She turned to find Maggie standing in the dim light, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”
Maggie ignored the question and, instead, glared at Grady. “What are you doing to my mommy?” she demanded.
CHAPTER 4
SUNDAY MORNING WAS THE ONE DAY of the week Jane Dickinson—Dr. Jane Dickinson, she reminded herself—could sleep in. Yet it was barely six and she was wide awake. Tossing aside the sheet, she threw on her robe and wandered barefoot into the kitchen.
“Texas,” she muttered. Who would’ve believed when she signed up for this that she’d end up in the great state of Texas? The hill country was about as far as anyone could get from the bustling activity of Los Angeles.
Jane had tried to make a go of life in small-town America, but she was completely and utterly miserable. In three months she hadn’t managed to make a single friend. Sure, there were lots of acquaintances, but no real friends. Never in her life had she missed her friends and family more, and all because of money. She’d entered into this agreement with the federal government in order to reduce her debts—three years in Promise, Texas, and some of her medical-school loans would be forgiven.
Maybe she should just admit she’d made a mistake, pack her bags and hightail it out of this godforsaken town. But even as the thought entered her mind, Jane realized that wasn’t what she wanted. What she wanted was to find some way to connect with these people, to become part of this tight-knit community.
The residents of Promise seemed willing enough to acknowledge that she was a competent physician specializing in family practice. But they came to see her only when they absolutely had to—for prescription renewals, a bad cough or sprain that couldn’t be treated at home. Jane’s one major fault was that she wasn’t Dr. Cummings. The man had retired in his seventies after serving the community for nearly fifty years. The people of Promise knew and trusted him. She, on the other hand, was considered an outsider and, worse, some kind of Valley Girl or frivolous surfer type.
Despite her up-to-the-moment expertise, she had yet to gain the community’s confidence. Everything she’d done to prove herself to the people of Promise had been a miserable failure.
Rejection wasn’t something Jane was accustomed to dealing with. It left her feeling frustrated and helpless. In medical school, whenever she felt over whelmed and emotionally confused, she’d gone jogging. It had always helped clear her thoughts, helped her gain perspective. But she hadn’t hit the streets even once since she’d come here. With a new sense of resolve, she began to search for her running shoes, re minding herself that she was the one who’d agreed to work in a small community. She was determined to stick it out, even if it killed her.
Dressed in bright yellow nylon running shorts and a matching tank top, she started out at an easy nine-minute-mile pace. She jogged from her living quarters next to the health clinic down the tree-lined streets of Promise. The community itself wasn’t so bad. Actually it was a pretty little town with traditional values and interesting people. Ranchers mostly. Down-to-earth folk, hardworking, family-oriented. That was what made her situation so difficult to understand. The people were friendly and welcoming, it seemed, to everyone but her.
Jane turned the corner onto Maple Street. At the post office she took another turn and headed up Main. A couple of cars were parked in front of the bowling alley, which kept the longest hours in town; it was open twenty-four hours on Saturdays and Sundays. It wasn’t the bowling that lured folks at all hours, but the café, which served good solid meals and great coffee at 1970s prices.
Jane’s feet pounded the pavement and sweat rolled down the sides of her face. She’d barely gone a mile and already her body was suggesting that she hadn’t been exercising enough. She knew she’d ache later but didn’t care; she was already feeling more optimistic.
She rounded the corner off Main and onto Baxter, running past the antique store owned and operated by Dovie Boyd. Dovie lived in a brick home just around the corner. Despite the early hour, she was standing in the middle of her huge vegetable garden with her watering can in hand.
Jane had often admired the older woman’s lush garden. The pole beans were six feet high, the tomatoes bursting with ripeness and the zucchini abundant. Jane marveled at how one woman could possibly coax this much produce from a few plants.
“Morning,” Jane called.
Dovie smiled and raised her hand in response.
Jane continued down the street, full steam ahead. She’d gone perhaps twenty yards when she realized it’d happened to her again. She’d never been a quitter in her life and she wasn’t going to start now. She did an abrupt about-face and headed back.
Dovie looked surprised to see her.
Jane stopped and, breathing heavily, leaned forward and braced her hands on her knees. “Hello again,” she said when she’d caught her breath.
Without a pause Dovie continued watering. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful,” Jane agreed. Slowly she straightened and watched Dovie expertly weave her way through the garden, pausing now and again to finger a plant or pull a weed.
“Do you have a minute, Mrs. Boyd?” she asked, gathering her nerve. She rested her hands against the white picket fence.
Widening her eyes, Dovie turned. “What can I do for you, Dr. Dickinson?”
“First, I’d like it if you called me Jane.”
“Then Jane it is.”
The older woman’s tone was friendly, but Jane sensed the same reserve in her she’d felt in others.
“What am I doing wrong?” She hadn’t intended to blurt out the question like that, but couldn’t help herself.
“Wrong?” Dovie set the watering can aside.
“What’s wrong with me?” she amended.
“I don’t think anything’s wrong with you.” The other woman was clearly puzzled by the question. “What makes you assume such a thing?”
Attitudes were so difficult to describe. How could she explain how she felt without sounding snobbish or self-pitying? But she had to try.
“Why am I standing on this side of the fence while you’re on that side?” Jane asked as she paced the cement walkway. “Why do I have to be the one to greet others first? People don’t like me, and I want to know why.”
Dovie lifted one finger to her lips and frowned, apparently deep in thought. “You did greet me first, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but it isn’t only you. It’s everyone.” Jane paused, struggling with her composure. “I want to know why.”
“My goodness, I’m not sure. I never realized.” Dovie walked toward the short white gate and un latched it, swinging it open. “Come inside, dear, and we’ll sit down and reason this out.”
Now that Jane had made her point, it would have been rude and unfair to refuse, but to her embarrassment she discovered she was close to tears.
“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Dovie said and gestured toward the white wrought-iron patio set. “I’ll get a pot of tea brewing. I don’t know about you, but I tend to think more clearly if I have something hot to drink.”
“I… Thank you,” Jane said, feeling humble and grateful at once. The few moments Dovie was in the kitchen gave her time to collect herself.
Soon Dovie re appeared carrying a tray with a pot of steaming tea and two delicate china cups, as well as a plate of scones. She set it down on the table and poured the tea, handing Jane the first cup.
Jane felt a bit conspicuous in her tank top, sipping tea from a Spode cup, but she was too thankful for Dovie’s kindness to worry about it.
“All right now,” Dovie said when she’d finished pouring. “Let’s talk.” She sat down and leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips. “Tell me some other things that have bothered you about Promise.”
Jane wasn’t sure where to start. “I have this…this sense that people don’t like me.”
“Nonsense,” Dovie countered. “We don’t know you well enough to like or dislike you.”
; “You’re right. No one knows me,” Jane murmured. “I need a friend,” she said with a shrug, offering the one solution that had come to her.
“We all need friends, but perhaps you need to make more of an effort to give people a chance to know you.”
“But I have tried to meet people,” she said in her own defense.
Dovie frowned. “Give me an example.”
Jane had a list of those. An inventory of failures cataloged from the day she’d first arrived. “The party for Richard Weston,” she said. It was the first social event she’d attended in the area. Richard had been warm and friendly, stopping her on the street and issuing a personal invitation. Jane had been excited about it, had even told her family she was attending the party. But when she got there, she’d ended up standing around by herself. The evening had been uncomfortable from the start.
As the new doctor in town Jane appeared to be a topic of speculation and curiosity. The short news paper article published about her earlier in the week had added to the attention she’d garnered. People stared at her, a few had greeted her, asked her a question or two, then drifted away. Richard had been the star of his own party, and the one time he’d noticed her, she was sure he’d for got ten who she was. For a while she’d wandered around, feeling awkward and out of place. Mostly she’d felt like a party crasher and left soon after she’d arrived.
“You were there, weren’t you?” Dovie murmured with a thoughtful look.
“Yes.” Not that it’d done Jane any good.
“You came in a suit and high heels, as I recall,” Dovie added.
“I realized as soon as I arrived the suit was a mistake,” Jane said. At the time she’d felt it was important to maintain a professional image. She was new in town and attempting to make a good impression.
“And then jeans and a cotton top to the Grange dance.”
“I didn’t realize it was a more formal affair.” She hadn’t lasted long there, either. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” Jane confessed. She’d come over dressed for one event and under-dressed for the other. “But,” she said hopelessly, “I had no way of knowing.”
Dovie nodded, silently encouraging her to continue.
“I showed up for the Willie Nelson Fourth of July picnic, too, but no one bothered to tell me Willie Nelson wouldn’t be there.” That had been a major disappointment, as well.
Dovie giggled and shook her head. “The town council’s invited him nine years running, and he’s politely declined every year, but we’ve never let a little thing like that stand in our way. This is Willie Nelson country!”
“Someone might have said something.” Jane didn’t take kindly to being the only one not in on the joke.
“That’s something you can only learn by living here. Next year, you’ll know.”
If I’m here that long, Jane thought.
“Another thing,” she said. “What’s all this about a ghost town?” Jane asked next.
Dovie’s expressive eyes narrowed. “Who told you there was a ghost town?”
Jane wondered at the swift change in her newfound friend. “I over heard two children talking. One of them mentioned it.”
“Don’t pay any attention to those rumors, understand?”
“Is there one?”
“That’s neither here nor there,” Dovie said, but not unkindly. “We have other more important matters to discuss.”
“Such as?”
Dovie’s head came back. “You.” Her face was set, her voice firm. “You’re right, you do need a friend.”
“Are you volunteering to take me under your wing?” Jane asked and hoped Dovie understood how very grateful she’d be.
“I’m too old.” Dovie’s response was fast. “I’m thinking of someone more your age.” She tapped her index finger against her chin. “You and Ellie Frasier would get along like gang busters. Unfortunately Ellie’s busy getting ready for her wedding just now, so you’ll need to be patient.”
“Oh.” Jane’s voice was small.
“Until then, you and I have our work cut out for us.”
Jane frowned, not sure she understood. “What work?”
Dovie’s expression told Jane she’d over looked the obvious. “We need to find out what’s wrong with everyone in this town. I’ve decided there’s nothing wrong with you, Dr. Jane. It’s everyone else, and I’m determined to find out what.”
“ALL THE COMFORTS of home,” Richard Weston said out loud. He stood in the middle of the dirt road that ran through the ghost town. “Bitter End, Texas,” he continued, “population one.” He laughed then, the sound echoing down the long dusty street littered with sage brush and rock.
Hitching his thumbs in the waist band of his jeans, he sauntered down the dirt road as if he owned it, and for all intents and purposes, he did.
For the time being Bitter End was his home. He was proud of the good job he’d done carving out a comfortable place for himself. He figured he’d be stuck here for a while. How long wasn’t clear yet. A man on the run didn’t have a lot of alternatives.
Everything was about to catch up with him. His brother already knew he hadn’t paid that old coot Max Jordan, and he wasn’t going to be able to hide all the other charges he’d made, either. Although Grady’s business account had sure come in handy. But he’d stretched his luck to the max in Promise.
Time to move on. Hide again, only no one would ever think to look for him here. He was as safe as a babe cuddled in his mother’s loving arms. Richard had a sixth sense about when to walk away. He’d come to trust his instincts; they were what had kept him out of prison this long.
Richard kicked the toe of his snake skin boot into the hard dry ground. He’d arrived in Promise penniless, miserable and afraid to glance over his shoulder for fear the law—or worse—was hot on his tail. He’d decided to head back to Promise on the spur of the moment, when he awoke one morning and found himself outside El Paso without money or transportation. Hitch hiking, he made his way to the central part of the state.
Luck had blessed him all his life. He hadn’t been back long before he discovered Savannah had visited Bitter End. As soon as his older sister mentioned the ghost town, he’d known what to do.
Little by little Richard had managed to squirrel away supplies, making the trek so often he no longer lost his way. Each day he managed to take something from the ranch or buy supplies on ranch credit. In the beginning it was little things, items not easily missed. Seldom-used equipment no one would notice was gone. Gradually he’d worked in the larger pricier necessities. He’d been clever about it, too.
Still congratulating himself, Richard walked up the old wooden steps to the board walk. He sat down in the rocking chair he’d discovered in one of the buildings and surveyed the town. His domain.
He’d been born under a lucky star, Richard told himself, and its shine hadn’t faded. He marveled anew at the crafty way he’d charged much of what he needed. Grady didn’t have a clue, either. Richard would charge something nonsensical like tractor parts to Grady’s account, knowing no one would think to question that. Later, making sure it wasn’t the same sales clerk, he’d return the part and use the credit to purchase what he really needed. In the weeks since his return he’d accumulated all the comforts of home, and the best part was that it had been at his brother’s expense.
“Oh, yes, I’m going to be real comfortable now,” he said, grinning broadly. Tucking his hands behind his head, he leaned back. “Thanks, Grady,” he said with a snicker.
Slowly his smile faded. None of this hiding out would be necessary if the situation with Ellie Frasier had worked out differently. It would have been easy to let that sweet young thing soothe away his worries, but his hopes had died a humiliating death, thanks to Glen Patterson.
Why any woman would choose some cowboy over him was beyond Richard. Clearly Ellie had no taste. In the beginning he’d been drawn to the inheritance her daddy had left her, figuring he’d talk her into marrying him, get his hands on t
he money and then skip town.
As time progressed and he came to know Ellie, he’d actually found himself thinking about sticking around and making a go of life in Promise. Money in the right places would put an end to his current troubles. For a while he’d toyed with the idea of getting involved in local politics. Promise could use a mayor like him, not some hick but a man with an eye to the future. Then maybe for once he’d be able to stay out of trouble, make a new life for himself. Start over. But un fortunately it hadn’t panned out.
Standing, Richard glanced at his watch. He hadn’t moved here yet, so he had to be conscious of the time. Although his sister and brother hadn’t said much, they were aware of his absences, and he didn’t want to arouse their suspicions.
Richard headed to where he’d parked the pickup. After several failed attempts, he’d found a new way into the town, one that didn’t necessitate a long walk.
The wind whistled behind him, a low plaintive cry that sent shivers down his spine.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he said. Naturally there’d been talk about ghosts in Bitter End. The one time he’d brought Ellie with him, she’d been squirming out of her skin in her eagerness to leave. She claimed it was a feeling she had, a sense of oppression. His sister had said she, too, could feel something weird in the old town.
Yeah, right.
Not Richard, at least not until that very moment. The wind in creased in velocity, whistling as he walked away, his back to the main street.
“I don’t hear anything, I don’t feel anything,” he said aloud, more in an effort to hear the words than to convince himself.
The sensation, or whatever the hell it was, didn’t dissipate until he was safe inside his brother’s dilapidated truck. With the doors locked Richard relaxed, suspecting he’d viewed one too many episodes of Tales from the Crypt.
As he drove off, another thought entered his mind.
Caroline Daniels.
He had no real interest in her himself, but he could have her and he knew it. His brother was sweet on Caroline; that was easy to guess, just from the way Grady looked at her. It might be rotten of him, Richard thought with a grin, but he sure did love to play the spoil sport.