Sunrise Crossing

by Jodi Thomas

  Parker tried to remain calm. She was overthinking this. Floyd had been with her for five years. She closed her eyes, trying to think of anything he’d ever done that was out of line.

  One thing. Yesterday he’d asked to see her business phone. He’d said his had stopped working. She’d thought it odd when he’d disappeared around the corner to make a call. She’d even checked her log. If he’d tried to call someone it hadn’t gone through. No record of a number.

  Parker let out a nervous laugh that held no mirth at all. Maybe she’d read too many mysteries? Maybe she wasn’t cut out to keep secrets? Maybe her phone was bugged?

  Thirty minutes later she entered the Galleria Mall’s south entrance and dropped her business cell phone in a flower arrangement just outside the small dining room doors. If they tracked her phone, the suits would think she was in the meeting, and she had little doubt they would be doing exactly that. Thanks to Floyd.

  It took her five minutes to cross the hotel and walk out of the busy north door. Her knee felt like it might buckle but she kept marching. Ignoring the pain, she took a deep breath and walked outside. An old blue pickup was parked between the rows of cars. Not illegally parked, but easy to see.

  He didn’t get out to help her in, but he did lean over and open the door when she knocked on the window. It wasn’t easy climbing up with one bad knee, but she made it. Her cane tumbled to the floorboard, and she ignored it.

  The cowboy just watched. He looked so blank she feared for a moment that she might be climbing into the wrong blue pickup.

  Clint Montgomery didn’t bother with questions; he simply pulled out of the parking lot.

  They were twenty minutes down a back road when he finally said, “Looks like no one is tailing us. I assume that was what you wanted.”

  “Right. Thanks.” She felt the muscles in her shoulders begin to relax. So he’d figured out that she was escaping. It didn’t matter. He’d have no one to tell.

  He tapped his wedding band on the steering wheel. “I have to drop this load of hay off north of Grapevine. It won’t take long.”

  She nodded and he kept driving. Finally, she said, “I guess I owe you some kind of explanation.”

  He finally looked at her and she noticed a touch of gray at his temples. He wasn’t bad-looking in a hard, cowboy kind of way. Strong jaw, dark eyes, solid build.

  “Look, lady, you don’t owe me nothing.” His voice was low and indifferent. “I’m just doing a neighbor a favor. In fact, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon not know what you’re up to. If you’re running from a husband or boyfriend, knowing would make me spend too much time looking over my shoulder. If you robbed a bank, as long as I don’t know, I can’t be arrested as an accomplice. If you’re running from taxes, get in line.”

  She laughed. Apparently Clint was also a list-maker. He’d had a five-hour drive to think about it, and he’d decided that he simply wanted to stay out of her problems. She liked that.

  They pulled into a run-down gate with a sign that said Equine Stables and Rescue. Without a word, Clint parked by the barn and started unloading bales of hay. She waited in the cab, watching clouds gathering above and feeling pleased with herself. She’d made it this far. She’d escaped. It would all be downhill from here.

  Parker wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, but getting out to help never crossed her mind. Within minutes several men and women ran from the barn to offer Clint a hand. They were laughing and talking to him as if her cowboy was a welcome sight.

  She studied him. Older now, of course, and he looked healthy. The touch of gray at his temples would have made him look distinguished if he’d bothered to comb the unruly mass of chestnut brown. Chestnut, she almost said aloud. Just like his eyes. The coloring didn’t seem to fit such a hard man.

  When Clint finished he climbed back into the truck, dusting pieces of hay off his well-worn shirt.

  “You sell hay?” She sneezed.

  “No, I gave it away. This place helps mistreated and abandoned horses. I had extra in the barn, so I figured, since I was making a trip this way, I might as well bring them a load.”

  “Oh.” That was nice, she thought, and added, “I always pick angels off the Salvation Army Christmas tree at the mall and buy needy kids clothes and the gifts they always list on the back.”

  “Oh,” he said like she was speaking a different language. “You want a Coke?”

  She almost said an espresso would be nice, or even a cappuccino sounded great on such a cloudy day, but she didn’t want to confuse him. “That sounds wonderful.”

  A half an hour later he pulled off at a truck stop and used the drive-through window to order two thirty-two-ounce Cokes. An hour after that she asked if he could stop for a minute.

  He raised an eyebrow in question, then said simply “Oh” as he pulled into a truck stop that looked just like the last one they’d stopped at.

  She jumped out and ran to the ladies’ room as fast as her high heels would let her.

  When she came out, he was waiting for her just outside the door. Without a word, he offered her the cane.

  “I don’t really need it,” she lied. “I just use it for protection.” Dumbest reason ever, she thought, but it was all that came to mind.

  He walked a few steps and tossed it in the bed of his truck.

  When she didn’t comment, he asked, “You mind if we stop for lunch here? I’m starving. This place has a buffet, so it’d be quick.”

  “All right.” She walked without limping toward the eating area that was packed with truckers and traveling families who all seemed to have the required three screaming kids. “I’m a little overdressed.” That was putting it mildly, she thought, as an entire family walked by wearing matching T-shirts, pajama bottoms and bunny slippers.

  He looked her up and down. “Take off your coat.”

  “Yes, that might help.” As she tugged off her jacket, she noticed that her blouse was wrinkled and almost put the jacket back on.

  Before she could act, though, he handed her a sweatshirt off a display and said, “How does this fit?”

  It was two sizes too big, had Don’t Mess with Texas painted on the front in bright red and clashed with her coral-colored skirt. There were so many things wrong she didn’t know where to start.

  “It’s fine,” she lied, thinking anything was better than pajamas and bunny slippers.

  He smiled like he’d thought of something brilliant and she forced down her objections. She knew she had to blend in, and the cowboy was trying to help.

  At the counter, he paid for two buffets and the sweatshirt while Parker just stood frozen as she looked down twenty feet of steaming food, all on her never-eat list. Every kind of fried food she could think of. Even fried okra and pickles. Huge buckets of potatoes cooked different ways and a big dish of gravy. The last five feet were desserts.

  “Looks good, doesn’t it?” he said over her shoulder. “You can always trust a place where the truckers eat.”

  I’m in hell, she thought, but nodded and said aloud, “Do you think they have salmon?”

  “They could probably fry you up one.”

  She caught the glint in his eye and realized he was kidding her. Laughter bubbled up from deep inside her. No one kidded her.

  He smiled; his eyes now seemed dark chocolate brown and nothing about them was dead.

  “There’s a salad bar over there.” He pointed with the hat in his hand. “I think I’ll hit it first.”

  She followed. When they found a table, he waited until she sat down before he lowered in the seat across from her. They were halfway through the meal before he finally said anything. Then it was simply to ask for the salt.

  Parker usually ate alone and guessed he did also. Neither was used to company.

  By the time they head
ed back to the pickup, a slow rain was falling and thunder rumbled from the north. Without a word, he put his arm around her waist as they ran for the truck. The light touch steadied her.

  When they neared, he reached ahead and opened her door. Then without warning, he swung her into the bench seat.

  Parker was too shocked and cold and wet to speak. As he started the engine, he grinned. “It’s getting cold. I should have brought a jacket.”

  “I could go back in and buy you one of these sweatshirts. Then we’d match.”

  Clint pulled onto the highway and headed northwest. “No, thanks. I’ll dry.”

  When she started shivering, he pulled a blanket from behind the seat. “The heater may take a while to work. Cover your legs with this and turn sideways in the seat. You can shove your feet under my leg.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. This blanket smells like a horse and I don’t believe I know you well enough to...”

  “Suit yourself, lady.” He sounded more irritated for caring than mad.

  Parker spread the blanket over her legs and twisted to put her feet on the bench between them. She used her Coach bag as a backrest against the door. One of her shoes had slipped off, so she kicked the other foot free. Right now, she was too cold to care.

  The cowboy was right. The blanket wasn’t long enough to cover her feet. Without a word, he raised his leg a few inches and she slid her cold toes beneath his denim-clad thigh.

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling her feet warm.

  “You’re welcome.” He turned on the radio, and they listened to the forecast of a storm moving in. When he rested his arm over her knees, she could feel his warmth even through the blanket.

  She cuddled against the leather seat and closed her eyes. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she hadn’t thought about dying all day.

  Her adventure had begun.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DEPUTY WEATHERS STUMBLED down the stairs at the bed-and-breakfast, as usual. He blamed his clumsiness on the six-inch steps and not on his fourteen-inch feet.

  “Morning, Fifth,” both Franklin sisters chimed as if his daily tumble was his morning doorbell.

  “Morning,” he said when he rounded the corner, ducking at every doorway. “I hope I made it in time for breakfast this morning.”

  They both giggled. Most of the time, Fifth was their only boarder. How could they forget him? If he overslept, they’d leave half a dozen muffins in the microwave for him, and if he worked late, they left milk and cookies by his bed.

  Fifth had thought about getting his own place; after all, he’d been here almost two years, and the bed-and-breakfast was probably twice as expensive as an apartment, but on the downside, if he moved, he’d starve. The sisters fed him breakfast, always left breads and fruit on the up stairwell table, packed him a lunch if they knew he was going to be on the road or out on patrol. If they served beer after five this place would be paradise.

  He grinned, remembering the day the sisters had driven the highways, looking for his cruiser, because he’d forgotten his lunch. The sheriff had given him a hard time about it until Fifth offered to share.

  To be fair, Fifth thought, in return for the extra food, he helped them move things up and down from the attic and around the yard. They were always trading one old piece of furniture out for another and they decorated for every holiday. Plus, he ate whatever they cooked, with no requests and no complaints. He cleaned his plate, just like his mother had taught him, and he had sense enough to compliment them on the meal.

  Fifth was almost to his usual seat when he noticed another guest sitting at the table.

  A man in tinted glasses sat at one end of the table by the bay window. The stranger was on the thin side. Tanned, even though it was winter. Scar on left hand, and another that moved from his collar into the hair just behind his ear. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties.

  The stranger glanced up from his paper and smiled. “You must be Deputy Weathers,” he said politely. “The sisters have been telling me about you.”

  Fifth couldn’t quite catch the accent. Not foreign, but not from around here.

  Fifth offered his hand.

  The man’s handshake was weak, almost limp. This guy probably hadn’t done manual labor one day in his life.

  As Fifth took the chair at the other end of the table, he made another observation: the stranger had brought a book to the table. Which probably meant he carried a book everywhere.

  The man cleared his throat. “I’m Dr. Gabriel Santorno. I’m here doing research on early families in Texas for a class I teach at the University of Texas down in Austin.”

  Fifth grinned. “Well, Doc, you came to the right place. The Franklin sisters know everyone around these parts.” When Daisy put down the juice, nodded at both men and left the room, Fifth leaned closer. “She dated Sam Houston, I’ve heard.”

  The professor laughed into his napkin. “That’s impossible. She’s a hundred years too young.”

  “She’s older than she looks.” Fifth wanted to like the professor, but as always, the lawman part of his brain reserved final judgment, and there was something that bothered him about Santorno. Maybe it was the accent he couldn’t place. The man had an easy way of floating through conversation and very proper table manners. His glasses weren’t dark enough to be proper sunglasses, but they made it impossible to see more than the outline of his eyes.

  “I’m sorry about my glasses. I’m highly sensitive to light,” the professor said, as if he’d read Fifth’s mind.

  Fifth nodded as he buttered his roll.

  “Where are you from, Dr. Santorno?” Fifth kept the question light.

  “Oh, a little town north of Austin.”

  Fifth tried again. “Your accent doesn’t quite have that Texas twang.”

  The man nodded several times. “Oh, that’s probably because I grew up traveling. My father was a photographer. I don’t think I ever went a full year in one school until I moved out and attended college. My father mostly did shots for real-estate sales. Wherever the housing market was growing, we moved to. Mostly across the Southwest.”

  Fifth shifted. The answer was long, but it occurred to the deputy that people often overembellish when they are lying.

  Before he could ask more, Daisy Franklin hurried in with breakfast: egg casserole with pigs in a blanket on the side.

  “Oh my, my,” the professor said. “I thought that fine muffin and the fruit was the meal.”

  Fifth chalked up one plus for the professor. He pleased Daisy so much she blushed.

  Ten minutes later when the man asked Fifth about his duties here in Crossroads, Fifth decided he’d asked one too many questions for someone just trying to make conversation. What time did he have to go to work? What area did he cover? Whom did he call for backup if trouble came?

  When he started asking the sisters about the old gypsy house, Fifth considered taking a few minutes when he made it to his computer to check the man out.

  As he drove to the office, Fifth tried to figure out just what it was that bothered him about Dr. Santorno. Maybe it was that the professor had taken the only chair in the dining room that could see both doors. Law enforcement tended to do that, but there was nothing about his stance that hinted Gabe Santorno was, or had ever been, a lawman. He seemed thin and looked like a man whose only exercise in life had maybe been walking.

  When Fifth reached the office, he’d barely got his computer booted up when Madison O’Grady marched in.

  Near as he could tell, she was dressed the same as she had been a few days ago, but so was he. Those blue eyes were storming again. Damned if he wasn’t lost again. Something about an angry woman turned him on.

  He stood. They’d been all polite and friendly when they’d had lunch, and since then
, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Correction—about how she’d suggested they do it on Kirkland’s dining table, or better yet, the couch. He’d even envisioned them upstairs in one of the bedrooms, and he’d never even seen the upstairs of Kirkland’s headquarters.

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Did you change your mind about the sex, Madison? The sheriff won’t be in for another half an hour. We could do it right here on my desk.”

  She laughed, obviously assuming he was kidding. “I need more time than that.”

  “I could lock the door.” Fifth was bluffing, but he was starting to worry she’d call his bluff.

  “All right. The desk looks good, but you might want to move the computer.”

  Fifth fought the urge to rake the desk clean. If she was serious, he was willing and ready.

  To his surprise, she backtracked, closed the door, then walked straight toward him.

  “That door really doesn’t have a lock,” he said.

  “Then I’ll have to settle on a quick ride.” She moved so close he could feel the warmth of her body.

  Then she laughed, breaking the tension.

  Fifth didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved. “Don’t tease me like that, Madison. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry. I just came by to say that I’m leaving. I have to get back. We’re flying some training missions—you know, just in case someone invades Wichita Falls. Except for that first part, I really enjoyed working with you, Deputy Weathers.”

  He tried to relax. “Same here. I have a feeling I’ll remember you for a long while. No woman’s ever asked me to do it on the dining table before. Any chance you’d kiss me goodbye?”

  She laid her arms on his shoulders. She wasn’t hugging him, exactly, but pressing against him, and he loved that she was tall enough to run the length of his body.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect. She stared into his eyes and slowly moved against him as if they were slow dancing.