Healing Trace by Debra Kayn Page A

the road down into the old business
district. At one time, the buildings were a work of popular architecture and
class but today, maybe because Trace was with her, they appeared run down and
half of them were vacant. She rubbed her forehead. The similarities between the
road where the little girl lived on at the reservation and the street she lived
on weren't lost on her.
    She
slowed down, and searched for an open parking spot along the curb. Finding one
in front of the bakery, where she lived upstairs in the one-bedroom apartment,
she pulled off the main road and shut off the engine.
    "What
are you doing?" Trace gazed out the window. "Sudden urge for a
donut?"
    "I'll
be right back." She exited the truck.
    He
wasn't the only one with secrets, and the way he was acting gave her no reason
to share anymore of her life than she already had. She ran down the alley to
the steps that led to the upstairs. Glad that he wouldn't be able to follow,
she slowed down and took the stairs at a normal pace.
    The
sweet, vanilla smell of donuts wafted out of the bakery downstairs. Her stomach
growled. She'd missed home. Although, she didn't have to worry about gaining
weight living out at the ranch the way she did buying the day-old pastries from
her landlord three times a week.
    Unlocking
the door to her apartment, she let herself in and scooped up the mail lying on
the floor. Shuffling through the stack, she groaned. The electric company had
sent the final notice while she'd been gone. She glanced at the clock radio.
The display was unlit. Crap.
    Unable
to do anything about the lack of electricity, she shoved the mail in a paper
bag to take back with her and relocked the front door. She descended the steps
slowly, putting off returning to the truck. It hurt to know Trace didn't care
enough about his daughter to see to her welfare. She'd expected more from him,
knowing how much he gave to the other guys and the people of his tribe.
    When
she got down to the street, Trace was standing outside the truck, leaning
against the fender.
    He
motioned with his hand. "Let's grab a bite."
    She
clutched the bag to her chest. "Here?"
    "Why
not?" He challenged her with his eyes.
    She
shrugged, and followed him inside the bakery. He plunked down at the nearest
table, and gave her a twenty-dollar bill. She raised her brow in question.
    "Whatever
you get, make sure it has chocolate on it," he said.
    She
tilted her head, studying him. "O…kay."
    Bruce
Cahill smiled at her from behind the counter. Besides being the owner of the
shop, he was also her landlord. She stood between Bruce and Trace's line of
vision, hoping Bruce wouldn't mention her living situation.
    "About
time you showed up." Bruce placed his elbows on the glass case and leaned
forward. "Where have you been, Joan? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you
and that sassy little sister of yours lately. I'd almost believe you skipped
out of town, except I did receive your rent payment this month."
    Joan
glanced behind her, before pointing at a row of donuts and holding up two
fingers. "I've got a new job, but it's temporary. I should be back in a
couple of weeks."
    "Is
Katie coming home too?" Bruce grabbed a napkin, and gathered the donuts.
"I miss her stopping by and entertaining me with all her stories."
    "Not
quite yet." She forced a smile. "I hope before too long. I miss
her."
    "I
bet you do." Bruce passed her the order, took her cash, and stepped over
to the register. "Your daddy doted on you girls. You've had a rough time
lately, and I worry about you both."
    "Thanks,
Bruce." She lifted her chin. "We'll be fine, once we get back
together."
    She
said her goodbye to Bruce and returned to the table. She handed Trace the two
chocolate éclairs. Trace handed her back one. Sitting across from him, she
tried desperately not to attack the donut in a raving fit to appease her
addiction. She moaned as the sugary treat hit her tongue.
    "You
do like donuts, don't you?" Trace leaned across the table and wiped