It nagged at him. What could have brought her back? He shook his head, telling himself it was obviously none of his business. Best thing he could do was to forget about her—something he’d been working on for some time now.

  After two weeks in hunting camp, he recalled that before he’d seen her, all he’d wanted was to get home, have a hot shower and climb into a warm, soft bed. If he hadn’t stopped beside the road to take a leak, let Sadie out and give the pup a snack...well, he might not have seen her at all.

  The only thing that didn’t surprise him, he told himself as he lifted Sadie into the pickup’s front seat and climbed behind the wheel, was that the woman hadn’t given him the time of day. Hell, he couldn’t even be sure she remembered him. After all, it had been... How many years had it been? He wondered with a frown as he started the truck engine.

  Thirteen. He let out a low whistle. Sadie’s ears perked up, but she lay back down and closed her eyes for the ride home.

  And it wasn’t like Annie had ever given him a thought since she’d been gone, he reminded himself. She’d made it perfectly clear that they had no future before she’d left right after high school to find fame and fortune.

  Dawson pointed the pickup toward Whitehorse, all the time trying to imagine what could have brought her back. Certainly not her grandmother’s funeral. Only her two sisters had made it back for that. Of course, they’d attended the funeral and left right away, but at least they’d shown up. He shook his head, thinking that he’d expected better of the girl he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. Given how much her grandmother had doted on her...

  But he reminded himself that he’d always been wrong about the woman. He could no more predict what Annabelle was going to do than predict the Montana weather. He thought of that young fool cowboy who’d saved every dime he made that year to promise her something that would make her stay. He growled under his breath at the memory.

  Well, he wasn’t that young fool anymore. Which was why he was going to give her a wide berth as long as she was in town. Not that he suspected it would be for long. Knowing her, she would be hightailing it back to California as fast as she could. Back to her fancy life in the spotlight.

  “Which is just fine with us, huh, Sadie,” he said to his pup. “Don’t need the likes of her around here messing with our minds.” Sadie barked in answer and curled closer to him, making him laugh. “This was before your time,” he said to the dog, “But that woman was once nothing but walking heartache for this cowboy. Fortunately, I’m not that man anymore.”

  His words sounded hollow, even to him. He felt his face flush at how much gas he’d given her and mentally kicked himself. He should have left her beside the road to fend for herself. But then, he’d never been able to say no to her—even when he should have known that a girl like her wanted something better than a cowboy like him.

  * * *

  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 reflection in the bathroom mirror, he came to a startled stop and had to laugh. He wouldn’t even recognize himself after two weeks in a hunting camp in the Missouri Breaks.

  He stared at his grizzled face and filthy, camp-worn clothes, seeing what she’d seen today. Even if she had recognized him, seeing him like that would only have confirmed what she’d thought of him all those years ago. He looked like a man who wasn’t going anywhere.

  Stripping down, he turned on the shower and stepped in. The warm water felt like heaven as he began to suds up in a fury. He just wanted that woman out of his hair—and his head. But his thoughts went straight as an arrow to that image of her standing beside the river. Her long blond hair gleaming in the sunlight and that black outfit hugging every unforgettable curve he’d once known so well. Growling, he turned the water to cold.

  Out of the shower and toweling himself off, he looked at his reflection in the mirror again. Was it really possible that she hadn’t known him? He reached for his razor, telling himself it didn’t matter. With a curse, he acknowledged that he’d been lying to himself for years about his feelings for her—ever since that day he’d rescued her from his tree house when she was five.

  And he’d rescued her again today, he thought with a curse. He just never learned.

  * * *

  ANNABELLE TOOK THE key from her pocket and opened her grandmother’s front door, Mary Sue Linton at her elbow. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, bracing herself for more painful memories. Instead, shock stopped her cold just inside the door.

  “You can’t sell the house like this,” Mary Sue said, stating the obvious next to her. “I thought you said your sisters cleaned everything out?”

  “They said they took what they wanted.” She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her grandmother hadn’t been a packrat, she’d been a hoarder. The house was crammed full of...stuff. She could barely see the floor. The rooms appeared to be filled with furniture, knickknacks, stacks of newspapers and magazines, bags of clothing and clutter. The house looked more like a crowded old antique shop than a home. Unfortunately it didn’t take a trained eye to see that all of this wasn’t even junkshop worthy.

  “What am I supposed to do with all of this?” she demanded. “I can’t very well have a garage sale this time of year. If there was anything in all this mess worth selling.” It was late November. Christmas was only weeks away.

  Mary Sue shrugged. “You could hire someone to help you pack it all up. Unfortunately, the local charity shop can’t take most of this. If there are things you want to save—”

  “No.”

  “I was going to say that you could put them into a storage shed.”

  Annabelle was shaking her head, overwhelmed as they worked their way along the paths through the house.

  “Otherwise, I could give you some names of people who might be able to help you at least haul it out to the dump.”

  “Great. How long is that going to take? I need to get this house on the market right away.” She followed the narrow trails, going from room to room, Mary Sue on her heels, until she reached what had once been a bedroom but now looked more like a storage room where a bomb had gone off.

  “This is no normal hoarding,” Mary Sue said. “It looks like someone ransacked this room.”

  Annabelle agreed it did appear that someone had torn into all the boxes and dumped the contents on the floor. Her grandmother before she died? Her sisters when they’d come back for the funeral?

  “Look at the window,” Mary Sue said in a hoarse whisper as she grabbed Annabelle’s arm, her fingernails digging into tender flesh.

  “Ouch.” She jerked free and kicked aside some of the mess to move to the window, which was now half open, the screen torn. “The lock is broken.”

  Behind her, Mary Sue let out a shudder. “Someone broke in.”

  That was the way it appeared, although she couldn’t imagine in her wildest dreams why they would want to. She closed the window and turned to find Mary Sue hugging herself.

  “Whoever broke in isn’t here anymore,” she tried to assure the Realtor. “Let’s look upstairs. Maybe it’s better.” Unfortunately, the upstairs wasn’t any better; both bedrooms were stacked full of clutter, including her grandmother’s old room.

  Back downstairs, she took another look at the front downstairs bedroom. It wasn’t quite as full as the others. She checked the closet, found what must be her grandmother’s clothing and assumed that, as Frannie got older, she’d moved downstairs.

  “Could this be anymore outdated?” Mary Sue called from the kitchen.

  “I think I can clean out one of the downstairs bedrooms so at least I’ll have a place I can stay,” Annabelle said as she joined her in the kitchen. The front bedroom downstairs had been hers growing up.

  Mary Sue didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, she was frowning at the clipboard she had in her hands.

  “What?” Annabelle demanded. “Don’t tell me there is another problem.”

  “No, not exactly. But it is strange. This is a layout of the house I got from the records department at the courthouse,” she said, indicating the sheet on her clipboard. “That wall shouldn’t be there.”

  “What?”

  “This shows an alcove.”

  “An alcove? Maybe it’s back there behind all the junk and you just can’t see it.”

  Mary Sue’s frown deepened. “Do you remember an alcove from when you were growing up here?”

  She was supposed to remember an alcove? Seriously? “No. The plans for the house must be outdated.”

  “Not according to the courthouse. Your grandmother bought this house when she was in her twenties so she had it for...”

  “She was seventy-six when she died, so she had it for more than fifty years.” Annabelle hadn’t realized how long Frannie had lived in Whitehorse until she’d seen it in the obituary that one of her sisters had sent her. It hadn’t been out of kindness that Chloe had mailed it to her. Her older sister had never been that subtle. Both Chloe and Tessa Jane—TJ—had tried to make her feel guilty about their grandmother leaving her the house—let alone Annabelle missing the funeral.

  “Frannie owned this house almost from the time it was built,” Mary Sue was saying. “So if anyone made the changes, it had to have been your grandmother. Why would she wall up an alcove? I wonder what’s behind it?”

  “Okay, you’re giving me the creeps now,” Annabelle said. “Clearly, you have the plans for the wrong house. Aren’t there a bunch of houses along this street with similar floor plans?”

  Mary Sue nodded, but didn’t look convinced. “I can check at the courthouse again I guess. But you have to admit, if the plans are right, then it is more than a little odd to wall up the alcove, let alone—”

  “You’re letting your imagination run away with you. You knew my grandmother.”

  With a lift of one eyebrow, Mary Sue said, “She said her husband died before she moved to Whitehorse, but what if—”

  “Seriously? You think my grandfather’s body is stuffed in there?”

  “Ever seen the play Arsenic and Old Lace?”