by Neta Jackson
This was her chance to slip the note she’d written under Harry Bentley’s compartment door just beyond the shower and toilets.
Ever since they got their tickets changed in Albuquerque, Grace had been hoping to get a chance to let her neighbor-in-disguise know about their change in plans. She’d come down to the lower level a couple of times, hoping to catch him alone—but each time there had been someone using one of the toilets or a couple of passengers sitting in the lower-level roomettes with their doors open talking to each other across the passageway.
So she’d written a brief note telling him about their change of plans, along with her cell phone number, asking him to call her if he got a chance and she’d explain more. Then she’d added a PS: If you can, please keep an eye on a young couple in the first coach behind the lounge car. He’s tall, blond hair, late twenties, name is Max. Ramona’s just a teenager, has dark hair. Speaks Spanish. Something doesn’t feel right. She seems scared. He seems too controlling.
She didn’t have much to go on. Harry might think she was sticking her nose into other people’s business where it didn’t belong. But she felt led to say something.
“Grace! Come on!”
The train had stopped. Sam and the smoker had already gotten off. Grace stepped out onto the step stool and then onto the platform as the sleeping car attendant grabbed her teal-blue suitcases and pulled up the handles for her. “Sorry you’re leavin’ us,” Sylvia said straight-faced. “Hope it wasn’t because I short-sheeted your bunks.”
Grace laughed. “No, everything was great. Thanks.”
“Thank you.” Sylvia gave them a wink as Sam pressed a twenty into her hand. “Better get on over there to that bus. It won’t wait long.”
A sleek new Greyhound bus stood in the lot beside the station, motor running. And sure enough, the driver had no sooner stowed the luggage of the transfer passengers into the belly of the beast than he was back in his seat and pulling the bus out of the tiny parking lot.
Grace twisted in her seat by the window and looked back. The Southwest Chief was already picking up speed and disappearing in the distance. How she’d wanted to find Ramona again and assure her she wasn’t running off with her suede jacket! She’d wandered into the coach cars and found the pair in the first coach, but Max was sitting next to the aisle, iPod plugged into his ears, and Ramona was curled up next to the window with a blanket and pillow, sleeping. No way could she say anything to Max about the jacket. She’d moved past and walked through the other coaches before turning back. But Ramona had still been asleep.
She’d just have to wait for the girl to call when she got back to Chicago. Surely she would, wouldn’t she? Ramona had seemed anxious to get the jacket back. And it’d be a good excuse for Grace to see her again. For some reason, the pretty teenager had pricked her heart.
Sam pulled out her book and stuck her nose in it. Grace stared out the window, watching the changing scenery. The landscape was rockier, dotted with scrubby trees, and the horizon was rising into hills and low mountains.
“Grace.” She felt a poke in her side from Sam. “Your cell phone.”
“Oh.” Sure enough, Grace’s cell phone was doing its guitar-strum thing somewhere in her purse. Digging it out, she checked the caller ID … hmm, no name, unfamiliar number. But she answered it anyway. “Hello, this is Grace.”
“Grace?” The voice in her ear sounded high-pitched, panicky, accusing—but with a familiar Spanish lilt. “You got off the train! With my jacket! But you promised to return it!”
“Ramona?” Grace flagged Sam’s attention and pointed at the phone. “Ramona, I’m so glad you called. I wanted to tell you that we had a slight change in plans, but please don’t worry! My friend and I are catching the California Zephyr tomorrow night from Denver and we’ll be back in Chicago on Wednesday afternoon. I promise I’ll still get your jacket cleaned and—” Grace’s mind scrambled. “—in fact, I might be able to get it cleaned in Denver, and then won’t even lose a day. Do you want me to call you as soon as I—”
“No! Don’t call this number. I’ll—I’ll call you. Okay, thanks …” The girl’s voice seemed to be calming down. “Okay.” And the phone went dead.
Grace eyed Sam. “That was odd. Ramona told me she didn’t have a cell phone.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe it was the guy’s.”
“Maybe. She still didn’t want me to call her.”
Sam returned to her book. Grace noticed a crossword puzzle magazine someone had left in the seatback pocket in front of her and fished it out. But she’d only been working on a puzzle for five or ten minutes when the cell phone rang again. “Aren’t you popular,” Sam smirked without looking up from her book. But this time the caller ID said Harry Bentley.
Grace answered cautiously. “Hello … oh, can you hold on a minute?” She climbed over Sam and made her way to the back of the bus, where she found an empty seat next to an elderly man who had nodded off. “Uh, Mr. Bentley? Sorry about that. Had to get somewhere private. I was sitting right next to Sam.” Huh. About as private as a phone booth crammed with college students. “So you found my note?”
“I did. What happened? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, fine! We decided last minute to, um, detour to Denver to see my agent. Just adding an extra day to our trip. Got our ticket changed in Albuquerque to the California Zephyr for the last leg. I wanted to tell you but didn’t want to, you know, spoil your cover.”
“Appreciate that. Tell me more about this couple you mentioned.”
“Well, maybe it’s nothing, but …” Grace briefly told him about the girl being all friendly at the LA station, then backing off when she was with the guy. “… who’s at least ten years older than she is. I don’t know, just seemed funny—and I didn’t like how he was treating her, all cozy one minute, then snapping at her, making her sit down when she wanted to get up, stuff like that.”
“Can you describe them a little bit more?”
Grace gave a few more details—Max’s spiky hair, what Ramona was wearing that day. She even told him about the suede jacket fiasco and her offer to get it cleaned and returned. “I feel really bad about it, but I’m going to make sure it happens. The girl called me just a few minutes ago, guess she saw us get off the train, she sounded upset. I assured her we’d be back just one day later, coming in from Denver, and I’d—”
“She called you?” Harry Bentley’s voice perked up. “What number did she call from?”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s hers. She didn’t want me to call her back—it might be the guy’s phone and she didn’t want him to know about the jacket.”
There was a moment’s silence on the other end. “Grace, is that number still in your phone? Might be useful to have it just in case … you know, the concern you raised. Might be nothing we can do, but if something did happen, we might need to get in touch with her.”
“Oh, well, sure, I guess …” Grace was able to access Recent Calls without losing his call and read off the number. “Well, thanks, Mr. Bentley. Guess I’ll see you back in the neighborhood later this week. Tell your wife hello for me … ’Bye.”
Sam looked up curiously as Grace climbed over her into the window seat. “Sorry about that … a personal call.” Maybe she’d think it was from Roger. She was glad Sam just nodded and turned back to her book.
It was dark when the bus pulled into the Denver Amtrak station shortly after nine. A grinning Jeff Newman was there to meet them, grabbing their two largest suitcases as the driver pulled them out of the undercarriage. “Welcome to the Mile High City! How was the bus?”
“Not bad. But ooo, it’s chilly here.” Grace shivered at the drop in temperature from Raton, wishing she’d kept out a sweater.
“And we totally missed supper,” Sam added. “Need food.” She feigned a swoon.
Jeff laughed as he piled their suitcases into the trunk of his car. “Then the least I can do is buy you a hot meal. Hotel first? Or my favorite Italian bistro?”
“Food!” Grace and Sam chorused together.
Half an hour later, they were seated in a booth at a cozy restaurant with a late-night crowd. In spite of how hungry she was, Grace decided to go light with a poached pear salad boasting Gorgonzola cheese and candied walnuts, adding strips of rotisserie chicken to make it a main dish. Sam had a pesto and mozzarella pizza with roasted red peppers, while Jeff ordered veal scaloppini. “And some hot tea with honey and lemon, please,” Grace added. She hadn’t been paying enough attention to her throat.
“So.” Jeff leaned forward after the waiter took their order. “I want to hear all about the tour.”
Grace let Sam tell most of it, while she watched Jeff. She’d almost forgotten how good-looking he was—all that dark curly hair, the laughing gray eyes, the five o’clock shadow that always made him look as if he’d forgotten to shave. What had Jeff meant when he said he needed to see her? She caught him glancing at her with that boyish grin from time to time, but then he’d turn his full attention back to Sam as she recounted the tour.
“… and the brochures and flyers we put out about postabortion ministries and crisis pregnancy centers disappeared faster than we could replace them. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Sam shook her head. “I mean, most of Grace’s fans come from churches and Christian colleges—but a lot of them are wounded. They really needed to hear about God’s grace.”
Jeff nodded soberly and turned his gray eyes on Grace. “Ever since you told me about your new focus, I’ve been excited. It just seemed so right. The whole staff was praying for the tour.”
Grace flushed. Jeff was so encouraging. She knew Sam wouldn’t make a big deal of coming to her rescue, probably wouldn’t even mention it, so she picked up the story, telling Jeff how Sam had invented a duet on the spot that had saved the song and her voice.
Jeff slapped the table and wagged his head in amazement. “You two are something else! I’ve asked for audios of the concerts—I’d like to hear that.”
They talked and ate and laughed as the time inched toward eleven, but finally Jeff paid the bill and dropped them off at an Embassy Suites Hotel not too far from the Bongo office. “Can I pick you up at nine? The other agents and staff are eager to meet you both. But, ah, Grace … do you have a moment? I know you’re tired, won’t keep you long.”
Sam gave a wave and followed the bellhop with their luggage to the elevators. Grace noticed her assistant didn’t even give her the usual lecture about “don’t be late” and “you need your rest.”
Jeff led the way to a comfy sitting area in the lobby. Grace gave him a weary grin. “Actually, I need to ask you something too, so thanks.”
He raised his eyebrows curiously. “Okay. You first.”
“It’s about Sam …” She told him that Sam had majored in music at Fisk, had a strong voice herself, the audience had absolutely loved the duet, she’d even been asked if they’d do it again the next morning, and would it be possible for Bongo to consider representing her?
Jeff pursed his lips. “Well, sure, we could certainly get her an interview with one of the agents, though it’d be helpful if we had some demos, or could hear her sing. Once we get the CD of that concert, that’d be a start. Though, Grace …” He looked at her curiously. “… what are you thinking? Asking Sam to sing with you at your concerts? Encouraging Sam to pursue her own career?”
Grace swallowed. “I don’t know. I—” What was she doing? “I think I’m learning that things don’t happen by accident. That duet was a God-thing and … I’d hate to stand in the way. Maybe it’s Sam’s time to shine.”
Jeff leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, a slow smile spreading over his face. “You’re amazing, you know that? And actually, uh, this is perfect. Because I was going to ask if we could get some time together tomorrow, just you and me. Selfish of me, but … I need to talk to you. If I can set something up for Sam, maybe we could go out for coffee, or lunch, or just go for a walk in Riverfront Park.” He seemed a bit flustered. “Would that be okay with you?”
Grace suddenly felt tongue-tied, heat rising in her face. All she could do was nod.
“Good!” Jeff stood up. “I should go, let you get to bed. Tomorrow at nine, right?”
He started to leave, but Grace suddenly called after him. “Jeff, wait. I have a huge favor to ask you. If I run up to the room and get a jacket that has coffee and mustard stains on it—uh, long story, tell you later—could you by any chance drop it off at a good quality dry cleaner early, like before you come to pick us up? One that could do it before our train leaves tomorrow night?”
Chapter 42
Their twenty-four-hour stopover in Denver was over much too soon. Grace tried to busy herself settling into their new sleeping compartment on the California Zephyr the next evening, but kept looking out the window to see if Jeff was still on the platform. Had he left already? … No, there he was, over by the main doors, shoulders hunched inside his leather jacket, hands in the pockets, looking their way.
“Really cool that Jeff was able to get the jacket cleaned.” Sam hung the hanger with the suede jacket swathed in dry-cleaner plastic on a hook, took out her toiletries and set them by the small sink and vanity, then flopped into a seat. “You want to go to the dining car? Billy said it’s first come, first served now, since the train was late.” Billy was their new car attendant, younger than most of the sleeping car attendants they’d seen so far. “I’m starved … oh, here we go.”
With a slight jerk, the train slowly moved out of the station, swaying its way through Denver’s backyards. From her seat by the window Grace watched until the figure on the platform disappeared from sight. Her heart was still beating faster than usual.
She needed another day here in Denver—or maybe a week, or a month!—to process her time with Jeff. Or at least a few hours by herself …
“Sam, would you mind if I stayed here while you go to the diner? I—I just don’t feel like making small talk with total strangers tonight. If you see our car attendant, would you ask if he’d bring me a plate? Chicken’s fine.”
Sam crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows beneath the little twists that hung over her forehead. “Grace Meredith. Is there something going on with you and a certain Bongo agent whose name we shall not mention? You guys were gone from the office a long time this afternoon.”
“Not that you suffered,” Grace shot back with a teasing grin. Sam’s interview with another Bongo agent—Terry Schroeder, mid-thirties—had taken place at one of Denver’s high-end Asian restaurants. “All we had was Chinese takeout in the park.”
“Uh-huh. That’s what I’m talking about. Sounds very businesslike.”
Grace felt her face color. “Tell you when I figure it out myself.”
“Okay.” Sam’s voice softened. “Just want you to know I care.” The door to their compartment slid shut behind her.
Grace curled up in the corner of the long couch by the window. The setting sun off to the west outlined the sharp peaks of the Rocky Mountains into inky silhouettes against a rosy sky. But even though the sunset was beautiful, she closed her eyes, wanting to relive everything that had happened that day …
The Riverfront Park along the Platte River not far from downtown Denver was a pleasant oasis from the bustling city, and the midday temperatures had risen into the low seventies. “Nice,” Grace murmured as she and Jeff found a stone bench to sit on.
They ate their egg rolls in silence for a few minutes, muted sounds of traffic behind them, while the narrow river—fuller at this time of year, Jeff said, from melting snows in the mountains—splashed over boulders and rocks and under street bridges in front of them.
Jeff cleared his throat. “Grace, if you don’t mind, I need to ask you a question. But before I do, I need to warn you that this might seem to come out of left field. Just hang in here with me, okay?”
“Okay …”
“Just before the tour, you said your fiancé—”
“Ex-fianc�
�,” Grace corrected.
“Well, that’s the thing. You said Roger asked if you’d consider giving the two of you another chance, and my question is, uh … have you decided to get back together with him?”
Grace didn’t dare look at him. She just shook her head.
“Does that mean, no, you’re not getting back together with him, or no, you haven’t decided?”
She swallowed the mouthful of egg roll she’d been chewing. “Haven’t decided.”
“I see.” Jeff was quiet for a long moment, his Chinese takeout seemingly forgotten on the bench beside him. “Well, if you’re still thinking about it, what I’m about to say might complicate things.”
Now she did look at him. His gray eyes were fixed on her, the five o’clock shadow outlining his jawline in a sexy way, his dark curls kept neat by a recent haircut. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.
He took a deep breath. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Grace Meredith.”
She white-knuckled the stone bench, as if holding on for dear life. She knew it might be something like this—and yet she hadn’t dared put the actual thought into words in her own mind. Or heart.
Jeff put up his hands defensively. “I know it sounds crazy. We haven’t spent that much time together. But ever since our first meeting—at your house, remember? You’d just gotten back from your New Year, New You tour. Your voice was shot, you could hardly talk. Roger had just dumped you—”
Grace found her voice, though it came out in a croak. “Just say it. I was a mess.”
He grinned at her. “Well … yes. Wasn’t going to say that, though. What I was going to say is how mesmerized I was by you, in spite of all that. And then that freaky snowstorm … I was never so glad to get snowbound in my life. Me, totally unprepared for snow. You, drying my clothes and feeding me, in spite of the fact that we’d just met. But the real clincher? Playing Scrabble till after midnight.”
