Last First Kiss (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

“M
OMMY
!” A
TTICUS
FLEW
down the steps of the plane. Annie wrapped him in a bear hug and looked up.

“Margot!”

Her stepdaughter tossed her thick curls over one shoulder and beamed. “Surprise?”

“Welcome to the Eastern Sierras, honey.” Annie gathered her in the hug too. “I’m so, so, so glad to see you.”

“Thanks for letting me come. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the little guy.” Margot kept her tone bright, but her brown eyes were expressive. Everything showed on her face, always had, and something wasn’t right. “I’m sorry to barge in,” she whispered. “But I needed a break from both of them.”

Margot didn’t get along well with her parents. Annie never wanted to intervene as a stepparent, but she was a friend, and in her heart, Margot was family. “They are okay with you coming here?”

“Yeah. Dad bought the ticket and my mom could care less. More time for her and the boys.” Margot’s mother, Gregor’s first wife, remarried a few years ago and had two more sons, pushing Margot off to one side.

“Well, you’re welcome for as long as you like!” Annie said, giving her yet another hug. “I’ve missed you.”

Margot giggled. “It hasn’t been more than two months.”

“I know, but when you’re away from a favorite person, any time feels too long.”

“Piggyback! Piggyback!” Atticus shouted, grabbing Margot’s leg and hanging on tight.

“Okay, okay, Monster,” Margot said, using her affectionate term for him.

Atticus insisted on Margot sitting in the backseat, and he held her hand tight the whole way home while giving Annie a running litany of all the Disneyland adventures.

“Miss Penelope let me eat two scoops of ice.”

“Miss Penelope?” Annie tried to remember what movie she’d featured in.

“Dad’s friend,” Margot muttered with a grimace.

“Oh.”
That
Miss Penelope. Atticus’s former pre-K teacher?
Really, Gregor?
How many times had he played her for a fool? Even still, the idea of her ex picking up at their son’s preschool, probably during their marriage, didn’t hurt. Sure it felt vaguely uncomfortable. Penelope was legal—just. Sadly, there was another girl who’d soon learn a hard life lesson about broken hearts. A good thing about getting older really was getting wiser.

They pulled up the driveway.

“Whoa.” Margot’s voice raised three octaves. “Who’s the mega hottie?”

Sawyer squatted, shirtless, on the porch roof replacing a gutter. Sweat slicked his carved torso, the air holding the muggy heat common before a storm.

“Annie. Seriously. Who. Is. That?” Margot repeated slowly.

“Oh, he’s, he’s . . . uh . . . he’s Sawyer Kane.”

“Come again?”

“Sawyer Kane, my neighbor.”

“Sawyer Kane is his actual name, and he looks like . . . whoa . . . ” Margot fanned her face.

Sawyer swiped his brow and threw up a hand in greeting, smiling broadly.
Whoa indeed.

“He’s the sheriff,” Atticus stage-whispered. “Although he doesn’t shoot bad guys.”

“Um, and here I worried you’d have nothing to do,” Margot muttered.

“Margot!” Annie said, pressing a hand to her cheek.

“Seriously, can I high-five you? I feel compelled to high-five you.”

“That’s enough, you.” Annie turned around and waggled a warning finger even as her blush prickled to her forehead.

“Do you love him, Mommy?” Atticus asked.

Et tu, son?

She got out and gave Sawyer a little wave before getting Atticus from his booster seat.

“Wanted to fix the eaves before the rain came,” he hollered.

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

“I’m going to repair a few shingles too. Found a spot where the roof will leak.”

This man had found the spot where everything leaked. She wiped away sudden tears and blew her nose with a tissue that she had balled in her pocket. “Silly allergies,” she said with forced brightness. “Let me introduce you to my stepdaughter, Margot.”

“Um, hey.” Margot shifted her weight on the balls of her pink Converse sneakers, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. “You, um, you’re good at fixing things.” She turned to Atticus. “How about you take me inside and give me a tour.”

After they went inside, Sawyer jumped off the low roof, landing in a crouch.

“Sorry in advance,” he said, straightening slowly.

“For what?” Annie asked.

“The fact I have to kiss you right now.” He swooped her into a dip, his mouth a hot promise.

“But the children will see!” she gasped, bracing her hands on his wide back.

“Oh no they won’t.” He hiked her up, holding her thighs against him, and walked behind the big lilac bush her mother had long ago planted, the one that grew alongside the weatherboards in a dense hedge.

“We can’t—”

“One kiss,” he murmured, grazing her neck.

Her eyes closed of their own volition. “With you, it’s never just a kiss.”

“Your lips.” He stroked her jaw with a gentle forefinger. “I might be forming an addiction to them. The way they curve here, and dip in the middle. I love it.”

His eyes widened slightly as the word left his lips, and she knew hers did the same. They were venturing into dangerous L-word territory.

“Sawyer Kane.” She affected a light, teasing tone, hoping to draw them onto safer ground. “You are a romantic.”

“Where you are concerned?” He laughed huskily before returning to her mouth. “Guilty as charged, ma’am.”

D
URING
LUNCH
, S
AWYER
couldn’t help but notice the way Atticus stared at him. While Margot and Annie were engrossed in a heated conversation about a Netflix show they were addicted to, the little guy waggled his eyebrows. He liked Atticus a lot. Having never been around children much, this kid put him at ease, made him feel as if he didn’t have two left feet when it came to ankle-biters. But what secret signal was he trying to share?

Finally, he couldn’t stand the suspense. Setting down his fork, he cleared his throat and said, “Hey, champ, how about you come outside with me? We’ll go check the truck’s oil.”

Atticus nodded eagerly. “Sounds good!”

Annie glanced over with a distracted smile. “What are you two getting up to?”

Sawyer stood, bending to kiss her cheek. “Secret men’s business. When I get back I want those dishes right where I left them. I’m washing up.”

Margot stared. “You clean too?”

Sawyer shrugged. “She cooked this fine meal. It’s only fair.”

Atticus reached up, and Sawyer blinked at his hand a moment before realizing the boy wanted him to hold it. Aw, hell. His heart filled his whole rib cage as Atticus led him outside. Once they got away from the house, he paused. “Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Can I show you something?” Atticus asked, pink-cheeked with excitement. “Course you can,” Sawyer said, jerking as the kid pulled him toward the barn. For a skinny little fellow, he had one hell of a grip. They rounded the barn, and in the back was an old lean-to, probably used to store firewood way back when.

Atticus extended his pointer finger. “In there.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.” Either Atticus had to pee real bad or was dancing with excitement.

Sawyer stuck his head in and let his eyes adjust to the light. On the floor, curled on her side, a pretty golden dog nursed four tiny puppies that all suspiciously looked like miniature German Shepherds.

Did Maverick have a hand in this? That sly rascal.

“Puppies.” Atticus grinned.

“Yeah.” Sawyer returned the smile and dropped to a crouch. “Here, sit on my knee and we can watch.”

Atticus scrambled onto him, looping one arm around his neck. “This is the best thing I found in my whole life.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” Sawyer said gravely.

“Think I can keep one?”

That right there was dangerous territory. He didn’t want to go committing Annie to the responsibility of a pet even though he understood the way dog love sat in a little boy’s soul. “You’re going to have to ask your mom.”

“I hope I can.” Atticus rested against his chest with a contented sigh. “And then come live with you.”

Sawyer couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.

“That’s what I’m going to wish for on the first star I see tonight,” Atticus continued, gaze fixed on the puppies, no idea how hard he squeezed Sawyer’s heart. “To have one of those wiggly little puppies and live with you forever.”

That’s what I’m going to wish for too, champ. That’s what I’m going to wish for too.

Chapter Twenty-Five

L
ATER
THAT
AFTERNOON
,
after Sawyer went on duty, Annie nestled in the cozy window booth of Haute Coffee watching the rain pound Main Street. Atticus stirred a fat marshmallow into his hot chocolate as Margot sipped her cappuccino.

“Oh yum. That’s really good coffee.” She wiped the thick dollop of foam from her top lip.

“Isn’t it? The owner, Edie, knows her stuff. This could rival anything in Portland.”

“Wonder what she’s doing here?” Margot looked out the window at the quiet street.

“Brightwater isn’t that bad.” The unexpected sentence sprung from Annie’s mouth, and she sat blinking at the implications.

Margot shot her a strange look. “You always said you hated where you grew up.”

“We don’t say ‘hate’ in our family,” Atticus piped in. Margot rolled her eyes as Annie forced a grin.

“That’s right, honey.”

Strange that she raised her son not to use the word she so constantly whispered to herself.
I hate my bank account. I hate my stomach. I hate my crazy hair.

“Well, I hate my frizz.” Margot took a defiant sip.

“Mom!” Atticus looked between them, wondering who’d win.

Annie gave Margot the look. The young woman wasn’t her daughter, but she’d known her for years and had sympathy for her difficult parental situation. Her mother remarried and invested in her new family, seeming to regard her first-born as unwelcome cargo from a life she no longer lived. And Gregor. Gregor only found value in the people around him reflecting his own self-image . . . and self-importance.

“You seem upset, honey.”

“Meh. College stuff.” Margot stared out the window. “Dad. The usual debate.”

Gregor wanted Margot to attend his alma mater, an elite liberal arts college, next year, and major in philosophy, like him. Margot wanted to become a yoga teacher or study acupuncture. Margot said during the trip to Disneyland he’d made it clear in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t see a dime if she chose that direction. It wasn’t Annie’s role to intervene in their business, but her heart ached for her stepdaughter, who had spent the last few days moping around the property.

Suddenly Margot straightened, eyes shining despite the dull light outside. Annie glanced over her shoulder. Sawyer’s youngest brother, Archer, sauntered through the front door with the slow, rolling swagger that served as his own personal calling card.

She glanced back at Margot. “Don’t even think about it.”

“He’s really cute.”

“He’s way, way, way too old for you.”

“I’m eighteen.” Margot’s face was disbelieving. “And what, he’s in his twenties? I like older guys.”

“We are so not having this conversation.”

Margot flipped her curls over one shoulder and braced her chin on her fist, glaring at the opposite wall. “Hey, there’s a concert here tonight,” she said, pointing at the band poster. “Going to hear live music might be fun.”

Annie hesitated. Margot was here under her care, and while she trusted her stepdaughter, she didn’t trust men around a pretty young girl. From her private vantage point, she gave Archer a once-over. He leaned on the bar while Edie ground coffee beans, not taking his eyes off the back of the red-haired barista’s head. He was darker than Sawyer and not quite as tall. Still, his lean muscular quality was attractive, and the dimple didn’t hurt.

The Kane brothers were blessed with particularly fine DNA.

The door swung open again and Kit Kane, one of Sawyer’s cousins, entered in his green and tan deputy uniform. Archer turned and gave him a fist bump. That was when they caught her staring. Annie ducked her head and sipped her mocha—extra shot, extra chocolate, extra whip, exactly how she liked it.

She couldn’t hear the specifics of their fast-paced banter, but their lips moved fast and laughter came loud. No wonder Sawyer stayed quiet. Hard to get a word in edgewise around such motor mouths.

Edie turned and gave the two men a tight smile, setting their coffees on the counter before giving Annie a shy wave. She came out from around the corner, pausing at the glass cabinet and removing an extra-large slice of flourless cake.

“This piece called your name,” she said, walking over to set the plate on the table and handing out three forks.

Annie almost said, “Oh you shouldn’t,” but Margot’s presence silenced her. The girl was eighteen. She didn’t deserve to hear anyone talking negative about dessert.

“Thank you,” she said instead. “Please, join us for a second.”

Edie scanned the shop. Haute Coffee was quiet for once. Archer and Kit stood at the counter, cracking each other up.

“You’re really having The Foggy Stringdusters here?” Margot asked. “They are getting a lot of radio play back home. Indie bluegrass, right?”

“Yes.” Edie’s face lit up. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“How did you score that? I mean, no offense, but this is kind of the middle of nowhere.”

“Quincy Bankcroft pulled a few strings,” Edie said.

“He’s like a fairy godmother, isn’t he?” Annie grinned.

“In more ways than one.” Edie gave an involuntary glance over Annie’s shoulder and flushed. Looked as if the barista wasn’t immune to the charms of the Kane men either, but which one—Kit or Archer?

She hoped for Edie’s sake it was Kit. Archer had the dimples, the walk, and the charm, but from what she’d heard, and she wasn’t even privy to most of the town’s gossip, he was a guy who didn’t settle down. Truly untamed. Edie seemed gentle, reserved, and a little quiet.

“Hey! Boys! Back away from those cookies if you know what’s good for you,” she snapped, holding a warning finger.

Whoa.
Maybe not so quiet after all.

Archer threw up his hands and stepped away. “Just checking to see if they were cool enough for customers.”

Edie narrowed her eyes even as her lips quirked. “I have my eye on you, cowboy.”

“Like what you see?” Archer drawled.

Edie snorted. “You’re trouble.”

Archer tipped his hat. “Trouble is my middle name.”

Annie’s phone rang. Hank King, her Realtor.

“Sorry, I really need to take this call. Margot, Edie, can you make sure Atticus leaves some cake for everyone else? I’ll step under the awning outside.”

“Yep, no problem.” Edie gave Atticus a conspiratorial wink. No doubt she’d slip him another treat, but whatever, later tonight Annie would crank the music and let him dance party off the sugar rush.

The conversation didn’t take long. The news was good. The best even. So why did she lean against the red brick with a sudden headache after hanging up? The sum had been raised on Five Diamonds another hundred thousand dollars with the stipulation she vacated the farm within thirty days.

That should be enough money to pave over any misgivings, so why were they still there?

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Annie opened her eyes and Grandma Kane stared her down from under a black umbrella, mouth set in a permanent disapproval. “What’s this about Five Diamonds having an offer?”

Was Grandma Kane Batman? Annie turned her phone over in her hands, inspecting it for bugs. “How on earth did you hear about that already?”

“I have my ways. Plus, when Hank King makes calls outside the Save-U-More he talks loud,” Grandma said, nodding at the supermarket kitty-corner to them.

Inside, Archer and Kit’s noisy guffaws threatened to shake the window panes.
Yeah, because your family are a bunch of shrinking violets, huh?

“It’s time you steer clear of my grandson.”

“Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?” Grandma leaned in, practically poking Annie’s eye with the umbrella. “Sawyer’s a good boy. He doesn’t deserve to be toyed about by a kooky Carson.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, this conversation is totally out of line.”

“Look at you, with that fancy cappa-whachamacalit. This town needs to remember its roots before it’s too late.”

“First of all, those are your kin inside that shop drinking espresso. Second, the Carsons were on the same wagon train as the Kanes. Don’t even think of trying to Out-Brightwater me. I’m fifth-generation. You’re the one who married in.”

Boom, how you like those apples, Granny?

Grandma’s color rose as her eyes turned to slits. “And you are willing to throw it all away, slink out of town with your money bags.”

“You’re upset because you want the land for yourself. You’ve always wanted it. When I was a kid, how many lawsuits did you file trying to encroach on access?”

Annie jumped when a large hand clasped her shoulder. She turned, and it was Archer, his mouth firm. “Are you yelling at my grandma?”

Great, out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“She’s commenting on things that aren’t her business,” Annie responded.

“This is Brightwater!” Grandma hollered. “Everything here is my business.”

“Pretty sure Sawyer won’t want to hear his grandmother is disturbing the peace on his woman.”

“His woman?” Annie gasped as Grandma Kane said, “Disturbing the peace?”

“Come on, Grandma,” Archer said, offering her an arm. “I’m sure there’s someone you can scowl at over at The Baker’s Dozen. As for you”—he rose his chin at Annie—“how about you figure out what you are to my brother, and quick.”

As grandson and grandmother stalked away, Annie resisted the urge to stomp in the largest puddle in sight. Instead, she turned back toward Haute Coffee. Hopefully there was an entire chocolate cake calling her name.

Her phone rang again. What now? This time an unfamiliar local number appeared on the screen. “Hello?” she said tentatively.

“Daisy, darling!” Quincy’s faint accent crisped his speech.

“Oh, hello.” She straightened her posture. “So good to hear from you.”

“I’ll cut straight to the chase. Do you want good news or better news?”

“Um, let’s start with good and go up from there.”

“The deal closed on
The Brightwater Bugle
. This little town paper is the newest jewel in the Bankcroft Media crown.”

“Wow.” A flutter of excitement ran through her. “Congratulations.”

“I’m not looking to keep
The Brightwater Bugle
a rinky-dink backwoods paper. We’ll still cover the local 4-H meeting and the obituaries, as those are the most popular sections, but features—that’s my vision. Why let other magazines fly by night through here? We should generate our own content. Highlight Brightwater and the rest of the New West.”

“New West?” Annie repeated, before face-palming. Acting like a parrot wasn’t going to impress this man.

Quincy continued as if he hadn’t noticed. “The old West is changing and residents need content that reflects the new landscape. These days, people appreciate a little glamor in their country. Now on to the better news. Would you like to be the
Bugle
’s new Editor in Chief?”

“The . . . ” Her mouth worked soundlessly, the words unable to permeate her brain. Instead, they bounced around her skull like rogue Ping-Pong balls.

“That’s right. I want you, Annabelle Carson.”

“But my qualifications are—”

“Absobloodylutely what we need. Besides, I like you and your voice. I go with my gut on these decisions, and this time my gut cries out, ‘Annie! Annie Carson!’ ”

Quincy Bankcroft’s gut cried out for her? The phone trembled in her hand. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say the only word I want to hear—yes.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead. “How about you let me think about it?”

“I like those words far, far less.”

“I’m in the middle of a few major life decisions and need to think everything through.”

“Fine. You can have until the end of the week. But don’t be daft, darling. You are the exact right person for the job, and something tells me you know it too.”

He hung up, and she was left holding the phone, staring, as a literal tumbleweed blew down the street center. All this time she’d been telling herself how staying in Brightwater was pointless, that she couldn’t advance her career or her life—that San Francisco was the only sensible option.

Now these words were thrown back in her face, but the effect was like getting dumped over the head with an ice bucket. She stepped back inside the coffee shop, determined to eat Edie’s flourless chocolate cake before her words.