Dawson shot her a look before he pushed one of the photos in her direction. “Check this out.” He went back to reading the newspaper clipping next to his paper plate.

  She glanced at the old black-and-white photo. It appeared to be four people in some kind of nightclub setting. Two women, two men. All were dressed to the nines. Other than that, she couldn’t imagine what he’d found of interest.

  As she pushed the photo back toward him, she saw that he was frowning. He put the newspaper clipping down and looked at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Did you see it?” he asked and nodded toward the photo he’d given her.

  “Apparently not.” She was tired and the beer was making her lethargic. She would much rather just sit here with him than look through old photographs of people she didn’t know.

  “Look hard at her,” he said, putting his finger under the face of the prettiest of the two women.

  She picked up the photo. The woman’s pale hair was long and fell over one shoulder. Her figure was quite voluptuous for a woman who was small in stature.

  Then she looked into the woman’s light eyes and felt her heart begin to pound. “Frannie?”

  Dawson chuckled. “Frannie was quite the looker in her younger days, wouldn’t you say?”

  “That can’t be her. This woman is blonde.”

  “Blonde like her granddaughter.”

  “But Frannie always had red hair.”

  He lifted a brow. “Well, at one time, she was a blonde.”

  Annabelle stared at the photo. It was her grandmother. She hadn’t recognized Frannie because she’d looked so different from the grandmother Annabelle had known. And she didn’t just look different, she was dressed differently. Frannie had never worn makeup in all the years Annabelle had known her. But in the black-and-white photo, she was clearly wearing dark lipstick and mascara and eyeshadow.

  It was a shock seeing Frannie so young—and sexy—and blonde. The young woman in the photo was smiling broadly and standing next to a handsome man in a pinstriped suit. Annabelle couldn’t help but smile back at her grandmother. Frannie looked so happy. Was this the man Frannie had said was her alleged husband? Annabelle had been shocked to find out that Frannie had never married. So who was the mysterious man who’d fathered her son? Could this man be Annabelle’s grandfather?

  Annabelle speculated that Frannie’s white lie about a husband who never existed might have been one reason they hadn’t met her until their parents were killed and their grandmother insisted they come to Whitehorse to live with her.

  “Even more interesting is the man with her.” Dawson carefully smoothed out the old newspaper clipping. It was yellowed and cracked. “His name according to this is Bernard ‘Bernie the Hawk’ McDougal. He was an Irish mobster.”

  “What?” Annabelle quickly skimmed the newspaper clipping before staring at the man’s mug shot. “He was arrested for a famous heist?”

  “Arrested and released for lack of evidence,” Dawson said. “The jewels were never found.”

  She picked up the photograph of her grandmother again.

  “Wanna bet they were lovers?” he said. “Check out the way the man is looking at your grandmother.”

  “You’re reading a lot into a photo.” Even as she said it, though, she knew he was right. She couldn’t help but think of a photo of her and Dawson that she’d kept all these years from their senior prom. The way Dawson was looking at her in the shot—the way she was looking at him... She knew what love looked like.

  Her gaze rose to meet his and she wondered if he remembered the photograph. Or if he’d kept his copy. A lump formed in her throat, but it was nothing like the knot in her chest.

  “Your grandmother was a gangster’s moll,” he said with a laugh. “Who would ever have suspected it?” He was grinning at her as he reached for the beer they’d been sharing—just as they had when they were lovers all those years ago. Their hands brushed. She started to pull away, but he caught her, entwining his warm fingers with her own. His grin disappeared. His eyes darkened and his breath seemed to catch.

  Her own breath began to come quicker as she lost herself in the warmth of his gaze. She felt her lips part. His gaze shifted to her mouth. Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else. He was going to kiss her.

  He gave a slight tug on her hand as he leaned toward her. She held her breath, remembering Dawson’s kisses and yearning for this older, even sexier version of him to kiss her as he had on the dance floor that night at the bar.

  He was a breath away. She closed her eyes as she closed the last of the distance. Her lips brushed over his, just a feather touch. She leaned in farther.

  Her eyes came open abruptly as he let go of her hand. She blinked. He’d pulled away and was now shoving back his chair and rising.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  “Dawson.” She’d wanted that kiss, needed it, and yet as she got to her feet, she knew kissing him again was the stupidest thing she could do. Hadn’t Jason warned her not to lead his friend on? That was definitely not what she’d meant to do. As soon as this house sold, she was out of here.

  So why did she feel like crying?

  * * *

  BACK AT THE RANCH, Dawson mentally kicked himself as he built a fire and fed Sadie. The pup quickly fell asleep in front of the crackling blaze while he paced, still angry with himself.

  He should have been tired after all the boxes he’d loaded and unloaded today. But he felt antsy. At the sound of a vehicle pulling up out front, he moved to the window to see Amy park and get out. He swore under his breath as he opened the door before she could knock.

  “I got tired of waiting by the phone,” she said, as she stopped at the foot of the porch steps.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been...busy.”

  “I heard.” She glanced past him into the house. “Is she here now?”

  It wasn’t like he had to ask whom she was referring to. “No. She’s never been here.”

  Amy nodded and came up the steps. “I thought we should talk.” She didn’t give him a chance to tell her that he was tired and wasn’t in the mood. Clearly she didn’t care.

  As he followed her inside, he realized that she felt he owed her an explanation. It surprised him, since what they had wasn’t serious. At least, for him.

  As she turned and he saw the tears in her eyes, he felt a start. It was his night for surprises. Clearly Amy had seen their so-called relationship a lot differently than he had. He thought of his mother’s warning.

  “Don’t hurt that girl,” his mother said when he and Amy had first started up after years of random dating.

  “She knows it isn’t serious,” he’d said, and his mother had rolled her eyes.

  “It’s been serious for her since the first time you took her to your bed.”

  “It was her bed,” he’d said, making his mother roll her eyes again. “Stop trying to get me married off.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing. You shouldn’t marry Amy. You should marry someone you can’t live without.”

  “Is this reverse psychology?” he’d joked, uncomfortable with the conversation because there’d only been one woman who fit that bill. And while he and his mother could talk about anything, this was one topic he’d prefer not to discuss with her.

  Now, as he looked at Amy, he knew that Willie had been right, as always. He’d thought he and Amy both knew that this wasn’t going anywhere. “Amy, I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

  “This isn’t about you not calling me when you returned from your hunting trip,” she said. “Although you did say you would.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. Something came up.”

  Amy let out a bitter laugh. “Something? Don’t you mean someone?”

  “Look, it isn’t what you think.”

  She scoffed. “You didn’t just say that.”

  He groaned inwardly, thinking the same thing.

  “It’s her, your high school sweetheart, the one who broke your heart.”

  Yep, he thought, that was the county grapevine’s short version of him and Annabelle apparently.

  “Annabelle—”

  “I know her name,” Amy snapped. “Annabelle Clementine. A supermodel no less. What I didn’t know was that if she ever came back you would drop everything to be with her.”

  “That might be the way it looks, but...”

  “I don’t want to talk about her,” Amy said with a shake of her head. She looked around the room for a moment. He could see that she was barely able to hold back the tears.

  “I think I know what you want to hear,” he said. Her watery gaze met his. “You know I like you.” One tear broke loose and cascaded down her cheek. “I enjoy being with you.”

  “But you don’t love me.” She nodded. More tears followed.

  “I thought that’s how you felt about me, as well.”

  “You never suspected that I might want more?”

  “I didn’t have more to give,” he said, hating himself. His mother had tried to warn him. He should have seen this coming. But he hadn’t thought about the future. He’d been living day to day since Annabelle left. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “So you’re back with her.”

  “Good God, no,” he said, surprised that she would think that.

  She made a swipe at the tears. “Then what is going on?”

  “I’m helping her clean out her grandmother’s house so she can get it sold and leave town.”

  Amy stared at him. “You really believe that.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  She laughed and shook her head again. “And then what?”

  “And then nothing.”

  “You’re going to let her leave again?”

  “Let Annabelle leave?” It was his turn to laugh. “You don’t let a woman like Annabelle do anything. She’s like a force of nature. She does whatever she wants, when she wants, and the best thing you can do is get out of her way before she mows you down.”

  Surprise registered on Amy’s expression. “You make it sound as if you don’t even like her.”

  He took a deep breath, held it for a moment as he considered what she’d said. As he let it out, he said, “Sometimes I want to strangle her. Other times...”

  “You’re still in love with her.”

  He started to deny it, but she cut him off.

  “All these years? You never got over her. Were you just waiting for her to come back?”

  “No.” He shook his head adamantly. “I never thought she would come back. Why would I wait for her? Only a fool would...” He swore under his breath. “Like I said, it isn’t what you think.”

  She lifted a brow, clearly not believing a word of it. “She’s the one, the one you will always be in love with. The one that got away, the one you will compare all other women to and find them lacking. Is it possible you didn’t realize that before she came back? Seriously?”

  He felt as if he’d been blindsided. “Look, you have it all wrong.”

  She was shaking her head. “Stop lying to yourself and worse, to me. We’re friends, right?” He nodded, glad she wasn’t crying anymore. “So do something about this. If you love her, then don’t let her leave again. Tell her.”

  He laughed and took a step back. “I did that thirteen years ago.”

  “If you don’t, then you aren’t the man I thought you were.” With that, she turned and walked out, leaving him standing in his living room wondering why she couldn’t understand how wrong she was.

  “Annabelle doesn’t love me. She never did love me. At least, not enough,” he said as the door closed behind Amy. He listened to her pickup drive away before cussing Annabelle for coming back and messing up his life yet another time.

  Chapter Eleven

  Annabelle spread everything from the metal box out on the kitchen table after Dawson left. Once she’d recognized her grandmother in the one photo, she’d been able to find her in others. Bernie, the mobster, was in his share, as well, along with his “associates.”

  Her grandmother used to tell these outrageous stories of when she was young. She and her sisters had never believed a word of them.

  But, it appeared, there’d been some truth to them—maybe more than Annabelle wanted to acknowledge. As she glanced through the contents of the metal box, she reminded herself where she’d found it. Was it coincidence that her grandmother had hidden it under the floorboard in the bedroom Annabelle had stayed in for years growing up? Did her grandmother assume Annabelle would choose to stay in that room when she came back to sell the house?

  If the floorboard had been loose and something hidden under it from the time she was a girl until she left at eighteen, she would have noticed it. She was sure of that. Which meant her grandmother had left it for her—just as she’d left her the house. So there was a message in here.

  But, for the life of her, she didn’t know what it was. Frannie’s name was never in the newspaper cutlines. Under one photo, she was referred to as Baby Doll. What was that about? Maybe the woman just looked like here grandmother.

  Then why would Frannie have the photos and newspaper clippings?

  As she read the news articles, it left little doubt that her grandmother had been involved in some dangerous business as the moll of mobster Bernie McDougal. These men that her grandmother had partied with were criminals. Could it be possible she hadn’t known at the time?

  Doubtful, Annabelle thought. Her grandmother had been a sharp woman. Annabelle suspected Frannie had known exactly what she was dealing with. She thought of the grandmother she’d known—a soft-spoken, ladylike and diminutive woman. Now, though, she realized there was a lot more to Frannie than anyone in Whitehorse had suspected.

  In the clippings, she’d also discovered something that gave her a chill. The heist that Bernie McDougal and one of his associates had been hauled in for questioning about had never been solved—nor the rare jewels ever recovered. But what sent shivers up her spine was that it had been less than a year later that Frannie had bought this house in Whitehorse.

  Annabelle recalled her grandmother saying that she used the money from her deceased husband’s insurance policy to buy the house. Frannie had been pregnant and given birth not long after that to Annabelle’s father, Walter Clementine, said to have been named after the father he’d never known.

  Now Annabelle knew that the husband had been a lie. So who was the father of her baby? Carefully she put everything back into the metal box. She couldn’t shake the feeling, as she glanced at the wall hiding the former alcove, that she’d only found one of her grandmother’s secrets.

  That her grandmother had known these men... It made her shudder. Worse, her grandmother had left this for her. Why? Was she trying to warn her?

  At the sound of someone on her porch, she jumped. A moment later the doorbell rang. She stuck the metal box into one of the kitchen cupboards as the doorbell rang again. She felt jumpy, almost afraid to see who was standing on her doorstep.

  Peering out through the red-and-white gingham curtains, she saw Mary Sue. The Realtor spotted her about the same time. Annabelle quickly dropped the curtain and opened the door.

  “Is everything all right?” Mary Sue asked suspiciously.

  “It’s fine.”

  “You just had such a weird expression,” the woman persisted.

  “You startled me, that’s all. So, do you have a half dozen prospective buyers to tell me about? How about one?”

  Mary Sue shook her head. “I came by to see how you were faring. I heard Dawson and his friends have been helping you.”

  “No secrets in this town,” Annabelle said under her breath as she stepped out of the way to let the Realtor see how much had been accomplished. “All but one of the bedrooms is empty. One bathroom is done and the other one getting there.”

  “You still have a lot of things to get rid of,” Mary Sue noted as she took in the items piled up in the living room.

  “These are all to be either sold or donated. I called the antique shop. Mary said she would come look to see if there is anything she can use. I wanted to wait until I had a chance to go through the kitchen.”

  “You are making progress, I’ll give you that,” the Realtor said, then tsked at the state of the walls in the emptied bedrooms. “Those are going to have to be painted.”

  Annabelle sighed. “Did you just come by to torment me?”

  Mary Sue seemed surprised. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  Annabelle didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m just tired and out of sorts.” Mary Sue would be, too, if she’d been working day and night to empty out this place. She hated to imagine how the Realtor would be if she’d just learned that her grandmother had left her a houseful of junk—and box full of disturbing secrets.

  “So, you and Dawson...”

  Annabelle gave her an impatient look. “Really? Have you had any interest in the house?”

  Mary Sue shook her head. “It’s a bad time of the year with Christmas coming.”

  Annabelle groaned. Before she could escort the Realtor out, she had to listen to Mary Sue’s other suggestions regarding paint color, possible new appliances, even the replacing of all the carpet in the house with hardwood.

  She let out a sigh of relief when she was able to close the door behind Mary Sue. That’s when she noticed the dark car parked across the street and realized it wasn’t the first time she’d seen it there.

  It was, however, the first time she’d realized there was a figure sitting at the wheel behind the tinted glass.

  * * *

  DAWSON OFTEN WENT for a horseback ride to clear his head. Unfortunately, it hadn’t done much good today. He kept thinking about his mother’s earlier visit and what she’d said about Annabelle. As if Annabelle wasn’t on his mind enough.