Now he wasn’t sure he was even on the right road. The rental car had a navigation system, but he hated those things. The rental agent had given him a paper map that now lay on the passenger seat.

  According to the map, he just kept going north. If he hit Canada, well, then he’d gone too far. He hoped to find a town, a gas station, someplace he could stop and ask. But he’d driven miles without seeing a soul. Lots of cows, but little else.

  Finally, as the sun was coming up, he spotted a gas station ahead and what was reportedly the town of Grass Range though he didn’t see much town. He pulled in, bought gas, asked for directions.

  “Just keep going up the road. Can’t miss Whitehorse,” the clerk told him after taking his money.

  “Tell me it’s bigger than this burg,” Rob said.

  The clerk, a young woman with red hair and freckles, laughed. “It’s bigger.”

  “There a motel in Whitehorse?”

  “Four, I think.”

  Four? Well, that was better than none, he thought as he climbed back into the rental car. He’d bought some large cookies, two peanut butter and two chocolate chip. He chased them down with a liter of cola as he drove.

  He couldn’t wait to get to Whitehorse, find out that the dead woman wasn’t Bernie’s Baby Doll, then head home. He’d missed Thanksgiving, not that he’d ever liked turkey.

  As he drove, the country became wilder and more forbidding. He thought about Baby Doll, the woman who’d fooled the family kingpin, the great Bernard “Bernie the Hawk” McDougal.

  Was it possible she had been hiding out all these years in this Wild West–looking country? Not the broad the family had described to him. She’d been one cagey woman. Rob couldn’t see her way out here in Montana. If he could prove that this Francesca Marie Clementine wasn’t Baby Doll, he would be on the first plane out of here.

  He relaxed a little, turning on the radio and searching for a station. He found only one. “Shit-kicking music,” his friend Murph would have called it. Normally, the two of them did the jobs together. It had surprised Rob when his uncle had wanted him to handle this one alone. Bernie really did think this old chick had been Baby Doll, which also meant he believed that she’d held on to the loot.

  Yep, his uncle had to be losing it.

  He decided to listen to the country music station. “When in Montana,” Rob said as he watched the rental car eat up the miles of rolling ranch land, rugged river bottom and, finally, open prairie.

  By the time he reached the outskirts of Whitehorse, he was tired enough that all he wanted to do was find a motel and get some sleep. But he knew his uncle would be calling, wanting an update.

  The Grass Range convenience store clerk had been right about one thing. This town was a little bigger. But not much. Which made it almost too easy to find the Clementine place.

  Chapter Eight

  Annabelle woke to daylight, blinked and covered her head with the duvet at the memory of the night before. Dawson knew everything now about her dire straits. Worse, he’d paid for her car not to be towed. She couldn’t have been more mortified.

  Even worse than that, she couldn’t spend the day under the covers hiding out. She had to get up. This house had to be emptied out before she could sell it. Just the thought of another day loading junk into boxes made her groan. How could this now be her life?

  That was a question she didn’t want to contemplate. She’d rather fill boxes and lug them out to the porch, she thought as she threw back the covers and got out of bed. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

  Last night she’d hated to face coming back to this place. It was much creepier after dark, especially with a breeze in the bare limbs of the cottonwoods and the pine boughs. The house had creaked and groaned more than the first night.

  She started toward the kitchen to make coffee. She wouldn’t have a car if it wasn’t for Dawson. She wouldn’t even have made it to Whitehorse if he hadn’t given her fuel. Tears welled in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand, ashamed of the way she’d been acting. She’d yelled at Dawson for keeping her car from being towed. She’d just been so embarrassed. Maybe pushing people away was her one true talent, she thought as she stepped into the kitchen and got the coffee going.

  She tried to think of what needed to be done this morning instead of mentally beating herself up. She needed to make another box run and then get back to work. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she wandered into the living room and stood looking everything that remained. She felt overwhelmed. Not even the coffee helped.

  But if she was anything, it was determined. She lifted her chin, telling herself she could do this. Like she had a choice. Finishing her coffee, she returned her cup to the kitchen then went to get dressed in her “work” clothes.

  She reminded herself how hard it had been to succeed in the modeling business. Not discounting luck, she’d worked hard to get where she’d been. Where she’d been. It still hurt to think that she’d thrown it all away.

  Shaking her head to dislodge those thoughts, she went to work, determined to put Dawson out of her mind. But it was so like Dawson to bail her out. Of course he’d want to know why. It had been a perfect opportunity to say I told you so.

  But he hadn’t. If anything he’d been kind. Too kind. She grumbled under her breath. She didn’t need his pity. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

  The thought of her dire circumstances—and worse, that Dawson knew—turned her stomach. This was what she’d hoped to avoid. She’d left this town so smug, so sure of herself, so determined to be someone... Now it made her laugh. She was a joke, and the only man she’d ever loved now knew it.

  The knock at the door made her jump. For a moment, she thought it would be Dawson, as if just thinking about him had conjured him up.

  But it was a pinch-faced little old gray-haired woman who was now peering in the window. She had her hands cupped around her watery eyes and her nose pressed to the glass.

  “Can I help you?” Annabelle demanded, opening the door.

  “There was a man looking in your windows last night,” the woman said. “I live right next door and I looked out—”

  “Mrs. Gilbert?” It had been years since she’d seen her grandmother’s nosey neighbor.

  “You’re the trouble one, right?”

  “Trouble one?” she echoed.

  “The granddaughter Frannie worried about all the time.”

  “That would be me,” she said—as her grandmother would have insisted, owning it.

  “I ran him off. The man who was peeking in your windows. Might want to keep your blinds drawn. Those types often come back,” Inez Gilbert said as she turned, cane in hand.

  Seeing the cane reminded her of the man who’d stopped by yesterday morning. “Did my grandmother have a boyfriend?”

  The elderly woman stopped to peer back at her.

  “A distinguished-looking man who carries a cane? Said his name was Lawrence Clarkston.”

  “I saw him. Yesterday morning at your door,” Inez said. “Never seen him before in my life. Nor was it him last night.”

  “So Frannie didn’t—”

  “She did not,” her neighbor said, as she wobbled down the stairs and took off down the sidewalk. “If she had, I would have known.”

  “I’m sure you would have,” Annabelle said under her breath.

  Going back inside, she hugged herself. So, who was the man pretending to be her grandmother’s boyfriend? Maybe more scary, who was the man Inez had seen peering in her windows last night?

  Catching her reflection and the hideous outfit she was wearing, Annabelle promised herself she would go uptown and buy herself a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts.

  In the meantime... She looked at the mess—not just in the house but in her life and burst into tears.

  * * *

  DAWSON DIDN’T THINK he had slept a wink. Not long after the sun rose, he drove over to the main ranch house to find his mother and brother in the kitchen.

  “Rough night?” his mother asked and handed him a cup of coffee. “I could make you some breakfast.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, something’s gotten under your hide.” She motioned to a chair at the table.

  He hesitated, even though he knew the reason he’d driven over here so early in the morning was that he needed to talk to her. She’d been his sounding board since he was a kid. Nothing had changed. He glanced at his younger brother already sitting at the table.

  “You want me to leave?” Luke asked, pretending to be insulted. “Hell, we both know what’s bothering you.”

  “Language,” their mother said as Luke shoved back his chair and started to get up.

  “You can stay,” Dawson said with a sigh, and his brother dropped back down, grinning. “But not a word of this leaves this room. Agreed?”

  Luke nodded. His mother didn’t bother. She knew how to keep a secret better than anyone he knew.

  Without preamble, he said, “Annabelle’s broke. That’s why she’s back.”

  His brother laughed. “Annabelle Clementine? What are you talking about? She was just on the cover of one of those fancy women’s magazines.”

  “You read fancy women’s magazines?” his mother asked.

  Luke’s face reddened. “I saw it at Sally’s house.” He turned to his brother. “This sounds like you just being jealous again, big brother. She left and made something of herself and you stayed here. You’ve always resented being forced to stay behind to take care of the ranch. Now you’re taking it out on her. Why don’t you admit it? You’re still hung up on her.”

  “I was wrong. I should have let you leave,” Dawson said.

  “Your brother means well.” Their mother sent a withering look at Luke. “What do you mean, broke?”

  “Flat broke.” He told her about crossing paths with Annabelle south of town by the river.

  “You didn’t tell me that,” Luke said.

  Ignoring him, Dawson continued, “Last night at the bar, her car was almost repossessed. Apparently she hasn’t been making her car payment for months.” He didn’t mention that Annabelle had been wearing the same outfit he’d first seen her in again yesterday at Thanksgiving dinner.

  Willie shook her head. “Oh, the poor dear. Something must have happened. You have no idea what?”

  “No, but it seems the only reason she’s back is to sell her grandmother’s house as quickly as possible to get herself out of trouble financially,” he said. “More than likely she got in over her head with her supermodel lifestyle.” He hated the bitterness he heard in his tone.

  “What are you going to do about it?” his mother asked.

  Dawson frowned and held up his hands. “Do about it? I gave her gas, I paid to keep her car from being repossessed—at least temporarily, and she told me to stay out of her business.”

  “She must be so embarrassed,” Willie said. “You’re the last person she’d want bailing her out.”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  “Well, there’s a simple solution,” Luke said, looking pleased with himself. “Sounds like it will take a while for her to get the house ready to sell, since it’s packed with junk that has to be hauled to the dump. Also, Mary Sue doesn’t think it will sell fast, especially this close to Christmas. There’s time to tell her how you feel.”

  Dawson groaned. “If I did still have feelings for her, which I don’t, what would be the point? I’m a Montana rancher. She’s...whatever it is she is. There’s a reason we broke up all those years ago. Not to mention that once she has money again, she’ll be gone. She isn’t interested in Montana or me. The sooner she gets out of town, the better.” He finished his coffee and stood.

  “Well, if that’s the case,” his mother said, “then you need to help her.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

  “You want her out of town? She wants out of town. The solution is right in front of you. Help her get the house ready to sell. Otherwise, who knows how long she’ll be around, running out of money.”

  Dawson stared at his mother. “If this is you matchmaking—”

  “Not at all,” Willie assured him. “I can see how Annabelle being in town is upsetting you—not to mention costing you money. Help her get the house sold, and if you’re right, she’ll be gone.”

  He eyed her suspiciously for a long moment, hating to admit that she might have a point. “Fine. But little brother, you’re going to help. Bring the flatbed truck to Annabelle’s this afternoon along with some of your friends. We’re going to make a trip to the dump.”

  “Hey, don’t involve me in this,” Luke complained. “My solution requires a lot less lifting. Also I’m helping the neighbor this morning with his fence.”

  “Two this afternoon,” Dawson said pointing a finger at his brother. “You’re the one who is so interested in Annabelle...” He slammed out of the house, letting the door bang behind him.

  “Help your brother,” Willie said as she rose to get more coffee.

  “There’s no help for him. He’s in love and too stubborn to admit it, as if you didn’t know that when you invited Annabelle to Thanksgiving dinner.”

  Willie looked after her oldest son who was now driving away. “Did he only stay because he thinks I need him to help run the ranch?”

  “No, Mom,” Luke said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “I was just giving him a hard time. He’s a born Montana cowboy and rancher. He’s just mad because he didn’t put up more of a fight thirteen years ago.”

  “I’m not sure it would have helped,” she said with a sigh. “You need to cut him some slack. For some people, there is only that one person in life. Annabelle has always been the one for your brother.”

  Luke shook his head. “Guess he’s going to be a bachelor till he dies, then.”

  “Maybe.”

  He shot her a look. “Don’t pretend that you aren’t hoping his helping her will make them both realize they love each other.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Have I ever interfered in your lives?”

  “You really want me to answer that?” he said to her retreating back, but she merely laughed.

  Chapter Nine

  “What did Annabelle say when she called you?” TJ asked distractedly as she walked with her cell phone to her ear to peek through the curtains at the street below. She’d been writing all day on her latest thriller. That was enough to spook her, a Montana girl living in New York City.

  “That’s just it,” her sister Chloe said with a sigh. “She didn’t say anything, really. She just wanted to know why we didn’t stay in the house when we were in Whitehorse for Grandma’s funeral.”

  TJ could hear sounds of the newsroom behind Chloe. Like her, she was still at work at the large newspaper where she worked as an investigative reporter. “What did you tell her?”

  “That we didn’t want to.”

  “It takes a lot of nerve to call you and demand to know why we stayed at the hotel,” TJ said. “She didn’t even attend Grandma’s funeral. I hope Grandma comes back and haunts her.”

  “Annabelle did sound scared. I can’t imagine staying in that house. You felt it, too. But I wasn’t about to tell Annabelle that was the reason we stayed at the hotel.”

  TJ shivered and hugged herself with her free arm. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

  “Tell her what? I’m not sure what I felt—let alone what we might have heard upstairs. I was feeling emotional with grandmother’s funeral and remembering going to live there as a girl...and everything.”

  “We both heard a noise upstairs,” TJ said. “It could have been the wind, a branch rubbing against the side of the house or just the house settling. Even though I write this stuff, staying in the house just felt...wrong.”

  “We are as bad as Annabelle when it comes to sticking our heads in the sand and pretending nothing is wrong,” Chloe said. “What if there is something...dangerous going on up there and now Annabelle is in that house?”

  “Look, you know Annabelle. She always overreacts to everything. So has she sold the house?”

  “She says it will be soon and then she’ll be out of there. But you know what it looked like. I would think it would take months just to clean it out, let alone get it ready to sell.”

  “Chloe, don’t you wonder why Grandmother left the house to her and not us?”

  “Not really. Annabelle’s right. She always was grandmother’s favorite. Anyway, if Frannie had left it to all three of us, we would have killed each other over it. The three of us have never gotten along.”

  “We did once. After high school our lives just kind of went in all different directions. But we’re still sisters and Christmas is coming.” Chloe said nothing. “I’m glad Frannie left the house to Annabelle.”

  Her sister chuckled. “I was, too, once that I saw what a mess it was. I like to think it was Grandma teaching her a lesson.” TJ laughed. “Can you imagine Annabelle’s face when she saw the place?”

  Chloe laughed, too, but TJ could hear the hurt in her voice. “The house isn’t worth much, so what does it matter?” she asked, letting the curtain drop back into place. It had mattered enough that they’d gotten in a huge fight with their sister and hadn’t really spoken for months.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I was thinking about going to Whitehorse for Christmas,” Chloe said, as if it had just come to her. “Surprise Annabelle. She should have the house ready to sell by then, but if she didn’t, maybe help her?”

  “Seriously?” TJ glanced outside again, then moved away from the window.

  “Remember Christmas in Montana? I wonder if they still have that Christmas dance at the old gym.”