Kitabı oku: «An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love», sayfa 3
CHAPTER FIVE
ANNABELLE didn’t mean it to, but a wistful sigh escaped her as she caught a private moment between Dana and Sammy in their kitchen.
Sammy, his eyes shining with love and desire, feasted on Dana as if she was a rack of lamb and he was a starving man.
Thad had never looked at her like that. Not truly.
Sure, she’d seen lust in men’s eyes, but it had never gone further than that, and young as Annabelle was, she’d always known the difference. She’d had no use for men with mouths full of pretty words aimed at only one thing.
But even as she was slightly envious of the fairy-tale romance Dana seemed to be enjoying, she couldn’t really remain that way. Dana deserved a good man. She’d had a rough childhood, too. That’s probably what bonded the two of them so tightly. She’d do anything for Dana, and vice versa.
She forced a smile and cleared her throat as she lifted their dirty plates. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just trying to help out.”
Sammy grinned and pinched Dana’s behind as she tried to move past him. She jumped a little and her cheeks colored, but there was a high flush to her features that made her simply glow. Annabelle’s eyes threatened to water. “You guys have to stop that. I think I’m still hormonal,” she teased, allowing Dana to take the plates from her hand. “Isn’t there some medical text that says a woman’s hormones can go haywire as far as a year and a half after the birth of a baby?”
Sammy eyed Dana as if he were mentally undressing her and said, “Dunno. But we’ll let you know once I manage to get this girl to squeeze a few out.”
“Samuel!” Dana exclaimed, whirling long enough to snap him with a dish towel. “Get out of here before you scare my best friend away and she never comes back for dinner.”
“Whatever you say,” he said, as he sauntered out of the kitchen and went straight for Honey’s makeshift high chair, pulling her out to gobble her little tummy with loud smacking noises. Honey’s delighted giggles faded as the two disappeared to make mischief in the living room.
Dana’s gaze softened and Annabelle felt her nose stuff up from the tears that weren’t far behind. Damn, where’d all the waterworks come from? She rubbed at her eyes. It hurt knowing Dana wanted a baby so badly yet hadn’t conceived. “Soon,” Annabelle promised, meeting Dana’s stare with absolute conviction. “Just give it time.”
“I know,” Dana said. “It’s just hard. I see you with Honey and she’s such a wonderful baby and you’re a great mom…I want that, too.”
“And you will. I’m sure that Halvorsen sperm is pretty industrious. Just give it a little more time. You’ve only been married six months. I mean, you guys should be spending more time getting busy than worrying if you’re ovulating. Takes all the fun out of it, I hear.”
Not that Annabelle would know about anything like that. She’d gotten pregnant distressingly easily.
“You got that right,” Dana agreed. Eyes clearing, she linked her arm through Annabelle’s and led her away from the dishes that needed washing and the remains of dinner that still needed to be put away, ignoring Annabelle’s protests to the contrary, saying, “Tell me about working with Dean. I’m dying to know how you two are getting along.”
“I’d rather wash the dishes,” Annabelle said under her breath. At Dana’s troubled look, Annabelle brightened with a customary grin. “Just kidding. He’s…well, gruff and can’t seem to stand the sight of me, but at least he changed his mind about giving me a job. That’s all that counts in my book.”
“So practical.” Dana sighed, then gave her a subtle look that bordered on sly if Annabelle was to wager a guess and Annabelle stared her down.
“Don’t even go there,” Annabelle warned, knowing that look well enough to fear it. “I mean it, Dana. Do not try and play matchmaker.”
“What?”
“Drop the innocent act, Collins. I know you too well.”
Dana’s nose wrinkled at the use of her maiden name but she didn’t deny that something had been percolating in her brain. Yet she couldn’t help but add in a rush, “He’s single, very available, not to mention good-looking. Doesn’t get better than a Halvorsen. They’re good, honest—”
“Not interested,” Annabelle stated firmly, interrupting Dana’s Halvorsen PR spiel. “He’s my boss. In other words—”
“Off-limits,” Dana finished for her. “I know.”
“I knew you’d understand. I just can’t go there. I’m over my quota for stupid moves and I’m not about to start adding the mistakes of my mother to my own.”
“You’re not your mother,” Dana said. “You know I loved her even more than mine but she was terrible when it came to guys. It’s a wonder there weren’t more like Buddy in and out of her life.”
And, by proxy, mine. Annabelle shuddered at the thought of her mother’s last boyfriend.
Evil, drunken bastard. That about summed it up. Trailer trash, Annabelle added, unable to help herself even in the privacy of her own head.
“He’s still in prison, right?” Dana peered at Annabelle anxiously and Annabelle gave a short affirmative jerk of her head.
“Yeah, but he’s up for parole in a year,” Annabelle answered, adding with as much humor as she could muster in light of the subject matter, “I’m hoping he’ll meet the business end of a pointy object before that happens. Prison, I hear, can be a dangerous place.”
“Are you worried he’ll come after you?”
Annabelle scoffed, but her insides quivered. “Of course not. He’d be the biggest idiot on the planet even to come near me. I wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him.”
“You don’t own a gun.”
Annabelle sent Dana a short look. “I’d buy one.”
Dana chuckled. “I bet you would.”
Shaking off the memory with visible effort, Annabelle returned the conversation to Dana and Sammy and their plans to remodel the little house they’d bought.
As Annabelle knew she would, Dana quickly warmed to the subject and soon her own troubles were forgotten as she simply enjoyed the company of her good friend and the quiet satisfaction that she’d secured a job without having to resort to cocktail waitressing, as she’d feared.
And she pushed all thoughts of Buddy King far from her mind.
THE NEXT DAY Dean got to the office early in hopes of being gone by the time Annabelle arrived, but, as often happened, the minute he stepped into the small building, he got distracted and wasn’t able to get out before she arrived.
He grimaced as the door swung wide and Annabelle, carrying Honey, walked inside loaded down with various baby items. The look on her face was vaguely apologetic, but there was a hint of defiance as well.
“Let me guess. Dana was called into work unexpectedly,” Dean said as he removed what he’d learned earlier was the playpen apparatus from her shoulder. She smiled briefly in thanks and he tried not to enjoy the feelings it sparked. “Do you need some help finding a babysitter?” he asked.
“I don’t feel comfortable letting just anyone watch my baby,” she said and he jerked against the subtle rebuke. “She’s no trouble. Besides, Dana is coming at lunch to pick her up for me.”
Dean thought of Beth and how protective she’d been of Brandon. In fact, he remembered Beth setting up a playpen for Brandon in nearly the same spot Annabelle was setting up a space for Honey. He sighed, realizing his argument was petty and if Beth were here, she’d agree that Honey, as young as she was, needed to be with her mother.
“She can stay,” Dean said. “But since I’m guessing this could become a habit, I might as well child-proof the office.”
“You don’t need to do that,” she protested softly, distress in her expression. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not safe. You don’t want to keep her in that pen all day, do you?”
“No, I suppose not.” Her face broke out in a surprised yet gentle smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He resisted her attempt to take the playpen from him and made quick work of setting it up for her. Seemed these kinds of things hadn’t changed all that much since Brandon was a baby. “Beth was the same way. Never felt comfortable leaving Brandon with anyone.”
She gave him a smile, uncertainty hovering at its edges, and placed her daughter inside the playpen. “So, you have just the one son?”
Dean nodded. “One seemed like enough. Beth had troubles. We didn’t want to risk it.”
“What kind of troubles?”
Dean shifted, hating the memory of those longago scary days when he worried that he might have to choose between his wife and his unborn child. “Ah, a bad case of placenta previa. Brandon was sitting right over Beth’s…” His cheeks colored a little. “Um, cervix. It never got better like in some cases and we didn’t know it because back then they didn’t do scans routinely like doctors do now. They both almost died during the birth.”
“That’s awful. I can understand your reluctance to try again.”
“Yeah.” He almost said that Beth had been willing, but he figured he’d shared enough on that score. He gestured to Honey. “The dad in the picture?” he asked bluntly, needing to know for some reason.
Annabelle met his gaze and answered without flinching. “No. Being a daddy didn’t appeal to Thad beyond the novelty. It’s just me and my girl. And we like it that way.”
The way her chin tilted up, as if daring him to say something, made him want to smile, but he controlled the impulse. The woman had pride. He understood that. “So, he’s not bound to show up in Emmett’s Mill wanting to play house again, right?”
She shook her head. “No. Thad was relieved when I told him we were leaving.”
If Annabelle felt a flicker of sadness at her failed relationship, she hid it well. Dean wondered what kind of partner she’d been. He sensed she’d put everything she had into it, giving up only when she felt the relationship was a lost cause. She was a trouper, he could feel it.
But there was more to Annabelle Nichols than just her steel backbone and it was that other aspect of her that bothered Dean the most.
Without conscious effort, she exuded a sultry sensuality that echoed in her husky voice, making him shudder in a most uncomfortable manner. Everything about her was lush—from her sweet-smelling hair to the firm, wish-you-could-touch-them breasts barely contained by her too-tight tops.
Today she wore a sundress, faded by many washings, but still pretty. Honey wore a newer outfit in a matching sunny yellow with a floppy hat that she was now examining with quiet diligence, and Dean realized that Annabelle probably spent most of her money on her daughter, leaving little for herself.
“It’s none of my business, but I’m curious just the same,” Annabelle broke into his thoughts, peering at him with complete candor as she organized paperwork. “What’s the deal between you and that other construction guy I met in the restaurant?”
SHE TOLD herself she was making conversation but she really wanted to know why Dean’s eyes had glittered with anger despite his obvious effort at control. He’d nearly vibrated with violent energy he’d not acted on. Since she was new in town, she didn’t know people’s histories and felt at a distinct disadvantage.
Dean didn’t seem compelled to answer at first, but, after a pregnant pause, he shrugged. “I don’t care for his business practices or the way he conducts his personal life.”
Annabelle nodded and resumed her task, but she kept a watch on Dean through lowered lashes. He was a big man, with broad shoulders—not surprising for someone who’d been raised in the construction business—fit and lean, hard with muscle.
One would never guess he spent most of his time on administrative tasks. Dana hadn’t lied the other night. Dean Halvorsen wasn’t hard on the eyes. Thick brown hair threaded with silver and in need of a quick snip framed a handsome face that didn’t smile nearly enough and showcased a stubborn jaw that Annabelle had learned spent too much time clenching when he was trying to hold back something he shouldn’t say or do.
Annabelle’s gaze strayed to the framed photo of Beth on the desk and she swallowed instinctively as a strange lump bobbed in her throat. Beth Halvorsen had been pretty but not classically beautiful. Her blond hair hung to her shoulders and lines framed her blue eyes from a lifetime of laughter, with smaller ones around the firm mouth tipped in a smile at whoever was taking the picture. From the confident, slightly conspiratorial expression on her face, Dean had probably taken the photo. The light shining from Beth’s eyes spoke of countless private conversations whispered in hushed tones meant only for a lover to hear.
Unable to look any longer, Annabelle glanced away. She knew from Dana that a car accident had claimed Beth too young and the entire Halvorsen family felt her loss. She considered briefly her own family and how when her mother had died, no one but she and Dana had gone to the funeral. No one had mourned the loss of Sadie Nichols. No one had even noticed. It had made Annabelle stiffen in fear that that would be her fate as well. Alone, used up, forgotten and thrown away.
“You okay?” Dean asked, drawing her attention from the paperwork in her hand that she had actually ceased to see. She shook her head and refocused on her job with a mumbled affirmative but Dean persisted. “You look a little pale. Do you need something? Coffee? Water? A soda?”
She risked a brief smile at his concern, but her heart ached for something she’d never known and probably never would. She knew deep down that Beth Halvorsen had experienced a true and abiding love, and it seemed downright shameful that Annabelle could even for a split second yearn for something similar with the woman’s husband.
Disgrace flooded her cheeks, and she waved away Dean’s offer on the pretense of needing to use the restroom. With a quick glance at Honey, who was playing quietly in her pen, Annabelle closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Drawing deep breaths, she willed away the despicable show of tears that crowded her sinuses, reminding her that she was a mess on the inside no matter how hard she tried to prove otherwise. She vowed she wouldn’t dare leave this dirty, disgusting bathroom until she could emerge the happy, secure and strong person she desperately wanted to be.
A self-deprecating smile tinged with hysterical panic twisted her lips as she realized she could be in here awhile.
CHAPTER SIX
DEAN TRIED not to notice how Annabelle had practically run from the room to disappear into the bathroom, but it was pretty hard. His eyes seemed to find her no matter where she went and no matter how hard he tried to ignore her.
Tried to ignore was about the right choice of words, too. Removing her from his mind was the only thing that kept him focused. But of course the more you try to avoid something, the more your mind makes you ultrasensitive to it. All this failed avoidance strategy was giving him a headache.
Honey made a distressed sound and he turned to regard her with apprehension. “Yeah?” he asked, as if she could answer him.
She toddled to her feet and pressed her little body against the side of the playpen, raising her chubby arms. She wanted him to pick her up. Dean glanced at the closed door and willed Annabelle to return, but she didn’t, and he wondered if everything was all right.
Honey’s big blue eyes widened and she shook her hands at him with an expression that couldn’t get any clearer.
“Your mama should be out in just a minute,” he said and tried focusing on the paperwork in his hand, but when he glanced back at the kid he could’ve sworn he saw her lip tremble in disappointment. His heart did a little uncharacteristic stutter.
“I get it, you’re tired of being in that pen. I don’t blame you. Brandon never did like these things, either,” he said, reaching down to pick her up. He expected the baby to stiffen in alarm since he was a stranger, but she snuggled up to him, quite content in the crook of his arm. “Haven’t you ever heard of stranger-danger?” he asked with a chuckle as Honey cooed up at him and offered a grin full of tiny white teeth. “Yeah, you’re pretty cute and you know it.”
He didn’t remember babies smelling this good, he noted in surprise. Maybe it was true that boys and girls were made of different stuff because he remembered Brandon smelling…less sweet.
He bent down and sniffed at Honey’s crown, and his suspicion was confirmed. This baby smelled like powder, sunshine and rain on a summer day all wrapped up in one. “No wonder women go nuts over babies,” he murmured, taking Honey with him to the file cabinet where he’d left off.
There was something nice about holding Honey. She watched as he searched through the cabinet with his one free hand and seemed content just to hang out while he did whatever he needed to do.
He shifted her to the other side and fell into a rhythm, a part of him starting to worry about Annabelle and the other wishing he and Beth had been able to have more kids, when the main door opened and Brandon walked in.
“What are you doing?” Brandon asked, gesturing to Honey. “Why are you holding her kid?”
Her—as in Annabelle. Dean shifted Honey again and she offered a sweet smile to Brandon, which his son ignored. “Annabelle is in the restroom. There’s no reason for you to be rude to Honey.”
“Honey? What a stupid name. Is your new office manager a hippie or something? Is this kid her love child?”
Dean stiffened at the ugliness in Brandon’s tone, and he pinned him with a short look that communicated how much he appreciated his attitude. “You were born in the wrong era even to know what a love child is. She’s a cute kid. Once you get to know her, the name actually fits. What are you doing out of school?” he asked, redirecting the conversation.
“It’s a pro day. I told you that yesterday,” Brandon answered, his scowl still firmly on his face. “I guess you had other things on your mind.”
“You got something you need to say?” Dean asked, getting straight to the point of Brandon’s attitude. “Because your mom and I didn’t raise you to be so ugly to an innocent child.”
Instantly chastised, Brandon made a visible effort to shake off whatever feelings were rioting in his brain, and Dean let up.
“I need a couple of bucks,” Brandon said, still eyeing Honey with faint distrust. “Me and Jessie want to go down to Merced and catch a movie. I’m short a few until payday. Can you front me?”
Dean nodded and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. Tossing it to Brandon, Dean instructed him to pull out two twenties. “Home before ten, right?”
“Yeah.”
Brandon was doing a better job of hiding his feelings but Dean knew his son well. “Brandon, I’m not adopting her. Relax.”
Brandon swallowed but nodded. “Sorry, Dad. It just freaked me out for a minute. You’re right. She is kinda cute. For a baby.”
Dean smiled, his chest loosening from the pent-up tension between them. “Hey, why don’t you and Jessie sign up for D-Day? You know your nana could use a couple of young hands to help out.”
“Sure, Dad. I’ll see what Jessie says and I’ll get back to you.”
Brandon left, and Dean turned to see Annabelle standing by the bathroom door, watching with a slightly frozen expression on her face.
“She was fussing,” he said by way of explanation but he moved to return Honey to the pen, feeling distinctly as if he’d trespassed. “I waited for you to come out, but she seemed pretty upset…”
“That’s fine. Thank you.” Annabelle flashed a bright smile and settled behind the desk, once again the model of efficiency, yet Dean sensed something was off-kilter. “Don’t forget you have a subcontractor meeting at 3:00 p.m.,” she said, adeptly avoiding meeting his gaze. She double-checked the calendar. “Dayton Plumbing. They’re going to meet you at the job site.”
“I haven’t forgotten. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
Beth had always accused him of being Neander-thalishly blunt when it came to some things, and he could almost hear his wife’s annoyed sigh as the words tripped out of his mouth.
Annabelle pinned him with a short look. “I’m fine. Please stop asking. I don’t like to be badgered, especially when there’s nothing wrong.” She added stiffly, “Thanks for your concern.”
Case closed. Dean shrugged. Plainly, there was something bothering her, but out of the two of them she was being the smart one by not inviting him into her business. He knew when to stop pushing his nose where it didn’t belong.
“Good. I’m heading out after my meeting with Dayton. I probably won’t return to the office. I’ll come in tomorrow before you get here to baby-proof everything.”
She offered him another smile by way of gratitude and he accepted it at face value.
Women were too complex for the likes of him. Beth hadn’t been high-maintenance and he’d loved that about her. For a fleeting moment he wondered what kind of woman Annabelle was. There was an air of mystery about her, so different from Beth, who’d been completely down-to-earth and practically an open book. An odd tickle at the base of his spine warned him away from delving too deep into Annabelle’s secrets. Something told him he might not like what he found.
THAT NIGHT Annabelle sat staring into the darkness of her rundown duplex and sipped a glass of wine. It wasn’t like her to be so maudlin, allowing her thoughts to wander into dangerous territory, but seeing Dean holding Honey as if it were the most natural thing in the world had made her sad in a way that was too close to self-pity for Annabelle’s comfort.
Dean was not hers. Nor would he ever be. Annabelle would no sooner wish for the moon to fall into her hands than wonder what could be between them.
That had been Sadie’s problem. She was always looking for love in the wrong places. Her mother’s romance track record—God love her—was as clichéd as a country song.
Fatigue pulled at her body and Annabelle couldn’t keep her thoughts straight. She’d lied to Dana, but only because she didn’t want her to worry. Buddy King was up for parole much sooner than a year. It had been just another reason to leave Hinkley behind. She doubted he’d try and track her down. Annabelle didn’t suppose he enjoyed prison so much he’d want to return to it.
The night air had the scent of rain, though Annabelle hadn’t heard that a storm was coming. Emmett’s Mill was so different from the dustbowl nothingness of Hinkley. Sadie Nichols would’ve called it God’s Country, a scenic place with wondrously wild smells, its Sierra Nevada greenery broken only by the vibrant fall colors of changing leaves on the trees and spots of dry earth as it hungered for moisture.
It was a place anyone would love to call home. She glanced at her half-empty glass and wondered if such a place existed for her. As a child she’d prayed for a fresh start for her and her mom but it had never come. Now Annabelle had found that perfect place, but she still felt like an outsider looking in—a beggar child pressed against the windowpanes of a cozy house belonging to someone else.
She drained her glass and reached for the bottle sitting on the scarred coffee table, but, as her fingers curled around the neck, she decided against a refill. One glass was enough.
A twig snapped outside and Annabelle jumped as she peered nervously into the dark. The sound of a tomcat yowling echoed in the night. Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she forced a light laugh at herself for acting like the heroine in a scary movie. There were no boogeymen in Emmett’s Mill.
Not even ones named Buddy.
WHATEVER had been bothering Annabelle the day before was gone today and Dean was thankful. She wore another sundress, only this one she wore with a light cardigan that covered her most bountiful assets and Dean told himself that was a blessing. Except, when she smiled she brought the sunshine with her and he momentarily forgot what he’d been saying or doing. Flustered, he returned to his calendar, ready to hit the job site. He noted Annabelle glancing in puzzled amazement at the various baby-proofing items throughout the office: latches on drawers, doorknob protectors, plastic covers for electrical outlets, a gate blocking off the bathroom. Granted, he might’ve overdone it.
“You really didn’t need to go that far,” Annabelle said, although her eyes were shining. “Clients are going to think you run a daycare on the side.”
He chuckled. “I just don’t want Honey stuck in that pen all the time. Babies need to stretch their legs, too.”
Annabelle nodded, appreciation evident in the way her mouth played with a subtle smile. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
For a split second a violent hunger to taste those full lips ripped through him and stole the air from his chest. He cleared his throat with difficulty on the pretense of having something caught, and made a concentrated effort to get the hell out of there before he did something stupid—like give in to his baser needs—but he was met at the door by his mother.
“Dean, sweetheart, just the person I wanted to see,” Mary exclaimed, moving around him with the ease of a woman who knew what she was doing. She approached Annabelle with a warm smile. “You must be Annabelle. Sammy and Dana have told me very good things about you.”
Annabelle looked clearly nervous and Dean could understand why. Mary Halvorsen was a woman to be reckoned with. After raising three boisterous sons, each of whom had grown to over six feet tall, she didn’t scare easily or get sidetracked from her purpose. And right now, she had her sights set on Annabelle for some reason.
“Mom, don’t be wrangling Annabelle into one of your committees. I doubt she wants to spend her time in a quilting circle with a bunch of old biddies.”
“Watch your tongue, Dean Emmett Halvorsen,” Mary said in a dulcet tone threaded with steel. “Besides, I didn’t come to invite Annabelle to the Quilters Brigade, unless, that is, you would like to join…” Mary pinned Annabelle with an expectant stare until Annabelle shook her head. “Right. I didn’t think so. Although it’s a stereotype that only old women quilt. Dean knows this. He used to quilt himself.”
Dean bit back a groan, unable to believe his own mother had outed him like that. His cheeks flooded with warmth. “Not to rush you, Mom, but what did you come by for?”
“Well, I came by to see if Annabelle would like to volunteer on D-Day. We still need volunteers and I haven’t heard from Brandon and his girl, Jessie. We need some young, strong backs to carry supplies and run refreshments to the crews.”
Bewildered, Annabelle asked, “D-Day? As in the battle of Normandy?”
Mary chuckled, her stout body jiggling with mirth. “Goodness no, child, but kudos to you for knowing your history. No, D-Day in Emmett’s Mill is Restoration Day. We’re restoring the mill next month.”
Annabelle stared blankly. “What mill? And why do you call it D-Day? Shouldn’t it be R-Day or something like that?”
Mary gave Dean a look that said he was falling down on the job if Annabelle didn’t even know about the town’s namesake and why they were restoring it. “My dear, Emmett’s Mill was named after our very own Waldon Emmett. The Halvorsen family is directly descended from the original Emmetts who settled here, which is why Dean’s father and I chose Emmett as Dean’s middle name. As for why we call it D-Day, the committee wanted something grand to commemorate this auspicious day in our local history, and since Waldon Emmett was of French descent, well, we thought calling it D-Day would give it a sense of importance.”
“I see.” Annabelle looked a little lost and Dean didn’t blame her. The committee’s logic was tenuous at best. “Well, it certainly does sound grand,” she agreed, looking to Dean as if for a sign that she hadn’t somehow offended his mother. It was endearing but unnecessary. Mary Halvorsen had skin thicker than a rhino.
“Mom, don’t bore Annabelle with our family history,” Dean said, smothering a chuckle. “Not everyone is fascinated with other people’s history. It’s like watching home movies of total strangers. Those kinds of things are barely tolerable for the people who are in them.”
“Oh hush. No one asked you,” Mary retorted, eyes dancing as she returned to Annabelle. “Am I boring you, dear?”
“No, I think it’s fascinating. Please do continue.” Annabelle reached down to pick up Honey, who had begun to fuss a little. “I think it’s great that you know so much about your family and that your history isn’t something you’d rather hide.”
Mary turned a triumphant smile Dean’s way before continuing. “Thank you. So, as I was saying, Waldon Emmett built the flour mill in 1832 and made his fortune selling freshly milled flour to the neighboring cities, except by the time he died his son, Waldon, Jr., wasn’t much of a miller and quickly drove the business into the ground. Wallie, as he was called, spent most of the family’s fortune on a host of get-rich schemes that inevitably failed. All that remains is the mill. It was finally donated to the historical society and we’ve formed the nonprofit organization heading the Emmett’s Mill Restoration project.”
“Aren’t you sorry you asked?” Dean asked Annabelle wryly, but she looked taken in by the story. “Are you a history buff?” he asked.
“Not particularly, but I enjoy hearing about local history. It must feel wonderful to have such deep roots here in Emmett’s Mill,” she murmured.
His mother jumped in, loving her captive audience. “You should come to dinner tonight—”
“Mom,” Dean interjected, alarmed at where the conversation was headed. Mary blinked at him in annoyance for interrupting her, but he wasn’t about to let his mom drag Annabelle to a family dinner. A Halvorsen dinner wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was loud, chaotic and usually there were at least three conversations happening at once. He couldn’t see Annabelle feeling comfortable at all. Not to mention he was having enough trouble dealing with his inappropriate mental wanderings, he didn’t need to complicate matters. “Leave Annabelle with a flyer. I have to get going.”
