One Night

by Debbie Macomber

  Although she now possessed the necessary funds to bail Kyle out of jail, it would still be morning before they’d be free to leave Wheatland. Given no option, Carrie started searching for a hotel room for the night.

  Every five minutes or less, Kyle found himself studying the face of his watch and wondering what the hell was taking Carrie so long. He stood and started pacing the way he had when first placed inside the tiny cell. The office door opened and he whirled around to discover a blond young woman no more than twenty-three or twenty-four wearing a pink waitress uniform with a white ruffled apron. She carried a dinner tray covered with a pink linen napkin.

  Smiling prettily at him, she advanced a couple of steps. “I’ve brought your dinner,” she announced shyly. “I hope you like chicken-fried steak with real mashed potatoes, corn, and a homemade biscuit.”

  After all Kyle had endured that day, the thought of food sickened him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  The blonde blinked as if he’d insulted her. “I brought along a piece of Melba’s blueberry pie. Melba won a blue ribbon last year at the state fair with this pie recipe. It’s the best blueberry pie in three counties.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that I’m not hungry,” Kyle murmured.

  “That’s all right,” she said and blushed prettily. “I’m Mary Lu.”

  Kyle shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nice to meet you,” he said stiffly. Unfortunately Mary Lu didn’t show any signs of leaving, and Kyle wasn’t in the mood to make small talk. The waitress continued to stand on the other side of the bars and, although he didn’t know much about such things, seemed to be making eyes at him.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a short brunette with long hair wandering around town, have you?” If Mary Lu was intent on staying, he might as well pump what information he could out of her.

  “You must be asking about your friend.”

  “Yeah,” Kyle agreed.

  “You’re not married or anything, are you?”

  He wasn’t sure about the or anything part. At the present he wasn’t involved with anyone, if that was what she meant. Then again, she might be coyly referring to his relationship with Carrie. If that was the case, he could in all honesty admit there was nothing between them.

  “I’m not married,” he murmured.

  Mary Lu set the dinner tray on the table, pulled up a chair, and crossed her legs, making certain he was allowed a view of her shapely thigh.

  “What’s Carrie doing?” Kyle asked outright, too anxious to hide his interest.

  “I can’t rightly say. The last I heard she was over at Dillon’s Pawnshop.”

  “Pawnshop? What the hell for?” His abruptness flustered the waitress, and he lowered his voice. “That surprises me, is all. I didn’t think she had anything of value to hock.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want any dinner?” Mary Lu inquired again, her voice soft and pleading. He examined her closely, certain if he stared hard enough he’d see her lower lip quiver.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Is there anything I can get you?”

  “Not a thing,” he assured her.

  “I mean, I could come back and keep you company, if you want.” She blushed again. If Kyle hadn’t been stuck behind steel bars, he might have found her attractive. He might even have been tempted to take her up on her offer. Then again, he might not.

  “I appreciate that, but no, thanks,” Kyle said. He didn’t want to be unkind, but all he was looking for was to get out of this cell and leave Wheatland as soon as possible.

  The door opened and Carrie stepped inside, carrying a white paper bag. She paused when she saw Mary Lu. The waitress had stood, pressed her face close to the bars, and was gazing longingly at Kyle.

  Although there wasn’t a thing to feel guilty over, Kyle felt much as he had when his mother found a package of condoms hidden in his underwear drawer. He’d been thirteen, and Lillian, who believed in free love, had been thrilled. Kyle hadn’t the heart to tell her he’d been using them for water balloons.

  “You want me to come back later?” Carrie asked stiffly, slowing her steps. She did this thing with her eyes that made them incredibly round, as if to say she was impressed that he’d managed to pick up a woman while in a jail cell.

  “Don’t you dare leave,” Kyle snapped, more to hide his guilt than from any real irritation. “Mary Lu was just about to go, isn’t that right, Mary Lu?”

  “You can give me a call over at Billy Bob’s Café if you—”

  “Billy Bob’s!” Carrie cried, at the same time as Kyle did.

  Mary Lu leaped back a step. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No,” Kyle assured her gently. They’d frightened the girl out of five years of her life.

  Carrie waited until Mary Lu had gone before she walked over to the table. She lifted the linen napkin and viewed the contents of the meal the apparently love-starved waitress had delivered.

  “What’d you find out?” Kyle asked.

  “The bailiff won’t accept the money until eight o’clock in the morning, so you’re stuck here for the night.” She pulled back the pink napkin and glanced his way. “Are you going to eat this?”

  “Is your stomach the only thing you can think about?” The words came out like bits of chewed-off steel. He was incarcerated and would be for several more hours, and all Carrie was interested in was dinner. His dinner, he might add.

  She ignored him and wolfed down the biscuit. “I have some other news, but I’m not going to tell you if all you can do is bite my head off. It wasn’t me who chose to flagrantly disobey the law.”

  “I jaywalked.” He regained his composure by degrees. For all her talk about him liberating his anger, one would think she’d appreciate the fact he had vented his frustration. Doing time tended to do that to a man, he decided.

  By now Carrie had pulled her chair up to the table and had helped herself to his chicken-fried steak. Looking at her, one would think she hadn’t eaten in days.

  “I thought you had some news,” he said, irritated and not bothering to hide it.

  “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot,” she managed between bites. She wiped the corner of her mouth with the napkin and set the fork aside long enough to give him the news. “The car will be ready first thing in the morning, and it isn’t going to be the least bit expensive. I had Matt put it on my VISA card.”

  “Matt?”

  “Matt’s the guy who’s putting your car back together. He moved to Wheatland about three years ago and had a rough time of it in the beginning, but the townsfolk have mostly accepted him now.”

  So she was on a first-name basis with the mechanic. That didn’t take long, he noticed. “I take it you came up with the necessary cash to post bail,” he said, needing to change the subject. If he didn’t know better he’d think he was jealous of this faceless mechanic.

  Carrie patted her hip pocket, the very one she’d taken pains to entice him with earlier in the day. “It’s right here. You don’t have a thing to worry about.”

  The fear she might lose it or someone might steal it sent a shot of adrenaline rushing through him, but he knew better than to suggest she put it somewhere for safekeeping. The mere idea would insult her, and at the moment she was his only link to the outside world.

  Several questions hovered in the back of his mind, but the feared asking them might alienate her. He knew that she’d pawned something, but he hadn’t a clue what. Then he noticed her opal ring was missing.

  “You pawned your ring,” he said softly, astonished that she’d willingly part with something she clearly prized.

  “I didn’t have any other choice.” She stopped eating long enough to answer him and then returned to the steak with gusto. Kyle hadn’t a clue how she managed to maintain her small frame. He’d known women twice her size who ate less.

  “Mr. Dillon, he’s the pawnshop owner, promised on his mother’s grave he wouldn’t sell that ring. I explained the circumstances and
—”

  “You told him about me being in jail?” Kyle didn’t know why that offended him, but it did. He didn’t like the idea of Carrie reduced to pawning her valuables for anyone—including himself, he guessed.

  “Oh, no.” Carrie was quick to correct his assumption. “I told him about Grammy, and how the ring had been in our family for years and years and handed down to the oldest daughter on her twenty-first birthday.”

  “I see,” Kyle murmured. “I feel bad about all this.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said, waving her hand. Then, as if she’d forgotten something important, she added, “I got a hotel room for the night. In case you’re interested, that’s what took me so long. It seems everyone in town’s heard about the two of us and assumes we’re hardened criminals.”

  “Wouldn’t you know it? All of a sudden every hotel in town is booked solid,” he supplied. “But you found something?”

  “Sort of.” She paused and stared into space. “You have to understand this isn’t the type of place I’d normally choose. It’s outside of town.”

  For the life of him if she told him it was a chicken ranch, Kyle wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. He’d always thought of himself as a calm and collected person. Over the years he’d carefully trained himself to conceal his emotions. In the span of a single day that had all changed.

  At the moment he felt downright explosive. “How far outside of town?” he asked with forced calm.

  Carrie paused, the fork lifted and poised in front of her mouth. “Less than a mile, I’d say. It’s a weird-looking place.”

  “Weird-looking,” Kyle echoed, uncertain how to translate that.

  “Yes, the first time I saw it, I thought it was the original Bates Motel. It reassured me when I discovered the proprietors are a middle-aged couple whose children have grown and left home. It’s a bed-and-breakfast place now.”

  “I see.” Kyle relaxed somewhat. Was he going to get a minute’s sleep, worrying about Carrie? Somehow he doubted rest was an option.

  “I brought you some dinner,” she informed him, standing and handing him the white sack. “I didn’t know about sweet Mary Lu.” She pressed her clenched hands to her breasts and her shoulders rose with a dramatic sigh.

  Kyle chose to ignore her. “I’m not hungry,” he announced.

  “Trust me, you will be.”

  “What is it?”

  “A club sandwich, potato salad, and two large oatmeal cookies. I had Mrs. Johnson from Bates Motel make it up for you.”

  Kyle peeked inside the sack and reached for the sandwich. Maybe he could eat something, after all.

  “Where’s Sheriff Collins?”

  “Probably home watching television,” Kyle muttered as he peeled the cellophane wrap away from the sandwich. It astonished him how loosely run the jail was. If he was intent on breaking out, he’d wager money all he’d need do was ask Carrie to search through a few drawers for an extra set of keys.

  “I suppose I’d better get back to the Johnsons’ place,” Carrie said.

  Kyle wasn’t keen on having her leave, but he couldn’t think of an excuse for her to stay. He never thought he’d feel that way about Carrie Jamison. Usually a fifteen-minute dose of the deejay was enough to last him for weeks. All at once he was frantically searching for something that would keep her with him. Kyle would like to believe this was due to his incarceration, but he doubted it.

  She was almost to the door when he stopped her. “Carrie.”

  Eagerly she whirled around, as if she too were reluctant to part. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  He wasn’t sure where to start. His indebtedness was multiple. “For everything, but mostly for pawning your ring on my behalf.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m sorry it came to that. I’ll get you the money the instant we get our traveler’s checks replaced.”

  A slow, easy smile spread across her features, lighting up her eyes in such a way that seemed to reach across the room and touch him.

  “You owe me big-time for that, fella.” She blew him a kiss and was gone before she could see him catch it in his right hand and hold on to this imaginary part of her with a tight fist for several moments.

  A deputy arrived shortly afterward with an older man who’d obviously been arrested for being drunk in public. At least the man was a happy drunk, who insisted on singing something about Tom Dooley and hanging down his head.

  The officer placed the guy in the cell next to Kyle. The drunk waved to Kyle and fell onto the bunk. “Howdy.”

  “Hello,” Kyle responded cautiously.

  “I’m drunk.”

  “I noticed.”

  “You be quiet and sleep it off, Carl,” the deputy instructed.

  “You be quiet,” Carl shouted, and thinking himself inordinately clever, he laughed.

  “What’d they get you for, buddy?” Carl asked, sitting up long enough to pose the question and then promptly falling back onto the cot.

  “Jaywalking,” Kyle admitted sheepishly.

  Carl let loose with a loud screech and leaped off the bed. He hurried to the cell door and gripped the bars. “I ain’t stayin’ in a cell next to a jaywalker! What kind of place is Sheriff Collins running here?”

  “Shut up and go to sleep, Carl,” the deputy advised again, sounding bored.

  “I ain’t safe. You put me next to a…a jaywalker.”

  “You know what a jaywalker is, Carl?” the deputy asked with infinite patience.

  “You think I’m dumb? Of course I know. He walked all over those pretty blue birds. You put me in jail next to a bird killer. I don’t have to take this.” He braced his hands against the bars and rattled them with the full force of his strength. “I want out of here.”

  Kyle lay down on the lumpy cot and tucked his hands beneath his head. “My sentiments exactly,” he muttered.

  5

  “We’re asking that you contact the Secret Service if you run into Max Sanders a second time,” Richards instructed them as Sheriff Collins unlocked the jail door. With a dignified gait, Kyle stepped out of the cell.

  Personally, Carrie would welcome the opportunity to tangle with that scoundrel Sanders just so she could tell him what she thought of him. The man had caused her and Kyle nothing but grief.

  Kyle accepted a business card from Richards and studied the phone number as if he intended to memorize it then and there. “Is that what this is all about?” he asked quietly.

  Carrie wasn’t deceived by his docile manner. Kyle was furious, and doing a marvelous job of restraining his irritation. But just barely. She’d seen him in this mood before, and if Richards knew what was good for him, he’d tread lightly.

  First thing that morning, Carrie had gone over to the mechanic’s and picked up the BMW. She’d guessed correctly that Kyle would be eager to be on his way.

  The minute Kyle tucked Richards’s card in his wallet, he strode purposefully toward the door. Carrie noted that he made no promises one way or the other to contact the Secret Service. Nor did he wait for her. Instead he left her to traipse obediently after him.

  She scurried toward the door, then paused and turned defiantly back to the sheriff and the government agent.

  “I think you should know I intend to write my United States congressman over the way we’ve been treated.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Richards murmured, but he didn’t reveal the least bit of concern over her threat.

  “I will, you know.” She waved her index finger at them as positive proof. “Mark my words, this is no idle threat.”

  Kyle was in his BMW and had started the engine by the time she slipped into the seat next to him.

  “You want to head back to the interstate?” she asked, clicking her seat belt into place, certain he cursed the day he’d followed her recommendation to travel off the main road.

  “No,” he answered shortly, not bothering to explain his reasons. In one
word he made it clear he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

  So this was the way it was to be. Carrie realized that Kyle intended to give her the silent treatment. That was dandy with her. She’d spent a miserable night sleeping in Mrs. Johnson’s cotton robe. The woman had insisted on washing Carrie’s clothes so she had something clean to wear in the morning. She would have picked up a few things for herself if she hadn’t been so involved in getting Kyle out of the slammer. Now it would have to wait.

  They traveled for half an hour without a word passing between them, but it wasn’t a companionable silence. Carrie wanted to talk, but it was plain Kyle didn’t.

  Sometime later, he finally spoke. “The delay in Wheatland shouldn’t cause much of a problem. We can stay overnight in Paris and still be in Dallas early tomorrow.”

  “Perfect,” she said agreeably. She wasn’t planning to meet Tom Atkins until the evening cocktail party, and that was her only concern. How she would miss the beautiful red-sequined dress! But she’d have time to visit her sister, who lived near Dallas, and Cathie could lend her something.

  “Perfect,” he repeated after her. She noticed how he purposely relaxed his fingers. Until then he’d gripped the steering wheel as though he were driving the Indy Five Hundred.

  “How was your night?” she asked, making polite conversation.

  “Miserable. Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?”

  “All right.”

  “How about you?” he asked.

  Carrie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, Kyle’s radar detector started beeping loudly.

  Kyle immediately removed his foot from the gas pedal to decrease their speed, but it was too late. The blinking red-and-blue light of a state patrol car was flashing in the rearview mirror.

  Kyle mumbled something unrepeatable under his breath, pulled over to the side of the road, and stopped the car. “I wonder if I can manage to stay out of jail this time,” he muttered.

  Carrie squeezed his arm reassuringly. Kyle was as stiff as a three-day-old corpse.