An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love. Kimberly Van Meter

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.