by Unknown
Brenda Huber
little houses, with their picket fences and perfectly manicured yards, surrounded her on all sides. Cozy.
Soothing. She glanced in the rearview mirror, blinked in surprise as her own smile flashed back at her. Exhausted and wan, but a smile nonetheless.
JJ spotted the antiquated filling station and heaved a sigh of relief. A landmine of potholes rattled her teeth as she eased her vehicle from the county blacktop onto a crumbling paved lot. The lights were just beginning to blink on, a good thing since there wasn’t a cardtrol pump in sight. She eased her Jeep alongside pumps that must have accommodated the gas rationing of World War II.
Palming her keys, she scoured the shadows and slid from behind the wheel. As soon as her feet hit the time-ravaged concrete she yawned and stretched, groaning as her stiff muscles screeched protest over the abuse of confined inactivity. Stifling another yawn, JJ fumbled with the gas cap.
A gruff voice—small-town congeniality wrapped in sandpaper—called out from a few feet behind her,
“Mornin’ there, missy.”
Her heart slammed into her throat, blocking the first jagged edges of a scream. She whirled around, pressing against the car, balling her hands into defensive fists at her sides.
The man, whose faded work shirt identified him as Joe, greeted her with a harmless gap-toothed smile. Forcing herself to relax, she straightened, easing away from the vehicle. He had to be somewhere on the far side of sixty if he was a day…the very far side, indeed. His hairline had long since yielded to time, and his aging, sun-weathered skin had, in all likelihood, sent the local Avon Lady screaming in terror. Despite the arthritic slump of his back, he moved with a youthful spring in his step.
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“I can do that for ya.” He buffed his bulbous nose with a faded red rag. “Full service here at Joe’s.” At her confused blink, he shoved the rag into his back pocket and slung a knobby thumb over his left shoulder toward the smudged window displaying an old-fashioned, hand-painted sign. A defunct Coke machine—the kind that dispensed glass bottled soda for a dime—slumbered beside the sign. She half expected a man in a sheriff’s uniform and a little boy would come strolling by any minute now, whistling as they swung fishing poles from their shoulders.
Joe twisted the gas cap off with practiced, one-handed efficiency while reaching for the gas pump with the other. Not knowing what else to do, JJ
thanked him and climbed back inside her car. She snatched up her purse, intent of digging for her cash.
A shadow fell across her windshield, and she jerked, dropping her purse.
JJ bit down hard on a gasp. Her gaze snapped to the windshield as Joe slapped a sloppy squeegee against grimy glass. He set to scrubbing petrified bugs loose with a symphony of wet squeaks. Holy crap. Why didn’t he just shoot her and have it over with? It’d be much more humane than spooking her to death by slow degrees. Her breath leaked out on a long, slow hiss, and, once again, she told herself to get a grip. There was no reason to be this damned jumpy. He was a harmless old man.
Her hands shook as she picked her purse up from where it had fallen on the seat beside her, and she scooted from her car once more. One glance through the plate-glass storefront, however, convinced her she’d be lucky to find so much as a stale candy bar in there.
“Ah, excuse me…Joe, is it? Is there a convenience store nearby? Somewhere I can get something to eat?” Her stomach rumbled, loud and clear, punctuating her words. Lord, what she 11
Brenda Huber
wouldn’t give for an IHOP right about now.
Joe gave a lazy nod, extending another toothless grin. “Maggie’s just opened, oh, ‘bout half past five.
Take a left two blocks down ‘at-a-way.” He tossed this thumb west by southwest, apparently his own personalized version of GPS. “Can’t miss it. She’ll fix you up,” he added with a game wink.
“Thank you.” JJ shifted from one foot to the other, then gave herself a stern mental shake and dug in her purse while she waited for Joe to finish topping off her tank. He clanked the ancient machine off, and she thrust two twenties at him, one crisp and new, the other ragged and worn.
“I’ll get yer change.” His easy, toothless smile was fast becoming very endearing.
“No, that’s all right.” She returned the smile, charmed. “Consider it a tip for the directions.” And the smile, she silently added.
“Thank you kindly, missy. You tell ’em down at Maggie’s yer a friend of Joe’s.” Nodding, she murmured, “I’ll do that.” Back behind the wheel, steadier now, JJ guided the Jeep out of the lot. She glanced in her rear view mirror, smiling as Joe settled into a faded rocker beside the smudged glass door, buffing his nose again. A giggle burbled up the back of her throat as he set the rocker in motion, slow and easy, waiting on the sunrise.
Following Joe’s “‘at-a-way” directions, she found Maggie’s Place. The diner proved to be another step back in time, a throwback to the fifties. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find bubble-blowing teenyboppers in poodle skirts and saddle shoes pushing through the doorway. Or, perhaps, a slicked up man in a white tee and leather bomber jacket to come strolling out and shoot her a thumbs up and a wink.
Instead, as she pulled into an open parking 12
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space feeling as if she’d fallen into some endless loop of Nick at Night, a tall man wearing a postal uniform stepped out into the first rays of dawn. His hair was the deepest shade of sable she’d ever seen, trimmed with meticulous care. His chest was broad, his shoulders wide. A linebacker if ever she’d seen one. Fascinated, she watched while he angled his smooth skinned, square-jawed face to the east. His smile was a pleasure to behold as confident rays of pink and gold streaked across the morning sky, illuminating his features.
When was the last time she’d done that…taken time to stop and enjoy a sunrise? Had she ever?
Stirring herself, she palmed her keys and anchored her purse over her shoulder. Glancing first to the right, then the left, she checked her mirrors and slid from her car, locking the door as she stood.
As was her habit, she tested the handle to double check the lock had engaged before she made her way to the door of the diner. As unobtrusively as a stranger in a small town can, she slipped inside the establishment and eased onto a chair at a table near the door, back to the wall, eyes darting over the place in a quick sweep, drinking in the details in one fast, greedy gulp.
Old-fashioned, leather-covered booths lined the far wall, their centerpieces a hodge-podge of condiment bottles and small ceramic containers brimming with tiny, multicolored packets. A horseshoe-shaped counter rested along the back wall, around which several customers perched, nursing their morning cup of java, exchanging the latest gossip in sleepy, muted voices.
Somewhere in the rear of the building, perhaps from the kitchen, a radio announcer predicted sunny skies and unseasonably warm temperatures for the rest of the week. As the announcer’s voice disappeared, the soft, sorrowful strains of Patsy 13
Brenda Huber
Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces” filled the air. A perky little redhead sailed from customer to customer with coffee pot in hand—as graceful as a ballerina, as efficient as a four-star general—topping cups off as she went.
She shot JJ a curious nod of acknowledgement and a bob of her head to indicate she’d be right along. A husky, disembodied female voice snapped above the radio, “Order up.”
JJ twisted in her seat to face the long service window at the north end of the room, flinching as a head popped into the long opening behind the counter. A slim pair of work-roughened hands clunked two plates overflowing with steak, hash browns, toast, and eggs on the narrow counter, then snatched a trio of tickets from the tarnished silver clip. JJ blinked, and the hands and head disappeared back inside the kitchen. The waitress scooped up the plates without breaking stride, delivering them to random customers with a teasing smile. She looped around to pick
up a glass of ice water and drew a slim green pad from the abbreviated apron tied around her waist as she made her way to JJ’s table.
Sliding the water onto the table, the waitress smiled, pen poised over paper. Her bright blue eyes noted every detail from the top of JJ’s head right down to the tips of her scuffed black boots. “What can I get ‘cha, sweetie?”
JJ glanced down at the laminated menu/placemat. The tantalizing scents of sizzling bacon and fresh cinnamon rolls hung heavy in the air, and her mouth watered. She’d considered asking for a cinnamon roll and a large coffee to go, but after eyeing that loaded plate in the service window, she hadn’t entertained the notion for long. If the scents were anything to judge by, the coffee alone would be several steps above what she’d existed on for the last 14
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several hundred miles. Oddly compelled to linger, she ordered a full breakfast—the blue-plate special—and a bottomless cup of coffee. The waitress jotted down her order before leaving her with another sunny smile. JJ settled back in her chair to soak up some local flavor.
She couldn’t put her thumb on it, but ever since she’d arrived in town, she’d had this niggling feeling this was where she was supposed to be. Not necessarily Maggie’s, per se, but Sutter Hollow in general. It was restful here. She was…calm.
Definitely odd.
She dusted off another smile when the waitress returned with a cup and the pot of coffee that seemed a natural extension of her arm. The motion felt rusty, but the curl of her lips seemed to be having the desired effect.
“Name’s Brandi, by the way,” the redhead chirped with a reciprocal smile. The coffee pot remained perfectly balanced. “What brings you to town, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Just passing through,” JJ hedged, but another smile tugged at her lips. “I guess I’m a friend of Joe’s.”
Fond warmth seeped into Brandi’s expression.
“Well, now. In that case, coffee’s on the house.” The last of the tension in JJ’s shoulders melted away. “Thank you.”
Brandi nodded, bustling off to see to the latest patron who’d joined the growing crowd at the counter. He was younger than everyone else there, perhaps in his early thirties, but the older crowd welcomed him into their fold with gracious ease. He was a tall one, with tousled, wheat-colored hair and a fair amount of powerful muscle packed onto his lean frame. His jeans were snug, as was his plain white T-shirt. Both bore a fine, white powdery residue, and both left little to a girl’s imagination.
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Her mouth watered, and this time her overactive salivary glands had absolutely nothing to do with the celestial aromas of cinnamon and Folgers.
Dried splatters of bright yellow paint speckled his oh-so-flattering jeans. A carpenter or handyman, JJ guessed. It was a game she sometimes liked to play, guessing someone’s profession by the way he or she dressed. More often than not, her speculative dart didn’t fall far from the proverbial target. As if her perusal had summoned his attention, his intense regard swung in her direction, and she forgot her game.
She forgot to breath.
Never before had she seen eyes of such clear and brilliant emerald. His stare was frank, assessing and appreciative. His gaze lingered on her for several long moments. Then he turned away, taking the secrets of her soul with him.
Unsettled, JJ counted out four sugar and three creamer packets, pouring them into her cup with trembling fingers. Her attention roamed over the small diner as she stirred, vigilant now to avoid the newcomer, though she could literally feel his bold stare return to her time and again. A strange tingling caressed her skin with every brush of his gem-like eyes.
Reminding herself to breathe, forcing herself to remain composed, she leaned back in her seat and lifted the cup to her lips, sipping cautiously at the steaming, creamy liquid. She briefly closed her eyes and stifled a groan of ecstasy. The coffee was heaven. Her gaze wandered to the large window at the front of the diner, and she surveyed the storefronts across the street. From where she sat, the tidy faces of a small grocery store, a pharmacy, and sheriff’s department were visible. Inviting and neat as a pin. She’d noticed some kind of doctor’s 16
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office and a hardware store on either side of the diner when she’d come in. For being such a small community, the town seemed self-sufficient, thriving.
In record time, a heaping plate landed in front of her with a slight clunk, accompanied by another of Brandi’s sunny smiles. JJ dug in, savoring the food like only a woman who’d existed on stale coffee and prepackaged brownies for the last several days could. Not even the curious stares of the diner’s patrons bothered her one wit. His stare didn’t even bother her.
Well, not too much.
Okay, maybe a little, but not in the usual, object-of-strangers-stare way. No, his stare sparked funny little tugs deep in her belly…and the uncomfortable urge to giggle like a schoolgirl.
Another oddity.
Brandi stopped by to top off her cup, bringing her a large Styrofoam cup with a lid, at JJ’s request, along with her ticket. JJ rummaged through her purse, pulling out another rumpled ten, more than enough for the cost of the meal as well as a very generous tip. She couldn’t help sneaking a peek toward the horseshoe counter. He sat with both elbows braced on the counter on either side of his empty plate, nursing a cup of coffee.
His unnerving stare followed every move she made.
Giddy pressure fluttered, tingling in the pit of her stomach as their eyes connected. Heat filled her cheeks, and, for one startling moment, she couldn’t look away. At last, shaking herself free of the snare of his eyes, she slung her purse over her shoulder and strolled from the diner. The heavy burden of her nightmare had been, albeit temporarily, plucked from her shoulders…even as she felt the weight of those probing, enigmatic green eyes on the back of 17
Brenda Huber
her neck.
She smiled into the morning sunshine, much as she’d seen the postal worker do earlier, and savored the warmth on her skin. She was content. Content was enough for her, more than she could ask for really, even if it wasn’t likely to last more than a few weeks at best.
The memory of those green eyes left a pleasant, lingering hum in her bloodstream.
She wasn’t sure why, but rather than taking the most direct route back to the interstate, she wended her way up and down the waking streets of Sutter Hollow. Every time she came across one of the town’s residents, they waved, smiling warm greetings. The generosity of those greetings thawed her heart, and she returned the waves with a grin.
She hadn’t the foggiest clue who any of them were, but wave she did.
Then, having made up her mind she’d dawdled long enough, JJ rounded the last corner on the far side of town, and she saw it. A stately, if rundown Victorian slumbering at the end of a long drive, tucked back into an intimate pocket in the woods. A quick glance at the street sign and the house number tugged a chuckle from her. 123 Shady Lane.
Could any address be more trouble-free? More perfect?
Antiquated gables and noble turrets offered a glimpse of quiet dignity. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Sagging shutters, accented with peeling trim, drew her down the drive. The front porch sagged on one end. The warped steps should have had caution tape strung from one newel post to the other. The grounds were beyond overgrown. A drooping trellis in the side yard marked what she supposed was to have been a flower garden; the wooden frame listed to the side, staggering beneath the weight of triumphant weeds.
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JJ huddled in her idling vehicle, gazing through the now spotless windshield, struck by an odd feeling of kinship. The dilapidated structure reflected her soul. Both needed attention and a caring touch.
Both were in sad need of a major overhaul.
Her eyes snagged on the for sale sign. She considered. She calculated.
With narrowed eyes, she squared her shoulders.
What better place could there be than this soothing, little community to make a new life for herself? What better place than this rocky New England soil, and this once dignified house to set down roots?
JJ nodded to herself, more certain of this decision than she’d been of anything else since the day her sister had died. She needed this house. And it needed her. It was safe here. She was safe.
Jerry couldn’t hurt her, or anyone else, ever again.
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Brenda Huber
Chapter 2
In less time than she’d imagined possible, JJ
stood on the sagging front stoop of the old Victorian, keys in hand and a silly grin plastered on her face.
According to the real estate agent, the furniture and appliances inside went with the place, as did anything else she found. The woman who’d lived there had passed on a number of years back. Her grandchildren had already picked the place over before putting it on the market and forgotten it.
That was fine with her. She’d pick and choose at her own convenience, keeping what she liked and discarding the rest. She could buy whatever else she needed. Thanks to a large corporation’s decision to acquisition several of her pieces, money wasn’t a problem…and wouldn’t be for quite some time.
If one wanted to get technical, she already owned a house back in Minneapolis, and all the furniture and trappings that went with it. It had been Sarah’s home…and her prison. The site of Sarah’s murder. But that was another life. A life she had no intention of returning to…ever again. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to step foot inside the house since that night. Couldn’t imagine surrounding herself with any of the memories. Nor could she bring herself to sell it. She wouldn’t touch the life insurance. It was tainted money, stained with the blood of her sister’s death.
