A Letter for Annie by Laura Abbot

of the mobile home. Kyle drew a deep breath before going back in. Bubba lay on the floor eyeing him curiously. Kyle shrugged. “Hell if I know why I can’t sleep, fella.”
    When the coffee was done, he poured a cup and settled on the sofa to read the Sunday ball scores. But he couldn’t concentrate.
    He kept replaying Margaret’s voice on the phone last night: “Kyle, what are you thinking working for the Greers? How dare Annie Greer show her face in this town! It would’ve been bad enough while Pete was alive, but now…? So help me God, I’ll never know why my brother couldn’t get over her.”
    And he kept seeing Annie’s face, her tortured hazel eyes dominating her pale, freckled skin, her auburn hair blowing in the wind. There was something hauntingly lovely about her.
    “Damn!” He threw down the paper and raked both hands through his hair. “We’re going for a run, Bubba.”
    It was still dark when the two started down the road for the beach. Kyle pumped his arms rhythmically, punching the air in front of him. He picked up the pace, his breath coming in tortured gasps. And all the while, with the regularity of his heartbeat, came one word over and over. Annie, Annie.
    What in the name of everlovin’ God was that about? He didn’t need a replay of high school angst.
     

    L ATER THAT MORNING , Kyle picked up the clipboard in his office and scanned the jobs in progress. He needed to check on the Swenson deck remodel and be at the Whites’ when the crew knocked out the kitchen wall. “Rita, I’ll be making the rounds today. You can catch me on my cell.”
    “Not going to the Greer cottage?” Her voice was studiously neutral, but the cocked eyebrow gave her away.
    “I’m sending Vince. Weather forecast looks good. He can repaint the front porch.” Geneva Greer surely wouldn’t expect him to handle that part of the job.
    “Have a good one, then.”
    He and Bubba headed for the truck. He fully intended to have a “good one.” Being as far away from Annie as possible assured it.
    The day went fast. He’d made a few suggestions to his man working on the Swensons’ deck and then headed for the Stevenson project. Damn good thing. The boys had encountered a few problems and his being on the scene meant they’d had no delay in overcoming them. Time was, after all, money, as Bruce Nemec frequently reminded his employees.
    Driving along the coast to pick up supplies from the lumberyard, he thought back to Friday night. He was going to have to do something about Rosemary. How did a guy say “Sorry, not interested” without hurting her and jeopardizing his relationship with her family? Somewhere out there was a guy who would adore her. But Kyle wasn’t that man and he needed to deal with the issue. Sooner rather than later.
    Perversely, with every mile he drove up the highway, his mind turned to what was going on at the Greer cottage. He pounded the steering wheel. Yes, that was exactly why he needed to put some distance between him and Annie. Every time he saw her he wanted to shake her and demand an explanation for what she’d done to Pete. But at the same time, damn it, he wanted to hold her and soothe away the worry lines etched in her face.
    He didn’t like this. Not one bit. He’d always thought of himself as an uncomplicated man. A relatively contented one.
    And then she had shown up to turn his life upside down.
     

    A NNIE SAT on one of the wicker porch chairs wrapped in a heavy blanket, the cup of coffee she held warming her hands. The sun was just rising, gilding the calm surface of the ocean. She’d had a restless night, worrying about Auntie G. and wondering about her own future. Living in Bisbee, waiting tables and making purses, had worked for these past years. But that wasn’t how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Geneva’s legacy of the house gave her options she’d never been able to consider.
    She’d missed college, of course. Maybe she could rent the cottage and