One True Heart (6 page)

The little café on Twisted Creek had become so popular it was open all weekend. Monday the locals always ate what hadn't sold. On Saturdays and Sundays folks from town came out to eat and sat in the wooden chairs facing the lake to watch the sunset.

Drew liked Mondays the best, with locals dropping by to take potluck on a half-priced meal. The conversations were usually about fishing and weather, but Drew didn't care. He still craved normal.

After lunch, Jefferson asked Drew if he wanted to go fishing, but Drew had already made up his mind he'd be making the drive over to Harmony. “I've got to go to town and buy cookies and more books.”

Thirty minutes later when he backed Luke Morgan's Jeep onto the main road, cookies and books were not on his mind. It was time to see if Sleeping Beauty was awake.

Maybe he'd drive by the inn. Maybe he'd stop.

W
HEELER
F
ARM

Johnny Wheeler thought about his life all morning and decided his brother was right. He was the most boring man in the world.

That afternoon, while he was fixing irrigation pipe, Scarlet's lawyer served him with divorce papers and by sundown he'd come up with a plan to make her sorry she left him. After discarding several devious plots he thought might do the job, but end up with him serving time, Johnny settled on the perfect answer.

He'd do a home improvement project on himself. When she got back to town she'd be so sorry she'd left him she'd drop Max and beg to come back. Of course, he wouldn't take her back; he would break her heart, just like she broke his.

He dropped by the senior citizens' center, where his grandfather lived from breakfast to supper. Then, just before dark Pops would walk the half block to the garden home he'd bought when he handed over the farm to Johnny. Funny
thing was, after sixty years of working the farm, Pops retired and never asked a single question about how it was doing. Johnny asked his grandfather once if he'd like to drive out and see the land. The old man said he'd rather drop by the Dairy Queen. Evidently a hamburger meant more to him than the land he'd worked.

Johnny found Pops, but the eighty-year-old was playing poker for cheese balls and didn't want to visit. When Johnny ate a few of his winnings, Pops suggested he move on.

Walking over to the senior citizens' office, Johnny volunteered to help out with the dance lessons. There were always three or four times as many women as men, so he'd get lots of practice. He'd seen the parties they had and noticed some of the old girls could really dance. Lessons couldn't hurt, and they might help. Scarlet always complained about his two left feet.

Next, he drove a block over and joined the gym in town. He'd farmed since he was old enough to reach the gas pedal, but he guessed his muscles were probably in the wrong places.

When he circled Main, he decided to stop by the bookstore and read a few novels. That was bound to make him more interesting.

As usual, the bookstore was silent as a tomb. “Mr. Hatcher. It's John Wheeler,” he yelled, not wanting to frighten anyone lost in the stacks.

No answer. The old man who ran the place often left for meals without locking up, which was fine with Johnny. He'd rather look for a good book than be followed around the store with Mr. Hatcher giving him a synopsis of every hardback published since '53. That must have been the year Hatcher stepped out of the children's section and into the rest of the bookstore.

As he wandered toward the back, his head bumped against a sign hanging from the ceiling. K
ARE
C
UNNINGHAM.
P
ALM
READINGS—HALF PRICE
.
T
WO HANDS READ FOR
THE PRICE OF ONE.

A green door with funny little charms glued to the wood
was hidden in between the shelves of
National Geographic
. It was open just enough to be inviting.

Johnny had no idea why he fell off the sensible wagon at that moment, but he tapped on the green door.

“Come in,” a voice whispered.

He shoved with his foot, not sure he wanted to touch anything just in case he might catch crazy. “I . . .” That was all he said. His brain hadn't figured out the rest of the sentence.

“I know,” a black-haired young woman with a purple scarf banding her wild curls answered. “You want a reading. I could take time out from my studies to do a reading. I've been waiting for you, John.”

“You're good,” he said, amazed she knew his name already. Then he remembered he'd yelled it out five minutes before when he'd walked in. “I think I do want a reading.” He didn't believe in fortune-tellers, but the lady wasn't bad on the eyes in a space-case kind of way. She looked like someone who would dance in the midnight moonlight. Kind of like a blend of sixties hippie and Tinkerbell.

The room was small. The ceiling almost brushed the top of his head. Books lined the walls, but the area smelled of spices and incense. The woman was in her early twenties and, with her dark features, she looked like she'd be from somewhere far away but her voice was soft and almost southern.

“My name is Kare. You know, like empathy. Please sit down.” She pointed to a chair on the other side of a short table barely wide enough to hold one book. “I'll read your past and your future.”

“I know my past.” Johnny folded his big frame into a flimsy chair. “How about we just go for my future?”

She took his rough hand in her soft one and began to move her fingers over his palm. “You're very strong in mind and body.”

Johnny figured she was a fraud and said that to everyone. What kind of fool would argue with that diagnosis?

“You've loved deeply and passionately, but I fear true love hasn't found you yet.”

Maybe she was for real, he decided. There was something
in her touch that made him think of foreplay. He had no idea about the “loving deeply” part. Scarlet was the one love he'd had. They'd married the weekend after they'd discovered they both liked sangria. He'd thought they were waltzing through life and it turned out she was line dancing.

“You have trouble trusting,” the fairy named Kare said in her midnight voice.

She got that right. He watched her finger circling over his hand. Whatever she charged was worth it just to feel her light touch. He sure hoped she couldn't read his mind because his thoughts were definitely turning R-rated.

“You come from the land. You're a part of nature. A son of pioneers.”

He frowned, guessing that anyone who walked into this bookstore would probably be the same. “Tell me something I don't know.”

Her big brown eyes looked up at him and her whispered words brushed against his face.

“You are in great danger.”

He swore he felt a chill as her eyes looked above him as though a spirit of some kind were standing just behind him. Fear flickered in her beautiful eyes as she whispered, “You're about to be arrested.”

Johnny grinned and leaned back in the little chair. “You're going a little overboa—” He froze as his chair bumped into something behind him.

Turning slowly, Johnny saw first the boots, then tan trousers, then a starched shirt with a star above the pocket. “Afternoon, Deputy Gentry,” Johnny tried to sound friendly, but handcuffs were in the lawman's hand.

“Mr. Wheeler, I wonder if you wouldn't mind coming with me over to the office.”

Johnny stood still, staring at the handcuffs. “Are those necessary?” Once, he'd let Scarlet handcuff him in bed and it hadn't turned out well. He guessed this would have the same ending without the fun.

“They are, John,” Gentry said formally. “I'm arresting you on suspicion of murder.”

Johnny stood. This had to be some kind of bad joke. “What? Who am I supposed to have killed?”

Gentry clicked the first wrist. “Your wife.”

Before he could lock the second wrist, the fortune-teller fainted and both men had to work together to carry her out of the tiny room and get her water. When she finally came to, Gentry continued with the arresting.

M
ONDAY

W
INTER
'
S
I
NN

Millanie had spent Sunday sleeping. She felt like her mind needed to heal as much as her leg. She wasn't sure she was up to taking on an assignment, but Sergeant Hughes wouldn't take no for an answer, so after her breakfast on Monday, she stumbled out on the porch with her laptop and tried to get organized. Once her partner did show up, she planned to have a ton of work for him to do.

To her surprise, a little girl was sitting in one of the wicker chairs on the porch. She looked about ten and was winter pale even though wearing a summer dress.

“Hello.” Millanie smiled down at the child. “Nice to find someone else on the porch this morning.” She didn't miss the brace on the girl's thin leg. “Are you lost?”

The guest straightened, growing older as she faced Millanie without returning her smile. “I'm Saralynn Matheson, and though I'm small for my age, I'm twelve, so don't talk to me like I'm a kid, okay? My aunt told me to wait until
you finished breakfast and came out. She said you're crippled up like me.”

“I do have a broken leg and I would never treat someone who looks as intelligent as you like a child.” Millanie was out of her comfort zone. “I'm just not used to talking to children of any age.”

Saralynn leaned forward and relaxed as if silently accepting the apology. “I was born with my legs not working right, but my aunt says you got yours hurt while being a hero. She says you saved many lives by facing down a man with a bomb.”

Millanie figured it would have taken far longer than three days for word to get around that she was back in town. “Who is your aunt, Saralynn?”

“Sheriff Alex Matheson, but she was a McAllen like you before she married my uncle. She says you two are second cousins.”

Millanie took the other wicker chair on the porch. “That's right. I've only seen her once since we've been grown, but we are cousins.”

Saralynn rocked in her chair. “I thought so. The two of you look kind of alike. You both got the McAllen height. My grandmother Matheson says all McAllens look like they've been stretched. Does your leg hurt?”

“A little. How about yours?”

“A little.” Saralynn leaned forward and put her hand on the cast. “I know a secret that will help with the pain.”

“I'd appreciate any advice.” Millanie loved talking to this bright child.

“When it's bad and you've been pushing yourself, remember this story my uncle Hank told me. He said when he was little, several older boys were going to swim the lake. An old man with a boat agreed to follow them across. If one of the boys gave up and had to climb in the boat, the other boys would call him a baby. Hank said he couldn't swim all that well, but he didn't want to back down. About halfway across, every part of his body was hurting. He claimed his muscles turned to Jell-O. He went close to the boat knowing
that he'd have to be the first one to give up, but the old man said one thing that saved him from being marked as a baby.”

The child was a natural storyteller. She even waited for Millanie to ask, “What did he say?”

Saralynn hesitated, then added, “The old man said, ‘Just float.' Uncle Hank did for a while, until he was strong enough to go on. He didn't win the race, but he didn't quit.” She leaned back in the wicker chair, propped her foot up on the rocking footstool, and whispered, “How about we float for a while?”

Millanie tossed an old quilt over them both even though the air was warm. After a few minutes she whispered to the little sage, “Good idea.”

When the sheriff walked up an hour later, Millanie felt rested. She stood, hugged her cousin, and said good-bye to Saralynn.

As the girl headed to the car, Alex lowered her voice and leaned in close to Millanie. “She's a real joy, isn't she?”

Millanie watched the child limp to the car while Alex continued, “She wanted to come over here after her piano lesson this morning to talk to you. I told her it would be a while before I could pick her up, but she said she had plenty to do.”

“She did.” Millanie waved at the girl. “She taught me to float.”

They talked for a few more minutes, promised to have lunch soon, and exchanged e-mails. Each knew they could count on the other; they didn't need to say the words.

With the air still and the heat of the day still not weighing down on everything yet, Millanie decided to lean back in her chair and float some more. She woke once about teatime and ate everything Mrs. Biggs brought on a tray, then worked on her laptop a few hours before leaning back in the chair and floating again. All the days and nights she'd been in too much pain to sleep seemed to be catching up to her.

The shadows were long when she heard a Jeep pull into the drive. For a few minutes she didn't move, just watched Drew Cunningham walking toward her. He had his hands in his
pockets, his head down, his strides long. A man thinking as he walked, unaware of his surroundings, she decided. A man so different from all the fighters and schemers she'd known.

He was almost to the steps before he looked up and saw her. He slowed. Hesitated. Looked unsure of what he was about to do. She almost laughed. Stepping on Martha Q's porch wasn't exactly charting new worlds.

“Evening, Millie,” he finally said in his low, educated voice.

“Evening, Dr. Cunningham.” She had no doubt that he'd learned more about her, just as she had about him in the three days since he'd brought her here. “You coming to check in, or check up on me?” The gossip was that he'd traveled and lectured for a few years all over the world before finally settling here to write a textbook. One of Martha Q's friends said he taught a class over in Clifton Creek, but no one knew or seemed to care what the class was about.

Millanie had looked him up online. He had a great credit rating, rented his place, and apparently owned no car in his name. If he weren't so harmless looking she would have put him on her list of people to watch, this man who left no footprints of where he'd been.

His intelligent gaze took in her loose cotton slacks and casual shirt. “You look like you should be on a yacht somewhere. Quite a change from the
Little House on the Prairie
look.”

“These were the only pants long and wide enough to fit over my cast. That seems to be my one rule of fashion these days.” She didn't miss the approval in his gaze. Maybe the outfit didn't look as bad as she thought it did. She hadn't been out of uniform long enough to feel comfortable in anything else. The hospital nurses had cut off one leg of her trousers so she could walk out of the hospital.

He climbed the first two steps. “In answer to your question, I'm here to take you out for a drink, if you'll join me.”

“Martha Q called you?”

“Of course.”

His bottom lip twitched at the corner and she knew he lied. The man was an open book.

She decided she wouldn't know him long enough to bother making him call her by her proper name. Shortening names seemed to be a habit in the South.

Leaning closer, he added, “Martha Q can't have the wounded hero of Harmony sitting on her porch all day and night; it's bad for business. I agreed to kidnap you.”

Millanie filed away another fact. Drew Cunningham was a very poor liar.

She found that intriguing, but the hunger pains she couldn't seem to get rid of answered his question. “I'll go, if any kind of food comes with the drink. Just let me comb my hair and grab my purse.”

“You won't need a purse. I'll buy, and your hair looks perfect. We're eating on the deck of Buffalo's Bar and Grill. You know the place? Even the cockroaches know how to two-step.”

“No. I was underage when I left town.”

“It's a joint where oilfield workers and cowhands stop by for a beer before they clean up. All food comes in a plastic basket with ketchup and jalapeños on the side. I've heard they've got a new cook and have expanded the menu to include sweet potato fries and hush puppies.”

She grinned. “In that case, I'm ready. What do they have for dessert?”

He offered his hand and pulled her gently out of the rocker. When his arm went around her waist she felt the familiar nearness of him. That sense of being safe returned, even though reason told her, even with a cast, if trouble came she'd probably be the one to get them out of it.

“Fried apple pies. Trust me, you'll love them.”

When he winked, she laughed.

She'd never been around anyone like him. He was kind, sweet almost, caring for sure. All the men she'd known in the army were hard and well trained and thought foreplay was simply asking,
Your place or mine?
The man before her didn't look like he knew how to fire a weapon and probably didn't even play tennis to stay in shape, so why did she feel safe near him?

He helped her into the Jeep with no top and all the windows down. It smelled slightly of fish and looked like it had always been left out in the weather. As he climbed in the other side, she asked, “Did you trade in the van?”

“Nope. I have several vehicles I borrow. Haven't found one I want to own yet. This stays mostly at the lake, but I thought the night was so nice you'd like the breeze.”

The truth, she decided. It would have been easy for him to lie, but he'd admitted he didn't own a car. A fact she already knew and thought very strange.

“Oh, so this kidnapping was planned.” She fought down another giggle. “You premeditated abducting me off Martha Q's porch?”

“Of course. I'm organized. My plan is to take you for a windy ride, stuff you with all the bad fried food we can order, and bring you back here so I can kiss your socks off. That's it, but I'm open to suggestions.”

She wondered if he was kidding or if he'd thought of her as much as she'd thought of him.
Not my type
, she reminded herself, but the memory of their shared kiss wouldn't leave her mind. Maybe now, in recovery, in transition, this gentle man was exactly what she needed.

He was right about the drive. Even on a still day in Texas the wind blew. By the time they made the few blocks to the bar, her hair was a mess. She usually wore it shorter, but since the accident she hadn't given her hair or makeup much thought. Now the chocolate-brown strands covered her eyes if she didn't push them away.

When he came around to her side of the Jeep to help her out, he lightly touched her hair as if he couldn't help himself. “I like your curls. My sister's got curly black hair, but she wears her hair long.”

“Your fortune-telling sister?”

He nodded. “You remember. Maybe you weren't as out of it as I thought. Yes, that's her. I have one sister that I know of and, to tell the truth, she's about all I can handle.”

Millanie read what he didn't say. “When did you find out about her?”

He studied her as if surprised she'd read between the lines. “I learned of her existence a few years ago. Apparently, she found me on the Internet. We share the same father, but I'm ten years older than her. Our father left me before I had memories of him, which is probably for the best because he's always calling her just to bug her. She claims if there was an eight hundred number for Dial-A-Lecture it would be his home phone.”

Millanie logged facts about him in her brain. Drew was so normal. Normal people always tell more than needed. People who have something to hide just deliver what they feel they have to. A few drinks and she'd know every detail of this boring man's life. She'd bet that when he had traveled the world he'd stayed at American hotels, eaten American food, and never ventured too far off the campus where he lectured.

Drew helped her to a chair on the deck before going in to order their food from a little takeout window on the side of the building. She liked sitting out on the porch watching people heading into the bar. Most were near her age, but she felt so much older. Something about being on her own early made her grow up fast.

When he brought back two beers, Drew sat across from her and stretched his long legs out on the chair next to her. Surprisingly, he didn't seem to want to talk, he just wanted to stare at her. She considered the possibility that he'd had very few dates.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with him, but women want a man with a touch of danger or an ounce of style. He was too easygoing, too laid-back. The only thing really interesting about the man was the way he kissed, and she couldn't see that as enough to hold a date together, much less a relationship.

After several minutes of silence, he said casually, “We could swap life stories, talk about our college days and what we hate about our jobs, but how about we skip that part of the conversation?”

Millanie was shocked. If this was some kind of line, she'd
misjudged the shy professor. “All right,” she said. “What do we talk about? Politics, movies, the weather?”