by Jodi Thomas
A small sign by the mailbox had said, “Honey Creek Café. Open ten to three for brunch on Sunday. All other days open till breakfast runs out or the cook gets tired.”
He had a strange hunch that he might find Piper here. Right up there where that light was. He knew that the mayor’s official residence was the massive house in town known as Widows Park that her grandfather had willed her. Every person in town had mentioned that to him. The place looked big enough to be a sorority dorm just off a college campus. One of the guys at the bar said the mayor would always be safe once she was home. Her house used to be called Mayor’s Park because of the gardens that surrounded the place, but Mackenzie women all outlived their husbands and moved in, so now locals called it Widows Park.
As Colby stared at the light hidden from anyone driving by, it came to him that this was PJ’s hideout. She’d mentioned that the café could have been a bed and breakfast but her cousin Jessica used the bottom floor because the upstairs was haunted.
Piper had laughed and added, “They say now and then you can hear the ghost stomping around or hiccupping or swearing.”
Colby smiled. He’d solved one mystery. He knew who the ghost was.
He couldn’t resist circling the house until he could see her window light clearly. Silently he watched as she stepped out on the balcony almost hidden in honeysuckle vines and climbing yellow roses. In one white towel wrapped around her body and another crowning her hair she looked more like a spirit than a real woman. It was too dark to see her face, but she was leaning back as if watching the sliver of a moon say hello to its reflection in the water.
Colby, who considered himself a rational guy, figured the honeysuckle lattice offered the perfect ladder.
By the time he’d scratched all his arms and legs several times and probably scraped the wound on his side enough to start it bleeding again, she’d closed the door and gone back inside. The trellis hadn’t proven as friendly as he’d thought and he wasn’t at all sure, now that there was no light coming from the bedroom, that he could get down without breaking his neck.
Dumbest thing he’d ever done, next to riding bulls in college.
He managed to stab himself with a broken lattice board as he swung onto the balcony. Fighting down a yelp, he walked slowly across her balcony trying to think of one logical reason he was standing on the mayor’s balcony after midnight. His boots were covered in river mud. His clothes were dirty and still wet. The only shirt he had with him was ripped in several places. He looked more like a Halloween scarecrow than a state trooper.
She’d turned off the light, but there was a bit of light filtering past the drapes. Probably a night-light so she could read till she fell asleep. Great! She was already in bed.
Being a total idiot was all he could think of for the reason he was here. Or, he could claim he was more than half drunk. At least that would be true. No, insanity would work better. After all, maybe she’d feel sorry for him if he was nuts.
He might as well play the wild card.
Colby knocked.
He heard movement, light steps of bare feet, then she pulled back the curtain just far enough for him to see one eye.
And that one eye was glaring at him.
He stepped back, reconsidering the fall he’d take if he jumped. Maybe she hadn’t recognized him yet.
“Colby? Is that you?”
Too late. “Yes, Mayor, it’s me.”
After a long pause, the long French door opened. “What are you doing here?”
He straightened as if on official business. “We’ll get to that later, Miss Mayor, but first I feel it is my duty to tell you not to open doors in the middle of the night. In fact, don’t open a door if you are alone unless you know the person outside very well.”
She stepped back a foot. “Again, Trooper McBride, what are you doing here?”
Colby’s only hope was to stay on topic. “You should scream if someone even walks past your window, or call the police. You should not step back as if inviting him in.” Colby stepped over the threshold as if demonstrating.
She moved back again.
“I could be here to attack you. Aren’t you afraid?”
“No,” she answered as she raised her arm and flipped on the overhead light.
Colby glanced down to notice the thin nightgown she wore, but before he could speak he saw the Colt .45 in her hand. It looked old enough to have been used by Jesse James.
She smiled. “I’m not afraid at all, Trooper.”
Colby raised his hands in surrender. A woman with a gun was twice as dangerous as a rattlesnake with two rattles, but dang he couldn’t stop looking at the pale-blue nightgown. If she was planning to shoot him, he’d like to have the sight of her as his last memory.
Why would a woman wear oversize suits in brown to work and baby-blue gowns to sleep alone? This wasn’t a good time to ask her that question.
“Before you start another lecture, let me remind you that I have two older brothers who taught me to shoot before I started school. This might be a hundred-year-old weapon, but I clean and oil it regularly. Now, I suggest you tell me why you’re here.”
He could lie and she’d see right through him, or he could reveal the idiot that he was and hope she didn’t fire him.
He looked at her face and realized she was enjoying this. He’d go with the idiot.
“I just had to make sure you are all right. I know you think you’re safe here, but something could happen.”
She didn’t lower the gun, but she did smile. “Keep talking.”
He raked his fingers through his dirty hair. “I know you think I’m all about the job, but I was worried about you. All I wanted to know was that you were all right.” She was fresh from a shower and he was dripping sweat and mud. Only good thing was he smelled like honeysuckle. “Also, I wanted to tell you that I’ve been reading up on Boone. The guy looks great, comes from a good family, is educated, but make him mad and he goes crazy. Beat up a fraternity brother after an argument. Almost killed him. He’s had four assistants this year and all claimed verbal abuse as the reason they quit.”
She put one fist on her hip and glared at him. “I may be clumpy in wet sneakers, but I assure you I can take care of myself.”
But Colby could see that she was rattled, and not by him.
“Next you’ll be telling me Boone is a nice guy,” Colby whispered. “That’s what all the neighbors always say about serial killers.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said again.
The mayor might be afraid, but she still wasn’t buying his reason for being here. Colby tried again. “All right. The flat-out truth, Mayor. I’ve been reading about how great you are and half the town telling me how wonderful you are, and I think I’m falling for you. I’ve never met a woman like you.”
She didn’t look impressed. He’d run the idea by her again. “I’ve never talked to a woman like you. I’m falling hard so maybe you should just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.” He thought a bit more wouldn’t hurt. “I swear I’ve never said anything like this to a woman.”
If that didn’t work, he’d try getting her drunk. Or better yet he should get drunker. Drowning in beer was probably the only way he’d get the sight of her in that nightgown out of his mind.
He looked down just to confirm the view was as fantastic as he remembered it had been five seconds ago.
Colby figured he might as well throw out a dying wish while he had time. “Any chance you’d kiss me before you pull that trigger?”
Suddenly, she set the gun down and took a step toward him.
For a flash he thought he’d finally said one thing right.
But she grabbed him at the neck of his tattered shirt and jerked, ripping it down to his waist.
He was about to close his eyes and pucker up when she yelled right in his ear. “You’re bleeding again. I swear you’ve got to stop bleeding all over my floors.”
She pulled him to the bed and pushed him down
when he tried to escape. “I see several bloodspots and that left leg has a steady drip. Take off those clothes while I get the first-aid kit.”
Any hope of some kinky game of playing doctor and nurse vanished when he saw her eyes. Annoyed didn’t begin to describe the look she gave him.
“I swear I should shoot you and put you out of your agony.” She vanished into the bathroom.
He tugged off his boots and jeans, and found three places bleeding on the right leg and a shallow gash that bubbled out like a mini volcano with every heartbeat. The bandage at his side was bloody again also.
When she returned, she was wearing a robe that left most of her legs bare. He followed orders and leaned back on a towel. Her hair was straight and still wet from her shower. It brushed over his skin now and then as she examined each wound.
“I’m surprised you’re not covered in scars as often as you get hurt.”
“In ten years of work I’ve only had a few injuries on the job and they were minor.”
“So what’s wrong now? What’s different about this job?”
“You,” he answered.
She went to work on his side. “So, you’re saying I’m your bad-luck charm?”
He flinched as she washed over the wound. “That hurts. Where did you learn to patch people up?”
“The Internet. I Google anything I think I might need to know when I can’t sleep. Fixing cars, plumbing, speaking Spanish, cooking, making soap. After work it’s the only way I can relax.” She pulled the tape off without saying “This is going to hurt.”
He moved in agony again, knowing he needed to stay still and not let her see how much pain he was experiencing.
She pulled a tiny branch from his hair. “You’ve got a touch of the Irish in your blood. Sunshine brown hair with a brush of red blended in.”
He knew she was trying to distract him, but it wouldn’t work. Even when she patted the other side of his chest he knew what she was trying to do. She was simply waiting for him to relax so she could hurt him again.
“I tell you what, Trooper. If you make it through my nursing without yelling out, I’ll give you that kiss when I show you the door. I don’t think you’d survive another adventure with the honeysuckle.”
Colby leaned back and closed his eyes. The vision of her little nightgown seemed to push the pain away as she worked her way from one cut after another.
“You still with me?” she asked as she moved a cool cloth over his chest. “In a few hours it will be dawn and you need to be out of here.”
“One question,” he whispered. “Will you be wearing just that nightgown when you kiss me goodbye?”
She smacked him on the forehead with the palm of her hand. The only part of his body that wasn’t already hurting.
He decided to keep his mouth shut.
As she worked, he relaxed for the first time since he’d answered the Texas Ranger’s call.
A moment before he drifted into sleep Colby thought he felt her fingers lightly brush his hair back. Not exactly a doctoring touch. Not quite a caress.
Chapter 15
Sunday, three hours before dawn
Sam
Stella sat at the tiny table in the bachelor parsonage. She was still crying even though they’d finished a pot of coffee.
Sam had no idea what to say to this shy young woman. She’d told him she was thirty-two, but she seemed more like a frightened teenager. Her older brother had finished raising her after their mother died. No father seemed to be in the picture.
“Benjamin doesn’t want me to leave . . . ever. He says he can’t manage without me and I’d never be strong enough to face the world on my own. I do the books at his office and keep the accounts for the church, but I have no money of my own to manage.”
“Maybe he could get married to an accountant,” Sam suggested. “Then she could take over your jobs and you could go look for work.” Maybe logic would work?
She looked confused. “I don’t see how that would help. He says none of the women here in Honey Creek want to marry him and I don’t have much education. He’s right. I’d probably be unable to find a job.”
“What do you want to do, Stella?” Sam smiled. He was making progress. He’d thought of a question. Hell, if this preaching job didn’t work out maybe he’d try being a life coach.
Sam fought down a smile and tried his best to look thoughtful, but a shy woman finally leaving home didn’t seem like the end of the world to him.
“I want to go to school and study music. My mother always said I had the voice of an angel. I already teach the children’s choir and I practice every morning for an hour after Benjamin leaves. Once a month I sing the solo on Sunday. Sometimes more often than once a month, because people say they feel closer to Heaven when I sing.”
“That’s a gift, Stella. If music is what you want to do, that is exactly what you should do. Your brother can’t stop you. You are of age.” A thought occurred to him. “He wouldn’t physically try to hurt you, would he?” Sam wouldn’t hesitate to beat some sense into the brother if he was hurting this gentle creature.
“Oh no, but he’d not be happy. It would cost money to go to college. He might get angry. I can’t stand it when he yells at me.”
Sam thought of telling her to find a backbone and yell back, but that wouldn’t help the problem. “You got any friends you can get to help you talk to him?”
“Anna Presley. She’ll help me.” The crying stopped. “She helps anyone in need. I think she’s a saint looking for a quest.”
“Great. I’ll drive you over to her place. We’ll wake her up.” Anna deserved a late-night visit after she called him a hall monitor just because he didn’t get out of the way fast enough. Plus, he couldn’t wait to see what the little redhead looked like before she combed her hair.
“I’ll get the car. You get your things.”
Stella was waiting when he pulled his car around. Her laptop case was slung over one shoulder, her purse over the other. An old suitcase waited at her side.
Once they were driving away, she said, “I’ll still do the solo in service tomorrow. Be sure and tell Paul.”
“Who is Paul?”
“He’s filling in as the choir director. Drives eighty miles every Sunday to offer his services free. He’s also the only one around who can play the organ. He’ll be at the church early tomorrow. We sometimes have coffee after we practice and before people start coming in. It’s a settling time for us both, I think. I look forward to it.”
“You mean today, Stella, not tomorrow. It’s long after midnight.” His news didn’t seem to cheer her up. She was thirty-two and frown lines were already forming at the corners of her mouth. “Tell me about Miss Presley. I only bumped into her once in the church hallway and she seemed bothered that I was in her way.”
Stella smiled. “She’s always in a hurry. Anna is a few years older than me, but I remember she was usually rushing around in school. Ran the school newspaper, was an officer in every club, and protested everything she thought was wrong. I recall once she stood out all night protesting the fact that everyone had to have a date to prom.”
“Did she win?”
Stella shook her head.
“Did she go to prom?”
“No, I wasn’t there, but I heard the principal wouldn’t let her in. She just turned around and started yelling. Someone said her parents had to come pick her up.”
Sam turned down a dirt road with a lone house built far back near the trees, one porch light flickering to guide his way.
Stella lowered her voice as if Anna might hear. “My brother felt sorry for her a few years back. He asked her out.”
Sam slowed the car. “Did she go?” He couldn’t imagine the spitfire going out with dull Benjamin Blake.
“She looked right at him and said, ‘Sure, when toads fly.’ Maybe she dated when she went off to Austin to school. Knowing her, she decided dating wasn’t worth her time. Sometimes I think she can hear her life clock ticki
ng down and she has to finish everything she can before she hits zero.”
Sam fought down a laugh as he pulled in front of Anna Presley’s home. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but a tiny house out here in the middle of nowhere wasn’t it.
Before he could get out of the car, Anna Presley stepped around the front door with a shotgun cradled in her arm. “State your name or I’ll take aim.”
“Anna,” Stella called, “it’s me. I’ve run away from home.”
The little redhead set the weapon down and ran to her friend. Sam watched them hug and pat on each other as they both cried. No one who saw them would ever doubt that Anna had a heart.
Just as he figured, Anna Presley’s hair looked just the same as it had yesterday morning. A tumbleweed on fire. Both women broke apart and laughed while the tears were still dripping.
Finally, Anna looked over at Sam. “Thanks for bringing her here, Preacher.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Presley.”
As the women moved inside, Sam collected the suitcase and assumed he was invited in as well. If not, he guessed there would be the barrel of a shotgun pointed at him. A silent guard dog.
He dented one board of gingerbread trim along the roofline. Elves must have built this place.
The girls didn’t notice the damage. As Stella told every detail of how she decided to leave home, Anna was asking questions about Stella’s future. The shy bookkeeper had stopped crying and was taking notes on what she needed to do.
Sam looked around the house, which took him about three steps in every direction.
Modern furniture made of sticks so thin he wasn’t sure any of it would hold his weight. Most of it was made to serve more than one purpose. One chair flipped over to make a ladder. A table turned into a twin bed. The small loft looked barely big enough to hold a full-size bed, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t even get in the bathroom. The place was decorated in bright colors. Maybe meant to make the place look bigger, but in truth it was more like a rainbow got trapped in the house and exploded.
Sam decided he’d rather sleep outside. And go to the bathroom there as well. And take a shower only when it rained. Anything was better than bumping around in this dollbox she called a house.
