country ballad. The place was deserted save for an attractive couple huddled in the end booth and a waitress seated at the Formica counter, engrossed in a paperback novel.
“Coffee?” the waitress asked without looking up from her book.
Sara would have loved some, but it was already late and she wanted to get to Violet’s as soon as possible. “I need to know how to get to—” she paused and read from the scrap of paper “—Harvester Lane in Pinto.”
The waitress lifted her head, her brows drawn tightly together. “You sure?”
Sara nodded, careful to keep her face turned subtly in profile. It was easier than letting the waitress see her bruises and then having to come up with an explanation.
“Hell of a long walk, and nothing on Harvester but the Mitchum place,” the waitress informed her on a sigh.
“Point me in the right direction and I’ll be on my way,” Sara urged. Out of habit, she glanced over her shoulder and scanned the street beyond the window. Seeing no sign of Hank Allen was reassuring.
Knowing she still feared him wasn’t. Especially when she noted the couple sharing coffee. The woman had her back to Sara but the man was facing in her direction. He was dark and handsome, and the way he reached out and patted his companion’s hand was telling. His action seemed to convey genuine compassion and kindness. Sara scoffed inwardly. Like she was an authority on men. Still, she lingered a minute on his thick, wavy brown hair and chocolate-colored eyes. His chiseled face was perfectly sculpted, right down to the slight cleft in his chin and a perfect dimple on his right cheek, which appeared when he flashed an understated smile. Sara knew she was exhausted if she was cataloguing a strange man’s assets.
“Being as it’s late,” the waitress’s voice intruded as she slipped behind the counter, “why don’t I give you a cup of coffee—it’s fresh—and point you in the direction of the boardinghouse.”
Sara read the bright white nameplate pinned to the woman’s tight blouse. “Thank you...Stella. But I really do need to be on my way.”
Stella’s dark eyes were probing as she hesitated, coffeepot in hand. Then, with an accepting shrug, she said, “Suit yourself. Go out the door, take a left and follow Main Street to the stop sign. Main runs right into FM 880. Harvester is on the right a few miles down. Just look for a lattice rose trellis. Can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” Sara muttered.
She left the Blue Moon Café and followed the simple directions. Simple, yes, easy, no. Everything in Texas was big, she determined as she continued to walk. Her small overnight bag felt as if it were filled with bricks and her feet weren’t too thrilled as she trudged down the dark road.
As soon as she passed the stop sign, she felt she had crossed some unseen border. There was a freshness in the crisp, cool night air. She could hear birds or some kind of critters scuttling in the underbrush as she walked through the virgin, ankle-high grass along the edge of the road. Occasionally a twig snapped beneath her foot or she would stumble on a rock. Her ribs ached and sleep deprivation was catching up with her. These were the longest miles she had ever walked. Violet would be a welcome sight.
Sara spotted the rose trellis up ahead. It had a strangely neglected look about it, even in the darkness. The roses were slowly being strangled by the hearty climbing weed overtaking the trellis.
But then, Violet was older, Sara told herself as she walked up a crushed-stone drive. Perhaps she wasn’t able to maintain the property any longer. Sara was already planning on weeding the rose bed and doing a little pruning when she reflexively ducked to the side and crouched down in the tall grass.
A car was coming.
Stifling the urge to cry out when her ribs protested, she clutched her bag close to her and listened. She saw the dual beams of headlights crawling along the main road. They were coming from the direction of town. Sara huddled lower in the grass, praying there were no snakes lurking nearby.
It seemed to take an eternity for the car to drive by the entrance to Violet’s ranch.
Sara needed a good few minutes before she had the courage to come out of hiding. “Get a grip!” she admonished herself. “It was probably the couple from the diner going home.” Unable to help herself, Sara started to create a scenario for the cute couple. What would it be like to have a real relationship with a man who looked like that!
She continued her musings as she headed toward the house. And then it happened.
With no time to run, she turned, dropping her bag to shield her eyes from the bright beams of the headlights that appeared out of nowhere before her. Her heart skipped several beats, making her chest feel as if it would explode. Fear replaced the blood flowing in her veins. This was her worst nightmare come true. She was in the middle of nowhere. Despite all her careful planning, she had provided her ex-husband with the perfect venue to kill her.
A spotlight clicked on from the driver’s side of the car. Sara could feel heat from the light as the car inched closer. Something didn’t seem right. Where had Hank Allen gotten a spotlight?
She was virtually blinded by the lights. An odd sense of calm washed over her. She ran the situation through her mind, remembering everything she had been taught in her self-defense course. Cooperation, she repeated like a mantra. Don’t antagonize him and don’t get into the car!
“Step up to the car, please, ma’am.”
Sara blinked at the unfamiliar male voice. She remained frozen in place.
“Texas State Police, ma’am. Step up to the front of the vehicle and place your palms on the hood.”
The disembodied voice was bellowing from a speaker. Sara was trying to grasp this sudden change in her situation when she heard a muffled curse as the car door opened.
“Lady,” an irritated young officer groused, “would you come on over here, please?”
“What?”
“Geez!” the young man groaned as he moved toward her. “What happened to you?”
“What?” Sara repeated.
He emerged from the spotlight, his gun belt jingling with each step he took. The faint smell of aftershave arrived a split second before the young officer. Tipping the brim of his uniform hat back slightly, he stared down at her face with a frown.
“You need medical attention, ma’am.”
Coming out of her fog, Sara gently shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”
“You aren’t fine,” he argued. “Who did this to you and what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”
“Visiting a friend,” Sara explained.
His brows crunched together. “I don’t think so,” he countered. “If you tell me the truth, I can help you.”
Sara didn’t want to tell him how many times she had heard that before. There was the marriage counselor who was going to help her. Then the doctor who was going to help her. And the divorce attorney. And the support group. And the college dean. And the judge who issued the restraining order.
“Thank you, but I’m fine,” she managed to reply as politely as possible.
“You aren’t fine,” he argued.
“My friend owns this place,” Sara explained.
He snorted. “Is that right?”
“Yes. I’m surprised she hasn’t come outside with all these lights shining.” Why hasn’t she? Sara wondered to herself.
“Is this friend Miss Violet?” the officer queried.
Sara nodded.
“She isn’t here.”
Sara felt her heart plummet. “Not here?”
“You