she glanced around. “I forgot to get my pillow—I’ll sleep better with it. And the mosquito repellant. You’ll need my keys to the storage shed just in case you need to get in there for anything. And the reservation list. Where did I put it?”
Flustered, she would have rushed into her office, but Phoebe quickly stepped into her path. “I’ll take care of the reservation list—it’s around here somewhere. The keys to the shed are on the hook by the back door, and I already put the mosquito repellant in your bag. Here’s your pillow,” she said, stuffing it into her grandmother’s arms with a grin. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t have to tell her twice. Her beautiful wrinkled face alight with anticipation, Myrtle hurried out to greet her friends, while Phoebe trailed behind with her bag. Before her grandmother could think of something else to worry about, hugs and kisses were exchanged, her things were stowed in the Walkers’ new motor home, and Myrtle only had time to wave before Tom fired up the RV and pulled away from the curb. In the time it took to blink, the motor home had disappeared around the corner.
Another woman might have immediately felt lonely, but Phoebe didn’t have time. She had guests coming for the weekend. Her thoughts already jumping ahead to the elaborate breakfast she would serve them, she hurried into the house to check to see what staples Myrtle had the pantry stocked with. She had taken only one step into the kitchen when she stopped in surprise, a slow smile spreading across her face. Given the chance, she would have given her grandmother a bear hug if she could have reached her. Because there, on the table, was the old flour tin Myrtle kept her favorite recipes in, including the one for buttermilk biscuits she’d won with at the state fair. Armed with nothing more than that, Phoebe knew she could make the bed and breakfast a success. Now all she needed was a guest!
The thunderstorm descended on the Colorado Rockies like the wrath of God. One moment, Tayler Bishop was cruising through the mountain pass west of Liberty Hill, his thoughts on his father and everything he would say to him when he got the chance, and the next, a driving rain was pounding the windshield of his black Mercedes. Swearing, he jerked his attention back to his driving just as a fierce crosswind buffeted the car, but it was too late. He started to skid. Fighting the wheel and the wind, he didn’t realize he’d left the road until a pine tree appeared right in front of him. He didn’t even have time to hit the brakes before he slammed into it.
Dazed, he couldn’t have said how long he sat there in the dark as the storm raged around him. He held the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles white from the strain, and stared blankly at the air bag that had kept him from hitting the windshield. Overhead, lightning flashed like an exploding bomb, lighting up the night sky and outlining the pine tree that had stopped his car from careening down the mountain. In the dark, it looked as big as a barn.
He supposed he should have been thankful the damn thing hadn’t killed him. Then he forced open his jammed door and stepped out in the rain to get a good look at what the tree had done to his car. That’s when he started to swear. He was still swearing when a wrecker arrived fifteen minutes later in response to the call he’d made on his cell phone to his road service.
Dressed in a yellow rain slicker, the wrecker driver took one look at the situation and whistled softly. “You took quite a hit, buddy. Are you okay? Want me to call an ambulance?”
“No, I’m fine,” Taylor growled, disgusted, as he swept his dripping hair back from his face. “I had my mind on something else and didn’t notice the storm until it was too late.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” the other man advised. “You’re not the first person to take these mountains for granted. At least you were lucky enough to walk away. Where were you headed?”
“Liberty Hill,” he retorted. “The last highway sign said it was ten miles from here.”
The wrecker driver nodded. “If you’d made it through this last set of S-curves, you could have coasted the rest of the way without ever hitting the gas pedal.” Noting the California plates on Taylor’s car, he arched a brow in surprise. “It must be family bringing you to these parts because it sure ain’t business—there ain’t much in this neck of the woods. So who you visiting? I’ve been working a wrecker in this area for the past twenty years. Maybe I know them.”
Studying him through narrowed eyes, Taylor didn’t doubt that he probably knew Gus or had at least heard of him—which was why he had no intention of mentioning McBride’s name. He’d planned his revenge carefully and knew the importance of surprise. He’d keep his identity—and his reasons for coming to Liberty Hill—to himself, casually seek out McBride and earn his trust, then find a way to make him pay for abandoning his mother when she’d needed him most.
Even to himself, the plan sounded ruthless and diabolical, and he knew if his mother was looking down on him from heaven, she wouldn’t be pleased. However, he hoped she’d understand. This was something he had to do, and nothing and no one was getting in his way.
His expression grim, he looked the other man right in the eye and lied. “My cousin only moved here a couple of months ago, so I doubt that you know him. His name’s Christopher Deacon. He bought some land east of town and moved a trailer in.”
He didn’t know if someone had moved a new trailer in or not, but the wrecker driver apparently didn’t know either. Frowning, he said, “I don’t remember doing business with anyone named Deacon, but my memory’s not what it used to be. Since you got family here, and it’s so late, I can tow you to their place tonight. Then you can have your car taken to Aspen tomorrow. No one else in these parts has a Mercedes dealership.”
“Thanks for the offer, but Chris isn’t expecting me, so I’d rather not disturb him tonight. Just take me into town and drop the car off at a local garage. I’ll take care of everything in the morning.”
He spoke in a cool tone that warned the other man not to argue, and with a shrug, he gave in graciously. “Suit yourself. Just give me a few seconds to get her all hooked up, and we can go. You can wait in the truck, if you like. I imagine you’d like to get in out of the rain.”
Taylor generally had little patience for those who stated the obvious. When he was thoroughly soaked and his wet hair was dripping down his face, he had even less. Somehow, however, he managed to hang onto the manners his mother had taught him and curtly thanked the man before heading for the truck.
Unfortunately, his mood improved little as he watched the wrecker driver hook his car to the tow truck. Assessing the damage, he swore roundly. When he’d planned how he was going to track down his father and confront him, he’d thought he’d accounted for every possible contingency. He’d been wrong. It would be at least a week or longer before his car could be repaired—if the local garage could get the parts in that quickly!—which meant he’d have to get a rental. And he seriously doubted that there was anything available locally. He’d have to call Aspen or Denver and see about having one delivered, which would take time. He’d be lucky if could start looking for Gus by the middle of next week.
Thoroughly irritated, his mood only darkened as the tow-truck driver drove him into Liberty Hill and he got his first look at the town where his father lived. It was smaller than he’d thought, though he supposed some would call it quaint. Old-fashioned streetlights lined Main Street, illuminating homes that looked as if they belonged in an old Jimmy Stewart movie. Nearly every house had a porch, a flower garden, and a swing set in the yard. In the mood he was in, Taylor saw little to admire about it. He liked cities, not small towns that weren’t going anywhere. The rain had eased for the moment, but Liberty Hill’s wet streets were still deserted. And it was barely ten o’clock at night! If the powers that be could have, he was sure they’d have rolled up the sidewalks by now. The only business that was still open was an old-fashioned diner by the name of Ed’s.
“Here you go,” the tow-truck driver said as he unhitched his wrecked Mercedes in front of the town’s only garage and gave Taylor a receipt for his credit-card payment. “Curtis Dean owns the place—he’ll be in in the morning at six. He’s a good mechanic. You won’t find anyone who does better body work.” Suddenly frowning as he watched