Текст книги "Spring Fever"

Автор книги: Mary Kay Andrews

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

It was Annajane’s turn for an eyeroll. “Hello, Pokey? May I remind you that you named your own sons Glenndenning, Peterson, and Clayton? And that you have brothers named Mason and Davis?”

“Those are family names, and you know it,” Pokey said.

“Fine. I think Shane is a perfectly nice name. And he’s a nice guy, and he loves me and I love him.”

A wicked, familiar glint shone in Pokey’s eyes. “How’s the sex?”

“None of your business.”

“I knew it,” Pokey crowed. “You’ve been dating, what, six months, and you haven’t fucked him?”

“I hate that word,” Annajane said irritably. “And our sex life is perfectly normal. Divine, if you must know. Although, remember, we do live four hours apart. And up until this week, I still had my job here.”

“If you were really attracted to him, you’d be screwing like a pair of jackrabbits,” Pokey said, “instead of hanging around here in Passcoe. You think I don’t know how you and Mason used to be when you were engaged? Jesus! We never once had Sunday dinner on time in the old days, because you two were always off over at the lake, getting it on.”

Despite herself, Annajane blushed. “You knew?”

“Everybody knew. Mama, Daddy, hell, I think even Nate the yard man knew what you two were up to, and he’s nearly senile. Those windows didn’t get steamed up by themselves. My point is, if you are really this hot for this Shane guy, nothing could keep you apart. Hey!” she said, brightening, “maybe he’s gay.”

Annajane stood up abruptly. “I think we’re done here. Nice talking to you.”

“You still can’t admit it, can you?” Pokey taunted.

“Admit what?”

“You can’t admit that you were wrong to end your marriage to Mason. That the divorce was a huge mistake. That you loved him then and you love him now, and you would take him back in a minute if you could.”

“But I can’t,” Annajane pointed out, gripping her water bottle so tightly she heard the plastic crumple. “I’m engaged to another man. To Shane. And Mason’s wedding was postponed, not called off. And as soon as Sophie is well again, this wedding is going to happen.”

“Fuck the wedding,” Pokey said fiercely. “You’re still not being honest with me. You’re still bullshitting me. Come off it, Annajane. We have been best friends since we were five years old. Just be straight with me. Will you?”

Annajane walked over to a trash bin and tossed in the water bottle.

“All right,” she said finally. “Okay, maybe there is still something there. It’s probably just jealousy, wanting what I can’t have. But yes, I had a twinge when I saw Mason standing there at the altar.”

She allowed herself a sad, lopsided smile. “Happy now?”

“Yesss!” Pokey said, fist-pumping.

“I don’t know what to do,” Annajane heard herself admitting. “I can’t believe I am saying this out loud.”

“Tell him,” Pokey advised. “It’s not too late. Just be straight with him. If not for yourself, then at least for Sophie’s sake.”

“I can’t,” Annajane said. “I am engaged to another man. He is engaged to Celia. This is hopeless. And pointless.”

“Then I will,” Pokey vowed.

“No!” Annajane clutched Pokey’s arm. “Don’t you dare. If you say a word about this to Mason, I swear, Pokey, I will never speak to you again. I mean it. Just stay out of it, please?”

“This is so stupid,” Pokey said stubbornly. “He will ruin his life, and Sophie’s if he goes through with this charade and marries Celia.”

“But it’s his life,” Annajane said. “Not yours.”

*   *   *

They heard the voice as they were rounding the corridor back to the waiting room.

“Now, darlin’, you’ve got to eat something,” Celia cooed. “I fixed up this basket just for you. Maybe just a ham biscuit, or some of the tenderloin. I had the waiter slice it from the rare end, just like you like it.”

Annajane felt her spine stiffen. Beside her, Pokey made a soft gagging noise.

She wanted to turn around and run out the door. Instead, she forced herself to keep walking back to the waiting room.

Celia had changed out of her wedding gown and was wearing an aqua velour tracksuit, with the jacket unzipped far enough to reveal a tantalizing amount of cleavage. A huge picnic basket sat by her feet, and she’d dragged a table over to the seating area, where she was unwrapping foil packages and plastic cartons.

“Hey there!” she said, as she saw the two women approaching. “I hope you’re still hungry, because Sallie had the catering people pack enough food for the Russian army.”

“I’ve eaten,” Pokey said bluntly.

“Annajane?” Celia held out a petite yeast roll stuffed with blood-red prime beef and a leaf of arugula.

“Oh, nothing for me,” Annajane said, as her stomach grumbled the message that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She looked at Mason, who’d removed his tux jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Any news about the patient?” she asked.

“The nurse just came out and said Sophie’s doing fine,” Celia volunteered. “So I was hoping maybe I could lure this crazy man of mine into finally relaxing and eating something.” She reached over and gave Mason’s knee an affectionate squeeze.

“And I was just trying to tell her that this hospital gives me the creeps, and I really don’t want to eat anything here,” Mason said, looking up at Annajane with an expression she couldn’t quite fathom.

“Well,” Annajane said brightly, looking from Mason to Celia to Pokey. “It’s been a long day. And if the nurse says Sophie’s all right, that’s a huge relief. Maybe I’ll go on home and check back here in the morning. I’ll get here early, hopefully before she wakes up.”

“I think that’s a very sensible idea,” Celia agreed, nodding her head vigorously. “There’s really nothing you can do here tonight, Annajane. The nurse said they’ll only let family back, once she’s in the recovery room. Mason and I will keep a vigil, won’t we, darlin’?”

Mason frowned slightly. “Annajane is family.”

Celia laughed a silvery, hollow little laugh. “Of course. But she probably wants to go home and shower and get out of that stinky dress, don’t you think?” She studied Annajane’s face dispassionately. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you do look pretty beat.”

Annajane looked down at herself. Her shoes were spattered with something unspeakable, her stockings had runs in both legs, and the dress was history. She felt her shoulders slump. She was no match for Celia’s effortless perfection. She should go.

“I’ll call you if there’s any change,” Mason said as he stood.

Clearly, Annajane thought, he wants to be alone with his bride.

“I’d better get home to make sure Pete puts the little heathens to bed,” Pokey announced.

“I’ll walk you both to your cars,” Mason offered.

10

“I’m right there,” Pokey said, pointing to the Range Rover she’d parked in the ambulance loading zone.

Mason and Annajane watched Pokey scramble into the driver’s seat and zoom off into the darkness.

It wasn’t until she saw her friend’s taillights disappear that Annajane remembered that she’d arrived at the hospital in the ambulance—and that her own car was parked back at the church.

“Oh hell,” she told Mason. “I don’t have a car here, and neither do you.”

“That’s right.” Mason scratched his neck absentmindedly.

“I’ll call her and get her to come back for me,” Annajane said, reaching in her purse for her cell phone. A moment later she disconnected. “She must still have her phone turned off,” she said.

Mason reached in his pocket and brought out a set of keys. “I’ll give you a ride,” he said. “We can take Celia’s Saab.” He pointed in the direction of the parking lot and started walking. “It’s right over there.”

“Shouldn’t you check with her?” Annajane said uneasily.

“I don’t have to ask Celia’s permission to give you a ride, Annajane,” Mason snapped. “She’s my fiancée, not my supervisor. And she trusts me.”

That last sentence hung in the air. Trust. Celia trusted him. Annajane hadn’t. And here they were, many years later. Some things hadn’t changed.

“Suit yourself,” Annajane said finally. “I just meant maybe you should let her know you’ll be gone for thirty minutes. So she won’t think you’ve disappeared.”

He scowled. “Be right back.”

Fifteen minutes passed. It was getting dark, and the temperature had started to dip as the sun dropped. Annajane hugged herself and rubbed her arms, shifting from one foot to the other in an attempt to keep warm. But she would not go back inside the waiting room. Obviously Mason had underestimated his need for Celia’s approval for this little outing.

She grinned and wished Pokey were around to enjoy the drama.

Finally, Mason strode through the emergency room doors. “Let’s go,” he said brusquely.

An uneasy silence fell between them as Mason expertly shifted the Saab into gear.

“Everything okay?” Annajane asked.

“It’s all good,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Thank you for insisting we get Sophie to the hospital. I guess … I guess I was kidding myself thinking the wedding could go on.”

“I’m sorry about your wedding. Celia was a beautiful bride. But I’m glad things turned out all right with Sophie,” Annajane murmured.

“Celia really adores Sophie,” he blurted out a moment later.

“I’m sure she does,” Annajane said, although she was certain of no such thing.

“It’s a lot for anybody to deal with,” Mason went on. “Not just being a stepmother, but, you know, taking on my, uh, daughter by a woman she’s never met.”

*   *   *

As far as Annajane knew, nobody in the family had ever met Sophie’s mother.

One day, while they were still legally separated, but before the divorce was final, Mason knocked on her office door and stepped in and closed it carefully.

The visit took Annajane by surprise. Since their split, Mason had gone out of his way never to be alone with her.

He sat stiffly on the edge of the chair facing hers and cleared his throat.

“Look,” he said finally. “I’ve got something I need to tell you. I was seeing this woman…”

Annajane held up her hand. “Stop right there, Mason. You’re single now, and who you see, or what you do, no longer affects me on a personal level.”

He scowled. “Will you just listen? This is important. The thing is, we’re not really together now, this woman and I. We were only together for a short time, actually, and then she got pregnant. But I only recently found out about the baby.”

Annajane heard herself gasp out loud.

Mason cleared his throat and plunged ahead. “Sophie is three months old now. Her mother, Kristy, is single, divorced, actually. And she and the baby had been living with Kristy’s mom, down in Jacksonville. But Kristy’s mom just died of breast cancer. And Kristy—she’s not a bad person, but she’s probably not mother material. She could handle the baby, while her mom was living there and helping out. Now, though … she’s pretty overwhelmed. She wants to go back to her job, and Sophie is kind of cranky, I guess you’d say, right now. So, uh, here’s the deal. Sophie’s coming to live with me.”

Annajane laughed despite herself. “Right. You’re gonna be raising a baby. Three men and a baby. Only not.”

“Yes,” he said, glaring at her. “I am. Is this somehow funny to you?”

At that moment, it dawned on her that Mason was perfectly serious.

“Are you telling me that you’re an unwed father?” she said finally.

He shook his head in disgust. “If that’s what you want to call it.” He stood. “Okay, I can see this was a mistake. I just thought I owed you an explanation, because I realize, as soon as it gets out that I’ve adopted Sophie, some people are going to just assume I was having an affair with Kristy while I was married to you.”

Annajane swallowed. “Were you?”

“No,” Mason said quietly, getting up from his chair. “I never met Kristy until after we were separated. You can take my word for it or not, but as God is my witness, that’s the truth, Annajane.”

Sophie’s arrival had, as Mason predicted, stirred up a lot of gossip in Passcoe. And although the knowledge that Mason fathered a child with another woman had come as yet another searing blow to Annajane’s already-battered ego, she found herself curiously drawn to the motherless infant.

“Is she not the yummiest little thing you’ve ever seen?” Pokey crooned, the first time she held the sleeping child in her arms. “No denying she’s a Bayless, either. Look at those eyebrows! And that high forehead. She is Mason made over.”

“Actually, she looks enough like you that she could be yours,” Annajane pointed out.

“She is just perfect,” Annajane said, gazing down into Sophie’s familiar blue eyes. She touched a fingertip to the baby’s hand, and Sophie’s fingers instinctively curled around her own. Annajane was enchanted.

She found herself dropping by Pokey’s whenever she knew Sophie was in residence. Annajane had always adored Pete and Pokey’s three boisterous sons, but her attachment to Mason’s daughter was somehow deeper, and mutual.

As soon as Sophie was walking, she would run immediately to Annajane. When she could speak, Annajane’s was one of the first names she said, right after Daddy and Pokey. If she was fussy, as she often was until she was almost two, Annajane was often the only one who could soothe her or rock her to sleep.

And if Mason was uncomfortable with his daughter’s obvious preference for his ex-wife, he never showed it. He might be stiff or distant with Annajane when they were alone together, but he seemed genuinely grateful for her relationship with Sophie, and he made it a point to include Annajane in any family function centered on the child, to his mother’s obvious annoyance.

When Annajane mentioned Sallie’s pointed coolness toward her after Sophie’s third birthday party, Pokey laughed it off. “Mama’s just jealous,” she said. “Sophie won’t even look at her if you’re in the room.”

*   *   *

As she sat beside Mason now, on his ruined wedding day, Annajane wondered, once again, if Celia would attempt to discourage Sophie’s relationship with her. And she had no intention of sharing her reservations about Celia’s parenting skills or maternal temperament.

“Celia is an extremely competent person,” Annajane said guardedly. “I’ll bet she’s never failed at anything. She’ll handle this, too.”

“What do you mean, handle?” Mason asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” Annajane said.

“Pokey hates Celia,” Mason said. “I wish she’d lighten up a little. I think she’d like Celia, if she gave her half a chance.”

“Maybe,” Annajane said, wishing he would change the subject. “You know Pokey. Nothing if not opinionated.”

Mason tapped his fingertips on the steering wheel. “So,” he said, after a long silence. “How’s it feel to be moving away after all these years in Passcoe?”

Annajane exhaled slowly. “Good.” She hesitated, looking out the window. Wildflowers bloomed in roadside ditches, and she caught a glimpse of a bluebird, perched on a power line. “Scary.”

“Change is good,” Mason said, nodding for emphasis. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ll be missed. You’ve done a damned good job for us. I don’t think Davis is gonna know what to do without you.”

She wished, fleetingly, that Mason had said he didn’t know what he’d do without her. “Davis will figure it out. And Tracey, the new girl, she’s a fast learner.”

“Farnham-Capheart is lucky to be getting you,” Mason said. “I told Joe Farnham that when he called to make sure I didn’t have any problem with his hiring you.”

“He checked with you? Before offering me the job?” Annajane couldn’t believe it. Farnham-Capheart had been Quixie’s advertising agency for years, and Annajane had worked closely with Lacey Parini, the account exec assigned to Quixie. When Lacey decided to become a stay-at-home mom after the birth of her second child, she’d encouraged Annajane to apply for her old job.

Annajane had had lots of job offers over the years, but it wasn’t until Celia Wakefield joined Quixie that she’d ever considered a career change.

“He called me as a professional courtesy,” Mason assured her. “You know how Joe is. I guess we’re probably his biggest account, and he didn’t want to rock the boat.”

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know why she hated the idea that Joe Farnham thought he had to get Mason’s approval before offering her a job. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. Maybe Mason had actually asked Farnham to find a job for her. Maybe he thought it would be just too awkward to have his ex-wife working with his new wife.

Or maybe it had all been Celia’s idea. Annajane clenched her teeth, thinking of the indignity of it. Never mind. It didn’t matter how her new job came about. She’d wanted a change; she’d gotten a change.

Mason obviously knew he’d somehow strayed into dangerous territory. He cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, casually. “Have you, and uh, your fiancé set a date?”

“Shane,” Annajane said. “His name is Shane. We’re thinking fall, probably.”

“Not til then, huh?” Mason sounded surprised. “Any reason for waiting?”

“Shane’s a musician, you know,” Annajane said. “He plays Dobro in a bluegrass band, and spring and summer is their busiest time, with all the outdoor music festivals. I want to get settled into my new job before I have to worry about planning a wedding. Not that we’re planning anything elaborate.”

“Gotcha,” Mason said, nodding his head. “Bluegrass? What’s the name of his band, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Annajane said proudly. “It’s called Dandelion Wine. They have a CD coming out in September. Shane wrote most of the songs himself.”

“Have to look into that,” Mason said.

Annajane laughed. “Oh please. You always hated bluegrass. And country.”

“No!” Mason exclaimed. “You’ve got me all wrong. I love Alison Krauss.”

“Okay, whatever,” Annajane said, unconvinced. “I’ll send you one when it comes out.”

“Sweet.”

He made the turn onto Main Street, where Annajane rented a loft above the old K&J Drygoods Store. “What’s Ruth think about all this?”

“She’s happy for me,” Annajane said briefly. “Although I’ll be a lot farther away in Atlanta. With Leonard gone, I hate to think about her living alone down there on the coast. I’m trying to talk her into moving. My aunt Nancy’s a widow now, too, and she’d like Mama to come live with her down in Florida. But you know Mama. She’s pretty set in her ways.”

“What’s she think about you getting remarried?”

“She loves Shane,” Annajane said. “They’ve gotten really close. His own mother died when he was twenty, and I think Mama always wanted a son.”

“Good for him,” Mason said. “I’m glad she approves of the new guy, since she never cared for me.”

Annajane sighed. They both knew that was putting it mildly. Ruth Hudgens didn’t like Mason any better than she liked his parents. The night Annajane came home with Mason’s engagement ring on her finger, mother and daughter had the biggest fight of their lives. Annajane had fled the house and moved in briefly with Pokey and Pete. Leonard, always the peace maker, had brokered an uneasy truce between mother and daughter, but the damage had been done.

Ruth adamantly refused to take any part in the planning of Annajane’s wedding, and Annajane had just as adamantly refused to let Leonard pay for any of it.

Mason pulled the car to the curb in front of her second-floor loft. “Okay,” he said, obviously still uneasy at being alone with her. “Here you go.”

“Thanks for the ride,” she said. It was so weird, so awkward, having him drop her off like this. She flashed back to all those nights years ago, when he would park his car down the block from her parents’ house, so they could exchange their urgent, passionate good nights without Ruth’s knowing who she’d been out with. There would be no kisses, no desperate groping, no disheveled clothes to rearrange tonight.

“G’night,” she said, jumping from the car.

11

Mason woke with a start. He sat up in bed and listened intently. For a moment, he thought maybe he’d heard Sophie, oak floorboards creaking gently underfoot as she crept down the hallway to his bedroom, as she used to do before Celia moved in and put a firm but loving stop to that.

And then he remembered, Sophie was in the hospital. It was his wedding night, and he was alone.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep, and yet he couldn’t sleep. It was 3:00 A.M. Too early to call the hospital to check on Sophie. He’d wanted to stay in the waiting room last night, in case she awakened and asked for him, but the nurses chased him off, telling him that Sophie would be just fine without him and promising to call if she did awaken.

Celia had decided to stay with her great-aunt in one of the guest rooms at Cherry Hill. The old lady was overwrought from all the excitement of the day, and Sallie had hinted broadly that she herself was in no condition to play nursemaid.

Just as well, Mason thought. He was in the damnedest mood. Jumpy and irritable. Well, the day had been a disaster, hadn’t it?

He’d left Celia in tears, back at Cherry Hill.

“Our beautiful day,” she’d said, peeling off the false eyelashes and depositing them in the ashtray of the Saab. “All our plans, everything. Ruined.”

“I know,” he’d said, kissing her, trying to soothe her. “And I’m so sorry. But it wasn’t really ruined, was it? I mean, you looked amazing, and everything was just the way you planned it.”

She pulled away and stared at him. “Are you out of your mind? Your daughter collapsed at the altar and had to be rushed to the hospital. All of our guests were just sitting there … stunned. And don’t forget, we never did actually get married. There’s a $3,500 wedding cake at the country club, getting stale even as we speak.”

“The cake? Can’t we just, freeze it or…”

“No,” she cut him off. “We can’t.”

“Oh-kaaay,” Mason said, trying to tread lightly. “But we will get married. I promise. We’ll do it all over again. We’ll get another cake. Just as soon as we get Sophie home and recovered from surgery.”

“It won’t be the same,” Celia said sorrowfully. “You’re a man, and you’ve already had one wedding. I guess I can’t really expect you to understand. A girl dreams of her wedding day her whole life. She has just one shot at one perfect moment. No matter how hard you try, you don’t get that moment back again.”

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say. As she’d pointed out, he couldn’t fix it, no matter how hard he tried.

He got up to go to the bathroom and stubbed his toe hard on the foot of a damned chair. Christ! Since Celia had redecorated the house, or decorated it, since, as she aptly pointed out, it had never been decorated at all before she moved in, he was always bumping into things, knocking things over, breaking things.

Mason limped downstairs and into the kitchen. He stood in front of the open refrigerator door, not really hungry, but wanting … what?

Celia’s nonfat yogurt containers were lined up in neat rows, as were the bottles of mineral water. Half a roast chicken nested on a plate under a tinfoil wrapping. There were containers of strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, packages of cheeses he’d never heard of, a crisper drawer full of things like scallions and leeks and arugula, carrots and baby spinach and celery sticks. Everything looked healthy and wholesome and totally uninteresting. At the very back of the top shelf, he spied the comforting sight of a tall-necked brown bottle.

He took the beer and a chunk of the least stinky cheese he could find and went into the room Celia called his study.

It was a handsome room, he had to admit. Celia had taste to spare, even Pokey grudgingly gave her that. She’d had the builder-beige Sheetrock walls covered with weather-beaten boards taken out of an old barn out at the farm, had bookshelves built to line two walls, and had conjured up rows and rows of old leather and vellum-bound books to line the shelves. He’d opened one once, just to see what she thought he should be reading. But it was in German. He didn’t know German. The rug underfoot was some kind of rope-textured thing, sisal maybe—and it felt sandpaper-rough under his bare feet. He’d asked about keeping the old red and blue oriental rug he’d originally brought over from the attic at Cherry Hill when he’d bought the house, but Celia had just laughed and promised she’d find a better place for it when she finished redecorating.

He sat down at his desk and thrummed his fingers on the leather top. The desk was one of the very few things he’d insisted on keeping from his short-lived bachelor years. It had come out of his grandfather’s old office at the bottling plant. It was beat-up mahogany, with two banks of drawers that stuck and a deep knee-hole recess, where he could remember playing with his army action figures as a little kid, pretending that he was in a bunker. The chair had been his grandfather’s, too; it was high-backed, with cracked and peeling green leather upholstery that creaked loudly when he reclined in it.

Mason switched on his computer and idly glanced at his e-mails. Nothing that wouldn’t keep. He’d inherited Voncile as his assistant after his father’s death, and she was ruthless about weeding out e-mails he didn’t need to deal with—especially since he was supposed to be on his honeymoon right this minute.

His honeymoon! A week in Aruba, their own villa overlooking the ocean. He shrugged. Knowing Voncile, he was sure she’d gone straight to the office from the church, and begun canceling flights and arranging for refunds.

Thinking of the office reminded him of Annajane, and he frowned. Stuffed in the back of that ambulance, and then later, in the waiting room at the hospital, he’d seen glimpses of the old Annajane. She was as terrified as he, but they were together again, if only briefly, as a team. And then, in the car, she’d been so prickly, hostile almost.

She really thought she was something, getting remarried, telling him all about this Shane guy.

As though he hadn’t already thoroughly checked him out.

Mason clicked a few keys and opened up the file he’d started on this Shane Drummond clown the day Annajane returned from a trip to Atlanta—and announced her engagement.

From what Pokey told him, Annajane had only been seeing the guy since early fall. And three months later they were engaged? Fast work.

Voncile had been only too happy to conspire on this little research project. She’d nosed around the Internet for a few days, made some discreet calls to a security firm recommended by a business associate in Atlanta, and put together a fascinating dossier.

He was looking at that dossier now. Voncile had even managed to scrounge up photographs. Mason studied the largest of these, a color publicity still she’d found on Drummond’s agent’s Web site. So this was the kind of guy Annajane was attracted to?

In the photo, Drummond was dressed in a plaid lumberjack-type jacket and scruffy jeans. His curly hair looked unkempt, and he had those dark, brooding, soulful-looking eyes women like Annajane probably found irresistible. And was that a tiny gold hoop earring in his left ear? What the hell was it with women and musicians? Why did chicks always fall for the bad boys?

He shook his head and returned to the document Voncile had assembled.

Hmm. Matthew Shane Drummond, thirty-two. Hah! A younger man. Annajane had resorted to robbing the cradle. Born in Gastonia, he’d received a bachelor’s degree in English at Middle Tennessee State University. He’d knocked around the country for the past few years, working as a bartender and a short-haul truck driver, but mostly earning a living playing in country music dives.

From what Mason could tell, Annajane’s fiancé had formed his current group, Dandelion Wine, in 2008. He found a brief mention of the group in an obscure music magazine, about a recording contract with a Nashville label he’d actually heard of. So what? Did that mean this guy was the next Rascal Flatts? Mason highly doubted it.

Drummond owned a car, a 1999 Dodge Aerostar van, and a house, located in what looked like a rural area outside Atlanta, and valued, for tax purposes, at $82,700.

End of report. Mason scratched his chin and thought. Nothing sinister here. The guy was no tycoon, but he apparently also wasn’t a destitute bum. He owned an old vehicle—a van he probably used for gigs for his band. He owned his own house. It wasn’t a mansion, but it probably wasn’t a chicken shed either.

He scowled and closed the file. Nothing of interest here. Annajane was her own woman. If she wanted to marry an itinerant musician and spend the rest of her life living in a log cabin on a dirt road, driving around in a beat-up Aerostar van with him, that was her right.

The question that had been nagging at him ever since he’d left her earlier that evening was, Why? Why Shane Drummond? Why Atlanta? Why now?

And more important, why did he care so much?