in a cloud of dust years ago, she’d said she was never looking back. Well, today proved that, didn’t it?
Worked up over his run-in with her, he told himself he just needed a hot shower and clean clothes. But as he caught his