The Best Man in Texas

“Thanks,” Sara muttered.

She left the Blue Moon Café and followed the simple directions. Simple, yes, easy, no. Everything in Texas was big, she determined as she continued to walk. Her small overnight bag felt as if it were filled with bricks and her feet weren’t too thrilled as she trudged down the dark road.

As soon as she passed the stop sign, she felt she had crossed some unseen border. There was a freshness in the crisp, cool night air. She could hear birds or some kind of critters scuttling in the underbrush as she walked through the virgin, ankle-high grass along the edge of the road. Occasionally a twig snapped beneath her foot or she would stumble on a rock. Her ribs ached and sleep deprivation was catching up with her. These were the longest miles she had ever walked. Violet would be a welcome sight.

Sara spotted the rose trellis up ahead. It had a strangely neglected look about it, even in the darkness. The roses were slowly being strangled by the hearty climbing weed overtaking the trellis.

But then, Violet was older, Sara told herself as she walked up a crushed-stone drive. Perhaps she wasn’t able to maintain the property any longer. Sara was already planning on weeding the rose bed and doing a little pruning when she reflexively ducked to the side and crouched down in the tall grass.

A car was coming.

Stifling the urge to cry out when her ribs protested, she clutched her bag close to her and listened. She saw the dual beams of headlights crawling along the main road. They were coming from the direction of town. Sara huddled lower in the grass, praying there were no snakes lurking nearby.

It seemed to take an eternity for the car to drive by the entrance to Violet’s ranch.

Sara needed a good few minutes before she had the courage to come out of hiding. “Get a grip!” she admonished herself. “It was probably the couple from the diner going home.” Unable to help herself, Sara started to create a scenario for the cute couple. What would it be like to have a real relationship with a man who looked like that!

She continued her musings as she headed toward the house. And then it happened.

With no time to run, she turned, dropping her bag to shield her eyes from the bright beams of the headlights that appeared out of nowhere before her. Her heart skipped several beats, making her chest feel as if it would explode. Fear replaced the blood flowing in her veins. This was her worst nightmare come true. She was in the middle of nowhere. Despite all her careful planning, she had provided her ex-husband with the perfect venue to kill her.

A spotlight clicked on from the driver’s side of the car. Sara could feel heat from the light as the car inched closer. Something didn’t seem right. Where had Hank Allen gotten a spotlight?

She was virtually blinded by the lights. An odd sense of calm washed over her. She ran the situation through her mind, remembering everything she had been taught in her self-defense course. Cooperation, she repeated like a mantra. Don’t antagonize him and don’t get into the car!

“Step up to the car, please, ma’am.”

Sara blinked at the unfamiliar male voice. She remained frozen in place.

“Texas State Police, ma’am. Step up to the front of the vehicle and place your palms on the hood.”

The disembodied voice was bellowing from a speaker. Sara was trying to grasp this sudden change in her situation when she heard a muffled curse as the car door opened.

“Lady,” an irritated young officer groused, “would you come on over here, please?”

“What?”

“Geez!” the young man groaned as he moved toward her. “What happened to you?”

“What?” Sara repeated.

He emerged from the spotlight, his gun belt jingling with each step he took. The faint smell of aftershave arrived a split second before the young officer. Tipping the brim of his uniform hat back slightly, he stared down at her face with a frown.

“You need medical attention, ma’am.”

Coming out of her fog, Sara gently shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fine,” he argued. “Who did this to you and what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“Visiting a friend,” Sara explained.

His brows crunched together. “I don’t think so,” he countered. “If you tell me the truth, I can help you.”

Sara didn’t want to tell him how many times she had heard that before. There was the marriage counselor who was going to help her. Then the doctor who was going to help her. And the divorce attorney. And the support group. And the college dean. And the judge who issued the restraining order.

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” she managed to reply as politely as possible.

“You aren’t fine,” he argued.

“My friend owns this place,” Sara explained.

He snorted. “Is that right?”

“Yes. I’m surprised she hasn’t come outside with all these lights shining.” Why hasn’t she? Sara wondered to herself.

“Is this friend Miss Violet?” the officer queried.

Sara nodded.

“She isn’t here.”

Sara felt her heart plummet. “Not here?”

“You say she’s a friend?”

Sara nodded. “Yes, we met a few years ago.”

“You couldn’t have been too close,” the officer said. “Miss Violet died a while back. Which means you are trespassing.”

CHAPTER TWO

“IT WOULD BE a lot easier if you would just tell me your name,” the trooper said for the fifth time during their ride.

“I’ve agreed to go to the Harrisons’ shelter,” Sara argued. “Believe me, it’s better if no one knows my name.”

“What about your kin?” he asked. “Isn’t there someone you’d like me to call? Let them know you’re okay?”

“I don’t have anyone, but thank you.”

“What kind of man did this to you?”

“The worst kind.”

* * *

THE HARRISONS’ shelter was a converted bunkhouse on an immaculate ranch just outside the town of Pinto. It was pitch-dark when Kathy Harrison greeted them at the locked gate in her bathrobe.

She offered Sara a warm smile, then placed her arm around her shoulders and steered her to the main house. Kathy dismissed the trooper, then insisted that Sara have something to eat.

“You want to tell me your name?” Kathy asked as she piled lettuce on a sandwich.

“Jane Doe?” Sara suggested. She clutched the steaming coffee in both hands.

Kathy chuckled and joined Sara at the spacious oak clawfoot table that dominated the cozy kitchen. “You don’t look like a Jane.”

Sara simply smiled. Her smile slipped a bit when an imposing man with white hair entered the kitchen.

“This is my husband, David,” Kathy explained.

Sara’s greeting was a tentative meeting of the eyes.

“I smelled sandwiches,” David commented easily. Unlike his wife, he made no move to make physical contact. In fact, he seemed careful to avoid invading her space.

“I’m not really hungry,” Sara insisted.

“You should eat,” Kathy admonished.

“You should do what you want,” David countered as he accepted the plate Sara had pushed toward the center of the table. “Kathy can be something of a mother hen.”

“The girl looks half-starved,” Kathy protested.

David took a hearty bite of the sandwich and ate with appreciation. On a routine obviously established over many years, Kathy provided her husband with a glass of milk and a familiar pat on the shoulder.

This was what a marriage was supposed to be, Sara thought.

David met her gaze and asked, “Are you going to make us keep calling you ‘the girl?’”

Sara felt a little silly. Her face warmed with an uncomfortable blush. “If you don’t know my name, then you can’t tell anyone about me.”

“We don’t tell,” David stated with conviction. “This is a safe place. We’ve got an arrangement with law enforcement in four counties. They know if they bring a woman here for shelter, she’ll be safe because we know better than to reveal information. We know how dangerous it is.”

“I doubt it,” Sara sighed.

Kathy disappeared and returned in a flash with a framed photograph. She handed it to Sara as if she were handing her a diamond-studded scepter. The young woman in the photograph was beautiful, with a smile that simply required you to return it in kind.

“That’s our daughter Dorothy,” Kathy explained.

“She’s lovely.”

Kathy nodded and her hand slipped into David’s. “She was. She was beaten to death by her boyfriend ten years ago.”

“I’m s-sorry.”

David’s smile was haunted now. “We do understand your situation. Dorothy is the reason we started this shelter. We know how important it is for women to have someplace safe to hide.”

“Hiding isn’t living,” Sara sighed.

“It’s better than the alternative,” Kathy said.

Sara felt guilty for voicing her thoughts in light of what the Harrisons had just told her. “I don’t think my ex-husband followed me,” she said.

“What happened?”

Sara shrugged and ran her fingertip around the rim of her coffee mug. “He wasn’t exactly proud of my graduation from college.”

“When was this?”

A lifetime ago. “Two days ago,” Sara answered. “I went back to college after my divorce. I worked hard and managed to finish midyear.”

“Congratulations,” David offered.

Amazingly, it was the first she had heard those words from anyone other than herself.

“Can we get you some medical attention as a graduation gift?”

Sara smiled at David’s offer. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “A few bruised ribs. I’ve had worse.”

“Let us call Justin anyway,” Kathy suggested.

“I’m on a limited budget,” Sara countered.

“Justin doesn’t charge anything,” Kathy explained. “He’s a good old-fashioned country doctor. Still makes house calls and is happy to accept a fresh-baked pie for his trouble.”

“Thank you anyway,” Sara insisted.

“You’re as stubborn as the other one,” David commented.

“The other one?”

“Came in just before dinner,” David said. “Looks like the devil chewed her up and spit her out. I’m hoping she’ll rethink things by morning.”

“She’s Jane Doe number one,” Kathy explained. “It’s going to be hard what with two Jane Does staying with us.”

“I’m not staying,” Sara said. “I’m sorry the state trooper insisted on bringing me here. He said it was either this or jail. Apparently I was trespassing.”

“My guess is he knew you’d be safe here.” Kathy took Sara’s coffee mug to the sink. “Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll see how things look to you in the light of day.”

She was tired, Sara admitted, and she didn’t have any alternative plan worked out. Not yet at least.

Kathy led her from the house to the adjacent bunkhouse. It had been outfitted with beds, dressers, sofas and chairs. There was a fireplace and someone—David probably—had gone to the trouble to enclose two nice bathrooms in the rectangular space.

The rows of single beds reminded Sara of her days in the orphanage. They were bittersweet memories. She had grieved for her parents but was loved by the staff.

Kathy showed her where the telephone was and told her she was free to call anyone, anywhere, anytime. Then she was led to a bed next to one occupied by a sleeping woman. In hushed tones, Kathy wished her good-night and left her to prepare for bed.

Sara washed up and quietly returned to her assigned bed. She had slipped beneath the covers when she heard the soft sobs.

“Are you okay?”

There was no answer.

Sara lay still for several minutes, listening to the cries, before tossing off the blankets and padding over to the bedside of her only roommate.

Gently, she touched her on the shoulder. The wo-man was trembling and gulping air between sobs.

“I’m Sara,” she said as she brushed the woman’s hair away from her face. Sara didn’t flinch when she saw the deep lacerations and dark bruises. It was difficult to get a true picture of the woman’s face in its current condition. All Sara could tell was that they shared similar coloring and were probably close in age. “Let me help you. Do you want me to call Kathy?”

“No!” the woman answered in a panic. “I just want it to be over.”

“It is,” Sara assured her. “You’re safe here.”

“I’ll never be safe,” she replied, defeated. “Jeb will find me. He always does.”

“You can’t think that way,” Sara insisted. “All you need is a plan.”

The woman’s sobs slowed and she turned to peer up at Sara with reddened, puffy eyes. “Did you have a plan?”

Sara nodded.

“Did you a lot of good, didn’t it?”

Sara shrugged. “So I had a flawed plan. I won’t make that mistake again. Look, um—”

“Molly,” the woman provided in a near whisper.

“Look, Molly, you can’t give up. You just have to think of a way to rebuild your life.”

“I don’t have a life.”

“But you can,” Sara insisted. “You can go someplace fresh, start a new life.”

“I tried that.”

“Then try again,” Sara urged. “Don’t let him win.”

Molly was quiet for some time before she turned away and whispered, “He already has.”

* * *

SARA WOKE a few hours later and didn’t feel much better for the effort. Her brain was shrouded in a fog of exhaustion but she found sleep elusive. She needed a plan. She needed a new identity, one that Hank Allen couldn’t track.

She recalled a TV movie where the character had gone to a cemetery and stolen the name and birthdate of a deceased person around the same age. Then, using that information, she had gotten a birth certificate. Sara could do the same. With a birth certificate, she could get a Social Security card, then a driver’s license. The only problem would be where to hide and how to support herself while she was creating her new self. She supposed she could stay with the Harrisons, though that could be problematic. The trooper had probably filled out a report. If Hank Allen knew she took the bus from Louisiana to Texas, he would eventually find the report and put two and two together. No, Sara needed a clean break. No trail to cover, no loose ends.

She glanced over and saw that Molly was sleeping. Quietly, Sara crept from the bed over to the telephone stand. Despite a brief search, she couldn’t find a telephone book. She wanted to see if there were any cemeteries listed in the area. Careful not to disturb Molly, Sara looked around the rest of the bunkhouse. Still no phone book. Maybe Molly knew where it was.

She glanced over her shoulder. Molly still hadn’t moved. Sara was in a quandary. Her roommate needed rest, but Sara was feeling desperate to get started on her new life. She reasoned that if she awakened Molly, she could apologize by helping her make her own fresh start.

Sara walked over to the bed and gently shook Molly’s shoulder. The motion caused Molly’s arm to fall from the bed. Sara heard something hit the floor. It rolled over and brushed against her foot.

Reaching down, Sara picked up the small, opaque-orange plastic bottle. The cap was missing. Holding it up to the sliver of daylight just entering the room, she read the label.

“Molly Parker. Diazepam. Take two at bedtime.” The prescription had been filled at a pharmacy in Austin two days earlier. Originally, there were sixty pills in the bottle. Assuming Molly had taken the prescribed dose, there should have been fifty-six left. There were none.

“Oh, God!” Sara breathed in panic. Yanking away the covers, she felt for a pulse.

Not only did Molly not have a pulse, her body was cold and lifeless. After spending two years working part-time in a hospital emergency room, Sara knew a dead body when she saw one.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she said to Molly. “This means he won. Damn it!”

Sara turned to go and get the Harrisons, but her foot caught a strap beneath the bed. When she went to untangle herself, she discovered she was hooked on Molly’s purse.

The idea came to her at the same second she reached for the purse. There was enough of a resemblance...she hoped.

Silently she weighed the pros and cons. She’d be taking on Molly’s problems as her own. She’d be cheating Molly’s family—assuming she had one—out of grieving for her. In exchange, Sara would be getting Hank Allen out of her life forever. He’d be notified of her suicide and stop looking for her. Worst case scenario would be that Molly’s abuser would come looking for her, but he’d be looking for Molly. Even if he found Sara, he most likely wouldn’t do anything. Men who abused their wives and girlfriends normally didn’t attack total strangers.

It could work. She could go back and hide out in Violet’s house until her injuries healed. If someone was looking for Molly Parker, they wouldn’t look on Harvester Lane.

It had to work. Her life depended on it.

Sara opened Molly’s purse and started to go through the contents. She was relieved when she found no pictures of children. It would be impossible to steal the woman’s identity if there were children involved.

She felt a pang of guilt when she came across a picture of a couple she assumed were Molly’s parents. She found a driver’s license and other identification. The two of them looked close enough alike to fool most people. Molly was an inch taller, but Sara doubted that would pose a problem. She was also a year younger.

That realization gave Sara pause. Molly had had only twenty-four years of life. It was senseless. Criminal.

It was also getting light outside.

Sara needed to get out while she could. Going to the phone, she wanted to call for a cab but doubted there were anything in such a place. It didn’t matter. She knew Violet’s house was to the west. She also knew the bus traveled the main road.

Carefully, Sara switched clothing with Molly, then placed the woman’s lifeless body in the bed Kathy Harrison had assigned to her hours before. It was a gruesome task, but necessary. It was self-preservation.

“Thank you,” Sara whispered as she put Molly’s purse on her shoulder and left her own on the floor beside her travel bag. “Rest in peace, Sara Pierce.” Without another word, she slipped out in to the dawn.

She had to climb over the fence in order to exit the Harrisons’ ranch. It didn’t do much for her ribs, but Sara wasn’t about to let that foil her plan. After dropping to the ground, she headed down the main road, constantly glancing over her shoulder. She fully expected one of the Harrisons to discover what she had done and come after her.

She walked for more than an hour before the first car passed by. Apparently this wasn’t the most heavily traveled road in Texas. Sara was tired and starting to question her judgment when a second car drove past, then stopped and waited as she caught up.

An elderly woman with a ready smile sat behind the wheel. “You lost, child?”

Sara shook her head. “I got off the bus in the wrong town.”

If the woman noticed her bruises, she didn’t let on. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“I knew it,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “No self-respecting woman from Texas would be fool enough to set out on foot. Get in.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Then don’t argue with me,” she said. “Arguing bothers me. I can take you as far as Fort Worth.”

Sara settled into the ancient automobile. It felt good to be off her feet. “Thank you. But I only need to go as far as the edge of town.”

“What’s your name?”

“Parker. Um, Molly Parker.”

The woman shot her a quick glance. “You sure?”

Sara’s heart stopped. “Y-yes.”

“Okay. But it sounded like you were trying the name out for the very first time.”

Molly Parker. Molly Parker. Molly Parker. Sara practiced the name in her head. She sat quietly until she spotted the wilting roses at the entrance to Violet’s ranch.

The woman refused any offer of payment for gas when Sara stepped from the car. She simply smiled and gunned the old sedan on its way.

Sara started to cross the road when she heard the roar of an engine behind her. She looked up a split second before the car slammed into her body.

CHAPTER THREE

“MOLLY? Miss Parker?”

It took a herculean effort for her to open her eyes. The instant she did, she closed them because the bright, fluorescent light caused a pulsating pain in her head. While she was on the subject of pain, her ankle was throbbing as well.

“Miss Parker? Open your eyes for me again.”

Reluctantly, she did as instructed. Blinking several times, she began to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. She smelled alcohol and antiseptic. She was wearing a thin cotton gown and was lying on a bed covered with a paper drape. Just a slight movement of her arm caused the paper to crunch several decibels too high.

Finally, she met the intense gaze of the speaker. He loomed above her, even though he appeared to be seated on a chair or a stool at her bedside. His eyes were rich brown—the color of designer coffee. His hair was also brown, and thick and ruffled, as though he’d raked his fingers through it just recently. There was a subtle cleft in his chin, just above where he had loosened the knot on his tie.

Beneath his suit jacket, she could see a well-worn denim shirt. And shoulders that seemed to go on forever. Apparently she hadn’t injured her libido in the...in the...

“What happened?” she asked, sudden panic welling inside her. “Where am I?”

His response was a calming smile. The action caused a faint dimple to appear near his attractive mouth. “I’m Justin Dale and you’re in my clinic in Cactus Creek, Miss Parker.”

“I don’t understand!”

“Calm down,” he urged as he placed a hand on her forearm.

It tingled where he touched her. That was disconcerting, but not as disconcerting as the alarm sounding in her brain.

“I can’t calm down,” she insisted as she tried to rise.

Gently but firmly, Justin stopped her. Something wasn’t quite right. He could see it in her eyes. “You’ve got a broken ankle that I need to set,” he explained. “Lie still so I can do an assessment. You’ve been waffling in and out of consciousness for quite a while since you were found at the accident scene.”

She looked up at him. Her brown eyes were thickly lashed and golden starbursts radiated from her pupils. He chastised himself for noticing something so unprofessional. He was supposed to note that her pupils were equal and reactive, not incredibly beautiful. Man, I’ve been too long without a date, he thought.

“Forget my ankle!” she insisted.

Her voice was deep and a touch on the husky side. In spite of the fact that she’d been beaten and hit by a car, this woman still managed to exude a subtle kind of sensuality that he had neither expected nor—apparently—prepared for.

“I’m a doctor. I’m not allowed to forget fractures, Miss Parker.”

“Who is Miss Parker?” she demanded urgently.

Justin had been in the middle of checking her pulse when he went still. “Excuse me?”

He saw a flash of emotion—anger or frustration or both—in her expression.

“Am I Molly Parker?”

Justin whipped out his penlight and again checked her pupils. He forced his tone to be placid as he asked, “Are you telling me you don’t remember your name?”

She swatted the penlight away from her face. “I’m telling you I don’t remember anything.”

Taking in a deep breath, Justin pulled back and ran several possibilities through his mind. “Concussion can often result in short-term memory interruption. What is the last thing you can remember?”

“Waking up here.”

He scratched the side of his neck. “I think it would be a good idea for me to set your ankle then transport you to the hospital in Fort Worth.”

“No!”

Justin was startled by her urgent reaction. “The hospital is better equipped to deal with a major head trauma and—”

She cut him off by gripping the sleeve of his jacket. “Please don’t send me anywhere. I don’t know why, but I just have this feeling that I’m safe here. That doesn’t make sense, does it?” She lowered her eyes and nervously drew her lower lip between her teeth.