Riding Shotgun

A breakfast nook with a view of a pumpkin patch held a round oak table and four captain’s chairs topped with blue-and-white-checked cushions.

A sky blue fruit bowl filled with apples, oranges and bananas rested in the middle of the table. The fruit was too tempting to resist. Since Esther had offered, Grace washed her hands at the kitchen sink and helped herself to a banana.

Everything was much as Grace had imagined it when she’d first seen the house from the logging road except that there were no children, no husband, no food simmering on the range. Yet Grace was almost certain the house had once known laughter and great love.

And now she was fantasizing, relying on her own needs to dictate the unknown.

She took a bite of the banana and checked the refrigerator to see if there was something a lousy cook like herself could prepare for Esther’s supper. Bacon, eggs and sandwich fixings were plentiful, but that was about it.

The freezer told a different tale. One shelf was filled with serving-size packages of food, all neatly labeled. Soups, meatloaf, chicken and dumplings, casseroles.

Another shelf held sealed plastic bags filled with frozen vegetables. Butter beans, several kinds of peas, corn, carrots and okra, to name a few. Definitely no shortage of food choices.

Satisfied Esther wouldn’t starve, Grace quickly went about the business at hand. She finished her banana and retrieved the bottle of pills. She shook out two into her hand and filled a glass with ice water before hurrying back to the large family room.

Esther raised up on her elbows, took the meds and almost finished the glass of water.

“You’ve done enough waiting on me for now,” Esther said. “I’d appreciate if you could stay awhile, but you’d best go get your car before it gets dark.”

“Good idea,” Grace agreed. “And then I’ll come back and warm up something for your dinner.”

“For my supper,” Esther said. “That’s what Charlie always called it. He liked his big meal at lunch and something light at night.”

“Then I’ll fix your supper,” Grace said. “Are you sure you’ll be all right while I’m gone?”

“I’m not getting off this sofa. But you can’t go traipsing across that pasture and climbing through barbwire again,” Esther announced. “You could get hurt.”

“I’ll be careful.” Though she wasn’t looking forward to the possibility of meeting a bull head-on.

“Fiddle-faddle. Hand me the phone. I’ll call Buck. Much as I have to pay that boy to do a few chores, won’t hurt him to do me a favor.”

Which bought up a more important subject. Grace handed her the phone. “Speaking of favors, is there someone you can call to stay with you tonight?”

“Don’t need ’em. I can hobble the few steps to the bathroom when the urge hits and to the kitchen to get fresh ice when I need it. Rest of the time, I may just sleep right here on the sofa.”

“You are a very independent woman, Esther Kavanaugh.”

“When you’re alone, you have to be.”

Grace knew that all too well. Still, she didn’t feel good about leaving Esther alone tonight.

Esther made the call to Buck and then turned back to Grace. “His mom says he’s in the shower, but she’ll send him over as soon as he’s dressed.”

“Perhaps either Buck or his mother could stay with you tonight,” Grace suggested.

“Buck’s fine with the livestock. I don’t want him trying to help me, though. He’s all legs and awkward as all get-out.”

“What about his mother?”

“Libby would just keep me awake blabbering all night. She’s the biggest gossip in Winding Creek, and that’s saying a lot.”

“Perhaps there’s someone else, then.”

“No one I’d like putting up with. You said you were just traveling through. Where are you heading?”

Time for the lies to commence. Fortunately, Grace had worked out most of the details of her new identity while driving. Of course, she’d already blown the fake name.

Being prepared didn’t make the lying any easier, especially to someone as open and trusting as Esther.

“I lost my job in Houston,” Grace said, “so I’m going to visit a friend in Albuquerque. She thinks she can get me a job there.”

“You’re kind of off track for Albuquerque, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but since I’m in no hurry, I thought I’d see more of Texas, take back roads, stop at towns I’d never been to.”

“Like Winding Creek?”

“Winding Creek wasn’t on my original itinerary,” Grace admitted, “but I like this part of Texas.”

“Most folks do love the Hill Country. So what’s your hurry? Stick around a day or two. Drive into Winding Creek. It’s a genuine Western town. Still has places on Main Street to hitch your horse—not that I recommend taking a horse into town.”

“Perhaps I’ll come back one day and check it out.”

“No time like the present. I’ve got plenty of room in this rambling old house and I’d love the company.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll blab too much?” Grace teased.

“Wouldn’t mind if you did. At least it wouldn’t be the same old stories and gossip I’ve been listening to for years.”

“I’m a stranger,” Grace said. “You know nothing about me. You really shouldn’t invite strangers into your home.”

“I know plenty about you. You climbed through a barbwire fence and ran to the aid of someone yelling their lungs out when you had no idea what you might be getting into.”

“Anyone would have done that.”

“No. Not these days. Well, they do in Winding Creek, but not everywhere. Don’t matter, you seem like a good person to me and I’m an excellent judge of character. Even Charlie used to admit that I can spot a liar the second they open their mouth. I can spot an honest person even quicker.”

Which didn’t bode well for Grace, since almost every word out of her mouth from here on out would be based on a lie. But she did hate the idea of leaving Esther alone tonight.

What harm could one night do? It wasn’t as if she was being followed. She’d been far too careful for that. There was no earthly reason for anyone to look for her here.

“I have four extra bedrooms,” Esther encouraged. “One ought to be to your liking. None of them are fancy, but the beds are comfortable—even have clean sheets on them. Beats driving an hour or more and then being stuck in some stuffy old motel room down the highway.”

“You are putting up a good argument.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll spend the night here. We’ll get to know each other better. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

Grace was certain the prediction they’d become friends would never come to fruition. Keeping her past and true identity locked away like bones in a crumbling crypt never allowed her to get too close to anyone.

“Okay,” Grace agreed. “One night, if you really want me to stay. But you have to promise to let me take care of you. I don’t want you trying to play hostess on that ankle.”

“I’m just going to lie right here except when I have to go to the bathroom.” Esther smiled and the lines in her face softened as she readjusted her leg on the pillow.

Grace had made the right decision—at least for Esther.

As long as Esther never discovered that the woman she knew as Grace Addison only existed as a character in a horror tale.

* * *

GRACE WOKE FROM a sound sleep to a blinding flash of lightning that seemed only inches from her window. An earsplitting crash of thunder followed. She shivered and pulled the quilt up to her chin, not that she expected to go back to sleep with a thunderstorm raging.

She reached for her phone to check the time. Ten past three. Lightning struck again and the accompanying thunder was so loud it rattled the windows.

Esther was at the other end of the long hall. The storm had surely woken her, too. Better go check on her, since that was why Grace was there. If nothing else, she could get her a fresh ice pack.

She flicked on the lamp, shoved her feet into her slippers and pulled on her pink fleece robe, glad she’d remembered to grab it when she’d packed so hurriedly.

Grace was already in the hallway when she remembered the horrid wig she’d been wearing when she’d arrived.

If she’d had any idea she’d be staying in someone else’s home even for a night, she would have made another choice. Perhaps a freaky dye job and a short, spiky haircut. She could have gone goth. She still might when she left the Double K Ranch.

Rain began to pelt the windowpanes. Grace grabbed the wig from the top of the antique dresser and pulled it low on her head. She adjusted and readjusted until she was certain none of her own brown locks escaped the wig.

Reminding herself she was Grace Addison, she tiptoed to Esther’s bedroom. Her door was ajar. Esther’s whistling snores overrode the sounds of the torrential rain. Perhaps that was why the storm hadn’t awoken her.

The temperature in the house was several degrees cooler than it had been when Grace had gone to bed and she could feel a chilly draft in the hallway. She’d made certain the front and back doors were closed and locked, but the draft had to be coming in somewhere.

She followed the chill to the family room and turned on the overhead light. It took only a few seconds to discover the problem. A window behind the sofa was open a crack and the wind and rain were blowing in.

Grace closed and locked the window, then went to the bathroom to get a towel to wipe up the water.

Another bolt of lightning hit, this one cutting a path straight downward as if the house itself were the target. Thunder roared. The light blinked twice and then went out.

A suffocating sensation sucked the air from Grace’s lungs as pitch-blackness closed in around her.

It had been storming like this the night this had all started. Almost six years ago. A night of terror that refused to let her go. The memories crawled from beneath the darkest recesses of her mind and she was back there again.

Lying alone in the king-size bed, silk sheets skimming her naked body. Surrounded by opulence. Drowning in suspicions she could no longer deny.

Her dreams died that night and the never-ending nightmare began.

Grace made her way back to the bedroom in the dark and climbed beneath the covers. The storm still raged on outside, but the real upheaval was inside her soul.

* * *

“LAND O’ GOSHEN, you’re just as busy as a buzz saw in a pine knot, Grace. I swear you haven’t stopped working since you woke up.”

“I haven’t actually accomplished that much.”

“Cooked my breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, ran the vacuum cleaner, washed and dried sheets and towels, straightened my little nest here on the sofa and waited on me like I was the Queen of England. I’d say that’s a powerful lot.”

“I like to stay busy, and I have to earn my keep. After all, you did provide me a port in the storm last night.”

“It was you who did me the favor. I’m not afraid to admit that ankle had me worried. I was afraid something was broken. I sure didn’t need that.”

“I’m glad it’s better this morning, but you shouldn’t overdo it. It would be helpful if you had a walker or at least a cane you could use for support.”

“You know, I think Charlie’s cane might still be in the closet of one of those spare bedrooms. He bought it after he had his right knee replaced a couple of years back.”

“I’ll take a look before I leave and see if I can find it. Right now, it’s time for you to have a fresh ice pack on the ankle again. Are you ready?”

“How long do we have to keep doing that?”

“At least another twenty-four hours. You want to avoid as much swelling as possible.”

“Good thing I like purple,” Esther said. “Looks like I might get about ten shades of it when those bruises burst into full bloom.”

“That you may.”

Grace went for the ice pack and adjusted it on Esther’s ankle.

“I hope you don’t think I’m taking advantage of you,” Esther said.

“I’d never think that. I’m going to check and see if I can find that cane, and then I need to get back on the road. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

“Well, there is one favor that would mean a lot to me. Not exactly a favor, ’cause I’ll pay you what I can.”

“What is it?”

Esther sucked in her bottom lip and put her palms to her cheeks as if she were afraid to say what was on her mind.

“Just ask me,” Grace encouraged. “I don’t promise I can say yes, but I won’t be upset with you for asking.”

“I was thinking maybe I could get you to stay with me a week or so—perhaps through Christmas. This whole holiday thing is about to get me down. Every time I think about it, I start crying.”

Esther’s eyes grew moist and a lone tear escaped and rolled down her right cheek.

Grace’s heart warmed, melting her good sense with it. “Is this your first Christmas without Charlie?”

Esther nodded “He’s been dead three months. I figured I could ignore the holiday, but Charlie loved Christmas. He’d hate to see me doing without a tree and decorations. I can’t really ignore Christmas anyway. People send cards, and every time I turn on the TV or the radio, they’re talking about the holidays.

“Can’t even go to the grocery market in Winding Creek without seeing the garlands and stars hanging from the streetlights. I always loved Christmas, but it won’t be the same without Charlie.”

“Don’t you have any family you could stay with?” Grace asked.

“No, Charlie and I never had kids. We wanted ’em. It just never worked out for us to have them. Closest thing to family we had were the Lawrence boys. They lived with us for ten months a few years back. My, did we love those boys. But they’re all grown up now, scattered around the world and busy with their own lives. Sure would be nice if you could stay through Christmas.”

Grace hated to turn down such a simple request when she had nowhere to go. But staying there meant continuously lying to a woman who trusted her. And there was always a chance it could put Esther in danger.

But if Grace didn’t leave the ranch, how could anyone know she was there? On the surface it seemed a great place to go unnoticed.

“If you can’t do it, I understand,” Esther said. “It was just a thought.”

“Not a bad thought,” Grace admitted.

Not that she was ever in the best of moods at Christmas herself. She usually spent the holiday in pajamas, watching old Christmas movies and crying.

“I can’t promise I can stay through Christmas,” Grace said. She could never make promises. “But I’ll stay another day. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“It’s gonna go good,” Esther said. “It’s gonna go real good. I can feel it in my bones.”

“But no talk of money,” Grace stressed. “I consider us friends now and I want to help.”

“You don’t know what this means to me.”

“Just don’t count on my being here for Christmas. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go search for the cane?”

“I hate to keep making you work,” Esther said, “but it would sure be nice if you’d gather the eggs from the henhouse.”

Gather eggs. Grace had done that many times as a kid—at Easter with no chickens directly involved. That was obviously not what Esther meant.

“I have some rubber boots you can wear so you don’t get your shoes all muddy after last night’s storm.”

“I’ll be glad to help, but I’ll need a bit more instruction.”

“Are you telling me you’ve never gathered fresh hen eggs?” Esther’s shock showed.

“Never.”

“Then you’re in for a real treat.” Esther smiled conspiratorially and motioned to Grace to come sit down on the sofa by her. “You’re not afraid of chickens, are you?”

“Should I be?”

“Not if you want eggs to eat. I have a large basket sitting on the work shelf in the mudroom. Just take it with you to the chicken coop. You can’t miss the henhouse. Step inside it and you’ll see two rows of straw-filled nests. Just reach in the nests and take the eggs.”

It sounded simple enough. “The chickens don’t mind?”

“They’re used to it. If there’s a chicken sitting in the nest, don’t disturb her. She’ll cackle and move on when she’s done. Then you can go back to that nest.”

“So I just reach in the nests and collect the eggs?”

“That’s it. I refilled their water containers yesterday, so you don’t have to worry with that. They’ll probably be drinking out of the mud puddles today anyway.”

“Is that safe?”

“It is if you’re a chicken.”

“What about feed?”

“There will still be some mush in the automatic feeder. But stop at the woodshed on your way to the chicken yard.”

“The woodshed?”

“Yes, it’s right behind where I fell last night. Be sure you latch the shed when you leave. Otherwise, the door will blow open and the deer will make short work of the corn and feed stored in there.”

“I can handle that.”

“You’ll see a metal container in the shed—on the shelf above a pail of whole kernel corn. Fill the container with the kernels or you can just drop a few handfuls into your jacket pockets.”

“What do I do with the corn?”

“Toss it around the chicken pen and the chickens will come running.”

Chickens running at her. Better than cows or bulls, but the image wasn’t comforting.

“Is it too late to change my mind about my offer of help?” Grace teased.

“Yes, but don’t worry. Gathering the eggs is fun. You’ll miss it when you do leave.”

Grace seriously doubted that.

“Okay, basket by the back door. Corn in the woodshed. Now, where are these chickens?”

“Take the path behind the woodshed and you’ll run right into the chicken pen. Can’t miss it. You’ll hear the clucking before you get there.”

“Is the pen locked?”

Esther laughed. “No need, neither the chickens nor the foxes can work the latch.”

“There are foxes out there?”

“Foxes, coyotes, hawks, an occasional bobcat. They love chicken. But they’re not fond of humans, so you won’t see any of them. Oh, and there’s a big red barn off to the left of the pen. If you see someone out there, don’t worry. It’ll be Buck. He’s supposed to haul some hay out to the north pasture today.”

A few minutes later, Grace was heading for the chicken pens, woven basket in hand, pockets full of corn. She was feeling more confident by the minute.

How difficult could gathering eggs be?

When she reached the coop, she unlatched and opened the wire gate. Several hens came running at her. She stood her ground. But she’d wait to scatter the corn until she’d gathered the eggs. Then she could toss the kernels and make a fast getaway before all of the hens were advancing on her.

The basket firmly in hand, Grace stepped inside the red-roofed coop. Sure enough there were two rows of nests, lined with hay.

Several hens were scratching around on the ground beneath the nests. One beautiful red hen sat on a nest like a queen on her throne.

“I’m not messing with you, sister,” Grace said calmly. “You just go about your business.”

The hen ignored her. Grace moved down the line and began to gather eggs, careful not to break them. For some reason she’d expected them all to be the same color even though the chickens weren’t. The eggs ranged from snowy white to a speckled brown.

By the time her basket was full, she was feeling pretty proud of herself. Gathering eggs. Nothing to it.

The hen on the nest cackled loudly. Then she left the nest and marched back into the yard. One more egg for the basket that was almost full.

Grace walked to the gate, the basket full of eggs hanging over her arm. She undid the latch and reached into her pocket for the corn. Maybe she wouldn’t run. The chickens seemed harmless enough.

She grabbed a handful of kernels and tossed them into the dirt. Chickens came running from every corner of their fenced pen. They quickly gobbled up the corn but didn’t bother her.

She took a few steps away from the gate and was about to scatter the rest when she noticed a giant rooster heading right for her.

His neck was bobbing. His spurs were twice as big as the hens’ and looked like they should be classified as deadly weapons. The bright red comb on his head and the loose skin at his neck seemed like he was waving a warning flag.

He stopped between her and the gate and made a tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck sound. Not good. Probably a call for attack. He jumped toward her.

Grace started to run. The rooster stayed right behind her. The eggs she’d so carefully gathered began to tumble from her basket.

Throw the corn. Quick. Toss it as far as you can and make a run for the gate.

She slowed to grab a handful of kernels. Her foot slipped and she went sliding, landing on her butt right in the middle of a mud puddle.

Finally, she threw the corn as far as she could. The rooster and all the hens followed the food. By now half of the eggs were on the ground, cracked. She was covered in mud. And the crazy wig had slid down so that it practically covered her eyes.

This couldn’t possibly get any worse.

She started to get up and slipped again. Muddy water splattered her face and the lens of her glasses.

And then she heard laughter. Hardy, deep, full-throated laughter. She looked up and into the face of one of the hunkiest, most gorgeous men she’d ever seen.

She’d been wrong. Things had just gotten a lot worse.

Chapter Five

Pierce struggled to squelch his laughter as he hurried over to see if he could help. He wasn’t laughing at the fall, though thankfully she didn’t appear to be hurt.

It was the image of her sloshing through the mud with a rooster and half the chickens in the pen chasing after her for their corn. It was the eggs tumbling from her basket like jumping beans. And that ugly, lopsided wig.

As he opened the gate, the laughter escaped again.

“It wasn’t that funny,” she quipped as he approached her.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed, but...”

Damn, he couldn’t help himself. He tried to swallow the chuckle that didn’t want to let go of him. “Actually, it was pretty funny from my viewpoint,” he admitted.

“If you videotaped it for YouTube, I’ll kill you.”

“No pictures, I swear.”

She was a lot younger than he’d thought from a distance. And the brown hair that had escaped the wig was shiny, nothing like the frizzy black wig.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Just my pride.” She wiped the mud from her right hand onto her jeans. Then she changed the basket to her right hand and did the same with her left hand. He thought she might be planning to shake hands with him, but she made no such move.

Couldn’t blame her. But the show had been hilarious.

He pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket and handed it to her. “This might help.”

She took off the glasses and stuck them in her pocket, then used his handkerchief to wipe her face, though mostly it just smeared the mud around like black war paint.

He reached down, pushed her wig back up her forehead.

“What’s with the wig? Were you going incognito so the rooster wouldn’t recognize you?”

“How is that any of your business?”

“Point made.” Probably not a good time to talk about a woman’s appearance when she was splattered with mud.

Jaci finally joined them. She stuck her hands on her hips and stared up defiantly at the mud-encrusted woman.

“Why did you steal those chickens’ eggs? That’s not nice.”

“I didn’t steal them,” the woman protested. “I was just taking them into the house.”

“They belong to the chickens. That’s stealing.”

“You’re right and believe me I won’t do it again if I can help it.” The woman started retrieving the few unbroken eggs from the ground.

“It’s not stealing,” Pierce assured Jaci. “The chickens lay eggs for us to eat. The eggs we buy at the store come from chickens, too.”

Obviously dissatisfied with the explanation, Jaci tugged on the tail of the woman’s jacket until she stopped gathering the eggs and looked down at her.