“What is it you have to hide, Grandma Frannie?” she asked the empty room.

  Unfortunately, the refrigerator was almost as empty as the room. She had a few leftovers from her last grocery store trip, but nothing looked good. She closed the door; her stomach rumbled. Glancing at the clock, she saw that the grocery store was open for another twenty minutes.

  But she didn’t have the energy to drive the few blocks and shop. Turning out the kitchen light, she wandered down to her bedroom and threw herself onto the bed.

  Another day or two and the house would be empty. A day or two of cleaning...maybe painting...

  She couldn’t think about that now. She was too tired. Unfortunately, her mind was still on Dawson. Pulling out her cell phone, she made the call, thankful when his phone went to voicemail.

  “I’m sorry. Thank you for your help today. I really appreciated it.” She disconnected.

  Changing into a flannel nightgown she found in one of the chests of drawers, she crawled into bed. If her model friends could see her now, she thought, loving the feel of the warm flannel. Her last thought, though, was of Dawson as she closed her eyes and dropped off into an exhausted sleep.

  Several hours later, she woke with a start. She listened, trying to understand what had awakened her. That’s when she heard it. Someone was trying to break into the house.

  * * *

  ROB SWORE AS he saw a light come on at the house next door. That nosey old woman. She’d run him off last night, coming out on the porch with a shotgun, of all things, and yelling at him like he was a stray.

  He moved into the shadows where he couldn’t be seen. He’d been in town too long. His uncle called him every day, demanding he get into the house, no matter what he had to do.

  “You don’t understand,” he’d tried to tell Bernie. “There’s this old woman who lives next door—”

  “You can’t handle an old woman?” Bernie had demanded. “Am I going to have to come out there myself?”

  He’d gotten off the line in the middle of his uncle’s tirade. The old man knew nothing about small-town America. Every time he walked around the neighborhood, people stared at him. All day there were people coming and going from the Clementine place. Tonight, he’d told himself, he would get into the house. The problem was that if he had to kill the granddaughter, he feared her body would be found too quickly. It wouldn’t leave him much time to search the place, and from what he’d seen looking in the windows, the house was a mess.

  But he couldn’t keep waiting. Maybe the granddaughter knew about the loot and was looking for it, as well. He couldn’t take the chance that she would find it first.

  He pried harder at the window and thought he almost had it when a light came on inside the house, making him swear under his breath.

  “Move and I’ll blow your manhood to kingdom come,” said a weathered old woman’s voice behind him at the same time he felt the business end of a shotgun shoved into his back.

  He swung around, grabbing the barrel of the shotgun and knocking the old woman off her feet. She opened her mouth, but he was on her before she could scream. Clamping a hand over her mouth, he swept her up from the ground. Taking her and her damned shotgun, he headed through the bare-limbed trees that separated the two properties.

  Chapter Ten

  Dawson woke, head aching. With a groan, he rolled over onto this side and came face to face with Sadie. The look the pup gave him was one of disappointment. “Was I that bad last night?” he asked the dog.

  Sadie whined and looked away.

  He groaned again, feeling even worse. And all over a woman. Not just any woman. Annabelle Clementine.

  Last night, after he’d left her house, he’d started to head home. But then he’d seen Jason’s pickup parked in front of the Mint. He’d told himself that he could use a drink. Maybe two. Now he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten home.

  At the sound of someone in his kitchen, he felt his heart leap. Surely he hadn’t gone back over to Annabelle’s. And what? Had her drive him home? No.

  Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he saw that he was fully clothed. Hmm. He wasn’t sure exactly if that was good or bad. Might depend on how he’d gotten home. He’d never been a drinker—let alone driven drunk. Someone must have helped him off with his boots, though. That meant someone had driven him home last night.

  Padding to the kitchen, he peered around the doorjamb, not sure who he would find making coffee—just thankful someone was.

  “Jason?”

  His best friend turned to grimace at him. “You look like hell.”

  “I feel worse. Was I...?”

  “Drunk?” His friend nodded.

  “Morose?”

  Jason laughed. “Do you mean did you go on and on about Annabelle?”

  Dawson grimaced and headed back down the hall toward the bathroom. “Don’t you get tired of being a fool?” he demanded of his image in the mirror. The answer was as plain as the look on his face.

  “Talking to yourself again?” his brother asked from behind him, making him start.

  “Knock much?”

  “You left your door open. You look like hell.”

  “Thanks. I heard that already.” He turned off the water after splashing some on his face and drying himself with a towel. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “It’s after ten.”

  He winced as he reached into the medicine cabinet, shook two aspirins into his hand and, chewing them, swallowed them dry.

  His brother was grinning at him. “You butt dialed me last night from the bar.”

  His head began to ache even worse.

  “It sounded like you were in trouble.”

  “Other than having the worst hangover ever, I’m fine.”

  Luke cocked an eyebrow at that. “So, what is going on with you? If you’re going back over to haul more boxes to the dump, I’m sorry but I can’t help you today.”

  “Sure you are.”

  “That why you have such a hangover?” his brother teased. “Things didn’t go well with Annabelle?”

  He shot his brother a warning look and walked out of the bathroom to the kitchen where Jason handed him a cup of coffee and offered one to Luke, who heartily accepted.

  “So how are things going with the two of you?” his brother asked as he pulled up a stool at the breakfast counter.

  Dawson didn’t even bother to look at Luke, let alone answer.

  “Don’t get him started,” Jason said joining them. “Did I hear that your mother volunteered the two of you for the Christmas Stroll and Parade this year?”

  Both groaned. “I hate to ask,” Dawson said after taking a sip of his coffee.

  “You’re going as Santa,” Jason said to him and then turned to Luke. “And you’re going to be one of his elves.”

  “Of course I am,” Luke said with a curse.

  All Dawson could think was that by the time the Christmas Stroll and Parade rolled around, Annabelle would be long gone.

  * * *

  THE LAST PERSON Annabelle expected to see was Dawson. He arrived in his pickup, which she saw was full of more empty boxes. He began to unload them on her lawn. She watched, wondering what he thought he was doing, but at the same time thankful to see that many boxes. She’d been up since daylight, unable to sleep, and had made a half dozen trips to the porch with full boxes already this morning.

  She hadn’t expected to see him again—not after snapping at him yesterday about the stupid alcove wall. Even with the apology she’d left on his phone. It made her all the more suspicious as to why he was helping her.

  Her head ached from lack of sleep. The house had been particularly noisy last night. At one point, she’d thought she heard someone breaking in. But when she looked out, she hadn’t seen anyone. After that, she’d gotten up a couple of times only to find the wind whipping tree branches against the outside. Still, at one point, she’d stood at the dark window and could have sworn she’d seen a shadow scurry through the trees and away from Inez’s house. The man Inez Gilbert had seen peeping in windows?

  She had stared for a long time, but didn’t see the shadow again. Still, it had kept her up. At one point, she’d even checked the doors and windows to make sure they were all locked.

  Dawson brought a bunch of the boxes up onto the porch. He hadn’t seen her standing in the doorway and started when he looked up and saw her. He looked as if he’d had a bad night, as well. He gave her a nod as he went back to pick up more of the boxes he’d unloaded from his truck. Jason and a couple of cowboys she didn’t know drove up in pickups and got out. They headed for her, stopped at the edge of the porch for introductions then asked what they could do.

  Today she wasn’t about to argue. “I have some large things that I need taken down from upstairs to the charity shop,” she told them. “Bed frames, side tables and some blankets.”

  They went to work while she finished filling boxes from upstairs. She’d hoped that she and Dawson might find a minute alone to talk, but he kept his head down loading the boxes she’d filled, seeming just to want to get the work done so he could leave.

  On one rare occasion late in the day, both Jason and the crew had taken loads away and hadn’t returned yet. She found Dawson on a water break next to the house.

  “You don’t have to bring your own water,” she said as she watched him gulp the cold water from a bottle. It reminded her of when they were kids and shared a hose many times over the summer months.

  “I’m fine,” he said between gulps.

  “You don’t look fine.” The words were out before she could call them back.

  “I might have had too much to drink last night.”

  She couldn’t help being shocked. “That’s not like you. At least, not the Dawson Rogers I knew.”

  * * *

  “PROBABLY WHY IT didn’t take all that much to get me into this shape,” Dawson said and finally smiled for the first time that day.

  “I didn’t expect you back here,” she said.

  He chuckled at that. “Didn’t plan on coming back when I left.” His gaze met hers. “I didn’t get your message until this morning.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t be. We were both tired and I was butting in where I had no business.”

  She glanced toward the house. “I am curious about what might be behind that wall.” She chuckled. “Probably just dust bunnies. We’d both be disappointed if we knew.”

  “Probably,” he said, although he knew that wasn’t the case. Sadie didn’t react like that over dust bunnies. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t know what’s back there or why your grandmother sealed off the alcove. It will just be a mystery.” Until the next homeowner realized the space was there and broke into it to find...to find what?

  At the sound of Jason returning, they both went back to work. They worked all day. Jason had picked up hamburgers from Joe’s In-n-Out for lunch. But that had been hours ago. It was getting dark by the time Jason and the cowboys he’d brought called it a day after loading the last of the boxes. Annabelle thanked them for their help and watched them drive off, leaving her alone with Dawson.

  “Why don’t I run by the store and get something for dinner?” he offered. He’d taken a peek in her refrigerator when she was out of the room. He doubted she ate much, being a model, but he also worried that she might still be short on cash.

  She started to argue that it wasn’t necessary, but he waved off her protests and headed for the store before it closed.

  It was late. Very few cars were parked in the lot as he went in, not that he was paying much mind. He was bone weary, and he knew it had little to do with the physical exercise he’d had most of the day or even his hangover.

  “So you’re back from your hunting trip,” said a familiar voice behind him.

  Amy. With a mental head slap, he remembered telling her that he’d call her when he got back. For a moment he couldn’t think of anything to say. They had dated off and on for the past year. If he had to put a name to their relationship, he guessed it would have been called friendship with benefits.

  Not that he thought of it that way. In truth, he didn’t give it a lot of thought. That was what was nice about what they’d shared. It was...comfortable. He liked her. She liked him.

  “Sorry, I’m afraid it slipped my mind,” he said honestly as he turned to face her.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Slipped your mind?” Divorced, Amy Baker worked at the local hardware store. He saw that she still had on her vest and, like him, had stopped after a long day of work to pick up a few groceries.

  Amy studied him as if looking for something in particular. He could pretty much guess. If she’d heard about Annabelle Clementine returning to town, she was no doubt wondering, like a lot of other people, what was going on. Not that he and Amy had ever discussed his high school girlfriend. But Dawson knew that someone in town would have told her. It was hard to have a broken heart here without most of the county knowing about it.

  “How was your Thanksgiving?” he asked, recalling that she planned to go to her aunt’s up by the Canadian border and desperately wanting to change the subject.

  Her expression made him feel guilty, but that followed quickly by anger at himself. He and Amy had an understanding. Both of them could date other people. Even if he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, he shouldn’t have felt guilty.

  He groaned inwardly as she said, “Fine,” and turned her back on him to sort through the oranges.

  Glancing around, he told himself that he really didn’t want to get into anything here in the grocery store produce department. Like the post office, this was where you eventually saw everyone in town. It was also where rumors got started like wildfires.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said to her back. She nodded without turning around.

  He paid for the chicken wings, bean salad, rolls and a six-pack of beer he’d picked up for his dinner with Annabelle, telling himself he had nothing to feel guilty about.

  But by the time he got back to the Clementine place, he was in a bad mood. Annabelle picked up on it right away.

  “Your dog pee on your pickup seat?” she asked as he tossed the food he’d bought onto the kitchen table.

  He shook his head. He certainly wasn’t going to try to explain it to this woman. He wished he’d just gone home. What had possessed him to suggest getting them something to eat for dinner? He couldn’t really leave Annabelle without any food, could he?

  “Make yourself at home. I’m going to change,” she said and left the room.

  Change? He blinked. Change into something more comfortable? Had he given her the wrong impression by suggesting dinner? Now he was really wishing he’d followed his instincts and just left.

  * * *

  ANNABELLE WONDERED WHAT had happened at the grocery store. Clearly something, given Dawson’s change of mood. She could tell he wished he hadn’t suggested getting dinner. She’d smelled the spicy chicken wings the moment he’d walked in the door and heard her stomach rumble.

  As she changed out of her dirty clothing, she wished she’d taken a shower while he was gone and changed then. Instead, she’d kept working. Her mind was set on getting this house ready to sell. It occupied all of her thoughts—except when Dawson was around.

  “I’m so glad you got chicken wings,” she called from the bedroom as she finished changing. No answer, but she didn’t let that bother her. She was betting he got bean salad and rolls and beer. That was what he used to get when he planned one of their picnics out in the wilds. The man was a creature of habit. That used to drive her crazy. Now it felt...wonderful and sweet and made her heart ache.

  She thought about him coming back this morning, even though he was clearly hungover. That, too, was like Dawson. He wasn’t one to whine. Or to take a day off when there was work to do. That he’d come back at all to help her made her heart beat a little faster. It also made her feel guilty. She’d treated him poorly before she’d left and now he was overlooking that to help her.

  To get you out of town as quickly as possible, she reminded herself. He wanted her gone. When an old high school friend called after hearing she was back in town, Annabelle had asked if Dawson had anyone in his life.

  “I heard he’s been seeing Amy Baker for a while,” her friend had told her. “But I get the impression it isn’t serious. Why? You aren’t falling for him again, are you?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just here to sell the house. Dawson and I...well, lightning never strikes in the same place twice, right?”

  “Wrong,” her friend had said with a laugh. “Is there a storm brewing?”

  When Annabelle walked into the kitchen, Dawson looked up in surprise. He blinked, taking in what she was wearing and then seeming to relax. Had he forgotten she was there?

  “You changed,” he said, looking almost embarrassed.

  She frowned. “Is that a problem?” She’d put on the T-shirt and jeans that she’d purchased the other day.

  The food he’d brought was spread out on the table. She saw that he’d opened a can of beer and was drinking it as he glanced at the contents of the metal box she’d left on the table. Dawson was going through the photos and yellowed newspaper clippings from inside it.

  She sat down across from him.

  “Help yourself,” he said of the food. He stopped looking at the contents of the metal box to enjoy some of the food he’d brought, the two of them eating in companionable silence.

  “So what do you make of these?” he asked after a while, as he slid his beer toward her and motioned to the box.

  She took a drink before she said, “I haven’t really looked at anything in it. I found it under the floorboards in my bedroom. When I opened it, I didn’t recognize anyone. Must be from before Frannie moved in.”