At his computer he typed the name Fugate into a secure database for public records. There was nothing linking Tammy Walton to any Fugate.
He searched the name Paul Fugate—and found an article dated 2010 about a memorial service for the man who had never been found. His wife, a woman who looked to be near seventy, had been in attendance.
Another dead end.
Jay’s day had been filled with them.
As his thoughts trailed over the past several hours, the obstacles he’d encountered at every step of his day, in his mind’s eye, Jay saw a set of eyes. Brown. Filled with panic.
His newest client.
He’d catapulted her into a very bad day.
When he’d given Shawna his word that he’d do all he could to help Ellen Moore, Jay’s goal, his purpose, was to help her feel better.
And because that hadn’t happened during their first encounter, he was worried about her. Did anyone outside of him, Ellen and Shawna know about the session? Would she seek help? Or comfort?
From what Shawna had told him about the woman, he suspected not.
He’d seen Ellen jogging the other day at four o’clock. It was almost four now. A person suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder often relied on the sameness of routine and schedule to maintain a sense of security. And that person might exercise religiously to relieve stress.
He knew at least a portion of her route and could figure out the rest. The town wasn’t that big.
Still, it was Friday. She probably had plans. A beautiful woman like her—she probably had a date.
Taking the chance that she’d take her run regardless of later plans, Jay decided to find her.
ELLEN HEARD HIS MOTORCYCLE as she turned the corner past Tory’s house. He must live nearby.
She stopped. But she didn’t even think about turning back. Or trying to avoid the man who pulled up to the curb beside her and turned off his engine.
In fact, she walked toward the bike, studying the chrome while she willed her heart and her breath back to normal range. If he’d come looking for her, she would deal with him.
If he hadn’t, then she’d extricate herself from the awkward position with the dignity and class that were her trademark—or so she’d been told dozens of times.
Dignity and class had been embarrassingly absent when she’d bolted from her appointment with Black Leather earlier.
“Nice bike.” She walked around it, pretending she knew what she was looking for. Or at. It was a motorcycle, all right. And it was shiny.
“Thanks. You ride?”
“Nope.”
The seat behind him had a backrest and arms.
“Ever?”
“Nope.”
“You’ve never been on a motorcycle?”
Was the concept really that hard to comprehend?
“No, I’ve never been on a motorcycle.” Proud of the even tone of her voice, Ellen forgave herself for feeling like a backwoods hick thanks to his incredulity. “You might have noticed, there aren’t a lot of biker types in this town.”
The jeans he’d worn at the clinic looked different astride his bike. He’d donned the black leather vest, too.
In her bike shorts and running T-shirt, Ellen wore far less than she had before. But standing on the curb—her curb in her town—she felt twice as covered. Because she had fresh air on her skin, the air of Shelter Valley wrapping her in a loving cocoon—and she was wearing the gazes of anyone in town who passed by, or watched through a window.
“Have you ever had a massage?”
“No.” He wasn’t going to unnerve her. She’d had time to realign herself.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“No.” The answer came quickly…and rang true. Surprisingly true.
“I came looking for you.”
Ellen held her ground. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“I thought it was. You were obviously upset when you left.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d had a breakdown. Wouldn’t be the last. But they were fewer and further between.
“As you can see, I’m fine now.”
“Can we talk about it?”
“I’m not coming back.”
“I don’t intend to talk you into it.”
“Then what’s the point of talking about it? We tried something. It didn’t work.” She was fine. Healthy enough. No one was perfect. She didn’t need help. She only needed to focus on who she was—Ellen Moore, social worker, activities director, mother of a five-year-old bundle of energy who was away for the entire month visiting with his father and the model girlfriend.
“I’m not good with failure.”
He was Black Leather. A man who had popped into her thoughts on more than one occasion since he’d roared into town—quite a shock, considering she was a woman who avoided thoughts of men because of accompanying feelings of fear, revulsion or inadequacy.
“Has anyone asked you to leave town yet?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
“They will.”
“They’ll be disappointed.”
She didn’t think so.
And she hoped so.
“Do I offend you?”
“No.” He fascinated her. In a distant sort of way. A train wreck sort of way.
With both hands still on the handlebars of his motorcycle, Black Leather sighed then looked straight at her. “I’d really like a chance to sit and talk with you,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. Gentle. “I think I might be able to help.”
No didn’t spring immediately to her lips, which unnerved Ellen a little bit. “How?”
“I’m not sure.” He shrugged and she appreciated his honesty. “Obviously there are a lot of things about you, about your situation, I don’t know. I agreed to see you with only a minimal amount of information but I now think that was a mistake and a disservice to you.”
“That’s not your concern.” He was a biker massage therapist. And not long for this town.
“I think it is. Most particularly if I have inadvertently made the situation worse.”
Two cars she recognized had driven past. Becca Parsons again. Ellen often passed the mayor during her run since Becca left work at the same time each day in order to have time in the pool with her kids before dinner. Ellen had been in high school when Becca had finally, after more than twenty years of failed attempts, carried a baby to term. The whole town had watched that pregnancy, but no one more than Ellen’s mother—best friends with Becca since grade school.
The other car that passed was Keith Nielson’s, Bonnie’s husband. Josh would have been at Little Spirits, Bonnie’s day care, waiting for Ellen to pick him up. If he was in town…
“I have to go.”
“Can we set up a time to talk about what happened today?”
He really seemed to want to help. Seemed to believe he had something to offer.
Was she honestly ready to give up? To accept who she was, as she was? To be forever held hostage to a past she couldn’t change?
She looked at Black Leather. She wasn’t afraid of him.
“Do you ever braid your hair?” It was longer than hers. And absolutely none of her business. “Nope.”
She wanted out of the cage her past had trapped her in. She wanted to be able to date. Marry again. She wanted her son to be able to hug her without having his arms wrenched away.
She’d been through counseling—individual and group. She’d exhausted all of the conventional channels and, seven years post-attack, was still struggling to accept being touched. Shawna thought this man could help her.
As a social worker, a counselor, Ellen knew that a huge part of the success—or failure—of Jay’s therapy rested with her. If she was going to do this, she had to be open to him. Completely. No matter how hard that might prove to be.
Considering this afternoon in the clinic, she didn’t think she could be that open.
But she knew something else. If she didn’t at least explore the possibility one mo
re time—by speaking with him—she’d feel as though she’d given up on herself.
“Can you meet me tomorrow morning? Around ten?” Her stepfather, David Marks, was expecting her to help with the church bulletin before that.
“Yes. Where?”
Ellen suggested the Valley Diner.
“You want to be seen in the middle of downtown, sitting at a table with me?”
“Yes, I think I do.”
She wished she could explain to herself why that was.
CHAPTER FIVE
JAY MADE IT TO THE DINER a few minutes ahead of schedule the next morning and went in to use the restroom. By the time he’d returned, Ellen was already seated in the last booth, her back to the wall. He recognized her first by the ruler-straight set of her shoulders then by the distinctive natural blond hair that hung freely down her back.
He knew even before he slid onto the bench opposite her that she wouldn’t be wearing any makeup. Nothing about Ellen was made-up.
Hidden, maybe, but not made-up.
“Did you order already?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.
“No, I waited.”
He picked up the menu, decided on the first thing he saw—a man-size stack of homemade pancakes—then returned the plastic-coated sheet to its place along the wall.
Ellen watched him, her hands folded on the table.
“Ellen?” The waitress, a middle-aged woman, approached, staring, not at the woman she’d addressed, but at him.
“Hi, Nancy. How are the kids?”
“Good. You know that Cameron starts at Montford this fall, right?”
“Yeah. And Leah will be following next year, I’m sure.” Ellen ordered a diet soda, oatmeal and toast and waited while Jay asked for coffee, black, and his pancakes.
“Have you eaten here yet?” Ellen asked as Nancy, pocketing her notepad, walked away.
“Nope, this is my first time in.” Glancing around, he figured he could have described the place accurately without the visit. Hometown diners looked the same the world over.
But as diners went, this one was one of the nicest. It was clean, of course, but the decor was…fresh-looking.
And it fit right in with this family-based town.
Jay focused on the woman he’d agreed to help, wondering about her. “Do you have siblings?”
“Three.”
“Younger or older?”
“Younger. I’m the oldest.”
“Are they all here in town?”
“Yep. Shelley’s twenty-three, working toward her doctorate in music at Montford. She had her bachelor’s at twenty and finished the master’s program last year. Rebecca’s twenty-two and married. No kids yet. Tim’s just turning twenty. He’s at Montford, too, playing baseball. And his interest is definitely more on the field than in the classroom, though he’s planning to go to law school.”
The woman was beautiful. He stared at her mouth, watching the way her lips moved as she talked. Her features were soft, almost innocent in their allure. Yet her eyes held secrets. And a sadness directly offset by the straightness of her spine.
He liked sitting here with her. Wanted to be here.
He noticed the uniformed man walking toward them. “Sheriff.” He nodded acknowledgment.
“Ellen, you okay, sweetie?” Greg asked.
“Hi, Greg. Yes, I’m fine.” Ellen’s tone, her smile, was almost that of a child humoring a too protective parent. “Have you met Jay Billingsley? He works at the clinic.”
Greg Richards glanced Jay’s way, nodding, but the smile on his face didn’t quite mask the concern lining his forehead. “Yes, we’ve met.”
“The sheriff paid me a visit my first night in town,” Jay said easily. “I invited him in and we—”
“Sheriff Richards. You did not go over and search this man’s house simply because he rode into town on a loud motorcycle.” Ellen’s grin was filled with a disbelief that could only be genuine.
“No, he didn’t,” Jay asserted. If Ellen didn’t already know about his police record—and shocking lack of family—then he preferred she not find out now when he needed her to feel comfortable with him. “He introduced himself and let me know that he was around if I needed anything.”
The sheriff had crossed Jay’s path twice since then and had been respectful. Jay responded in kind.
“Does your mother know you’re here?” Sheriff Richards wasn’t letting Ellen off the hook.
“If she doesn’t yet, she will soon.” Ellen’s slight derision wasn’t lost on Jay. And he didn’t think the sheriff missed it, either. “I’m okay, Greg, really. David knows I’m here. And why.”
David?
“Oh, well, okay then. Enjoy your breakfast.” With that, the man was gone as quickly as he’d arrived. Whoever this David was, he apparently had clout with the sheriff.
“DAVID IS MY STEPFATHER,” Ellen said as soon as Sheriff Richards had left her peripheral vision. Opening up about her family, about her life, with an outsider went against deeply ingrained instincts.
Still, he might look like a Black Leather kind of guy but he was a professional. Shawna trusted Jay. Ellen trusted Shawna. Ellen wanted to get better. Therefore, she had to confide in him. She should have let Shawna fill him in to begin with and saved herself this awkwardness.
“You a churchgoer, Mr. Billingsley?”
“Call me Jay. And no, can’t say that I am.”
“I didn’t think so. Otherwise you’d know David. He’s the preacher here in town.”
“And your stepfather.”
“Yes. It’s been seven years and he and my mom are still crazy about each other.” In some ways it was hard to believe that much time had passed. In others, it seemed an eternity. “He’s also one of my best friends.”
Let Jay make of that what he wanted.
Nancy reappeared with breakfast.
“I thought you had an appointment at Big Spirits this morning,” she said as she spooned hot oatmeal from the side of her bowl.
“Yes. At eight.”
“How did it go?”
“Good.”
The man kept the confidence of his clients. A point for him.
“I met with a mother and daughter from Phoenix yesterday,” Ellen told him as they ate. “They were looking at the center as a possibility for the mother’s brother.”
“I thought the residence was full.”
“It is. But there are a couple of rooms that have been used for storage that can be converted. After the meeting yesterday I volunteered to do the painting and decorating to prepare the rooms.”
“They can’t afford to hire a painter?”
“Yeah, they can, but I’ve got the time right now, and the rooms could be available by next week, which would work for those women. The man is being released from six months of rehab for a broken hip.”
“So his stay will be temporary?”
“No.” Ellen opened a packet of mixed fruit jelly. “He broke his hip when he ran a red light and was sideswiped. His wife died in the accident. His sister wants to take him to live with her, but the man is twice her size and she still works full-time. She can hire a nurse for home care, but she’s afraid he’s going to mourn and not improve. She heard about us and came for a tour. She has to make a decision this weekend.”
“That’s gotta be tough.”
“Yeah.” People had real problems. Much worse than an aversion to being hugged. “I gave her my cell number in case she had questions or concerns.”
“You’re committed to your job.”
“I love my job.”
He stopped eating and looked at her. “Why?”
The question was intrusive. Penetrating.
She held the slice of jelly-covered toast. She could do this. She could talk to him. “I have an affinity for old people. I think in part because they have so much wisdom.” She silently fought the internal battle to flee. “The kind of wisdom you can’t learn from books—or even always put into words. They teach by exam
ple. And I’m a sucker for that kind of lesson.”
“So how do I teach you by example?”
She dropped the toast, the beginnings of a cold sweat coming on.
“I’m not— You’re not—” She couldn’t do this. She’d tried, but…
Jay wiped his mouth, put the used napkin in the center of a pool of syrup on his plate, then picked up the bill. “You ready to go?” He stood and pulled a couple of bills from a wad in his pocket and dropped them to the table.
She nodded then followed him outside. “Thank you for breakfast.”
Every single person in the diner had watched them walk out. She slid her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and resisted the urge to run.
“I’m not giving up on you.”
His quietly spoken statement slowed the cacophony inside of her. He wasn’t giving up on her. Was she?
“I have a son.” Josh. If she couldn’t do this for herself, she had to do it for Josh. “His name’s Josh. He’s five.”
They were standing on Main Street on Saturday morning. Attracting looks.
Shelter Valley protected its own—most particularly Ellen. She’d been in the papers. Everyone knew who she was.
“Did you talk to his father about your session with me?”
“No. Josh’s father lives in Colorado now. He’s got a live-in girlfriend. Josh is with them for the month of August.”
“Oh.”
One word, but it seemed to mean more than a professional collection of knowledge.
Or she was overreacting.
“How long has his father been in Colorado?”
“Three years. He left us to take a job there.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me, too, for Josh’s sake.”
“Not for yours?”
Ellen shrugged. “Not so much. By the time Aaron left, our divorce was almost a relief.”
He didn’t ask any more. But she could see the questions in his gaze. The battle raging inside her—run, get away, protect, protect, protect! on one side and you need help, you’ll be imprisoned for life, you’ll never be normal! on the other—was overwhelming her. She couldn’t hear either side clearly.
But she could picture her son’s face.
“Do you have time to take a drive with me?” She was losing it. She couldn’t be doing this. Couldn’t be contemplating opening up any more to this man.
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