Sunrise Crossing

by Jodi Thomas

  They creaked as he moved across the room. “Whoever’s up here is trespassing.”

  He heard a giggle and relaxed. “Rabbit?”

  “I saw your car parked by the barn and decided I had to come save you. Yancy Grey, you are a workaholic. I’m taking you to rehab.” She moved slowly out from behind a broken closet door, looking more spirit in the shadows than real.

  “Okay.” He surrendered without a fight. He’d follow her anywhere. “How about we break away for a while? I’ve got the afternoon off. Let’s go for a drive.”

  Five minutes later they were on the open road, heading east. The afternoon sun was warming and he had a full tank of gas. Life didn’t get any better than this.

  “Did you have a good day, Rabbit?”

  She stopped playing with the radio long enough to answer. “You bet. We had doughnuts for breakfast.”

  Yancy didn’t like the sound of “we,” but he knew he couldn’t ask. This was the first time she’d ever mentioned being with anyone. “I’m happy to see you, but I’m surprised you’re out before dark.”

  “Me, too,” she answered. “But I ran out of supplies, and more won’t come till tomorrow. I thought I’d just go over and explore your house. I didn’t think you’d be there. You never have been before.”

  “You mean you’ve broken in on other occasions?”

  “It’s not that hard. The key to the side door is on the windowsill less than a foot away from the lock.”

  He laughed. “Oh, so you’re a regular prowler in the neighborhood?”

  “Nope, just in your house. I’ve explored every inch of it.” She laughed again. “And, by the way, I found that hand in the basement that kids used to say crawled across the floor all by itself.”

  “I’d believe you, honey, but my house has no basement.”

  They talked about things she’d been afraid of growing up. Slowly, she volunteered a few pieces of information, and mile by mile, he learned tiny scraps about her life. She hadn’t been able to sleep without a light after her father had died. She’d never had a pet. She’d never had a brother or sister to talk to. She hated Halloween and dreamed once that every day was Halloween, where people wore masks and tried to frighten one another.

  He told her about also growing up as an only child and she said she understood totally and had hated it, too.

  Before, they’d always been working and their discussions were usually about the project, but now conversation flowed as the miles passed by. He loved the way she saw the world, the way she got excited over things he’d passed a hundred times and never even noticed. For her the earth was a canvas and nature the painter.

  When they saw an old billboard, she made him turn around and go back for a second look. A hundred signs must have been glued onto the boards over the years. Then the weather had peeled off pieces again and again until no one advertisement stood out, only a patchwork of ads. Tiny scraps of posters slowly weathering, slowly blending.

  She tried to reach high enough to touch the sign. “There is every color of the rainbow here. Bright colors, water-washed colors, some muted and faded by the sun. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Yancy tried looking at it sideways, then backing away for the big picture, but he couldn’t see it. “Tell me more,” he said, hoping her vision would show through.

  “Don’t you see? It’s like a whole town of people. Young and old. Bright and faded. Withered and twisted. Each scrap looks different as it stands against another.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean,” Yancy lied.

  “Individually, they’re just scraps of paper, but put them together and you have a work of art.” She smiled. “If I had any money, I’d buy this for you.”

  She’d finally said something he understood. “Rabbit, if you’re broke, I could loan you whatever you need. I have plenty, you know.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not kidding. I got seven thousand, three hundred and seventy-two dollars in my checking account. If you need it, it’s yours.”

  “I need enough to buy more doughnuts. Could you loan me that much?”

  “Sure. Next town we hit we’ll buy as many as you want. We can go shopping in the junk stores, too. You can find anything there.”

  “I could use a coat. And rain boots. I’ve never had rain boots.”

  An hour later they’d found her two coats and a pair of rubber boots that were yellow with ducks on them.

  “I need to buy Parker some boots, too.”

  “Parker?” Yancy didn’t realize he’d said the name out loud until she looked up. “Who is he?” Yancy wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  Rabbit seemed to read his mind, and for a moment, he thought she was feeling sorry for him. Then she took a deep breath and whispered as if the guy at the desk might care enough to wake up. “Parker is a woman. She’s my friend. I have no idea what size her feet are, but she could use some cowboy boots. Since she arrived she’s worn nothing but socks.”

  Yancy relaxed. “Is she tall or short like you?”

  “A head taller than me, but thin.” Rabbit touched his shoulders. “Almost your height, but not as wide.”

  Yancy looked over at the pile of worn boots and, for the first time he could ever remember, decided to waste a little money. “Let’s get one pair two sizes bigger than you wear and one four. Then we’ll buy boot socks. Put on a few pairs and you can wear the little ones if they are too small for her.”

  “They make socks just for boots?”

  “Sure. Doesn’t everyone know that?”

  Rabbit was already into the mountain of boots. Finding sizes was easy; finding a pair proved more difficult.

  As they walked back to the car, loaded down with clothes and boots, she asked to drive. He didn’t really want her to, but he couldn’t turn her down.

  “I’ll pay you back,” she said when they shoved the bags in the back.

  “Don’t worry about it.” It was worth ten times what he’d paid to watch her wander the store and discover things. She’d bought a sweater that hung to her knees, a scarf that looked like it would go with nothing, socks for both her and Parker, and those ugly yellow rubber boots.

  She leaned near and kissed his cheek. “I will pay you back someday, Yancy.”

  She surprised him by being a very good driver, though she did like to go fast. He didn’t mind. He sat close enough to put his arm around her shoulders, almost holding her.

  He was enjoying himself until a highway patrol car pulled them over.

  Yancy tried very hard to act normal. He pulled his driver’s license out and his proof of insurance. He even mentioned that Fifth Weathers was a friend of his, but the patrolman didn’t seem to know the deputy or care.

  When he asked Rabbit for her ID, she pulled out a small wallet from her jeans. In the lights of the dashboard he noticed all she seemed to have inside the wallet was her driver’s license and a ticket stub. She hadn’t lied about not carrying any money.

  “I’m just giving you a warning, miss,” the officer said as he shone his light in on her face.

  “Thank you. It won’t go on my record, will it? I’ve never had a ticket.”

  “No, miss.” The highway patrolman handed her back her ID. “You folks have a safe night,” he added as he disappeared into the night.

  Yancy wished the guy had said her name. He felt cheated. This cop, a stranger, knew her name and Yancy didn’t.

  When he looked up, she was watching him and he guessed she’d figured it out, because she whispered, “My friends call me Tori.”

  He nodded. “What about me? What do I call you?”

  “I’ve gotten used to Rabbit, but if you like you can call me Tori. I’m vacationing at a friend’s house and she joined me this mornin
g. That’s all I can tell you. The rest is all boring.”

  Yancy smiled. “That’s enough. I thought you were on the run.”

  “I am. I’m hiding out, on the run, lying low.”

  Yancy brushed her hair out of her face. “I’m very fond of outlaws. Especially ones who get excited about ugly yellow duck boots.”

  She drove the car back onto the highway and they talked about outlaws and the Old West as they drove.

  An hour after dark, they stopped and bought a dozen tacos. They drove down another dirt road and ate them while they watched the stars. Then they laughed as they both tried to remember how to get back to the main road. It took them half an hour, but neither seemed to care.

  It was after ten when he neared Crossroads. “I can take you home,” he said.

  They’d been listening to the radio and he wasn’t even sure she was awake. “Tori? Did you hear me?”

  “I heard. I just didn’t want the night to end.” She curled up against his arm. “I’ll walk home from your house, but you have to promise not to follow me. I can’t explain, but it’s very important no one knows where I’m staying.”

  They were back to playing the no-questions game. He wanted to tell her that she could trust him, but he couldn’t push.

  He pulled in beside the barn and cut the engine. “If that’s the way you want it.” He opened the car door and started to step out.

  “It’s the way it has to be,” she whispered and climbed into his lap.

  Her back was against the steering wheel and her front was pressed against his chest.

  Yancy smiled. “You can’t be very comfortable there, Rabbit.”

  Resting her head on his shoulder, she whispered, “I just want to be close to you. I don’t think I could ever be close enough to you, Yancy.”

  Suddenly the answers to his hundred questions didn’t matter. He just wanted to hold her. He slid the seat back a few inches and pulled her against him. He wanted to breathe her in, feel every part of her as close to him as skin.

  He wanted her to know how much she mattered to him. How he was falling in love with her. How she was changing the very core of him. But Yancy didn’t know the words to say.

  He just held her tightly.

  And the miracle of it all was that Tori seemed to be holding him just as tightly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Saffron sunset

  THE AFTERNOON TURNED sunny as Parker found herself napping on her own porch. It still seemed so odd to think of this as a real place, her place, when it had always been more like a house she saw briefly once but moved in only in her mind.

  Tori had vanished a few hours ago saying that she needed to walk and think about what to paint when the new supplies came in.

  Parker knew that artists needed their quiet time. She also knew what she had to do.

  She hadn’t thanked Clint Montgomery for picking her up and now it was time to ask him for another favor. He might not be friendly, but she didn’t think he was mad at her. If he had been, he wouldn’t have delivered doughnuts and socks. Of course, not being mad probably didn’t extend to talking to her any more than he had to or even doing her another favor.

  After putting on one of the two outfits she’d brought in her bag, a pair of leggings and an oversize silk shirt, she waited until late afternoon to cross to his place.

  The tennis shoes she’d brought weren’t really made for wilderness walking, but they’d be much better than heels. The road would have been the easiest way to go, but she’d be far less likely to be seen if she crossed the field. All she had to do was climb over one barbed-wire fence. She could see the roof of his place from her porch.

  Maneuvering across her land wasn’t difficult; it was like walking through a park. The tall grass served almost as a carpet. She loved the fresh, clean air and the sounds of nothing but nature. If it were any cooler it would have been jacket weather, but with the sun in her face, all seemed just right.

  Her knee hadn’t ached all day, but then, she hadn’t been walking the gallery in four-inch heels for hours. She’d been lying around like a fat house cat.

  Once she got to Clint’s land, it took her several minutes to find a break in the fence big enough for her to slip through between the wires.

  A barb managed to catch her across the back of her shoulder, cutting her as she twisted through. She couldn’t reach or see the cut in her shoulder, but it didn’t feel deep.

  Once on his property, it got far more complicated. Now she was on land that had been grazed, the ground was more uneven, far more muddy and was spotted with cow patties. She stepped in one while trying to avoid another.

  When she finally made it to his barn, her cowboy wasn’t even there.

  Great! Just empty corrals and overgrown peach trees by the back fence.

  His truck was parked out front of a low, mission-style home, so he couldn’t be far. If she waited long it would be nightfall, and she’d never make it home after dark. If she left, she’d just have to make the journey again tomorrow morning.

  Parker climbed up onto a wide porch that ran the front of the house. She was thinking maybe she’d just leave him a note. That should be enough. She’d say thank you and mention the supplies coming. He’d probably be happy not to have to bother to talk to her.

  Funny, she couldn’t think of exactly what he’d said during the drive from Dallas, but she remembered his touch. His arm had been strong and steady across her back as they’d run from the truck stop to his truck in the rain. He’d lifted her up as if she’d weighed nothing when he’d set her inside. His arm had rested over the blanket across her bent knees as she’d tucked her toes beneath his leg.

  His touch had been gentle even though his words were cold.

  She looked around, thinking that his home might help explain the man, but she saw few clues. The house was built flat to the ground and spread out, becoming almost part of the earth. She wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked. So, taking a deep breath, she decided to step in. After all, it wasn’t breaking and entering if you didn’t break anything coming in.

  The home was silent, with dust dancing in the slices of light coming from the windows. Not one color spoke to her as she looked around. Beiges, tans, pale blues, dull greens, all faded by time. The front room was still, lifeless, like a morgue. Like nothing lived there, not even the man she’d called “cowboy.”

  Blinking, she tried again to really see the room. Books were stacked everywhere. Mail piled high on a bar he obviously didn’t eat at. A small, boxy TV layered in dust. A desk that faced the wide windows that ran across the front of the house.

  Tugging off her shoes so she didn’t track mud into the cowboy’s home, she moved to the desk. Unlike the rest of the room, it was organized, but void of many personal belongings. It held a computer, a cup with pens and pencils stuffed inside. Folders, trade magazines, stock reports were scattered in no order, and there was an old rotary phone that looked like it had come from the ’60s and a stack of sun-faded notes with the initials CM in the corner.

  She picked up one sheet and turned it over, thinking about what a different life the cowboy lived compared with hers. She could never live in such a bland room, looking out a window that showed only farmland and blank sky. His world must be so insipid, so lifeless.

  She wanted to thank him, tell him about the shipment of supplies coming in and then leave. She didn’t belong in his world any more than he would fit in hers. Their even trying to be friends made about as much sense as a turtle and a roadrunner dating. They were too different.

  She heard a soft jingle, almost like a tiny wind chime, and looked up.

  Clint stood in the doorway, the late afternoon sun seeming to fight its way around him. He didn’t look any more friendly than he had before. Only now he was obviously dressed for work. Chaps, stain
ed and worn. Muddy boots. A thick chambray shirt and a wide, worn black Stetson.

  “Afternoon, lady,” he said as if they were passing on the sidewalk. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  “I was leaving you a note.” She held the piece of paper up as if it were evidence.

  He shifted, and she saw the rifle in his hand.

  Parker straightened slightly. “I suppose you shoot trespassers?”

  “Ones without shoes, I do.” He didn’t look like he was kidding.

  “I came to thank you. I wanted to tell you I gave your address for a shipment that should be arriving in a few days. I thought I should thank you for delivering the tea and the doughnuts. That was very thoughtful.”

  “That all you came to say?”

  “And the socks. That was nice, too.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

  He was making no effort to keep up a conversation. She almost felt the need to explain the rules to him. He’d talk. She’d talk. He’d... Oh, never mind.

  She walked toward him and let a breath out when he propped the rifle up by the door. “Well, I’ll be going now. Unless you have something to say, Mr. Montgomery. A short ‘you’re welcome’ would be nice or maybe ‘How you been?’ No, that might be too much like a conversation.”

  He just stared at her like she was a broken windup Christmas toy stuck on “Jingle Bells.”

  “It was nice seeing you again.” She was almost to the door. He needed to move one direction or the other so she could pass. “If you ever need anything just call on me. I owe you a favor now.” She was almost to his nose. “I’d best be getting along.”

  “There is one thing.” He watched her as if he thought she might jump suddenly in fright. “If you’ve no objection, I’d like to kiss you.”

  “Why?” The word was out before it passed her brain.

  “Just something I’ve been thinking about and I’d kind of like to get it out of my system. I’m forty-three.”

  Parker didn’t know if she was the cure or the disease. Or what his age had to do with anything. Maybe he was just picking up scraps of conversation trying to put a thought together.