A Place Called Harmony, page 30
Millanie had limped her way down half a mile of crowded gates at DFW to find a clothing store. It sold the gaudiest Western clothes in Texas. Her choices had been jeans with rhinestone crosses on her butt or a gathered skirt that looked like it had been hanging around since the sixties. She chose the one that would go over her cast.
Looking down at her attire, she guessed her great-great-grandmother probably wore the same kind of outfit when she climbed off the covered wagon almost a hundred and fifty years ago to homestead. Patrick and Annie McAllen hadn’t been much more than kids when they’d helped found Harmony. Maybe that was why, no matter where she traveled, the little town would always be home.
She took a deep breath and smiled. Two more hours and she’d be able to rest.
By the time she made it downstairs to the baggage claim area, everyone else on her flight was long gone, and she’d sweated so much her black curly hair lay plastered as if it were a swim cap. Her army-issued duffle bag was circling on the carousel like a lonely drunk after last call.
I can do this, she set her mind. Grab the bag. Drag it the thirty feet to the car rental booth. Somehow she’d manage to get her right leg in the car and drive with her left.
The thought crossed her mind that she was an idiot for not calling Major Katherine Cummings or one of her dozen cousins in Harmony to come get her. But Millanie, as always, had to prove she could handle everything on her own. She’d been that way since she was nineteen and lost both her parents within a year.
Besides, the major had married the local funeral director and had a baby since they’d last seen each other and Millanie had no idea what her married name was. They weren’t really friends, just two soldiers who had a town in common. Millanie had listed Harmony as her hometown and Katherine had been going there when she retired.
And now I’m returning, Millanie thought. Something she figured she’d do after twenty or thirty years in the army, not after twelve. One stranger in a crowd outside an embassy one night had changed all her plans and ended her career. Nothing personal. She was just in the wrong place when he wanted to kill himself.
Correction, the wound had not only ended her career, but every plan she ever made. Now she had no direction, no life, no future, and no job she loved. She was simply drifting and any direction, even Harmony, Texas, seemed a good place to go.
As she reached down, trying to balance on one leg while she grabbed for the duffle bag, the strap of her purse slid forward, causing her to miss the handle.
“Damn,” she mumbled.
A laugh came from just behind her.
She straightened and turned slowly, shifting her weight to regain her balance. No matter the injury, she’d be ready to fight. Twelve years as a soldier didn’t wash away overnight.
As she’d been trained to do, she sized up the man standing a few feet away. Tall, lean, in his mid-thirties with hair too long to be stylish and intelligent eyes behind his dark-framed glasses. A teacher or an accountant by the way he dressed, unarmed, and single she’d guess. She relaxed and faked a smile.
“Sorry.” He waved his hands in front of him as if erasing his outburst. “I shouldn’t have laughed, but for a moment you looked like you were playing some kind of strange game people waste their money on at the county fair. Reaching for the impossible.”
“You hang out at a lot of county fairs?” she asked, thinking this guy didn’t look like he ever left the library, or study, or lab, or wherever geeks like him hung out. She could almost picture a tiny hoarder’s apartment with stacks of books serving as tables. He probably drove one of those little cars that could almost serve as a paperweight when it wasn’t puttering along.
“I hang around them all the time. Can’t stay away from the great fried food.” He was lying, of course. “How about I grab your bag when it comes around again as my apology?”
She nodded her thank-you, guessing he wouldn’t be able to lift her bag. But she wasn’t a captain in the army anymore; maybe she shouldn’t be so critical. She must simply look like a woman, poorly dressed and stranded in an airport. Maybe she’d play the role all the way to the rent-a-car counter. Then she’d say, “Thank you,” and he’d leave thinking he’d done his good deed for the day.
The bag circled and, to her surprise, he picked it up.
Without lowering her only luggage to the ground, he said, “Where you headed? I’ll carry it for you.”
She smiled, thinking this plan was too easy. “I’m headed to a bed-and-breakfast in a little town called Harmony, but that’s a little far for you to carry my bag. How about just dropping it at the car counter over there?”
They both started toward the far end of the terminal just as the light above the last car booth blinked twice and went out.
“Great,” Millanie muttered. “Now I’ll have to find a cab and stay the night here.”
The professor type next to her spoke. “You could ride with me. I’m heading that direction and would be happy to give you a lift.”
No was already on her lips, but when she looked at him she almost laughed. The man couldn’t look less like a serial killer. Odds were he’d be a safe driver who never traveled more than five miles over the speed limit. Her mother’s warning of not getting in cars with strangers surely didn’t apply to this geek.
When she didn’t answer, he must have felt the need to testify. “You’re in no danger, miss. I have a cabin out near Twisted Creek. It’s no trouble to drop you in Harmony on the way.” He didn’t seem to be trying to talk her into the ride, just stating facts.
“I wouldn’t mind paying for half the gas,” she offered.
“Oh, no. I’ll be happy for the company. A little conversation will keep me awake. I make this flight every month to visit my mother and the road seems endless when I’m driving alone.”
Now she knew she was safe. He’d been to visit his mother. How sweet. He’d have to live near Harmony if he knew about Twisted Creek, and everyone out there knew everyone else.
“I’ll hike out to the far parking lot and get my car. You wait here by the side door. I’ll be right back.” He shoved her duffle bag by the side entrance and disappeared.
She blinked. No one was around. She wasn’t even sure which way the professor type had gone. Between the pain in her leg and the lack of sleep, she might have drifted off while still on her feet, suspended like a fashion nightmare of a scarecrow between two crutches.
Moving through the side door, she welcomed the cool air of the panhandle plains night. Since she’d been injured, her life had gone completely to hell. The doctors patched her up, but she’d had no one she wanted to call for help. She could handle this part of the recovery on her own. Her one brother lived in New York and would have just complained that she should have listened to him and not joined the army in the first place. Or worse, he’d want her to come to New York.
Millanie needed peace, not people.
She stared up at the full moon, breathing deep relaxing breaths. In a few hours she’d be back to where she’d spent the first ten years of her life. The day before she’d turned eleven, her dad got transferred to Dallas. The family moved to a bigger house, had more money, but she’d never felt at home. Dallas was just where she lived for a while; Harmony would always be home. Harmony was a place where all the world seemed balanced, even if it was mostly just memories in her mind.
Out of the darkness behind the terminal building, Millanie heard movement and tried to focus her tired mind on reality.
The noise came again, muffled laughter, movement. Custodians taking a smoke break? Teenagers painting the outside of the building? Huge rats? She didn’t really care. All she wanted to do was get to the room she’d rented at the bed-and-breakfast and sleep for three days.
Then, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw them. Three men advancing in the tall dry grass. For a moment she was back on embassy guard duty. Listening. Standing ready. On alert.
Opening her eyes, and her ears, she took in her surroundings in the circles of light that she stood between. Amarillo, Texas. Not another country. Not a war.
Her vision adjusted. The three men were shadows now, crouched low, moving behind the bushes made from pampas grass. They were keeping off the sidewalk, but she could hear their every move.
She knew the moment they spotted her. Halted footsteps. Lowered voices.
The one in front straightened and slowed his pace. The other two followed. Now, the men who’d been creeping closer appeared to be simply walking toward her. They were young, loose-jointed probably due to drugs or too much alcohol.
“Hey, lady, that door still open?” the leader asked casually as if he couldn’t have easily guessed she’d just come out.
She nodded, her tired body feeling adrenaline begin to pump. All three wore old ball caps and dirty, baggy jeans low on their hips. Druggies, early twenties, probably armed but untrained. Her mind filed facts about each out of habit.
Only one came nearer and looked in the terminal. “No one’s around,” he whispered back to the others.
“Well, let’s grab it and go.” The second one moved closer, his whisper carrying easily on the wind.
Millanie kept her head down as if she were paying them no attention, but their planning drifted toward her in the midnight air.
“We could grab this woman’s purse,” one mumbled. “It’s probably got more cash in it than we’d get for that laptop Cherie left out.”
Millanie fought the urge to glance back and see which one of the car rental counters had a laptop sitting out. She’d bet it was the counter where the last light had blinked twice.
The leader took off his hat and scratched his head as if to stimulate his thinking. Then he nodded and they all three moved toward her.
“You waiting for somebody?” the leader shouted. “We could help you to your car, lady.”
She forced her body to relax as she shifted just enough that her purse slipped to the concrete at her feet. The bag followed. “I’m fine.” She finally turned her full attention to the pack. “You boys don’t want to do this.”
“What?” the talky one said, still edging closer. “We’re just offering to help a poor lady in distress. How about you let me carry that expensive-looking purse you just dropped? I don’t mind taking it off your hands.”
“Step away,” Millanie said with cold calmness. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
All three laughed and showed their teeth like wild dogs.
“Step away,” she repeated just as the leader jumped forward, bending to grab the bag at her feet.
A defensive reaction, trained into her muscles by practice and combat, fired her movements.
She swung her crutch, hitting the leader in the knee and sending him down hard on the concrete. When the second one advanced from the other side, planning to grip one of her arms, she let the other crutch fall against the building as she swung a chopping blow across his throat, sending him to the ground fighting to draw air.
The third man had crept forward, but hesitated when one of his friends gasped and the other began to cry as he whined that the bitch had broken his knee.
Millanie lifted her crutch as if it were a rifle and shoved it hard into the third man’s abdomen before he could react.
When he winced in pain, she said, “Pick up your friends and get out of here. I’m too tired to turn you three in, but if I ever see any of you again, you’ll be sorry.”
Holding his middle, the coward of the group, and probably the smartest, helped his friends limp away. Within seconds they were no more than whispered swear words in the darkness.
Millanie leaned against the building and closed her eyes as the sound of a car pulling around to the side of the building reached her tired senses. She remained still as the vehicle stopped and the driver jumped out.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” said the tall man from Twisted Creek. “Oh, you’ve dropped your crutch. You poor thing. Let me help you.”
His strong arm circled her waist as he helped her to a battered SUV. She made no protest as he settled her into the passenger seat, carefully lifting her broken leg and locking her seat belt. His hands were gentle, a caretaker’s hands as he spread a blanket over her and propped her cast up with a huge stuffed toy unicorn.
Of all the questions she could have asked this stranger, the only thing she could think of after he loaded her duffle bag in the back and climbed into the driver’s seat was, “You carry a unicorn in your van?”
“It’s my little sister’s. She still believes in them.”
Millanie knew she was safe. No man who carries around his sister’s toy could be a threat to her. “How old is your sister?” she asked as he pulled onto the highway.
“Twenty-three. She’s a fortune-teller at the bookstore in Harmony. For your own safety I’d advise you to avoid her.”
He continued but she was too far gone into sleep to think how strange his words sounded.
Chapter 2
As he drove through the night Drew Cunningham thought about how much he loved summers in Texas. Almost midnight and still not enough humidity in the air to allow a mosquito to spit.
He glanced over at Sleeping Beauty in the passenger seat. The lady in distress with her broken leg and tired eyes hadn’t said a word since she’d settled into his SUV. He could have raped and murdered her a half dozen times by now, or married her off to some guy in a commune so she could be his eighteenth wife. She already had the clothes for that career.
If he wasn’t such a nice guy, he could have robbed her, stolen her hundred-pound duffle bag, and rolled her off in a ditch somewhere. She was so sound asleep she probably wouldn’t wake up until day after tomorrow if it didn’t rain, and it never rained in Texas. Not this year.
And another thing, he mentally corrected himself. I’m not a nice guy.
Nice guys finish last. Nice guys never get the girl. His sister had been drilling that into his head every time she’d seen him for six months. Only, her lectures were a waste of time. Everyone out by the lake where he lived knew him and they all knew he was a nice guy. So, little hope of changing his image at thirty-four.
He went back to thinking about all the terrible things that could have happened to Sleeping Beauty if he hadn’t come along. By the time he saw the first lights of Harmony, Texas, he’d laid out a whole scenario of how the end of the world had hit while she slept and come morning she’d wake up to a town full of zombies and have no idea who to trust.
Drew frowned. Now he’d have to keep her safe and teach her all the facts on how to live among the undead. It wouldn’t be easy for her to run in the cast and, with those clothes, she might as well be waving a come-get-me flag at the monsters.
Drew tossed his glasses on the dash and studied her in the blinks of the passing streetlights. She was pretty: the down deep, no makeup kind of way few women are pretty. Smooth skin, dark hair, lips that would probably keep him awake tonight.
He couldn’t help but wonder why she’d come to Harmony, a crippled woman with no family to meet her. It wasn’t like this little town had healing springs or a world-class health spa. Harmony was barely on the map. If the world came to an end, the people around here would hardly notice.
Drew turned off Main. She’d said she was headed to a bed-and-breakfast and as far as he knew there was only one. The old place was run by the crazy woman who also thought she was in charge of the local writers’ club. The group had asked him to speak a few times. Martha Q Patterson made Drew think of stories about serial killers who only preyed on chubby little women who talked all the time. Rumor was she’d had seven husbands. Some said she killed off half by talking them to death.
He smiled. Martha Q had told him that he made her wish for “afternoon delights,” which made him even more frightened of her than he usually was of the fairer sex. He had a feeling she wasn’t kidding about the delights part, and she had a dozen rooms at her place where they could work out the details. Just driving down her street made him nervous.
He pulled in the Winter’s Inn drive just as the image of old Martha Q, wrapped in a sheet, hanging from her third-story window flashed in his mind. That sight would be a great opening to a thriller. Only, with her weight she’d be like Outlaw Jack Ketchum in the Old West, who’d gotten so fat on jail food while waiting for the hangman to arrive that the rope had snapped Jack’s head right off when the floor went out from under him. One of the not-so-romantic Western stories.
Drew shook off his imagination and tried to stay in reality—at least long enough to get Sleeping Beauty delivered.
The porch light at Winter’s Inn was burning bright. One-foot-high LED lights, made to look like daisies, lined both sides of the walk. Drew had the depressing impression he was delivering Hansel’s sister, Gretel, to the cottage in the woods. Maybe he should run up and ask if there was room at the inn before waking the beauty beside him.
As he stepped out of his van, Martha Q opened the door and waved at him just like the witch in the fairy tale must have done to the siblings.
Having no choice, he circled the car and opened the passenger door. There she was, dreaming away. Her midnight hair, her perfect complexion, her kissable mouth.
Without much thought, he leaned in and brushed her lips with his as he reached to unbuckle her seat belt.
She made a little sound in her sleep and he fought the urge to deepen the kiss.
“That you, Andrew Cunningham?” Martha Q yelled loud enough to awaken the block. “I didn’t know you’d be bringing my guest. When she called from London, I was sure she couldn’t be from around here even if her name is McAllen.” The round little lady had waddled halfway down the walk. “If she was kin to any McAllen, she’d be staying with them, I’d bet. Probably another one of them genealogy types tracing her roots.”
