Hard Rustler. B.J. DanielsЧитать онлайн книгу.
had—let alone end up where she had? Which led to his second big question. What had she done with what she’d stolen from him?
“I’d like to send someone to look at it in the next few days,” he said. “Is that possible?”
“It’s not quite ready to show.”
Really? “I don’t care what kind of shape it’s in.”
“One of the relatives is in the process of cleaning everything out. I’m afraid Frannie was a...collector.” Yes, she’d collected a few things from him before she’d left. “But the house will be pristine in a few weeks if you’d like to see it then.”
Frannie? “You say a relative is cleaning it out?”
“Her granddaughter, Annabelle.”
His old heart thumped hard against his ribs. What if she’d already thrown it out? She had to be stopped. “Then I’ll check back with you.”
“That would be ideal.”
He hung up and made a call. “I need to see you. Now.”
Oh, Baby Doll, he said to himself as he disconnected. The woman had thought she’d outfoxed him. Soon she would be turning over in her grave. As for her granddaughter, she could be joining Frannie very soon.
Dawson hadn’t driven by the old Clementine place in years. After he’d cleaned up, he’d driven into town since there was still some daylight left in the winter day and his brother had called wanting to hear about his hunting trip. He’d told himself he wasn’t going near Annabelle’s grandmother’s house, but it was as if his pickup had a mind of its own.
There was a time that this neighborhood had been his second home. That was back when his best friend lived two doors down from Frannie Clementine’s house. Back when he and his best friend had built a tree house only to find five-year-old Annabelle in it and unable to get down.
With a bark of a laugh, he reminded himself that she hadn’t been filled with gratitude that time he’d saved her, either.
He slowed his pickup, surprised how long it had been since he’d driven through this neighborhood. His best friend had moved away years ago and once Annabelle left...
The house, on so-called Millionaire’s Row on the west side of town, sat on a huge lot surrounded by massive trees. Behind it, the water of the Milk River curved slowly past. An old single-car garage stood off to the side, looking like it needed to be torn down.
He pulled up on the opposite side of the street. There was a For Sale sign in the yard, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Mystery solved. Of course that was what had brought Annabelle back. She was planning to get rid of the house—the only thing still tethering her to Whitehorse now that her grandmother was gone.
Pulling under the protective boughs of a huge evergreen, he left the engine running and took in the home. He was wondering what Annabelle could get for the place when he saw a woman in a bandanna, a gaudy sweatshirt and a pair of baggy jeans come out. She carried a large box out the front door to the side of the porch closest to the driveway. Even from a distance, he could tell that the woman was covered in dust and dirt. So Annabelle had hired help. That, too, shouldn’t have surprised him, although he didn’t recognize the woman.
As she set the box at the open end of the porch, she stood to stretch, as if her back bothered her. A lock of blond hair escaped from beneath the bandanna. With a shock, he realized what he was seeing. Annabelle?
The sight of the supermodel looking like a janitor made him laugh and shake his head in disbelief. He was tempted to take a photo with his cell phone. But he could just imagine how horrified she would be if he did. He had barely recognized her, and not just because he suspected Annabelle had never done a day’s manual labor in her life. Surely she wasn’t packing up the entire house by herself.
But as he looked around, he saw that the only vehicle near the place was the silver sports car. Nor did anyone else emerge from the house carrying boxes as he sat watching, truck engine running. Why hadn’t she hired help? It was so unlike her.
A thought struck him like a swift kick to the shin. She’d said she’d forgotten to get gas, but what if... The idea was so preposterous that he laughed out loud as he put his pickup into gear to drive away. Whatever Annabelle was up to, it had nothin’ to do with him. He didn’t even know why he’d driven by.
His cell phone rang, making him jump. He really wasn’t good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff. He hit the brakes and quickly answered as he watched Annabelle put down another box, stretch and go back inside. As she glanced in his direction, he slowly let out the clutch and eased the pickup down the street, making sure he kept his head turned. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that he had any interest in her.
“You on your way?” his brother asked without preamble.
He’d lost track of time. “I am. Be right there.” He disconnected, hoping his brother’s invitation was only about having a beer. The way news traveled around this county, by now everyone could know that Annabelle Clementine was back in town—his brother Luke included. And that was a subject he didn’t want to discuss.
Luke was already sitting on a bar stool at the Mint when he walked in. Seeing him coming, Luke ordered him a Moose Drool and patted the stool next to him. “Some pretty nice weather for November, huh?”
“Uh-huh,” Dawson said, groaning inside. Luke was grinning like a jackass and it had nothing to do with the weather.
“Annabelle Clementine is back in town,” his brother blurted, as if unable to hold it in a second longer.
“Who?” Dawson asked innocently and took a sip of the beer the bartender set in front of him. Luke was as subtle as a horseshoe to the head. At least he’d been smart enough to know that Dawson would need a beer.
“Who?” Luke echoed. “Annabelle Clementine, or as you used to call her...Annie. You aren’t going to tell me that you’ve forgotten about the woman who—” His brother stopped and gave him a you-had-me-there-for-a-minute grin. “So, you already heard?” He sounded disappointed.
“Actually, I saw her.”
“No kiddin’? She still gorgeous? She say why she’s back?”
Dawson ran his thumb around the top of his beer bottle for a moment. Something stopped him from telling his brother about siphoning gas out of his pickup to practically fill her fancy sports car. “Saw her packing up at her grandmother’s house. She’s got the place for sale.” He took a sip of his beer.
“You just happened to be in that neighborhood, did you?” Luke couldn’t seem to get that goofy grin off his face. “She say how long she’s staying?”
“I said I saw her. Didn’t say I made a point of talking to her. So I wouldn’t know, but I think it’s a pretty good assumption that she’ll be hightailing it out of town just as quickly as she can,” he said without looking at his brother.
“Why didn’t you talk to her?” Luke asked.
“Why would I?”
“After all these years, I would think you’d be curious. Maybe it isn’t just her grandmother’s house that brought her back. Maybe—”
“It’s just her grandmother’s house.”
“You can’t know that. Maybe—”
“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Dawson asked, hoping to change the subject. Thinking about Annabelle gave him a headache. Talking about her was even worse. It had been years since he’d called her Annie, let alone allowed himself to even say the word. Annie was the woman he fell in love with. Annabelle was...well, she was a supermodel he didn’t know, didn’t want