by Pat Dale
As he thought about his publisher friend, Fred, it occurred him she might have decided to turn her nose up at the publisher’s deal. He dialed home and waited for Sal to answer. “Darling, have you looked to see whether Samantha took the contract offer and her manuscripts?”
“No.” After a couple of seconds, she added, “Oh, my. Do you think she—”
“That’s exactly what I think. Go up and look for them.”
Seconds later, his wife’s breathless voice croaked, “They’re gone. All of them. And the offer is nowhere to be found.”
“Aha! Our little girl’s gone off somewhere to finish her books and consider the contract. I think we can breathe a little easier. When she’s ready, she’ll call.”
“I guess. It’ll still be hard for me to sleep until I know where she is, though. So you’re sure that’s what happened?”
“Yep. Reason is, it’s about what I’d have done in her shoes. We wronged her, Sal. Our intentions were good but we had no business butting in. And even less business letting Troy in on the game. Poor kid, he probably couldn’t help his loose lips from flapping, as proud of her as he was. I’d better call him.”
“Just don’t go getting his hopes up. Bad enough that she ran off on him.”
“Nope. I’ll tell him we think she’s gone off somewhere to concentrate on her writing for a time.”
* * *
Troy looked up from the contract he was working on. The phone jarred him out of the doldrums he’d sunk into over the last twenty-four hours. He grabbed it. “Samantha?”
“No, Troy. It’s Ozzie. We’ve not heard from her, but we think we know what she’s up to.”
Troy couldn’t help growling, “No good would be my guess.”
“Come on, Troy. We were the ones who screwed up here. Sally did, I did, and you did, too, young man.”
“How is that?”
“We were wrong to make decisions an adult woman could have made on her own. Could have and should have. We grabbed the thing she valued most and sent it off without so much as a by your leave. No wonder she’s upset with us.”
Troy let Ozzie’s words sink in. The man was on the mark and he knew it. “I guess you’re right about that. But she could have at least let us know she’s okay.”
Ozzie humphed. “Not our Samantha. That little lady’s got a temper, let me tell you.”
“As I well know, Ozzie. So, what do we do now?”
“We wait. It may be a week, a month, or longer.”
“I can’t stand thinking we may never see or hear from her again.”
“Troy, get ahold of yourself. She’ll resurface when she’s ready. Sally and I believe that whole-heartedly.”
Troy stared out his window as Missy Coward walked past the office. “How about her friends? Missy and Rose might have heard from her.”
“I doubt it. You might want to check with them, but I have a notion she’s cut herself off from all of us for now.”
“Missy just went by. I’m going to catch up to her and see what she knows. I’ll call you back if I hear anything.” He dropped the phone into its cradle and raced outside, in time to see Missy go into the coffee shop.
She was still at the counter when he went in. “Hey, Missy, how goes it?”
She turned to him and smiled. “Great, Troy. Did you hear, Tom and I are getting married?”
“Wow, that’s great. We thought that might be in the works, but I hadn’t heard the official word. Did you tell Samantha?”
Missy’s face went sallow. “No. I’ve tried to call her but her phone must be off or something. Do you know where she is?”
“Not a clue. I was hoping she’d said something to you. Her folks don’t know, either.”
“Wow! That’s not like my best friend in the world. You don’t think she got abducted or something, do you?”
“No. She’s just really ticked off at us. Took off without saying a word. Where she went is anybody’s guess.”
Missy’s face blossomed into a smile. “Maybe not…”
He waited, but when she didn’t continue, he asked, “Maybe not what?”
“Anybody’s guess. I remember she talked to me one time about a writers’ retreat, I think that’s what she called it. Some place where a couple of established authors gave instruction and help in writing novels.”
“Really?” Could it be that simple? Could she have just gone off to a quiet spot where she could get assistance with her writing? “I hope you’re right. Did she say where this retreat thing is located?”
“No, but it must be some place south. I remember her saying it was warm there most of the year.” She giggled. “A place where she could sit out in a bikini and daydream about her characters.”
That brought a smile to Troy’s face. “She does love those little bits of nothing she wears at the lake, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah. She sure does. .”
“You think she’d be mad enough to just up and take off to someplace out of state?”
“That’s Samantha. When she gets steamed, she might as well be a runaway train.”
“Well, she’s a runaway something. Hopefully, she’ll let off all that steam and come back. Or at least let us know where she is and that she’s okay.”
“I hope. Well, my coffee’s waiting. Want to join me?”
“Nope. I gotta get back to work. Missy? If Samantha does call, will you let me know?”
“I sure will, Troy. And you do the same.”
“Of course. Well, see you later, Missy.”
He headed back to his office, wondering when he’d be able to talk to Rose and JT. They were still on their honeymoon. Where was anybody’s guess and he wouldn’t disturb them in any event. Hopefully, they’d be back soon.
* * *
Samantha awoke, feeling refreshed and ready to get to work. Her next thought about work brought her up short. She hadn’t even considered the spot she’d put her dad in. Who would handle the myriad tasks she performed at the paper? Just as guilt insinuated itself, she had another thought. Her dad had done it all before she came home to help out. He’d know what to do and how to do it.
I’m free as a bird! I can forget all that stuff and concentrate on my writing.
As she pulled her jeans on, she glanced out the second floor window. Five people rose past the boathouse on horseback. Where had the horses come from? On closer examination, she recognized the Werners as two of the five. The others must be those writers Marybeth had mentioned. The lady mentioned nothing about horses or other activities, but she’d just arrived and had no clue about the normal routine here.
After finishing off the bag of mini-chocolate chip cookies she’d bought on the way, she took her laptop out of its case and set it on the table. Then she pulled out the spiral notebook that contained her unfinished book and opened it to where she’d stopped. It only took a glance for her to recall the scene and begin writing.
When she came up for air, she glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon and she hadn’t eaten anything other than those little cookies. She’d started down the stairs when Marybeth came into the lower room and called for her. “I’m coming, Marybeth.”
“Good thing, darlin’. Lunch is ready and this bunch leaves less than ants at a picnic. Better hurry on over if you want some grub.”
“Grub doesn’t sound so good.”
Marybeth laughed. “That’s just our way of talkin’. Will’s got the best doggone chili you ever tasted made up, so better get a move on and grab some.”
Samantha turned the corner to see Marybeth waiting for her. “Okay, let’s go. I’m famished. I forgot all about breakfast.”
“You get some writin’ done this morning?”
“I did. Actually, I jumped right into the scene I’d started two weeks ago like it was yesterday.”
“Happens with me sometimes. Sometimes not.” She stared at Samantha. “Two weeks?”
“Yes. My writing got sidetracked. I was maid of honour for a friend who got married thi
s week. And there were other issues that took me away from my writing, too.” A blink and she continued, “But now that’s all water under the bridge, so I can concentrate on my book.”
“Good. Well, we best concentrate on getting’ to the dinner table. The others are already there so you’ll get a chance to meet them now.”
“Were they the ones who went horseback riding with you this morning?”
“Yep. So you saw us, did you?”
“I’d just woke up when you went by. Those horses yours?”
“They are. Our neighbours rent us space to keep them over there. I write western historicals and havin’ the horses helps keeps me in tune with the world I write about. Hard to be a true Texan and not abide horses.”
“I’ll bet. They looked magnificent.”
“You ever ride a horse up in Missouri?”
“Oh, yeah. When I was younger, I had a few friends whose families raised horses. So, yes, I got to ride a lot. Not in recent years, though.”
“Well, you’ll get a chance down here if you like to do it. We take a mornin’ ride two or three times a week. Tends to settle us down and it’s kind of humanizin’, too.”
Samantha chuckled. “That’s interesting. You ride horses to be more human.”
“Enough talk, young lady. Let’s eat.”
“I’m with you on that.”
Samantha followed her new mentor into the kitchen to find a huge rustic table surrounded by the others she’d seen earlier, along with a couple of men she’d not seen before. Will jumped to his feet to introduce her to the group.
“Okay, ya’ll. This little gal here is Samantha Turner. Samantha is from, well, maybe I’d best let her tell you that herself. She’s goin’ to be with us while she finishes the fourth book of a series of historical romances. She’s got a contract offer already and an option for the last three.”
One of the men got up. “Hi, Samantha. I’m Ted Young. You already have a publisher interested? That’s amazing!”
Samantha said, “Nice to meet you, Ted. It’s a long story, but in a nutshell that’s why I’m here. I have three of them finished except for some major editing. The fourth is underway and I have to finish it now.”
A young black woman got to her feet to reach across and shake Samantha’s hand. “I’m Kasha, and I write horror, but I’ve always wanted to write regency. Maybe we can get together some time and you can help me with it.”
“I’d be glad to, but I’m not sure how much help I can be.”
The third resident, sitting beside her, reached up to shake hands. “My name is Peggy and I’m from Kansas City. You’re from Missouri, too?”
“I am. A little town near Branson. Nice to meet you and Kasha, Peggy.”
Will said, “Have a seat, Samantha, and I’ll serve up a bowl of chili the likes of which I bet you never tasted.”
“I’m ready.”
Will didn’t have to bother as Marybeth had done the honours during the introductions. As she placed the steaming bowl in front of Samantha, the other two men spoke up. One was Curly, the horse wrangler, and the other was the neighbour’s son Burl, who raised horses for a living. They were as friendly as the rest of the group. All in all, Samantha felt more comfortable in this setting than she’d felt at home for years.
One bite of Will’s chili and Samantha’s hand shot out for her water glass. “Yow! This stuff is hot!” They all laughed at her painful expression. “Okay, you guys. Who put the hot pepper sauce in my bowl?”
Marybeth said, “Nobody, darlin’. That’s the way we eat it down here. Don’t you like it?”
In the interim, her taste buds had recovered enough that she didn’t answer right away. As she chewed, she realized how good it tasted once you got past the immediate heat. “Well, I’ll have to give it another bite. Maybe a smaller one, now I know how hot it is.” She spooned another bite and savoured it. “Yes, I like it.”
All the others laughed with her and went back to eating. She finished the bowl and surprised herself by asking for a second helping. Marybeth was right; it was the best doggone chili she’d ever tasted. “Will ought to can this stuff and sell it on the open market. He’d be an instant hit.”
Will’s face flamed. “Glad you like it, now you’re used to it, Samantha. But this is the kind of recipe that don’t suit itself to commercial production. Besides, I like to vary it a bit from batch to batch. Anyhoo, you like crackers with your chili?”
“No. We sometimes add corn chips to it, but I avoid most of that salty stuff.”
After they finished eating, she followed the routine of the others and gathered up her bowl and tableware, taking them over to the sink, where Kasha and Peggy took their turn at washing them. She learned she would be on a rotating schedule with Ted, now they had an equal number. So, the Werners provided the food and cooked it, and the residents took turns keeping the kitchen clean. Fair enough.
Another surprise awaited her. There were eight slices of apple pie served up on disposable plates. They all grabbed a piece and headed outside to eat. The men settled around one table and the women gravitated to the other, except for Marybeth, who went back inside to get a big coffee pot and cups.
Samantha took hers with thanks and settled onto the bench as the other girls sat on either side of her. “This is wonderful. Do we eat like this every day?”
“Except when it’s raining. Then, we stay inside for dessert,” Kasha told her.
“Does it rain often?”
Peggy laughed. “Not lately. They’ve been in kind of a drought down here this year.”
Samantha replied, “Well, my writing has been in a drought of its own lately. I’m looking forward to getting some serious work done.” Draining her cup, she got up and excused herself. “I’ll see you guys at dinner. Got to get back to work.”
As she walked away, a buzz rose from the tables. Maybe they were sharing a joke or two about her reaction to Will’s chili. She smiled, remembering the surprise of instant heat, followed by a series of pleasant secondary taste sensations. The man was definitely a chef who knew his seasonings.
Marybeth caught up to her just as she was going inside. “Samantha, can I talk to you for a minute or two? I didn’t wanta bring up anything personal in front of the others.”
“Sure, Marybeth. Is there a problem?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I can tell you, the others are glad you’re here with us. Will and I are, too. No, I just wanted to find out if you’ve told your folks where you are yet.”
“Not yet. Honestly, I’ve been holding off doing that. You may as well know the truth of it, so I’ll tell you. I felt they insulted my intelligence and I’m hurt by it. They could have told me what they were contemplating.”
“Would that have made a difference? I mean, would you have gone along with them if they had told you?”
“No. Probably not.”
“Well, then. You wouldn’t have a contract offer on your first book would you? Or the option on the other three.”
“No. That’s true enough. But it hurts that they couldn’t be honest with me.”
“I understand that, dearie. But are you being honest with them now?”
Her question rocked Samantha. Because the answer was no. She’d merely turned the tables on her mom and dad. And on Troy. She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I guess not.”
Marybeth giggled. “I guess not, indeed. It’s your business what you do but I’d think long and hard about it. If I had a daughter as smart and pretty as you, I’d be sick with worry that somethin’ bad had happened to you. That’s painful to contemplate.”
Samantha thought about what Marybeth had said. After a moment of silence, she said, “You’re right. I’m going to go up and send them a message right now. I just won’t tell them where I am until I’ve done what I came here to do.”
Marybeth gave her a sad little smile. “I guess that’s better than nothin’. At least they’ll know not to send out the FBI.”
“FBI? Why would the
y be interested in me?”
“Girl, listen to yourself. You’ve slipped away without a trace. Why wouldn’t your folks call for all the help they can get if they think you’ve been abducted?”
A chill shot through Samantha. She’d not considered the possibility that the police or the FBI might be involved. “Okay, I’d better get the message off right away, and I’ll make it one they’ll understand. Thanks for smacking me between the eyes, Marybeth.”
“Not a smack, girl. Just a gentle push from an old woman. By the way, we’re WIFI positive, so your computer should be capable of gettin’ the word out.”
“You’re not old, Marybeth. Just wise, and I’m glad I found you.” She gave her a hug and headed for her quarters to send her message.
Should she send an email or call? The idea of conversing with Sally didn’t sound inviting. She knew her mom well enough to know the woman would insist that she come home, and that was not going to happen. She’d found a welcoming spot here and wasn’t about to waste it.
No, she’d just text them. That way, they’d know they could contact her. Text messages were easier to control, and if she was anything, she was a control freak. That was probably why she’d taken this flier anyway. Relaxing for the first time in two days, she punched out a simple message and hit send. She was alive. She was well. She was happy. That’s all they needed to know.
She’d handwritten a couple of pages when she stopped. It struck her that she needed to know how to correspond with the publisher. In this day of computers and smart phones, it seemed likely that they would prefer electronic communication.
Getting out the contract and supplemental pages of instructions, she found the email address of the editor. She set up the laptop, powered it up, and sent a short post asking how to proceed. While she waited for a response, she opened her inbox to find a train of repeated messages from Troy. Where are you?
Ha! Like I’m going to tell you that? Not going to happen until I’m ready.