Touchstone

by Sharon Sala

  Rachel glanced back toward the streets and shuddered. “Words can’t describe it,” she muttered.

  He laughed. “Just catch a cab, Rachel Austin. Do you have my address?”

  “No, just your number.”

  “Get a pen.”

  Quickly she took down the information, unimpressed with the exclusive address or the fact that the man to whom she was talking was a very well-known restaurateur.

  “You got that?” Maury asked.

  Rachel read it back to him.

  “That’s it. Now listen to me. Hang up the phone. Go out the main entrance and hail yourself a cab.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rachel said.

  “Fine. When you get here, tell Sophie at the desk out front to give me a buzz.”

  “Yes, sir. And Mr. Feldman...”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you very much.”

  He laughed. “Don’t thank me. Thank Estie. She owns this place, you know.”

  Speechless, Rachel listened as the line went dead.

  “Hey, lady! You done with that?”

  She jumped and turned. A short, beefy man with fiery red hair was pointing at the phone in her hand.

  “Oh... yes,” she mumbled.

  He took the phone out of her hand and was already dialing when she bent to retrieve her suitcase.

  A few minutes later she was outside. The heat was intense, but it was nothing compared to the rapid beat of her heart. She’d accomplished something today. She’d arrived at her destination and was about to meet her new employer. All of that and she’d just gotten off the bus. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to shift some of the terrible heartache that she’d brought with her from Mirage.

  Three

  Maury Feldman was a younger version of Esther.

  Just shy of five foot four, he exuded a power that belied his size. His dark eyes were glittering with interest as he came forward to shake Rachel’s hand. And when he smiled, Rachel felt bathed in the warmth.

  “The famous Miss Austin has arrived,” Maury said, enveloping Rachel’s long, slim fingers with his hands. “Welcome to my city.”

  Rachel looked down at the little man, at the expensive cut of his suit and the shine on his shoes. A flash of gold shone momentarily from beneath the cuff on his long-sleeved white shirt, and then it was gone. She didn’t need to see it clearly to know it was probably a very expensive watch. Everything about the man and his restaurant spelled class. She’d never felt so out of place in her life.

  “I am overwhelmed,” she said softly. “Both by your city and by your generosity.”

  Maury’s dark eyes glittered with interest. Esther hadn’t been wrong about the young woman’s looks. In spite of her boots, the faded blue jeans, and a plain denim shirt, she was stunning. But there were many beautiful women in the world, and right now this one just needed a job and a place to stay.

  “Estie says you’ve waited tables?”

  Rachel smiled. “Oh, yes, sir, back in Mirage. Besides stripping at Fender’s on the outskirts of town, it’s about the only other job available for women.”

  Maury’s grin widened. The girl was a jewel. And so damned naive he couldn’t believe it.

  “When can you start?” he asked.

  She blinked, startled that it had been that easy.

  “Just like that? No interview? No trial run? No request for a résumé that, may I add, I don’t have?”

  He nodded. “Just like that.”

  Rachel hugged herself. “Today, tomorrow, it’s your call, sir.” Then she looked down at her suitcase and added, “If you could recommend a hotel, I would appreciate it. I need to find a place to stay.”

  Maury shook his head. “Get your bag,” he said shortly, and took her by the arm. “Already taken care of.”

  Rachel’s mouth dropped. “Excuse me?”

  “When I told you Estie owned the place, I meant the entire building. That includes an apartment on the top floor.”

  She thought of her limited resources. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “It might be more than I can afford.”

  Maury smiled. “Estie and her late husband used to live there. She keeps it as is for sentimental reasons, and once in a while she stays in it when she comes to the city. But she hasn’t been here in over a year, and she said to put you there.”

  Rachel followed the little man in disbelief. No one had ever been this kind to her in her entire life, and especially not a stranger. It was almost too good to be true. Even as she followed along behind, she had a frightening notion that when she wasn’t looking, the other shoe would drop.

  They walked from the dining area into the kitchen and then down a hallway to an alcove where an elevator was situated. The wire-cage elevator looked ancient, but when they got inside, it took them up nicely, with only a small jerk as it stopped.

  “Here we are!” Maury said, and stepped aside for Rachel to exit first.

  She walked out of the elevator and straight into the living room. Immediately her heart dropped. It didn’t take more than a look for her to know that the rent would be far out of her price range. She stopped.

  Maury frowned. “Something wrong?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid the answer is no,” she said quietly.

  His eyebrows rose. “No? As in you don’t want it?”

  She sighed. “As in can’t afford it.”

  The smile came back in full force. “No, no, you misunderstand,” he cried. “You stay in Estie’s home as if you were family. No pay. No rent. You work for me. I pay you the same as every other waitress. But no rent.”

  Rachel was stunned. The generosity of a stranger left her humbled.

  “My God,” she whispered, and set her suitcase down with a thump.

  Maury grinned again. “Come with me. I’ll show you around. You unpack, get settled in. If something doesn’t work, let me know. You’ll work the lunch shift tomorrow. After you’ve learned the ropes, I’ll put you on nights. That way you can pursue your modeling career during the day.”

  She nodded, and then she did something very out of character for her. She threw her arms around the older man’s neck and hugged him. It was quick but fervent. When she stepped back, her face was flushed and her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. She drew a shuddering breath.

  “Thank you isn’t enough for what you and Esther have done for me. I’ve been afraid for so long that I’d forgotten what it felt like to be safe.”

  Maury’s smile slipped. Besides the fact that Rachel Austin had befriended Estie during what was always, for her, a traumatic journey, it was suddenly clear to him why Estie had identified with her so readily. Esther Goodman knew firsthand what fear felt like. Of the five members of her immediate family, Estie was the only one who had survived the Holocaust. It seemed to Maury that Esther had recognized a familiar soul in Rachel Austin.

  “I know this city can be frightening,” Maury said gently. “But there are good people. Just be cautious and you will be fine.”

  A few minutes later he was gone, and Rachel picked up her suitcase and went to unpack. It wasn’t until her clothes were hanging in the closet that it hit her. She’d done it. She was in New York City. She had a job and a home.

  She walked to the windows on the south side of the building and stared out at the horizon. Houston was there—somewhere—but so far away. The longing to see him, to hear his voice and feel his touch, was a physical pain. She braced her hands against the windows and started to shake.

  “Oh God,” she moaned, and suddenly turned away from the window and covered her face. “What have I done?”

  Finally, she cried. For her mother. For her home. And for the loss of a man who’d seen into her soul.

  Houston was a walking dead man. He went through the motions of life, but he didn’t feel it. To make matters worse, it hadn’t taken long for word to get around in Mirage that Rachel Austin was gone. Houston had suffered everything from well-meaning comments to careless jeers about being dumped. None of it mattere
d. His days and nights became a mindless routine of getting up, going to work, coming home, doing chores, going to bed, then doing it all over again.

  But he couldn’t sleep. Often he would witness the birth of a new day from the south end of his pasture, or from the corral, fixing fence. He worked day and night, praying for exhaustion to claim him. And on the rare occasions when it did and he slept, there were still the dreams to get through.

  Rachel crying.

  Rachel screaming his name.

  And the ultimate nightmare, the one that never failed to wake him up.

  Rachel gone.

  It was that reality that nearly broke him. And yet somehow he persevered. The only good side to the tragedy was that during the months after Rachel’s disappearance, much-needed repairs had been done.

  Six months passed. One holiday after another came and went without Rachel. Houston’s body was strong, but his spirit was broken. He came to hate the hour when his work at the feed store was over and he had to go home.

  He was dreading it today, even though it was Christmas Eve and there was a thawing fifteen-pound turkey from Dale Emery on the seat beside him. He felt no different. It was almost a joke. What the hell was he going to do with a turkey? He hadn’t done anything more involved in the kitchen than opening and heating a can of soup or stew since the day Rachel left. Most of his meals were eaten in town or on the road. If it hadn’t been for the daily need to come home to feed his livestock and Taco, he wouldn’t have come home at all.

  But they were his responsibilities, and misery or not, Houston Bookout was a man of honor. It would be simple to let everything he had go to hell. In his heart he was more than halfway there. But he kept thinking of his father and the other generations of Bookouts who’d made their home on this vast, lonely plain. They’d had their share of disappointments and heartaches and they hadn’t quit. For that reason alone, he kept going.

  A blast of cold wind rocked his truck as he sped along. He frowned and glanced through the windshield into the darkness beyond. He hated winter. It was always dark by the time he got home.

  A scattering of snow flurries blew across the highway ahead of his headlights. He glanced away long enough to find the knob that would turn up the heater. When he looked back up, there was a man standing in the middle of the road, trying to flag him

  down.

  “Son of a—”

  He swerved, barely missing the man, and came to a skidding halt on the shoulder of the road. He started to reach behind the seat for his rifle, just in case, when he remembered he’d taken it out yesterday to clean it and hadn’t put it back. He frowned. It could be nothing, and then again, by stopping, he could be setting himself up to be robbed. He glanced down at the turkey on the seat beside him and shrugged. If worse came to worst, he guessed he could use it as a weapon. Fifteen pounds of half-frozen anything could do a lot of damage if put in the right place.

  He turned to look for the man, wondering if he was even real. Then he saw him running across the highway toward him. Houston sighed.

  The man looked to be in his early thirties, tall and skinny and in desperate need of a heavier coat than the one he was wearing. Houston’s sympathy increased. He rolled down the window just enough to be heard.

  “What’s the trouble?” he asked.

  “My car... blowout... spare’s flat... phone’s dead. Damned near froze to death.”

  Houston’s decision was made before the man was through talking. No matter what had happened, he couldn’t leave him out here. He would freeze before morning.

  “Get in,” he yelled, and then pulled the turkey into the middle of the seat as the man ran around the bed of the truck to get in.

  A cold blast of air came in with him, and then there was a long moment of silence as the stranger leaned forward and held his hands to the floor, nearer the heat.

  “Oh man,” he mumbled. “I thought I was going to die out here.”

  Houston nodded. “It can happen.”

  The man couldn’t stop shivering. Houston hit the control knob, turning the heater up to full blast. The man leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “I have never been so happy to feel heat in my life.” Then he looked at Houston. “I’m Kenny Monday. Land man for Juco Petroleum. I was trying to get to the Midland-Odessa airport to catch my flight when my tire blew out.”

  Houston glanced at his watch. It was already after seven.

  “It’s a good hour’s drive from here to Midland. What time was your flight?”

  Kenny shivered. “A couple of hours ago. And it was the last one out this evening.”

  “Sorry,” Houston said. “But you’re lucky I worked late. Not many people take this road.”

  Kenny managed a grin. “Figured that out about an hour ago. Truth is, I got lost. When my tire blew, I was damned lucky not to roll. Still, I thought I had it covered until I discovered my cell phone was dead.”

  Houston put his truck into gear.

  “Where are you taking me?” Kenny asked.

  “Home with me.”

  Surprise crossed Kenny’s face. “I can’t impose,” he said quickly. “If you’d just drop me off at the nearest motel, I’d be happy to pay you for your trouble.”

  “The closest motel would be in Midland, and that’s too far to chance in this weather,” Houston said.

  Kenny groaned.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Houston said. “I have an extra bed. You can use my phone to call a tow truck tomorrow. Okay?”

  Between the blistering cold and the blowing snow, it didn’t take Kenny long to agree.

  “Okay.” Then he glanced down at the seat beside him and grinned. “Christmas turkey?” he asked.

  “Dog food,” Houston muttered.

  When Houston woke the next morning, he was stunned to realize that he’d slept the whole night through. It was the first time he’d gotten a good night’s rest since Rachel left him. He rolled over and sat on the side of the bed, staring at his dirty clothes on the floor. And then he remembered—the man from the highway. What was his name... Monday? Keith, no, Kenny. Yeah. Kenny Monday.

  Still amazed that he’d slept so soundly, he quickly washed up and then began to dress. The house was cold. He couldn’t remember if he’d turned up the heat before they’d gone to bed. Shivering slightly and thinking of coffee, he headed for the living room to check the thermostat. Sure enough, it was down. He shook his head in disgust as he turned it back up. The only thing he could figure was that he’d pushed it the wrong way when he’d turned out the lights.

  The hiss of the pilot light igniting the furnace seemed loud in the surrounding silence. Houston glanced at the clock. It was after eight. Good thing it was Christmas Day or he would have been late for work.

  He walked into the kitchen to make coffee and then frowned when he got to the sink. That damned turkey. He’d forgotten to put it in the freezer. He poked it with the tip of his finger and then sighed. It was pretty well thawed. A door banged in the back of the house, a sign his visitor was up. Giving the turkey a last, disgusted look, he reached for the coffeepot. The way things looked, he’d better make twice as much. Another door banged again, followed by a thump. Unaccustomed to the sound of anyone in this house except him, he frowned and added extra coffee to the pot. Better make it twice as strong, too.

  When the coffee was perking, his mind moved to the next step in his day. As host, it was up to him to furnish food as well as lodging. But when he opened the refrigerator, he snorted beneath his breath. They weren’t going to get far on three eggs and a couple of strips of moldy bacon.

  He glanced back at the sink and the plastic-wrapped turkey, then shrugged. Cooking the damned thing didn’t necessarily mean he was celebrating anything. They had to eat something, and if he didn’t cook it now, it would spoil. Waste not, want not, his mother used to say. He dug out a roaster from beneath the cabinet and gave it a quick rinse. A few minutes later, the salted and peppered bird was in the ove
n.

  Kenny Monday staggered into the kitchen. “Whatever I have to do for a cup of that coffee, just tell me now.”

  Houston reached in the cabinet and handed him a cup. “Help yourself,” he said shortly.

  Kenny took a sip of the coffee, relishing the kick of caffeine. “Lord, what a night. But I slept like a baby after we got here,” he added.

  Houston nodded. “Strangely enough, so did I.”

  Kenny grinned. “You said that like it surprised you.”

  Houston slapped a skillet on top of the stove and took the three eggs out of the refrigerator.

  “It did.”

  Kenny refilled his cup. “Insomnia?”

  Houston paused, debating with himself about honesty as opposed to anonymity. For some reason honesty won out.

  “No. My girl dumped me about six months ago. I’ve been wallowing in it ever since.”

  Kenny laughed, and the moment he did, Houston caught himself grinning. Damn, he thought. That felt good. He shoved the skillet over an unlit burner and headed for the pantry. Surely there was something in there that he could add to three eggs to make them stretch to feed two hungry men. The moment he thought it, his spirits lifted a bit more. Hunger. That was something else he’d been doing without. He shook his head as he dug through the cans. Having company seemed to agree with him.

  Then he spied a couple of small cans in the corner and picked them up.

  “Hey, Monday, how do you feel about a Vienna sausage omelet?”

  Kenny grinned. “Do you have any salsa?”

  Houston thought. “Maybe in the refrigerator.”

  “Then I’m your man,” Kenny said. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday noon.”

  Houston frowned. “Sorry,” he said shortly. “I didn’t think. I should have offered you something last night.”

  Kenny shook his head. “The only thing I wanted last night was a hot bath and a warm bed. You gave me both, for which I will be forever grateful.”

  Houston shrugged. “I just happened along.”

  “You were a godsend,” Kenny said quietly.

  Houston frowned but didn’t answer. A short while later he dished up their food, adding a plate of toast and a jar of honey that was turning to sugar.