Sometimes loving someone else means letting go.
Annie turned off her alarm and crawled from bed, her thoughts turning immediately to the night before. An image of Dylan appeared unbidden. How vexing that the man whose face surfaced first wasn’t even her date.
She washed her face and trudged to the kitchen to start a muchneeded pot of coffee. Dylan and his winsome ways. So annoying. The way he just plopped down like he belonged there, never mind that she had a date or that he had one too. Love the one you’re with, that was his philosophy. And then show up at church on Sunday with a Bible and a happy-go-lucky grin. It was so Dylan. But what did she expect?
So stop thinking about him, Annie Wilkerson.
She’d think about John instead. About his sort-of cute face and the kind-of endearing way he poked his glasses into place. About his soft hands and his gentle good-night kiss. He’d be a good husband to someone, a faithful provider. He’d be a good father too. She’d never once heard him raise his voice or lose his temper. Though, come to think of it, she hadn’t yet seen him with a child. Ryder was always in bed by the time he brought her home.
Dylan, on the other hand . . . If he ever managed to narrow the field down to one woman, she was sure it wouldn’t last long. He’d get bored in a month or two and be on to the next. And there would, no doubt, be a line of silly ninnies just waiting.
And here she was, thinking about him again. What was wrong with her?
“Aunt Annie, where’s Mommy?”
She turned from Mr. Coffee to find Ryder rubbing his sleepy eyes. The night before, Sierra had headed out the door minutes after Annie had returned.
“Morning, Bed Head. She’s probably still asleep. We get to go to church this morning. Wanna help me feed Pepper?”
Ryder shook his head. “Mommy’s not in her room.”
Annie frowned, ruffling his hair as she passed, even as her stomach clenched. Thinking back, she hadn’t heard Sierra come in. She’d started her favorite book, Pride and Prejudice, read until eleven, and then fallen into a sound sleep.
At the end of the hall she stopped. Sierra’s bed was empty and unmade. But then, it was always unmade. She checked the bathroom. Empty.
Ryder appeared at her side. “I’m hungry.”
Annie smiled and fixed him a bowl of Cheerios with a calmness she didn’t feel. Sierra liked to stay out late, but she always came home. Always. She’d said she was going to the Chuckwagon, but it closed at midnight. Where had she gone after that? What if she’d had an accident on the way home? What if she’d met some dangerous drifter passing through town or hooked up with some weirdo? She was so young, only twenty, and she didn’t have the best judgment.
Annie put away the milk and checked her cell phone, hoping for a message. Her heart beat up into her throat. No voice mail, no text.
Just then a rumble sounded. She peeked through the curtains and saw her sister’s car coming up the drive. The adrenaline drained suddenly, leaving her weak, shaky, and angry. She paced across the room, waiting, catching her breath, and trying to calm herself.
Her jaw ached from clenching by the time Sierra crept through the door in last night’s jeans and spangled top, her mascara smudged under her eyes. They widened when she saw Annie, and she gave up on sneaking in.
“Where have you been?” She kept her voice down for Ryder’s sake.
Sierra dropped her bag on the recliner. “Sorry, I meant to make it in before you woke.”
“You didn’t even call. You have a child, Sierra—you can’t just stay out all night like an irresponsible teenager.”
Sierra’s elfin features hardened. “I know I have a child. He was perfectly safe here with you. And I didn’t call because I didn’t want to wake you both.”
“Where were you?”
She pulled off a pair of heeled boots that looked ridiculous on a quiet Sunday morning. “With a new friend.”
“A man?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Stop treating me like a child.”
“Since when do you have one-night stands?”
“That isn’t what—”
“Is that who you are, Sierra? Where is all this leading?”
“All what?”
“All this—cavorting with men, staying out till all hours on Saturday nights, skipping church—”
“I’m going to college, I’m raising a child—”
“You should be out looking for a job instead of trying to turn the head of every man you see!”
“On a Saturday night? I am looking for a job. What more do you want from me, Annie? I’m the oldest twenty-year-old ever!”
“Where was you, Mommy?” Ryder appeared, drawn no doubt by Sierra’s raised voice.
Sierra lifted him, kissed his milky mouth, and set him back down.
“I was—outside, puddin’.” She ruffled his dark hair and smacked his rump. “Go finish breakfast, then I’ll put your new movie in.”
“Yippee!” Ryder scampered toward the kitchen.
That should keep him busy while Sierra slept. So much for her promise to go to church this week.
Annie crossed her arms. “So you’re lying to your child now too.”
Sierra set her small chin. “Stop judging me, Annie. And stop trying to tell me what to do. You’re not my mom!”
“You’re my responsibility. How do you think I felt when I couldn’t find you? I was imagining all sorts of awful things!”
This was exactly what their grandfather had feared. Annie was doing a terrible job. She wasn’t keeping her promise at all. Tears stung her eyes.
Sierra’s face softened. She looked so young with her makeup all smudged under her sleepy eyes. She tried for a smile. “Sorry I worried you. I promise I’ll call next time.”
She couldn’t believe her sister. “Next time? What if something had happened? All moral implications aside, you can’t go running off with strangers!”
“He isn’t a stranger, exactly. He’s a friend of Dylan’s from the rodeo circuit, in town for a few days. Dylan introduced us at the Chuckwagon and we hit it off. We didn’t—”
“Dylan?”
Sierra grabbed her bag, sighing hard. “You don’t even listen to me, Annie. I’m an adult and it’s time you started treating me like one.” She turned and strode into the kitchen.
Annie could hear the clang of the silverware drawer, hear Sierra chatting with Ryder, hear his laughter. It all sounded like a perfect little family.
Annie put on her boots and left the house, seething. Even her chores didn’t soothe her temper, and by the time she got to church, all she could think about was getting hold of Dylan Taylor, wrapping her hands around his thick neck, and squeezing the daylights out of him.
Dylan slipped into the pew late. Chores had set him behind, and he’d been trying to take extra time with Braveheart every morning. That hadn’t happened today. As it was, the music had already begun.
He let out a breath and gave himself over to the worshipful words of “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” letting the cares of the week drain away. The music was his favorite part. He was convinced God could speak through lyrics, even through the melody, if He chose to. And the reminder of God’s bountiful provisions spoke to him this morning.
When the music ended, the congregation was seated and Pastor Blevins began preaching on letting go of earthly cares. It was a fine sermon, but Dylan found his thoughts, and his eyes, drifting. As luck would have it, Annie was in his line of vision, her silky black hair glistening under the chandeliers. She sat straight as a ponderosa pine. He wondered for the dozenth time if Oakley had kissed her good night the night before, then he chided himself for caring.
When the service ended, he intended to wend his way over to Annie and confirm their plans for Thursday. Not because he was unsure, but because he needed an excuse to talk to her.
But when the service ended, Wade and Abigail appeared at his side, and then Travis and Shay, and he got caught up in Founders Day plans.
He scanned the crowd, hoping to catch sight of Annie, but she was nowhere to be seen.
By the time they wrapped up, the church was nearly empty, save for Miss Lucy, who was tidying the hymnals. Even the pastor had left his post at the door.
Dylan scowled as he left the building and set his hat on his head with a firm push. So much for that.
“Dylan.” Annie pushed away from the brick building. She looked fresh as a daisy in a baby blue shirt that matched her eyes to a T.
“Annie . . . you’re looking quite fetching this mor—”
“Save it, Taylor. I want to talk to you about that, that cowboy you set my sister up with.”
He remembered the introduction at the Chuckwagon. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. He kept Sierra out all night. All night, Dylan, when she has a child at home to care for.”
That didn’t sound like Sutter. “Is the little guy okay?”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I was home with him, but that’s not the point.”
“Sutter’s a good kid, Annie. Wouldn’t have introduced him to your sister otherwise. Listen, I don’t think—”
“No, you listen.” Annie’s eyes glittered, and two dashes had formed between her brows. “My sister’s young, and she’s trying to get her life together, which isn’t easy considering she had a child at sixteen. She doesn’t need the distraction of some Rodeo Romeo sweeping her off her feet.”
“Calm down, Annie. Sutter’s not like that. ’Sides, I only introduced them and—not that I approve of what they did—they are both adults.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened into a flat line. “Just keep your friends away from my sister.”
He held up his hands. “Whatever you say.”
Annie shot him one final look and stalked away, her hair blowing in the breeze. He admired her spirit and her desire to protect Sierra, but if you asked him, she was holding the reins a smidge too tight.