by Angel Smits
The small apartment they’d shared hadn’t been much to brag about, but the balcony had been uncovered and Jace had bunked out there most nights. If it rained, he’d slept inside with the sliding door wide open.
This place didn’t have any sliding doors.
“Look.” Hank stepped into the light. “I gotta lock up. We’re a small town, and on the whole a safe place, but I got customers to keep happy.”
Jace stood and paced. The familiar edginess crept up on him. He could feel it, lurking in the shadows. “I ain’t much for sleeping inside,” he finally admitted. It was an understatement if he ever heard one.
Hank’s eyebrows lifted. “You plan on sleeping out here?”
“Yeah. I thought about it.”
The man crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “Tell me why. Give me a straight answer, and I’ll consider making an exception and give you a key. If I don’t believe you, I’ll go inside and you can fend for yourself.”
Jace almost let him do just that. Almost. He paced some more, his mind racing. “My dad died in a mine cave-in when I was a kid. Too many nightmares.”
The long glare his host kept trained on him was working on something, but Jace couldn’t read the man that well. Finally, Hank stuck his hand out and Jace saw the porch light glint off a single key.
“I’ll lock up and you can come and go as you please until you check out.”
“Thanks.” Jace smiled and pocketed the key.
“There’s a hammock out in the backyard. You’re welcome to use it.”
Jace nodded his thanks. “Hey,” he said. “Do you have a phone book around here?”
“Yeah. I’ll get it for you in the morning. It’s in the kitchen.”
“That’d be great.”
“I know most everyone and everything around here. Maybe I can help.”
Jace wanted people to think he was staying only because of his bike. He didn’t want to ask too many questions yet. But he didn’t want to come across as suspicious later. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was acting just like Mac had, paranoid for no apparent reason. “Yeah, I’m looking for someone. Her name’s Madeline Grey. Do you know her?”
Hank’s face transformed from friendly innkeeper to the hard-traveling man Jace had seen in his eyes earlier. “Yeah, I knew Maddie.” He stepped closer. Menacingly close. “She’s been dead for over ten years.”
“I’m sorry.” And Jace was. That explained why Mac hadn’t been able to find her. “She had a daughter. Amy.” Jace glanced toward the now closed general store. “Is that her over in the grocery?”
Hank continued to eye him with a heavy frown, as if he’d be able to read his thoughts if he looked long enough. “I don’t know why you’re here, or why you’re asking about Maddie and Amy, but if you’re here to cause her or that little girl any trouble, you’ll have me to answer to.” Hank let the threat hang in the night air. It lingered long after he’d gone back inside and locked the door.
* * *
THE ARIZONA DESERT HAD always fascinated Amy, even though she’d lived here most of her life. She got up early each morning before the town was awake, before Katie got up, before she had to open the store. She loved this time of day. It was her time.
A cup of coffee on the back porch usually helped her gather her thoughts. She could make her plans for the day and just be Amy. Not Mom. Not the storekeeper. Not the girl down the street. Not the broken young woman who’d come home to lick her wounds. None of that. Just Amy.
Today, the relaxation was harder to find. Too much had happened lately and her mind swirled with it.
She hadn’t slept well last night, and when she had, she kept seeing the stranger, Jace. Which she blamed on Caryn.
“You’re an early riser.” The deep voice startled her and she nearly dropped her favorite coffee mug. As it was, she sloshed several drops on the front of her shirt. She’d have to change before she started work. Frowning, she looked over to see the man who’d haunted her dreams standing only a few feet away.
Today, he wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his chest and shoulders. His long, dark hair hung loose and damp around his shoulders.
It took her brain a minute to engage. What was he doing here?
She stilled, her gaze drinking him in. Curiosity made her decide to see what he wanted. “I am. So, apparently, are you.”
She carefully sipped her coffee and watched him, knowing the back door was open and nearby. Her cell phone was also in her pocket, which wasn’t much help. But still reassuring.
“Yeah. Never did learn to sleep when it was light. And since I sleep outside so much, that’s sort of an issue.” He spoke slowly, easily, as if he had all the time in the world.
“Didn’t Hank get you set up last night?”
“Yeah. Nice place, too. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She wondered about his comment about sleeping outside, but decided that was none of her business.
The world around them was far from silent, with the late-night animals still stirring in the cool morning air, and insects singing in the bushes near the house. She heard the hum of a honeybee near the flowerbed.
“You’re Amy Grey, aren’t you?” Jace asked as he moved closer, stopping only when he reached the rail. He leaned against the heat-battered wood and looked at her with what seemed like too much curiosity.
Maybe she should go back inside.
“How do you know my last name?”
“Don’t look so surprised. I can’t read minds.” He did seem to read her confused expression, though. “I asked Hank,” he said with a laugh.
She liked the sound of his laughter and his smile. It seemed to inhabit his entire face and gave him a warm, welcoming persona. Most people’s smiles were simply muscle movements, not real indications of how they felt.
“Uh...are you planning on staying in town long?” She didn’t really want to know, she told herself.
“That all depends.”
“On?”
“How long it takes Rick to get the parts for my bike. And you.”
She could only stare. “Me?”
“Yeah. You.” His smile changed, softened, deepened.
He didn’t move, but suddenly she felt as if he settled more firmly in her space. Her heart picked up a beat. She backed away, inching toward the door. She had it half-open, and had stepped into the shadows just inside before he spoke again.
“I knew your dad, Mac. Mackenzie Grey,” he whispered.
She froze. Her father? All the sounds around her vanished. Had he really said that? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about him.
Mom had called him a mistake and little else. When Katie had come along, Amy had understood what her mother meant.
She turned back slowly and, lifting her chin, stared defiantly at Jace. “I don’t have a father. And unlike Katie, I’m not looking for one.”
CHAPTER FOUR
AMY REALIZED SHE was trembling. Her father? Jace had just said he’d known her dad? That wasn’t possible. That just was not possible.
The tiny back hallway of the store was only dimly lit even at the brightest time of day. Amy stood on the small landing inside, unmoving. To the left, she’d go into the store. Straight ahead, a flight of steps led down to the basement apartment she and Katie shared.
She looked down those steps, shaking her head, trying to dispel his words. What kind of sick joke was this? She didn’t have time for it. She had a business to run and a daughter to get ready for school.
At the bottom of the steps, the door was closed. As she faced it, her hand on the knob, she paused. How had she gotten down here?
Once she stepped across the threshold, she’d shift into mom mode. Here in the dimness, she could still be Amy,
the scared little orphan who had no idea what to do.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her hand still on the doorknob, her fingers curled around its cool metal. She couldn’t let go. She couldn’t even think about letting go. It was the only solid thing she was conscious of, and surely the only thing keeping her standing.
Her father was a scumbag who’d walked out on her and her mother when Amy was three. She knew that because... Her mind trailed off. Because her mom had told her so. Dozens of times, usually with anger and disgust in her voice.
Mackenzie Grey was the one topic her mother had greeted with such negativity. Always. Rather than put either of them through the pain, Amy had stopped asking about him. But she’d never stopped wondering.
Mac, Jace had called him. She hadn’t even known he’d used that name. The man’s blood ran through Amy’s veins and she knew nothing about him.
Wait. That wasn’t totally true. She had those vague, disjointed memories of a three-year-old. She remembered a mall. She was with her parents, and she could still feel her mother’s death grip on her arm. Angry words flew above her head, back and forth between her parents. Looking back now, Amy wondered if she’d had marks on her arm from her mom’s ever tightening fingers. A mother herself, Amy understood her better.
She’d have had the same tight hold on Katie.
Amy didn’t remember how she’d gotten separated from her parents that day. But she remembered crying, tears streaming down her three-year-old cheeks. Faces—there were dozens of faces, far above her.... “Daddy!” she’d screamed. Then whimpered, “Mommy?” She’d fallen, dropping the purse her mom had given her. She remembered that little toy purse being run over by someone else’s mom pushing a stroller. Why was that mother there, and not hers?
Hours seemed to go by before she’d been swept up in her dad’s arms, hugged too tightly against his big burly chest....
Those baby sobs echoed over time, filling the space at the bottom of the stairs. She was no longer holding the doorknob, but was huddled on the bottom step.
She looked back up the narrow stairway. Jace was gone. Thank goodness he hadn’t followed her.
She was alone. Which was a good thing, she rationalized. She was an adult, a parent herself, not a three-year-old lost in the mall anymore. So why was she disappointed? Why, after all this time, did she ache to have her father back again?
Because he’d heard her in that store. He hadn’t stopped looking until he’d found her that day. She didn’t remember ever feeling that safe since.
So, how could he have left them? Why?
What had made her father finally give up?
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, Jace was still in town.
Amy had seen him walking across the square a couple of times, probably checking on the repair part for his motorcycle. He hadn’t said a thing to her, but already three customers had come to the store to fill her in. He was new, and new always generated gossip.
Too bad they hadn’t come in to spend money.
Standing in the front door of her store, watching two tumbleweeds race each other down Main Street, she fought to clear her mind.
She closed her eyes, letting the heat of the day wash over her. She’d lived nearly all her life here in the desert. She was used to the heat. But sometimes she wondered what it would be like to live someplace else, someplace with more than one and a half seasons.
She heard the roar of a motorcycle engine and expected to see a vehicle appear on the street. Then the sound faded. A second later, she heard it again.
She looked down the block to Rick’s gas station. The north garage door was open, and she could see Jace hunkered down beside his monstrous motorcycle. Rick appeared beside him and handed him something. That must be the engine she kept hearing as he worked on it.
She figured they were talking, but she was too far away to hear anything. She watched, feeling only slightly like a voyeur.
What did she care? Once it was fixed, he’d be gone.
As would the knowledge he had of her father. She swallowed that realization with a gulp and went back inside. This was too much. Too confusing.
She’d just closed the door when the phone rang. She answered automatically, with words she’d said a million times. “General Store. Can I help you?”
“Is this—” The man cleared his throat. “Is this Amy Grey?”
“Uh, yes. How can I help you?”
He was quiet for so long she thought maybe they’d lost the connection. “My name is Stephen Haase.” His voice changed. It was stronger, deeper. “I’m with the firm of Bailey, Whitberg and Haase in Los Angeles. I was wondering if you’ve been contacted by a man named Jace Holmes.”
Amy pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it for a long second. “Why do you ask?”
She didn’t like strangers any better over the phone than in person. This felt weird.
“I’m calling because I’m not comfortable with Mr. Holmes’s intentions.”
Intentions? What century was this guy from? And people thought Rattlesnake Bend was the backward small town? “Who are you?” Something nagged at her memory. What kind of company had a name like that? It sounded almost like—she turned to the pile of mail on the desk and rifled through it—a lawyer. It had to be.
She tried to find the legal papers that had arrived several weeks ago. She knew they were here somewhere. She’d meant to give them to Hank, to go with the rest of the files he kept of her mother’s. Realizing the man was still on the line, she repeated the question he hadn’t yet answered. “Hello? Who are you again?”
“I’m here, Miss Grey. Sorry. I’m an attorney. You probably don’t remember me, but you used to come to my office with your mother.”
“You knew my mom?”
“Years ago, yes. She used to be one of my clients.”
Used to be, as in she’d fired him? Or her death had severed the arrangement? “I’m sorry. I...I don’t remember. And I don’t know much about my mother’s business.” She was telling the truth. Mom hadn’t had much business sense, but she’d had the ranch. Was that what this was about? Amy couldn’t think of what else it could be.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Haase.” She wished for a customer—anything—to give her an excuse to hang up. “You’ll need to talk to Hank Benton. He handles all my mother’s business.”
“No, Miss Grey. I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear. I worked mostly with your mother, but this is actually about your father’s estate.”
If her heart had faltered before, it seemed to completely stall now. “His...what?”
Jace had known her father. He’d said so. “Estate” meant her father was dead, didn’t it? Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Maybe she should have opened the letter sooner.
She glanced unseeingly at the front window of the store, in the direction of the garage where Jace was working on his motorcycle. Then something else clicked in her mind.
This man knew Jace as well? What did that mean? What the hell was going on?
“Mr. Haase? Why are you calling me?” A part of her didn’t want to hear this, but she knew there was no avoiding it.
“I...I’m sorry, Miss Grey. Your father passed away a couple of months ago. I sent you and your mother a letter—”
“My mother’s been gone for nearly ten years.”
The silence was heavy with the man’s shock. “I’m...I’m so sorry. I liked Madeline.”
What kind of friend hadn’t known she had died? Amy didn’t know what to say to him, what to ask next.
“Have you been able to read through the documents I sent you?”
“Uh, not yet.” She really needed to find those papers and read them.
The man cleared his throat. “I can give you the basics. Your father named Mr. Holmes as his sole heir. I was ch
ecking to see if you plan to contest the will.”
“I... Do you think I should?” Jace hadn’t mentioned a thing about it. Was he hiding the information, or did he assume she’d read the papers and knew?
The attorney paused for another long moment, as if considering what to say. “I can’t advise you on that, as I represent your father’s estate. I was just trying to close up the files.”
She didn’t know anything about her father, not even what he’d done for a living. She cringed, knowing she sounded shallow, but she had to ask. “What exactly did he leave him?”
“There wasn’t much, I’m afraid. Your father was homeless for over ten years. The few things that were with him when he died barely fit into his old shopping cart.”
The image of her father finding her in the shopping mall collided with this image, shattering them both.
“Then why would I contest the will?” Wouldn’t that cost money, at least in attorney’s fees? Yeah, like she had extra cash just lying around.
“He was your father, and it is your right.”
It sounded more like the attorney was trying to drum up business for himself rather than help her. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
Curiosity, and something else she couldn’t quite identify, made her start walking. She didn’t remember hanging up the phone. She didn’t lock the front door of the store. She didn’t really care right now.
But she most certainly cared about Jace’s explanation.
This had better be good.
* * *
THE AFTERNOON SUN blistered the desert, but here in Rick’s garage, a huge fan helped move the ungodly heat. Jace rummaged around in the toolbox, trying to focus on the task at hand. Easier said than done.
He kept forcing himself not to look down the street at the store, wondering what Amy was thinking about this morning’s conversation.
The loud snap of the screen door still rang in his ears. What had he expected, telling her about Mac like that? The idea that Amy wouldn’t want to know about her father had never crossed his mind, though it probably should have. He thought of his own dad. He still missed him. If someone came to tell him about his father, he’d take everything they had to offer.
