then roared past—eager to escape. She knew the feeling.
I’m staying to finish my recovery. Of course I haven’t met another woman. A few weeks won’t matter.
She didn’t believe Gray. Something was keeping him here. Without her. She needed to find out what it was.
Last night, she’d met a local from Fiddler in the hotel bar. Kate Fletcher had filled her in on the two places in Fiddler that were hiring—the truck stop or the diner—and the best way to get hired at both. Shelby had immediately ruled out the diner, since it was in town. She couldn’t run into Gray when she wasn’t expecting it. The truck stop was her only chance.
Rifling through the drugstore sack, she laid everything out on the passenger seat. The best disguises were simple. She wiped off her makeup and pinned her hair into a tight knot on the top of her head. Then she dropped Visine in her eyes. Staring into the mirror stuck to the visor of the crappiest rental car she’d been able to find, she watched as wet tracks snaked down her face. Real tears formed as the burn reddened her eyelids.
She pulled a tissue from a travel pack and wadded it in her hand. Then she dropped saline in her nose.
Slipping through the door of the truck stop, she let every muscle sag as she perched on a stool at the counter. At least the place was clean. And Kate had said lots of locals came out here for weekend breakfast. There would still be town gossip to glean.
“Hi, welcome to Rick’s. I’m Rick.” A smile coated the man’s words, but she didn’t dare look. Defeated women never looked people in the eye.
“I’m Elaine Thomas.” She sniffed loudly and shuffled the tissue to her other hand. “I’m here about the waitress job.”
Thirty minutes later, Rick Marcus had fallen all over himself to help abused wife “Elaine” by paying her under the table. An additional crying jag and cash payment had gotten her out of providing identification when she’d rented a room at the roadside motel. Her dilapidated rental car was dwarfed in a lot full of tractor-trailers.
She’d go get a manicure tomorrow at the only place in town. Beauty shops were another gossip source, and Gray wouldn’t be caught dead in one.
This was just like winning on the shooting range or setting the record on the obstacle course. Practice, discipline and determination would pay off. She’d have to move fast, though.
Those spots in the DC office wouldn’t stay open for long.
They’d leave the memories of Chicago behind, and Gray would come around. All it would take would be one case, and he’d be bitten by the bug. He’d get back to what he’d been—a combination of confidence, ambition and sex appeal.
He wasn’t himself right now. The shooting had shaken his confidence, and therapy was screwing with his head. He needed her help, whether he’d admit it or not. All she had to do was get him out of Idaho.
Chapter Nine
On Saturday night, Gray stood in the doorway of the country club ballroom, his head spinning from the enormity of the job ahead of him. Behind him, a too-serious matron reiterated the rules of dancing, bidding and winning a date to yet another bachelor.
Gray did his best to ignore it. He was not a bachelor, at least not in this sense of the word. He wasn’t here to dance. He wasn’t here to win. He was only here to keep an eye on Maggie.
The melee of last-minute preparations faded, leaving white tablecloths bathed in dim light and a dance floor lit as the central attraction. The back of the room was too dark, there were too many exits and all the tux-clad men looked the same. Faces would be visible when they were dancing, but the bright light was disorienting on its own. It would be worse when they added music and movement.
Skirting several groups, he made his way to Nate’s waiting friends, returning Tiffany’s gleeful wave and Charlene’s slow, wry smile. Faith hugged him as the guys returned with drinks.
“You’re going to be glad this isn’t
I’m staying to finish my recovery. Of course I haven’t met another woman. A few weeks won’t matter.
She didn’t believe Gray. Something was keeping him here. Without her. She needed to find out what it was.
Last night, she’d met a local from Fiddler in the hotel bar. Kate Fletcher had filled her in on the two places in Fiddler that were hiring—the truck stop or the diner—and the best way to get hired at both. Shelby had immediately ruled out the diner, since it was in town. She couldn’t run into Gray when she wasn’t expecting it. The truck stop was her only chance.
Rifling through the drugstore sack, she laid everything out on the passenger seat. The best disguises were simple. She wiped off her makeup and pinned her hair into a tight knot on the top of her head. Then she dropped Visine in her eyes. Staring into the mirror stuck to the visor of the crappiest rental car she’d been able to find, she watched as wet tracks snaked down her face. Real tears formed as the burn reddened her eyelids.
She pulled a tissue from a travel pack and wadded it in her hand. Then she dropped saline in her nose.
Slipping through the door of the truck stop, she let every muscle sag as she perched on a stool at the counter. At least the place was clean. And Kate had said lots of locals came out here for weekend breakfast. There would still be town gossip to glean.
“Hi, welcome to Rick’s. I’m Rick.” A smile coated the man’s words, but she didn’t dare look. Defeated women never looked people in the eye.
“I’m Elaine Thomas.” She sniffed loudly and shuffled the tissue to her other hand. “I’m here about the waitress job.”
Thirty minutes later, Rick Marcus had fallen all over himself to help abused wife “Elaine” by paying her under the table. An additional crying jag and cash payment had gotten her out of providing identification when she’d rented a room at the roadside motel. Her dilapidated rental car was dwarfed in a lot full of tractor-trailers.
She’d go get a manicure tomorrow at the only place in town. Beauty shops were another gossip source, and Gray wouldn’t be caught dead in one.
This was just like winning on the shooting range or setting the record on the obstacle course. Practice, discipline and determination would pay off. She’d have to move fast, though.
Those spots in the DC office wouldn’t stay open for long.
They’d leave the memories of Chicago behind, and Gray would come around. All it would take would be one case, and he’d be bitten by the bug. He’d get back to what he’d been—a combination of confidence, ambition and sex appeal.
He wasn’t himself right now. The shooting had shaken his confidence, and therapy was screwing with his head. He needed her help, whether he’d admit it or not. All she had to do was get him out of Idaho.
Chapter Nine
On Saturday night, Gray stood in the doorway of the country club ballroom, his head spinning from the enormity of the job ahead of him. Behind him, a too-serious matron reiterated the rules of dancing, bidding and winning a date to yet another bachelor.
Gray did his best to ignore it. He was not a bachelor, at least not in this sense of the word. He wasn’t here to dance. He wasn’t here to win. He was only here to keep an eye on Maggie.
The melee of last-minute preparations faded, leaving white tablecloths bathed in dim light and a dance floor lit as the central attraction. The back of the room was too dark, there were too many exits and all the tux-clad men looked the same. Faces would be visible when they were dancing, but the bright light was disorienting on its own. It would be worse when they added music and movement.
Skirting several groups, he made his way to Nate’s waiting friends, returning Tiffany’s gleeful wave and Charlene’s slow, wry smile. Faith hugged him as the guys returned with drinks.
“You’re going to be glad this isn’t
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