Woman on the Run (new version)

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Still, he couldn’t fault his cock for its excellent taste. There was just something about Sally Andersen. Something about the quality of her skin, pale and so luminous it seemed to glow as if there were a light within. Or maybe it was the clear turquoise eyes, the color of the sea at Coronado at dawn. Whatever it was, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

  She had a small dimple in her left cheek when she smiled and he suddenly wished he could have coaxed another smile out of her, just to see it. But he’d lost the art of making a woman smile, if he’d ever had it. He could rappel from a hovering helicopter, scuba dive to 200 feet, make a two thousand yard shot, tame the wildest horse, but making a woman smile…that was another matter.

  Cooper knew everything there was to know about soldiering and everything there was to know about livestock. But damned if he knew how to coax a beautiful woman into his bed.

  “Not my boy.” Julia thought in bed later that night, as she read the same paragraph from her one book for the third time in a row.

  Now what on earth did that mean? That Rafael was his wife’s child? If so, not my boy seemed such a cold, cruel way of putting it. But Sam Cooper didn’t strike her as cruel.

  Granted, he wasn’t the most articulate of men—though Julia felt that was due more to a defect of communication ability rather than of intelligence. She’d read somewhere that commandos or special forces or whatever they were called had to be above average in intelligence, though it was very likely that charm and the ability to chitchat weren’t included the job description.

  Sam Cooper certainly looked forbidding, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to think of him as cruel.

  She glanced at Fred, curled up on an old blanket in a corner of the room, watching her steadily out of soft brown eyes. Cooper had been gentle even in his handling of the mangy mutt who had adopted her. Surely a man who was kind to stray animals and stray women couldn’t be cruel to such a small sweet boy. Could he?

  But then again, what did she know? She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Her whole world had been turned completely upside down in the past month.

  She had been living a perfectly ordinary and satisfying existence and then wham! Her whole life had suddenly turned into a country and western song—one of those whiney ones. Julia started making up some lyrics in her head to a Nashville beat, tapping her foot under the blanket.

  I Lost My Job and I Lost My House and I Lost My Car… Fred suddenly yipped and started biting angrily at his shoulder. …And My Dog Has Fleas, she finished despondently.

  To top it all off, for the first time in her life she couldn’t read her distress away. The greatest panacea in the world—becoming immersed in a good book—wasn’t available. The only reading material in Simpson was The Rupert Pioneer and a few scandal sheets reporting weekly sightings of Elvis, available at Loren Jensen’s grocery store. So Julia had to make do with the few books she had with her.

  Davis had promised her a Kindle linked to an untraceable credit card, holding out the mirage of unlimited reading and like a fool she fell for it. The Kindle was supposed to show up in the mail but so far she’d only received flyers for hemorrhoid products and falling hair. She perused Amazon anonymously, like an addict walking down the halls of a crack house, only the drugs were under lock and key. She was absolutely forbidden to buy any books at all, paper or ebook. So she was stuck with what she’d found in a hurried ten minutes at an airport bookshop during one of the many stopovers on the way to Boise. She’d basically just tipped the rack into the shopping bag. To her disgust, she had netted four books she had already read, a history of trade with Japan in the 20th century and a Spanish-English dictionary. The rest were the novels she’d been reading over and over again for the past month.

  Julia’s eyes dropped to the book she was reading for the fifth time. Maybe that was why she couldn’t concentrate on the murder mystery. She was reading it this time with her critical editor’s eye. The book could have done with a good editor. The book could have done with her. She’d been a very good editor.

  Before.

  Who had taken her place at Turner & Lowe? The company had just been eaten up by a huge German publishing conglomerate when she had disappeared. The dust hadn’t settled yet and there had been word that job cuts were in the offing. No doubt her request for indefinite unpaid compassionate leave had come in very handy. Had Dora taken over her job? No, Dora was known to have a keen editorial eye for nonfiction. Even the faceless businessmen on the other side of the Atlantic would want their editors to be working in their own area of expertise. It made good economic sense. And Dora was thinking of quitting anyway.

  Maybe Donny had taken over her authors. Donny Moro had been her PA for a while and Julia had caught him more than once with a speculative gleam in his eye. He’d have leapt at the chance to take over from her. She could just hear him, the smarmy little brat. Too bad Julia had to leave just now, when we’re all so busy. What was she thinking? Never mind. I’ll be happy to take up the slack.

  Who knew what she’d find when she got back?

  If she got back.

  Tears pricked her eyes, though she knew perfectly well a few tears weren’t going to change her situation. Not one iota. She should know. She’d cried buckets over the past month, cried out her fear and her fury. And afterward her problems were still there at the end of the crying jag—looming over her life like Flattop Ridge loomed over Simpson.

  Julia swiped at her eyes, then yawned. She had used up all her adrenaline today, what with Davis’ phone call, her terror when she thought one of Santana’s killers had found her, braining a SEAL, then her plumbing threatening to flood the house, lusting inappropriately after a non-talking soldier-rancher…it had been a big day. Her eyelids drooped. Time for sleep.

  Her hand automatically reached out to the cheap alarm clock on the nightstand, then she stopped. Tomorrow was Saturday, she didn’t need the alarm.

  And besides, she had been alarmed enough.

  Chapter Four

  “Freshen your coffee?”

  Julia glanced up from The Rupert Pioneer into the smiling, anxious face of a pretty girl holding a carafe of coffee.

  Should she have more coffee? Maybe not, considering the fact that the closest hospital was probably two hundred miles away. The stuff was lethal.

  Julia smiled at her. “No, thanks. One cup is plenty.”

  Julia tried to follow her normal routine as much as possible, which gave her the feeling of having some sort of control over her life. One of her most cherished routines was a long, leisurely cup of coffee in a favorite coffee shop after work, preferably with a girlfriend or two. And no Saturday would be complete without a morning coffee out while reading the paper.

  If her life had been normal, right now she’d be having coffee at The Bookworm on State Street, a new supply of books at her feet, comfortably dissecting office gossip with Jean and Dora over a mochaccino or a chai latte in a bone china cup. Instead, she was reading The Rupert Pioneer over tepid river sludge in a chipped mug.

  But her life was here now, like it or not, and she found herself being drawn into the life of Simpson, almost against her will. She had read every word of The Pioneer, including a breathless, blow-by-blow account of last week’s local varsity basketball game—which the local team had lost—and obituaries of people she’d never heard of. A true Devaux, Julia thought wryly.

  Making a home in the unlikeliest of places was in her blood. Her mother had been a diplomat’s daughter and her father an Army brat. Her father’s job had kept them moving to a different country every two or three years. She’d learned the drill. You settle in and make do.

  She was here in Simpson against her will, under a death threat. But like it or not, it was her home now.

  “Sure you don’t want any more?” The young waitress hovered eagerly. Julia could see how the waitress might want to please her. She was the only customer in the diner at the moment. “No, really. Thanks, anyway.”

  T
he young woman grimaced, set the pot down on the worn linoleum table and slid into the seat opposite Julia. “I don’t really blame you,” she sighed. “Terrible stuff, isn’t it?”

  Julia’s smile froze. There was absolutely nothing polite to be said about the coffee that wouldn’t have a bolt of lightning immediately striking her dead. “Uhm, well…” Julia hedged.

  “That’s okay,” the girl said cheerfully. “I know it’s awful. It’s a family tradition. My mom’s coffee was awful, too. Mom was Carly. Of Carly’s Diner.” She had an open expression, her pale blue eyes—a color Julia was beginning to think of as Simpson blue—sparkling with interest. She rested her chin on the heel of her hand and leaned forward. “You’re Sally Andersen, aren’t you? The new grade school teacher?”

  “Yes,” Julia sighed. She hated lying to such a sweet-faced girl. “I moved here a month ago.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she replied, brushing back a shiny strand of taffy-colored hair. “I’ve seen you in here a couple of times. I wanted to introduce myself, but…I don’t know.” She shrugged, embarrassed. “I think it’s been so long since I’ve met someone I haven’t known all my life, I’ve kind of lost the knack for conversation. Like everyone else around here. Sometimes I think we’re all dinosaurs, extinct and we don’t even know it because we live in such a remote place.”

  It was so close to what Julia thought that she felt ashamed. “Well…” Julia said. The lie had passed her lips so often it didn’t even feel like a lie. “I guess Simpson’s not that bad, I mean compared to other places, er…”

  “Alice,” the young woman said eagerly and shot out a hand quickly, rocking the coffeepot. Julia steadied the pot with her left hand while grasping Alice’s right with her own. Alice pumped Julia’s hand energetically. “Alice Pedersen. Pleased to meet you. I don’t often get a chance to meet new people. Especially not women close to my own age. This is great. Just great. I’m really glad you moved here. You married?”

  Julia was gamely trying another sip of coffee and almost choked. “Pardon me?”

  “Not supposed to ask that right away, are you?” Alice said glumly. “I forgot. Told you we’re not used to dealing with outsiders. And lately, I’ve been spending way too much time with my little brother. He’s seventeen and a handful, let me tell you. I love him, and he’s had a bad time since Mom died, which is why I can forgive him for being such a megajerk, but he’s not exactly gracious company, believe me. Ever been married?”

  Alice’s face was like an open book and Julia could see nothing but friendly curiosity in the light blue eyes. She stifled a sigh. “No, Alice. I’m not married, nor have I ever been married. I haven’t even been engaged.” And the last thing on my mind right now is romance, she thought. A picture of Sam Cooper of the fabulous thighs flashed across her mind. Lust, maybe, she corrected herself.

  “That’s strange.” Alice blinked. “How come? You’re sooo gorgeous. And you look—I don’t know—big-city.”

  Julia put the cup down. “Er…thanks. I think.” She cast about for a change of subject. “Alice Pedersen. Pedersen. By any chance are you related to the Sheriff?”

  “Yup, and not by chance, either. He’s my dad. I hear you and old Coop put on quite a show for him yesterday. He was still chuckling when he got home. I really owe you one for that. It’s been a long time since I heard Dad laugh.”

  Julia gritted her teeth. “Well, I’m glad I was able to provide some light entertainment. I was actually quite scared at the time.”

  “Of Coop?” Alice’s light blue eyes rounded. “Why Coop’s the nicest guy in the world. I’ve known him all my life and he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She thought for a moment. “Well, not an American. And certainly not a woman. Why even when Melissa—” Alice broke off and looked up, smiling. “Hi, Coop,” she said.

  Julia’s head whipped around. Sure enough, there was Sam Cooper, tall and big as life. Still dressed in black, still looking dark and forbidding. How long had he been standing there? She hoped he hadn’t got the impression that she idly gossiped about him, angling for more information.

  “Alice,” he said, then nodded at Julia. “Sally.”

  Julia surreptitiously placed a hand over her stomach. Sam Cooper’s voice was so dark and deep it seemed to reverberate in her diaphragm.

  Either that or the coffee was making her sick.

  Cooper reached out and softly squeezed Alice’s shoulder. “How are things going, Alice?” Julia was surprised at how gentle his deep voice sounded. “How’s the diner coming along?” Cooper slid in next to Julia and she scooted over towards the window. His wide shoulders took up two thirds of the back.

  Tears sparkled in Alice’s eyes. “I don’t know, Coop. I just can’t seem to get it together.” She stood up to fetch him a mug and poured him some coffee from the pot on the table, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. Julia saw that Cooper’s mug had a chip, too, only his was on the right side of the handle and hers was on the left. Cute, she thought, matching mugs.

  Alice sat down again and heaved a huge sigh. “I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.” She waved a hand around the café, encompassing dirty, dingy walls and the cracked linoleum counter. There was no one in the café besides the three of them. “Maybe I should just sell the place. Though I can’t imagine anyone buying it.”

  Cooper sipped his coffee and grimaced. “Well, you’re certainly keeping the traditions alive. Carly brewed a lousy cup of coffee and so do you. It’s good to know some things don’t ever change. Company’s still good, though. Makes up for the coffee.” His mouth curved slightly.

  Julia stared at him. Was that Sam Cooper? Cracking a joke? And smiling? And yet, she thought distractedly, he had an extremely nice smile. It was probably a good thing he didn’t unleash it all that often. It softened his hard features and made him look more human, more approachable. In the daylight, she could see that his eyes weren’t obsidian black, just a very dark brown. He included her in his smile and her breath caught. Uh-oh, she thought.

  Then Cooper turned back to Alice and Julia started breathing again. In. Out. In. Out. Easy, once you get the hang of it.

  “How’s Matt doing?” he asked.

  Alice looked out the dirty window and bit her lip. “Not so good, Coop,” she confessed. “He’s not concentrating on his studies, and he answers back to Dad something fierce. He talks back to me, too, but that’s different. He spends all his time in his room, listening to rap and banging away at his computer. He’s starting to miss classes. He’s really hurting.”

  “Give him some responsibility.”

  “What?” She swiveled her head and stared at him.

  Cooper curled his big hands around the chipped mug. “Give Matt a few tasks here at the diner. Pay him if you have to. Keep him busy and ask his opinion on things. Get him involved in what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, Coop,” Alice wailed. “I don’t know what I’m doing. What am I thinking of, trying to run this place? I mean, it was barely a paying proposition when Mom was running it, and you know how popular Mom was. People would stop by for a cup of coffee and a slice of pie just to say hello. But now nobody wants to stop by. And how can you blame them? I mean just look at the place.” Alice waved her arm and Julia and Cooper obediently looked around.

  It was no wonder people weren’t thronging to Carly’s Diner, Julia thought. Even if it was the only place for a drink and a meal in a forty-mile radius, you had to be awfully hungry, or awfully desperate, to risk a meal if the coffee was anything to go by. You’d probably be better off buying a chocolate bar and a couple of apples at Jensen’s grocery store. The walls were dirty, the only decoration an out of date calendar and a family portrait, with a younger, happier, thinner version of the Sheriff, a lovely, middle-aged woman with Alice’s smile, a teenaged Alice and a sweet-faced little boy with a missing front tooth.

  A soggy-looking apple pie lay on the counter under a water-speckled glass dish. A blackboard on the opposite wall advertised four-dollar hamburgers and an all
-you-can-eat special for twelve dollars. Julia shuddered at the thought.

  The whole place cried out for an interior decorator, but that didn’t surprise her. The whole town cried out for an exterior decorator.

  Something had to be done. So Julia did what any mature, compassionate woman in her position would have done. She hunched her shoulder and looked around with a furtive air. “Oh, I don’t know,” she cackled in her best Igor imitation. “It’s not that bad. A little paint, a few throw pillows…” She cackled again and waited for the laughs. There was a long, embarrassing silence.

  Alice was staring at her as if she had just gone insane. Cooper looked his usual, impassive self.

  “That’s from Young Frankenstein, isn’t it?” he asked finally. He turned to Alice. “You’re too young to remember it. It’s an old Mel Brooks movie. Actually—” Cooper turned back to Julia with a puzzled frown, “you’re too young to remember it.”

  “No,” she replied, straightening up with a sigh, “I have this rule. I mainly watch movies that are at least twenty or thirty years old. Saves me a lot of trouble. If it’s good after all that time, it’s really good. Clothes and hairdos are sometimes a little funny though. And you have people talking into cordless phone handsets big as bricks.”

  Cooper was staring into his mug, so she did too, on the off-chance that an answer to Alice’s problems could be found there. Heaven knew the answer to hers couldn’t. But all there was in her mug was a muddy noxious brew. She stared deeply into it and then suddenly the answer stared back.

  “Tea,” Julia surprised herself by saying.

  Alice lifted her head. “Tea?”

  “Tea,” Julia said firmly. “You need to offer tea to your customers. Black tea and…and herbal teas.”

  Alice looked blank. “Herbal teas?”

  “Yes.” Julia stole a glance at Cooper, only to find that he was watching her steadily out of opaque, dark-brown eyes. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Lots of people drink tea, don’t they, Cooper?” Feeling daring, she nudged his booted ankle under the table with her foot.