Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  Although she and Curt shared a common history, one that made her nostalgic for her childhood, she wondered if she could ever make a long-term relationship work. In her younger years, she’d tried to be everything to everybody. Now, in the second half of her life, she had the power to decide. Getting older meant taking the reins, making a decision, being assertive. This was what Karen told herself by way of justification.

  Of course, Curt wouldn’t understand this if she never told him, and she couldn’t tell him if she never called him. She imagined him back in North Dakota, moping around and pining for her, and she swore she’d call him as soon as she arrived at Jekyll Island. She pressed down on the accelerator, trying to leave the guilt behind.

  CURT OPENED ONE EYE and tried to focus on the nightstand clock. When he saw it was almost noon, he cracked a grin. Next to him, Maddie slumbered on.

  They’d started out yesterday the same way, sleeping almost until lunchtime. After a lovers’ brunch, they’d dressed and spent the afternoon riding Duke and Missy all over hell and back and then taken a tub bath together to wash off the trail dust. Which of course led to Maddie climbing on top of him in the bathtub, a big claw-footed number overlooking his property.

  He took her out to dinner at the Cowboy Country Club, and they topped that off with drinks and dancing in town. The way Maddie danced, she lit him up all over again, and they got home and hung from the chandeliers until after midnight.

  He rolled over and stretched, noting that nothing seemed broken. In fact, he didn’t feel the least bit achy, which surprised him. Fifty-five years of living, half of it spent in the field—both farm and geologic—had delivered a few dings and damage, but Maddie’s magic must have been unlocking his joints and sending his blood flowing through his veins at top speed.

  In fact, that was the best part. He didn’t feel old anymore. Maddie was giving him his youth back.

  He reached toward her and was rewarded with a generous handful of backside, followed by a soft moan. She turned to him, all floaty and warm, and reached for his cock.

  Off to the races.

  THE NARROW HIGHWAY to Jekyll Island was little more than a raised strip through a broad reach of salt marshland. The tide had receded, revealing muddy channels through the lowland grasses. In the golden light of late afternoon, Karen crossed the Intracoastal Bridge and headed for the southern end of the island. She parked in front of Ida’s house and climbed out of the truck, stretching her aching muscles as she walked. Halfway to the porch, the sound of jungle birdcalls reached her from inside the house.

  Ida opened the door. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” she said, reaching for a set of keys in her pocket.

  “I got a late start.” Karen cocked her head. “What am I hearing?”

  “It’s a recording a friend made for me when she visited the Amazon. I like to listen while I’m knitting.” Ida held out the key. “The bed is made, and I turned on the refrigerator this morning. Let me know if you need anything further.” They wished each other good night, and the door closed.

  Karen hit the lights inside the Airstream. Everything was as clean, bright, and sleek as she remembered. In spite of fatigue, she felt a rising sense of promise. To think of all she could accomplish here, working without interruption! She opened the refrigerator (cold), checked the burners (they worked), and went around opening and closing cabinets, taking inventory. Ida had stocked the kitchen with everything she would need except food. It was either make a meal out of decaf and sweetener or go to the village for groceries. Darkness fell and she turned on her headlights, but met no other cars on the road.

  In the village, she found a diner. Through the windows she could see only two people inside, a waitress and one customer. Karen ordered chicken soup and an order of cornbread to go. She stopped at the nearby market for milk. The place was closing up, although it was only eight o’clock...and Friday night yet.

  After finishing off the soup and cornbread, Karen unpacked enough of her luggage to get through the night. She brought in her expensive electronics, retied the ropes, and hoped everything else would be there in the morning.

  She locked the truck and secured the door of the Airstream, brushed her teeth, and washed her face at the granite sink. After checking the windows and making sure the door was locked, Karen climbed into bed. She stretched, fluffed a pillow, and let out a long breath. In the darkness, she listened to sounds reaching her through the air vent over her bed—intermittent raindrops, the soft hooting of an owl, and the wind rustling through the loblolly pines.

  I’m here at last, she thought, all alone to focus on my work and not worry about anybody but myself. I should sleep like a baby.

  She refluffed the pillow and turned over. And then turned over again. An hour later, she was still awake.

  It wasn’t that she was nervous. The place had to be safe. Ida lived alone, and she’d probably been here fifty years.

  And it wasn’t that she missed the CRS ladies or Curt or Aunt Marie. Or even Steve. So what was this unease she felt? She closed her eyes, hoping to get drowsy and fall asleep, but her senses were on high alert, and she noticed every sound and smell. It was the strangeness, of course. In the past year she’d lived like a transient, moving from California to North Dakota to Florida, and now here in Georgia. The distant whisper of the surf crept in her window, along with the salty tang of coastal dampness. She missed the security of home, but she had no home. Karen pulled the covers up around her chin and waited for sleep to come.

  CHAPTER 22

  IN THE WANING LIGHT of Friday afternoon, Jessie, exhausted and skeptical, crept along behind a long line of cars on the highway into Key Largo. She had expected a house in a community, but the GPS had brought her all the way down to this skinny strip of land with touristy shops and campgrounds. The chance of finding an actual neighborhood on this island seemed remote. She drove on and on, increasingly desperate. Where would they sleep tonight if she couldn’t find Karen’s house?

  She’d driven nearly five hundred miles since talking on the phone that morning, stopping only to feed and change Sunshine and let her toddle around a bit. Fear of Lenny kept her moving, fear of him finding them, hurting them, and making her come back. Jessie had used a big chunk of her remaining funds on food, gas, and the motel. Luckily, the Honda held together, and Jessie wondered fleetingly why Lenny had always acted worried that if she went anywhere in it by herself, it would break down. That at least gave her satisfaction. She’d beaten the odds on making it here.

  But this? Instead of the gated community she’d expected, Paradise Shores was an RV campground. She pulled in and parked in front of the office, rested her head against the steering wheel, and fought the urge to cry. Karen Grace lived in a trailer park. No house, no spare bedroom, no yard, and no lonely retiree grateful for company. Karen was probably a cranky old woman with Chihuahuas, with no room for a runaway mother and her small child.

  Sunshine whimpered, and Jessie lifted the baby out of her car seat and went into the office.

  The mannish old lady behind the desk looked up. “We’re full.”

  “I’m visiting someone who’s staying here.” Jessie jiggled Sunshine to keep her from fussing. The baby was tired and hungry, too.

  “What’s the name?”

  “Karen Grace. I was told I could find her here.” Fatigue made Jessie tentative. She could hear the sound of fear in her own voice.

  The woman shook her head. “You’re out of luck.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She left this morning. Won’t be back for a month.”

  Jessie’s knees sagged. She felt as if she might drop the baby.

  “Are you all right?” The woman hurried out from around the counter. “Come here and sit down. I’ll be right back.” She returned with a granola bar and a soda.

  “Thank you.”

  “Where’re you from?”

  “Atlanta.”

  “You drove all the way with her?” The woman
looked out the window at the Honda. “In that?”

  Jessie took a long swallow of the soda. This woman looked like a bulldog, but she’d fed them, so she had a soft side. “Karen Grace is my aunt.”

  “I’ll be damned.” The woman held out a calloused hand. “I didn’t think she had any family. I’m Fern.”

  “I’m Jessie.”

  “I don’t remember Karen mentioning any brothers or sisters.”

  Jessie thought fast. “They had a falling-out. It was years ago. Actually, I haven’t seen Karen since I was a baby.”

  “Okay.” Fern raised an eyebrow.

  “Aunt Karen said if I ever needed anything I should call her.” Jessie turned her face to show the bruise. “So when this happened, I panicked and jumped in the car and drove here. I thought she could hide me.”

  “Jesus Christ. Husband?”

  “Not exactly. And I used up all my money getting here. I’m trying to think of options but—” Jessie stopped when Sunshine began to fuss.

  “Yeah, there’s nowhere in town. It’s high season. The place is full up.” Fern studied her. “If you want, you could follow me to my place. My wife’s making dinner. We’ll have a bite to eat and figure out what to do with you.”

  Jessie wondered if that was safe, but short of sleeping in her car, she was out of options. She would have to trust this Fern woman. If things went bad, she had a small canister of Mace in her purse. She buckled a squirming, cranky Sunshine back into her car seat and waited for Fern’s vehicle to appear. When she saw the new black-and-tan three-quarter-ton pickup truck wheel around from the back of the office, she relaxed a little. Most ax murderers would be driving a junk heap. She followed the truck into the campground, hypnotized by the red taillights.

  At Fern’s massive fifth-wheel, a woman held the screen door open, a look of puzzlement on her face. Her gray hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, with tendrils framing her face. Jessie opened the Honda’s back door and unstrapped Sunshine. The woman gasped. “A baby. Come in, come in.”

  Jessie climbed the steps. The woman seemed mesmerized by Sunshine. Fern, standing inside, said, “Jessie, this is Belle.”

  “Hello, dear. We’re just about to have dinner.” Belle stepped aside. From the kitchen wafted the aroma of dinnertime. In the living room, a scented candle flickered on the coffee table, and a new-age melody played quietly.

  “This is Jessie, and the little one is Sunshine. The two of them drove all the way from Atlanta to see Karen.”

  Belle’s eyes widened. “But she left this morning. You just missed her.”

  Jessie nodded. “I know. Fern told me.”

  “The kids’re hungry.” Fern put her arm around Belle and gave her a squeeze. “Got enough for everybody?”

  “Of course I do,” said Belle. “Can the baby eat solids? I can give you a bowl to mash it up.”

  “They’re going to need more than dinner,” Fern said. “She’s on the run. I’m afraid this is a case of domestic abuse, plain and simple.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Belle.

  “I don’t want to impose,” said Jessie.

  “Not at all,” said Belle. “It’s our pleasure. Not that many young people come to visit anymore.”

  Fern stood in front of them, her arms folded. “They don’t have anyplace to stay tonight.”

  “They can stay here.” Belle smiled at Sunshine, who stuck a thumb into her mouth and hid against her mother’s breast.

  Jessie felt limp with relief. She could stop running, at least until morning. “I would be so grateful,” she whispered.

  “The sofa folds out, and we have lots of extra bedding. Do you have something in your car for the baby to sleep in? A playpen or something?”

  “I had to leave without it.” Jessie had found a thrift store on the way south, bought a few items of clothing for herself and Sunshine, and continued down the highway. At the motel this morning, she’d barely showered, worried about Sunshine climbing off the bed.

  Belle looked around the room. “Maybe we can roll up some blankets, find some pillows, and use the sofa cushions to make up a little bed for her.”

  Fern retrieved her truck keys from the hook near the door. “Why don’t you finish getting dinner ready, get them settled, and I’ll be right back.” She jumped into the truck and backed out of the driveway.

  “What do you think she’s doing?” asked Jessie.

  “Fern has a mind of her own.” Belle stood up. “Do you like meat loaf? We’re having that, with mashed potatoes, gravy, and a salad. What do you think the baby might eat?”

  “I still have a little of her food left.” Jessie spread a blanket on the carpet and set Sunshine in the middle. The baby sat and watched, her face grim.

  “Will she stay there?” asked Belle.

  “Not for long. She’s a little nervous right now, so she won’t move right away. Then she’ll get brave and start to explore.” Jessie offered the baby a couple of toys and a clean pacifier. Returning to the bag, she fished out several jars and a can. “I have green beans and pears, but no protein or liquids.”

  “We have string cheese you could chop up. And apple juice.”

  “That would be good,” said Jessie. “I have a sippy cup.” The two women worked side by side in the small kitchen, Belle peeling potatoes and Jessie preparing the baby’s dinner. Then she gathered up Sunshine and, holding her on her lap, used a plastic spoon to feed her. The hungry baby gobbled her food, opening her mouth like a baby bird. When she finished, Jessie returned her to the blanket and played with her while Belle cooked.

  A half hour later, Fern drove up. She shut the truck door with one hip and carried two bags of groceries into the house. “Diapers, baby food, a bunch of other stuff.” Then she went back outside and returned with a big cardboard box, grinning at the look of surprise on Jessie’s face. “I asked the lady at Walmart for a playpen, and she looked at me like I was some kinda idiot and said they don’t call ’em that anymore. So this here is a play yard. The lady said she can sleep in it, too.” She set it down in the living room and began to unpack the box in front of Sunshine, who watched, her eyes big. “You are gonna love this, little one.”

  CHAPTER 23

  IN THE MIDDLE OF THE night, Belle awoke to the sound of a baby crying. She thought it was a dream, but it seemed so real a knife twisted in her heart. The trailer jiggled, and Jessie’s voice carried through the darkness as she soothed her baby. Belle wondered about the big bruise on her face. If the animal who did it lived in Atlanta, there was little chance he’d find them here. Jessie and the baby would be safe for as long as they stayed.

  In the morning, the baby pulled herself into a standing position and jabbered at Fern, who sat on the couch, reading a newspaper. Jessie sat at the table, wearing a pair of Belle’s pajamas and checking her phone for messages. In the kitchen, Belle mixed onions, bell peppers, and cheese into an omelet. She filled three glasses with orange juice and blotted the grease from the bacon. The ritual, so simple, brought her a rich feeling of peace. “Who’s ready for breakfast?”

  Fern folded the paper, caressed Sunshine’s head, and sauntered into the kitchen. “Load me up.”

  Belle placed one strip of bacon on her plate.

  “Is that all?”

  “I’m just thinking of your cholesterol, dear.”

  Fern made a face and slipped past her, reaching for the eggs.

  “Thanks again for letting us stay here last night,” said Jessie. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

  Stay as long as you like. Belle bit her tongue before the sentiment escaped. “We have salsa, if that’s your thing. Help yourself to toast, and we have spray butter, because we’re getting too darned fat.”

  “Speak for yourself, darlin’.” Fern speared three additional pieces of bacon and winked at Jessie. “What’s on the agenda today?”

  “Gina’s having a planning meeting for the Valentine’s Day fashion show,” said Belle. “That’s at ten.”

 
; Fern groaned. “My back still hurts from last time, moving all the furniture and decorations around.”

  “You do too much,” said Belle.

  “If I don’t, who will?”

  “You have a big heart.” Belle smiled at Fern. The two of them shared a look. “And this afternoon we should stop by Eleanor’s.”

  Jessie stopped to wipe the baby’s chin. “You have a lot of friends in the park?”

  “We’re an RV travel group,” said Fern. “We drive all over the country, depending on the weather. Like snowbirds. We’ll be here until it gets hot, probably the end of April.”

  “And Karen is part of your group?”

  “Yes,” said Belle.

  “No,” said Fern at the same time. “Well, she sort of is. She’s a strange one. Wants company, then doesn’t. Ran off to some island in Georgia so she can work. If you ask me, she could just close her door and work right here. I don’t know what the problem was.”

  “She’s a very private individual,” said Belle. “Not everyone wants to share their personal business.”

  Fern shot a look of frustration at Belle. “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

  “So is tact.” Belle loved Fern, but sometimes she plowed straight into people without realizing it.

  “Tell me again,” Fern said, “how it is that Karen didn’t know you were coming?”

  Jessie chewed slowly. When she was done, she reached for a glass of milk and took two long swallows. “She told me she had something for me. Something from my grandma Frieda’s funeral.”

  It wasn’t an answer, Belle noticed, but given the purple bruise on the girl’s face, her evasiveness was understandable, and it posed no threat. She hoped Fern would drop her line of questioning. She followed Fern’s glance at the window, where campers were beginning their morning walk. “Your granny was a real straight-shooter. If Frieda had something to say, she said it.”