Читать книгу Cowboy Courage - Judy Duarte - Страница 9

Gray storm clouds loomed overhead as Lauren Taylor peered through the bug-splattered windshield, trying to spot a place to eat, somewhere she wouldn’t be recognized. A place where she could slip in, blend into the scenery and hide.

The darkened sky hid the afternoon sun and chilled the air. For the first time since yesterday, Lauren felt the need to slow her aimless pace and find shelter. She glanced at the gas gauge. Although she had nearly a quarter tank, she decided not to risk being stranded along the road.

Texas had never been her destination. When she’d sped away from the Southern California estate she and Daniel had just leased, she hadn’t been steering toward any place in particular. Heading east on Interstate 10 had seemed as good a direction as any on her trek to nowhere.

She’d never had a hint of a flight plan, but as she crossed the New Mexico border into Texas, a strange but soothing realization had struck. Lauren was going home—home to the state where she’d been born and raised in love, as well as poverty. Where she’d also been orphaned and left to the wolves, so to speak.

Lauren stole a glance in the mirror, in spite of a reluctance to do so. After more than thirty hours without sleep and nearly twenty on the road, she had no doubt that her appearance was far from the usual neat and fastidious image she had always conveyed.

An image, a facade, an act. Funny how she’d never realized it until now.

She sighed, deciding to freshen up once she stopped. A bulging canvas tote rested on the back seat, packed with cosmetics and personal items intended for a trip to the gym she’d never made. Usually, when she’d felt angry or stressed, a good workout did wonders. But yesterday afternoon, nothing would have eased the devastating shock resulting from the telephone conversation she’d overheard.

She’d never meant to eavesdrop, but when she’d heard the sensual tone of a familiar female voice, and then Daniel’s husky whisper, she couldn’t hang up.

I miss you, Daniel.

I miss you, too, baby. When can I see you again?

This evening, if you can get away. Michael will be in surgery all afternoon, and you know how fussy he is about staying at the hospital until his patients leave the recovery room.

I’ll tell Lauren I have to meet with campaign supporters.

I can’t believe she never questions you.

Don’t worry about her. She’ll be a perfect wife.

Lauren’s head had pounded, and her throat constricted. She’d held the phone to her ear until well after Daniel and Denise had hung up, her fingers clutching the cold receiver in a death grip until she heard water run in the upstairs shower.

And that’s when she’d felt the urge to break something, to throw a temper tantrum that would make a spoiled rich child proud.

The roar of a semi barreling down the interstate drew Lauren back to the present, and a rumble in her stomach reminded her why she needed to stop.

Up ahead, she spotted a rundown gas station, the kind she’d seen in old black-and-white movies. A red, restored Chevy pickup parked in front of one of the old pumps added to the nostalgic ambiance.

Lauren clicked on the blinker and checked the rearview mirror before swerving onto the unpaved parking lot. Gravel crunched under her tires and dirt swirled like the first stirrings of the tornado that landed Dorothy in Oz. When the dust settled, she adjusted her sunglasses and surveyed the 1950s surroundings.

Cole McAdams placed the nozzle of the gasoline pump into the tank of his ’53 Chevy, then crossed his arms and leaned against the vintage truck. A white, late-model Ford Expedition pulled in beside him, and he watched a tall, willowy blonde emerge.

Model-thin, with a sophisticated air, she wore tight-fitting jeans that hugged narrow hips. A big brass clip held her golden hair in a twist. Dark glasses hid her eyes.

A classy lady. And definitely out of place in a small Texas town like Tannen.

When she disappeared into the filling-station office, Cole turned his attention to her sports utility vehicle.

Nice set of wheels, and fully loaded, no doubt. He glanced at the out-of-state plates. California. That didn’t surprise him.

Cole replaced the pump and twisted the cap back on his tank. The wind hit the brim of his Stetson, and he adjusted the hat more securely on his head. The rain wasn’t far off and, most likely, would turn into a gully washer. A flash flood warning was in effect, and if the sky was any indication, the boys down at the weather station had called it right.

He reached for the door handle, just as the blonde stepped from the building, opening a road map while she walked. Yep, definitely out of place. And probably lost.

She studied the unfolded sheet while making her way toward the Expedition. A gust of wind caught the paper from her hand and, like a kite out of control, the map flew from her grasp.

Cole wasn’t sure why he went to her aid. He didn’t harbor any unusual sense of gallantry, but the poor thing looked on the verge of tears. He snagged the wayward map and returned it to her.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and caressing.

Where was she headed? Where had she been? He quickly dismissed the curiosity. What did he care? She was a stranger, for Pete’s sake. And on her way down the road. Yet he couldn’t help but offer some minor assistance. “Need directions?”

It seemed like a dumb question, even to Cole and, for some crazy reason, he hoped she didn’t think he was a backwoods cowboy. She looked carefully at him, albeit through dark lenses.

Assessing his trustworthiness, Cole assumed. Still, he wondered about her, too. Like what color eyes those sunglasses hid. And what secrets those eyes held inside.

“Where’s the nearest hotel?” she asked.

Hotel? In this town? He stifled a laugh. “Up the interstate about twenty miles you’ll find a few cheap motels.”

She nodded as though one of those roadside places would suffice, but he doubted she’d ever experienced anything that wasn’t expensive. Her appearance and bearing gave evidence of a wealthy lifestyle. She offered another smile that produced only a single dimple. A man could look forward to making her smile, just to see it.

He chastised himself. This woman was none of his business, nor his concern. He had enough problems of his own, and he sure as hell didn’t need to be thinking about her in any manner other than sending her on her way.

She started toward her vehicle, then paused and turned back to him. “Is there a restaurant nearby?”

He nodded, not sure whether she’d consider the Long Shot a restaurant. “There’s a little hole-in-the-wall just down the road. The atmosphere is lousy, and it’s more of a bar than a diner, but the food is good. Otherwise, you won’t find anything else for the next twenty miles or so.”

“Thanks.” She flashed him another one-dimpled smile and filled her tank.

Cole stood beside his truck and watched until she drove off. Hell, he almost wished he could have done more for her. Then he slowly shook his head and climbed into his truck.

There wasn’t a damn thing Cole McAdams could offer a woman like her.

After pulling onto the highway, Lauren began to search the roadside, trying to find the restaurant the man at the gas station had told her about. She really wasn’t particular. Not today.

Up ahead, a pink neon sign flickered on and off, proclaiming that the Long Shot Bar & Grill had Dang Good Food.

In front of the wood-slatted building, a worn-out Plymouth rested between two pickups, one red and the other a calico combination of rust, turquoise blue and primer gray. He’d called the place a hole-in-the-wall. And he was right. But what did she expect to find in the middle of nowhere?

When Lauren reached across the console for her purse, she discovered the edge of a large, yellow envelope nearly hidden between the seats. It must belong to Daniel. He’d used her car last. She withdrew the envelope and, when she noticed Denise’s flowery script on the front, her heart twisted.

Daniel, I’d rather these be in your records.

Lauren grimaced. Obviously, Daniel hadn’t expected her to trade cars so early, to arrive at the home they would soon share just as the phone rang. To pick up the downstairs telephone as he answered upstairs.

She fingered the sealed flap, flicking her thumb along the edge. She’d always had the utmost respect for a person’s privacy, but curiosity got the best of her. She wanted to know the contents, even if it caused her further pain. Of course, she’d have plenty of time to read while she ate.

Lauren slipped the envelope into her oversized gym bag and grabbed her purse. Slinging both straps, one bulky and wide, the other fashionable and narrow, over her shoulder, she slammed the car door, then strode to the entrance of the Long Shot.

The melodic sound of a steel guitar grew louder as she neared the front steps, and when she opened the door, a bell tinkled, alerting a short, stocky bartender and a gray-haired waitress of her arrival. Both eyed her briefly before returning their attention to a couple in the corner booth. Lauren couldn’t help but follow their gaze to an angry man clad in a white T-shirt and jeans and his sad-eyed female companion, but another grumble in her stomach quelled her curiosity as well as her awareness of the dingy room and the scent of stale tobacco.

Instead of a table, she chose a seat at the bar, next to a television with the volume turned down. The music from an old red-and-chrome jukebox filled the room.

“What’ll ya have?” the balding bartender asked, his hooded eyes still glued to the corner booth.

“Ice tea,” she answered. “And a menu, please.”

“Sure.” The bartender furrowed his brow, all the while staring at the couple. He reached beneath the counter and slapped a worn, food-stained menu in front of Lauren.

“Damn it, Kerri-Leigh,” a gruff male voice bellowed, loud and belligerent. “Don’t go tellin’ me what to do. I’m not ready to leave.” Then he hollered at the bartender. “Ben, bring me another beer.”

Unable to help herself, Lauren stole another look at the couple. She studied the woman with the stringy blond hair. Young, was her first observation. Nervous, her second.

“I’m not trying to rush you, Brady,” the woman named Kerri-Leigh said. “I’m just tired. I worked the night shift and I need some sleep.”

When Lauren gazed back at the menu, her sunglasses slipped down the bridge of her nose. Well, no wonder it was so dark in here. But even after she removed the tinted glasses, the Long Shot remained unlit and dingy.

“I’ll have a tuna salad,” she told the bartender, not wanting to take the time to read the menu. He nodded, his attention on neither her nor her order.

She sensed danger. Trouble, like the storm that threatened outside. Maybe she should order a sandwich to go, but before she could speak, the bartender turned to a phone against the wall.

He dialed, then paused. When he spoke, his voice was hushed. “Cole, it’s me. Brady’s in here with your sister again. He’s plenty drunk and gettin’ himself worked up. You told me to call you next time.”

Ben nodded his balding head. “Okay, but you’d better hurry. Last time he jerked her into his truck and drove off before I got the chance to call you.” He nodded again. “No problem. I don’t cotton to men gettin’ rough with women.”

Great, Lauren thought. There was going to be a fight of some kind. Well, she wasn’t about to let herself get involved in a public brawl in a honky-tonk that was more of a bar than a diner. She didn’t need the excitement or the danger. “Excuse me,” she told the bartender. “I’ve changed my mind. Make my order a tuna sandwich—to go.”

Ben glanced at the corner booth, then back to her. “Sure thing. That’s probably a good idea.”

When he gazed behind Lauren, she looked over her shoulder and spotted the teary-eyed woman following an arrow that pointed toward the rest room. Not much of a reprieve, Lauren thought. She didn’t want to think about the hard life of the woman who’d made only a temporary escape. Or her own short-term bout of avoidance.

She returned her attention to the television. National news, the caption read. When the camera zoomed in on the parklike yard of the home she and Daniel had intended to share, her mouth dropped. The words were hard to hear over the beat of a country love song blaring in the background, but she strained her ears just the same.

“Lauren Taylor…fiancée…State Senate candidate, Daniel Walker…disappeared…FBI called in…. kidnapping…wealthy socialite.”

Lauren gripped the countertop, knuckles white and aching. Kidnapped? She’d run away, for goodness sake. Hadn’t Daniel realized the shattered Waterford vase and upended table were evidence of her hasty but temperamental goodbye? And surely he’d seen the engagement ring she’d thrown across the room. The rock-sized diamond had bounced along the Spanish-tiled floor and rested in a pool of water, glistening amidst shards of crystal and scattered red roses.

She had the urge to call, to straighten things out but, deep inside, something bruised and vulnerable put her first inclination to rest.

Choices. It was all about having choices, a luxury Lauren never allowed herself. But things were going to change. Lauren Taylor didn’t want to go back. Not now, maybe not ever.

She slipped on her sunglasses, fumbled for her bags, then glanced around the diner. Who else had seen the news broadcast? Maybe no one, but she wouldn’t take the chance. The rest room. She’d slip in there for a while, maybe until her lunch was ready. Then she’d take off—although she had no idea where.

Lauren walked with long, quick strides, then entered the ladies’ room and paused as the door swung closed behind her. The woman named Kerri-Leigh was trying to wiggle through a narrow window. “I don’t think you’re going to fit.”

Kerri-Leigh stopped struggling and slid to the tiled floor. She faced Lauren, her eyes wide and filled with tears. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

Lauren’s heart went out to the young woman whose life appeared to be in worse turmoil than her own. “I don’t blame you. Can I help?”

“Not without getting your teeth jarred. Brady gets downright ornery when he’s mad.” The young woman leaned against the baby-blue-painted cubicle. “My brother warned me. He said those court-ordered anger management classes wouldn’t help a hardheaded man like Brady, but I disagreed.”

“They didn’t help?”

“Things were better for a while, especially after he quit drinking and went back to AA.” Kerri-Leigh nodded toward the door. “But you heard him yelling at me. And you probably saw him drinking.” She ran her hands along the tops of her arms as though chilled. “You know, it’s gotten to where I can feel a beating coming.”

“So you were going to run away.”

Kerri-Leigh eyed her with a pained intensity. “He won’t let me walk out the front door. I can’t think of a better way, can you?”

“I overheard the bartender call a man named Cole. I think he’s on his way.”

Kerri-Leigh slumped against the wall and rolled her eyes. “Oh, no.”

“You don’t look too happy about that.”

“I’m not.” Kerri-Leigh sighed heavily. “Don’t get me wrong. My brother is the greatest guy who ever lived. He has a rock-hard sense of right and wrong, especially when it comes to the way people treat each other.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Lauren asked. She could think of a few people she wished were so honorable.

“The last time Brady laid a hand on me, Cole swore he’d kill him if he touched me again.” Kerri-Leigh glanced up, worry etched on her face. “Believe me, Cole will tear into Brady if he thinks I’m in trouble. And then, all heck will break out.” She looked back at Lauren, as though beseeching her to understand. “My brother can’t get involved. And if the police come…” She shook her head and reexamined the small overhead window. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

Lauren couldn’t comprehend the brutal life this woman had lived, but God knew she understood the desire to run away, to escape. They both needed to slip out undetected. But how? She bit her bottom lip, then a wild idea came to mind. “How badly do you want to leave?”

“You have no idea.” Kerri-Leigh blew out a heavy sigh, then glanced at the small window. “But it’s impossible.”

Lauren placed an arm around Kerri-Leigh, and drew the stringy-haired blonde to the smudged, bathroom mirror. They stood side by side and stared into the cloudy glass. “What do you see?”

Kerri-Leigh shrugged. “Two women.”

“Two women who could never pass as twins, granted. But with a little work, a bit of makeup and imagination, we just might be able to pass long enough for you to reach the front door.”

Kerri-Leigh shook her head. “Brady might be drunk, but he’s not blind.”

“We won’t let him see your face.” Lauren placed her gym bag on the countertop, then dug inside for her brush, disregarding the yellow envelope she hadn’t taken time to open. “With your hair pulled up and my sunglasses on…”

“It’ll never work.”

“I’m taller, but…” Lauren continued to comb Kerri-Leigh’s yellow-blond hair, noting the shorter woman didn’t pull away.

“And much thinner,” Kerri-Leigh said. “Heck, you look like a New York fashion model and I’m—”

“In trouble,” Lauren reminded her. “Just listen to my plan.” Unclipping her own hair, Lauren shook out the strands. “I’ll wear your clothes, slip out of the bathroom and slide along the wall to the jukebox, my back to everyone in the diner. As I play around with the buttons, you walk out the door, head high.”

“And then run like hell?” Kerri-Leigh arched a brow, then shook her head. “I might want to leave Brady, but I’m not crazy. He’d chase me down in that big old Plymouth of his.”

For a moment, Lauren worried about the wisdom of getting involved, but she couldn’t stand by and let Kerri-Leigh be brutalized by that man. And as for loaning her car to a stranger, she should probably dump the vehicle anyway, especially if her kidnapping had made national news. She dug through her purse and withdrew her car keys and a pen. “I have a Ford Expedition outside.”

“Oh, I couldn’t take your car. How will you get home?”

Home? Lauren didn’t know where home was anymore. And she’d like to ditch the car for a few days, just until she was ready to surface. “Don’t worry about me,” she said with a sense of false bravado. She handed Kerri-Leigh the keys. “Leave my car at the nearest bus depot or train station. I’ll find it there. Do you have any money?”

“Only enough to get about ten miles down the road.” Kerri-Leigh’s shoulders slumped. “Not far enough to keep Brady away.”

Lauren reached into her wallet and withdrew a hundred-dollar bill. “Take this.” She watched a moral dilemma cross Kerri-Leigh’s face, but took the worried woman’s hand and pressed the bill in her palm. “I have plenty.”

“I’ll pay back every dime.”

“I know you will,” Lauren said, not caring whether she saw a penny of it. “But listen carefully. Stay off the interstate and don’t drive any farther than you have to.”

If Kerri-Leigh had any suspicions about Lauren’s reason for the instructions, she didn’t let on. “But what about you? How will you get out of here?”

“I’ll call a cab and get a hotel room in the nearest town.”

“You might have a heck of a time finding a cab that will come all the way out to Tannen.”

“Then I’ll hitch a ride,” Lauren lied, her voice sounding more confident than she felt. “Don’t worry about me.”

“My brother, Cole, will be here soon. He’ll take you anywhere you need to go, especially since you’ve helped me. He’s honorable about that sort of thing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Laurie said.

“All right,” Kerri-Leigh said as she began to unbutton her blouse. “Brady had just ordered another drink when I excused myself. Maybe he won’t notice at that.”

Within minutes, they exchanged clothing. Lauren did the best she could to pull Kerri-Leigh’s hair into a twist and clip the ends. A quick but thick application of red lipstick, followed by dark sunglasses made Kerri-Leigh appear older, wiser and certainly different.

While the smaller woman admired the makeover, Lauren ran her fingers through her own strands, knowing they’d never look as stringy as her new friend’s had. But then, she just needed to appear similar, at least from the backside, and only for a few minutes. She studied her reflection in the mirror, and a stranger wearing hot pink leggings and an oversized white shirt stared back at her. She garnered a smile. “Okay, let’s give it a try.”

As they stood before the door, Kerri-Leigh paused, then reached for Lauren’s hand. “You’ve been a real friend. And taken on more than most women would. I really appreciate this. What’s your name?”

Lauren opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. What was her name? Lauren? Not originally.

Her mother had called her Laurie. The nickname evoked vague memories of love and warmth. Lauren wondered if she might, at some level, try to tap into the person she should have been, instead of the polished, manipulated aristocrat who had tried to please everyone but herself. A woman who had the means to purchase anything her heart desired—except happiness. “Laurie,” she answered, hearing the sweet, simple sound for the first time in years.

Kerri-Leigh smiled. “I won’t forget you, Laurie. You’re a saint.”

A saint? Hardly, she thought. God knew she had tried, but it was never enough. She could still hear the crisp, nasal sound of Aunt Caroline’s voice. Laurie Smith is simply too plain, too common. You’re a Taylor now. You need a name that reflects money, culture and class. Lauren Taylor suits you much better.

And, according to Aunt Caroline, so had a liberal arts degree instead of pre-med.

And blond hair instead of brown.

As Kerri-Leigh reached for the doorknob, Lauren tapped her shoulder. “Wait. Before we go, where’s the nearest hair salon?”

“You mean beauty shop?”

Lauren nodded. “I’d like to have my hair dyed.”

Kerri-Leigh furrowed her brow. “Why? The color is perfect.”

A perfect color? It should be, at the rate she’d paid Jonathan to lighten it. “Thank you, but I want to darken it.”

“It’s cheaper to do it yourself.”

Cost had never been an issue. Jonathan was the best in Beverly Hills, where a simple shampoo and style cost well over a hundred dollars. “I feel more comfortable having a professional do it.”

Kerri-Leigh sighed. “In that case, I’d recommend Sandy at Carla’s Crazy Curl. It’s about five miles down the road on Main Street. Sandy just moved back to town and is trying to establish her clientele. But she’s the best hairstylist around.”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

Kerri-Leigh paused for a moment. “Yes, she’s a good friend.”

“Thanks for the advice. Sandy at Carla’s Crazy Curl. I’ll find it.”

As Kerri-Leigh held open the door, Lauren, or rather Laurie, slipped into the darkened interior of the Long Shot. Wiping her hands on the long white shirt she wore, she took a deep breath, then bellied up to the jukebox, dropped some coins into the slot, and randomly picked number B-16. As the sounds of a somebody-done-somebody-wrong song filled the room, Laurie was faced with a disconcerting, heart-pounding awareness. The first choice she’d made by listening to the whispers of her own heart might have been a big mistake.

The idea to switch places with a stranger had been utter foolishness.

Laurie crossed her fingers and glanced at the front door. She hoped Kerri-Leigh’s brother arrived soon.

And that he was as noble as the woman had implied.