by Jodi Thomas
“You okay?” he finally whispered against her ear.
“I am now,” she answered as she rubbed her cheek against his clean-shaven jaw.
“Me, too,” he answered. “I was worried you wouldn’t recognize me.”
“You’re always there, Jax. In my memories. In my thoughts.”
He rubbed his thumb across her cheek, shoving away tears. “How about we get out of this cold?”
Laughing, she linked her arm with his and they ran to her car. As soon as they were inside with the heater running, she asked, “How did you find me? All I told Tim was my email address.”
“It wasn’t easy. You changed your name. Just M. Weather is it now? Changed occupations. Never sent me your new address.”
“But I emailed you?”
“I dropped my email account after your first email that simply said you were safe. I thought staying away from me, the guy Curtis probably hates most in this world, would keep you safe.”
She smiled. “We don’t have to worry about Curtis. He went to federal prison for fraud a few months ago. I think when the police started looking into his past behavior with women, they also checked his finances. He’d been embezzling for years. If he ever gets out of federal prison, there are several women who will probably file harassment charges.”
“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”
“So, how did you find me?” Mallory studied him, thinking he’d changed a great deal in a year. But she could still see kindness in his eyes, and something else now. Love, she thought. When he looked at her, she saw pure love. She’d always known how much he cared about her, but he must have hidden his love before.
Jax shrugged. “I asked Tim. He had your office address from when he mailed you some of his books. If you hadn’t come out soon, I fear I’d have been frozen to the bench.”
They laughed as she drove home to her apartment. She told him all about her new job and the friends she’d made in the city. She couldn’t wait for him to see her place. It might not look anything like his cabin, but she had a fireplace and a view of Houston.
After just one step inside the door, Jax dropped to his knees and hugged Charlie. “I missed you, Buddy.”
The dog seemed just as happy to see Jax. He barked and ran around him.
“Every time I say your name, his ears perk up, like we’re going to go looking for you.” She shrugged. “I sometimes call him Buddy just to make him happy.”
Jax looked around while she made him a strong cup of coffee. She didn’t miss how he smiled at her Christmas decorations. A small tree decorated with tiny log cabins and pinecones. The only stocking hung had Charlie’s name on it. And on one wall were three frames holding copies of the puzzles she’d left behind at his cabin. Horses running over a snowy field. Kittens playing under the Christmas tree. A starry night shining over a lone cabin.
“I could have mailed the puzzles to you,” Jax said.
“I know, but I kind of liked the idea that the same pictures were on both the cabin walls and here.”
He grinned. “Me, too.”
They sat on bar stools, looking out at the city lights and talking like old friends. He told her of his travels and how he was getting used to having people around when he wasn’t at the cabin. She talked about her dear friend who’d put her up for two months at a beach house in Galveston.
Neither wanted to go out, so she made him an omelet while he burned toast. He talked about his work, but mostly he just seemed to be studying her as if he couldn’t get enough.
At midnight, she realized he was never going to make the first move, so she stood, took him by the hand and tugged him toward the bedroom.
“Mallory, I don’t know about this. I can’t see where this is going.”
“Me either, but I do love you, Jax.”
“But there are questions that don’t have answers. A million things we’ve never talked about. I don’t want to be a complication in your life. I just had to see you. Make sure you were all right. I—”
“I know, Jax.” She faced him. “Before we go any further, I have one question that has to be answered.”
He seemed to relax. “All right. I’ll be as honest as I can in answering. I’m not involved with anyone, but I’d be happy for you if you’ve found someone. You mean a lot to me, but I’d understand if you want to go slow—”
“One question, Jax.” She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.
He squared his shoulders. “All right.”
She stretched and kissed him on the mouth this time. “What do you want for breakfast?”
* * *
If you love Jodi Thomas, you won’t want to miss her enthralling standalone novel, Mornings on Main, available from HQN Books!
New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas has captivated readers around the world with her sweeping, heartfelt family sagas. Be sure to catch all the stories in the compelling and emotionally resonant Ransom Canyon series!
Indigo Lake
Wild Horse Springs
Sunrise Crossing
Lone Heart Pass
Rustler’s Moon
Ransom Canyon
Set in a remote West Texas town where family bonds are made and broken, and where young love sparks as old flames grow dim. Ransom Canyon is ready to welcome—and shelter—those who need it.
Complete your collection!
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Mornings on Main
by Jodi Thomas
CHAPTER ONE
LAUREL SPRINGS, TEXAS, had the warm feel of a Southern town long forgotten by progress. A hundred years ago the main street had been built wide enough to turn a wagon around. Today, the only sign of change was marked by the swinging stoplights at every intersection. They clanked in the wind like broken clocks beating out time in red and green.
A trickle of day-visitors flowed down the uneven sidewalks in front of quaint little shops with catchy names like A Stitch in Time, Hidden Treasures and Mamma Bee’s Pastries. Occasional sides of buildings and entrances to alleyways were painted with murals of cattle drives and oil fields, as if anyone needed reminding what built this state.
Jillian James drove through the heart of town, fighting back tears. This wasn’t where she wanted to be. It was impossible to remain invisible in a small town. Strangers would be noticed. People would ask questions. Welcome her with smiles or glare at her like no one ever did in large cities.
She dropped her chin, letting her dark, straight hair curtain her face as she waited for the light to change.
Look at the bright side, she almost said out loud. Time slowed in places like this, and she had to catch her breath. She had to plan her next move. A small town. A slower pace would give her time to think.
She’d been a traveler, a wanderer for as long as she could remember, and like it or not, this town offered her a place to rest and regroup.
In a strange way, this dot on the map reminded her of Budapest, Hungary. But a creek ran through the center of this town, not the Danube River. No hauntingly beautiful Chain Bridge joined the split cities as it did in Buda and Pest, but she sensed the beat of two separate towns between the city limit signs, two worlds divided by a ribbon of water.
One side of town was dark and industrial, with warehouses and g
rain elevators that blocked the sunset to the west. The other side was postcard cute, with gingerbread trim on brightly painted cottages and the Texas flag hanging from nineteenth-century street lamps.
Here she was, stopped at a traffic light in the middle of town. Not belonging to either side. Not belonging anywhere. At first, her traveling had been an adventure she thought she was born for, but lately it felt like drifting. Just drifting with no more direction than the leaves dancing along the gutters.
Sniffing, she managed a smile, remembering what her father used to tell her every time they packed. If you want to see the world, Jillie, you’ve got to rip off the rearview mirror and never look back.
Somehow, she doubted he’d been talking about Laurel Springs, Texas, when he’d said the world. She’d grown up moving with him. Alaska in the summers, the oil rigs off the coast in winters. Norway when she was eight. Australia at ten. Washington state when she reached her teens, and a dozen other places. Never the same. Never staying long enough to grow roots.
When she was eighteen, he’d left her at a dorm on a small college campus in Oklahoma and disappeared without a trace. She’d made it two semesters before her money ran out. She hadn’t bothered to look for him. Her father had spent her formative years teaching her how to live without leaving a footprint to follow.
Travel light, he’d once said. Pack nothing from the past, not even memories. And, finally, he’d left without packing her along.
Only now, a dozen years later, she longed for an anchor. One relative. One harbor. One place where she felt she might belong for a while.
The light changed. Jillian scrubbed her face with a napkin from McDonald’s, where she’d had lunch, and followed a sign advertising the town’s only historic bed-and-breakfast.
Papa’s rule: Never stay at a cheap motel. It marks you as a drifter.
A small bed-and-breakfast was cheaper if you considered the one meal a day could stretch into two if you picked up fruit on the way out, and the friendly staff was usually a wealth of information. Innkeepers almost made Jillian feel like she had a friend in town.
When she climbed the steps of what looked like a miniature Tara mansion from Gone with the Wind, a tiny woman in her late fifties rushed out with a welcoming smile. Her chocolate-colored apron was neatly embroidered and read:
JOIN THE DARK SIDE
We have chocolate chips in our cookies.
“You must be Jillian James. I’m Mrs. Kelly, the innkeeper, but the locals call me Mrs. K. I’ve got your room all ready, dear. Did you have a nice drive? The internet didn’t give us a home address on you so I don’t know how long your drive was, but I hope it wasn’t too far. Don’t you just love our town?”
Papa’s rule: Never give out too much information. It’ll trip you up.
“I had a great drive and I love your beautiful home. You’ll have to tell me a bit of the history of this place.”
“Of course, dear. This house is old enough to have not only a history, but a ghost as well, though he’s quite shy.” The innkeeper handed her the key, then they climbed all the way up to Jillian’s room on the third floor. “I’ll tell you about Willie Flancher over coffee some cloudy morning. It’s the only time to talk about ghosts, you know.”
Jillian didn’t care about ghost stories. All she wanted was a quiet, clean place to stay for a while. Third floor, back of the house. Usually least expensive and quietest.
Once Jillian circled the tiny room she gave an admiring smile. This room would be perfect. Just what she needed.
The chubby innkeeper, who was very spry for her fifties, moved to the door and made her announcement. “Breakfast at eight, if that’s all right. Snacks in the small fridge on the landing, and I put cookies out in the parlor after sunset for those who like a late snack.”
“Thank you.” Jillian pulled off her coat. “I think I’ll rest before I explore the town.”
“You do that, dear. There are maps in the foyer but you’re only a half block from Main so you can park your car around back and walk if you like.” Mrs. Kelly’s head rocked back and forth as if ticking off an invisible list of what she needed to say. “I’ll see you in the morning. You’re the only one booked up here tonight. Both my other guests are on the first floor. No one wants to climb two flights of stairs these days.”
“I don’t mind.” Setting her suitcase and backpack down, Jillian grinned when she spotted the wide window. “It’s worth the climb for the view alone.”
Mrs. Kelly smiled as she backed out of the room. “I agree.”
When the lock clicked, Jillian pulled out her ledger and curled up in a window seat that had three times more pillows than it needed. On a blank page she wrote the date and “Day 1” beside it, along with the cost of the night’s lodging. Winter rate: 63 dollars.
Papa’s rule: Always keep count or you might lose track of how long you stay and forget to leave.
She had to be very careful. Thanks to car trouble a month ago and two crummy bosses in a row, she was less than a thousand dollars away from having to sleep in her car—or worse, a shelter. In her ten years on the road, she’d ended up broke twice before. Once in California when someone had stolen her purse, and again in New York City when she’d been in a wreck. None of her belongings had made it to the hospital with her. Both times she’d lost not only her money, but also her identification.
Papa’s rule: Always keep copies of vital papers somewhere safe. Birth certificate, driver’s license, passport, social security card.
In New York, without money and looking like she’d been in a street fight, it had taken her three months to collect enough cash to buy a bus ticket to Oklahoma City. There, she’d found her stash, money, ID and the letter, still unopened, that she’d left for her father just in case he ever used the secret hiding place beneath a shelf in the basement of the downtown library. Both times she’d come back to the hiding place, her stash was still there and the letter was unopened.
If he’d dropped by, he’d left no sign, and she doubted when she circled past Oklahoma City again that anything would be different. All her papers and the mailbox she rarely checked showed her as from Oklahoma. When she’d asked her father if that were true, he’d simply said, “Oklahoma City is the center of the country and as good a place as any to be from.”
Jillian took a shower and changed into slacks and a sweater. She was close enough to her stash now to relax. If she had to, she could make the drive northwest for more cash in a matter of hours, but somehow that would mean she’d failed.
She wasn’t running to or from anything. She wasn’t hiding out. She just wanted to continue drifting. It was all she knew. Maybe in a few more years, she’d come up with another plan. Maybe she’d drift forever. To do that, she had to get better at managing, smarter.
As she always did, she unpacked her few belongings. Clothes on hangers in the closet. Underwear in the top drawer. Shoes and backpack in the bottom drawer. Her father’s tiny journals on the nightstand beside the bed. Everything in order.
Her billfold and her laptop slid into her shoulder bag. The laptop went everywhere with her. The backup drive always remained with her things, tucked away in the back of a shelf or bathroom drawer. Against her father’s advice, she kept details of everywhere she stopped, be it for one night or a few months. He might have jotted only zip codes and number of days stayed, but she liked to log in the history of each place, how it looked, how it might feel to live there.
Walking out of her room, she studied the polished old mahogany of the staircase. The faded wallpaper peeling free in places reminded her of fragile lace. The house was beautiful and well cared for, like an aging queen, still standing on a street with abandoned and broken-down homes huddled near, as if hoping the memory of great days gone by might still live in reality’s shadow.
Slipping past the foyer, Jillian rushed down the front steps like an explorer hungry to
begin digging. This town’s zip code, like dozens of others, had been listed in her father’s first journals. Maybe in his early years, he’d left a trace.
She told herself she’d feel it if he’d been here. If this was the place where he’d stopped wandering just long enough to care for someone.
But she felt only the cool winter wind whipping between buildings, whirling her around as if pushing her off any direct course.
A few blocks later, she was strolling down Main, her still-damp hair swinging in a ponytail. She blended in with the crowds, window-shopping, as if she had no direction. The smell of cinnamon and ginger drifted in the winter air, blending around pieces of conversations and laughter like icing melting into warm cake.
Jillian swore she could feel her heart slow. The very air in Laurel Springs seemed to welcome her.
Halfway down the block she found what she was looking for. A small Help Wanted sign in the corner of a window.
Above hung a faded sign that read LAUREL SPRINGS DAILY.
She let out a breath through her smile. Newspaper work. She could handle that. Selling ads. Writing copy. No problem. Mentally, she made up her résumé in her head. Nothing too fancy, nothing too bright. Nothing too easy to check.
As she pushed open the newspaper office door, she selected a new identity as easily as she might change a hat.
Need to know what happens next? Order your copy of Mornings on Main wherever you buy your books!
Copyright © 2018 by Jodi Koumalats
ISBN-13: 9781488096402
Mistletoe Miracles
Copyright © 2018 by Jodi Koumalats
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