Remember to Forget (18 page)

His Amy.

That all-too-familiar ache lodged in his chest.

He climbed into the pickup and revved the engine. Why was he letting himself get tangled up in this woman’s life? Dusk was setting in. He flipped on his headlights and closed his eyes. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something special—precious, even—about Meg Anders. Some connection they shared.

But how could that be? Meg would be gone tomorrow.

A
cloud of dust followed Trevor’s pickup westward. Maggie stopped running and stood in the street, watching the dust settle. Against her better judgment she’d tried to catch him before he drove away from the inn. But either Trevor hadn’t seen her in his rearview mirror, or he’d decided he wanted nothing more to do with her. A heavy melancholy settled over her. Something even deeper than the sadness and hurt she’d felt when Kevin gashed her with critical, bitter words or that too-familiar look of disdain. Why did she care so much what this stranger thought of her? Why was there such an emptiness in her chest watching him drive away?

“Meg?”

She turned to see Wren standing in the doorway.

“Is everything all right? Where did Trevor go?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Did something happen between you two?”

Did
something? Maggie didn’t know. It was crazy. She barely knew him, yet she felt the rift between them as if they’d once belonged to each other and something had torn them apart.

“I was kind of rude to him. I think he was just trying to be friendly and—” She shook her head, not able to understand it herself, let alone explain it to Wren.

Wren came out on the sidewalk and put a hand on Maggie’s back, rubbing feather-light circles in the space between her shoulder blades. The simple act offered a comfort and warmth Maggie hadn’t felt since she was a little girl being coaxed to sleep by her mother’s tender hand.

“Why don’t you come inside? Eat some pie. We’ll talk.”

Maggie smiled. Pie seemed to be Wren’s solution to everything. Well, it couldn’t hurt, could it?

Bart had disappeared, but the dirty dishes were stacked on the panel of plywood that served as a temporary countertop during the remodeling. Wren poured coffee and dished up generous slices of strawberry pie. They carried their plates to the table and sat across from each other, eating and sipping in silence for a few minutes.

“I don’t know what happened between you and Trevor at dinner, honey, but whatever it was, don’t let your feelings be hurt. Trevor . . . well, he’s hurting and sometimes doesn’t quite know what to do with his pain. Once in a while it spills out on other people. He doesn’t mean it to be that way. It just is.”

Wren’s words took Maggie by surprise. “I didn’t realize—”

“Of course not. He doesn’t talk about it. Keeps it locked up inside. It’d be better if he’d let someone share his pain.”

“What happened . . . if it’s all right for me to ask?”

“He lost his wife and little boy a couple of years ago—in a car accident.”

A little gasp escaped Maggie’s throat at the horror of it. She rested her fork on the edge of her plate, her appetite gone.

“I know.” Wren’s head bobbed in sympathy. “It’s been tough. Real tough.”

“He was checking out kids’ books at the library earlier today. Said he reads to the day-care kids. Does he have other children?”

“No. He lost his only child—his son. He lost everything that day.” Wren stared past Maggie, her eyes glazed with old sorrow.

Maggie tried to remember what she’d said to him at the library. Some stupid joke about doing community service. She winced.

“I think reading to the day-care kids is Trevor’s way of working out his grief. I sometimes wonder if it’s the wisest thing.” Wren set her cup in the saucer, and the tinkling filled the quiet room. “It can’t be easy being around kids who are just the age his little boy would have been. But maybe it helps.”

Wren didn’t really seem to be fishing, but it was hard to miss the woman’s motherly affection for Trevor. Perhaps an explanation would set Wren’s mind at ease.

“He offered to take me to the bus station tomorrow. I-I didn’t know about—you know.” She hung her head. “I thought he was flirting with me or something. I was pretty rude to him.”

“Trevor was flirting with you?”

Maggie shook her head. “I probably imagined it. I’m so stupid—”

“Oh, honey, I hope he
was
flirting with you. That would make me one happy woman.”

Maggie took another sip of her now lukewarm coffee, not knowing how to respond.

Wren didn’t seem to notice. She went on, her words gathering steam. “It’s about time he came out of mourning. Maybe it just took a pretty
girl like you to bring him around. Nothing would make me happier than for Trevor Ashlock to find a sweet girl like you and fall head over heels.” That faraway look came to her eyes again.

Maggie studied Wren’s expression. Was there more that the older woman wasn’t telling?

Feeling suddenly uneasy with the conversation, Maggie pushed away from the table. Leaving her coffee and the last bite of pie, she murmured an excuse and practically sprinted down the hall to her room.

She closed the door behind her, her breath coming in uneven gasps. She had to get out of this place. Everything was getting too confusing.

As awkward as it would be, she would take Trevor up on his offer and leave tomorrow. First thing. Before she was in so deep there was no getting out.

A small voice seemed to whisper inside her that he was different. Did she dare hope it were so?

Chapter Twenty-One

I
’ll wait to make sure you get your ticket okay.” Trevor shifted the pickup into park in front of the convenience store that served as a bus terminal. He cut the engine and jumped out of the truck before Maggie could stop him.

She jogged after him as he strode toward the building. “You don’t need to stay.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. Just till we make sure you can get a ticket.”

“Please, I’m a grown woman. I’m perfectly capable of purchasing my own bus ticket.”

“Yes, but are you capable of keeping track of your luggage?” He eyed the canvas bag slung over her shoulder, and a slow grin lit his face.

Wren had given Maggie the bag this morning—packed with sandwiches, fruit, and enough food for at least two days—along
with two freshly laundered outfits. But she knew Trevor’s comment didn’t refer to this new “luggage.” He was talking about the bags she’d supposedly lost when the bus left without her. She looked down at the rummage-sale castoffs she was wearing. Everything she now owned had been given to her in sympathy—mostly for stories that weren’t even true. A phrase spooled through her mind:
ill-gotten gain.

“It wasn’t my fault my luggage got lost.” Guilt made her bite out the words more harshly than she intended.

“I never said it was.”

“You implied it.”

“No, you inferred that I implied it.”

She rolled her eyes. “A woman needs a dictionary to have a conversation with you.”

He grinned like he’d won some prize.

“What?” she barked.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Listen. I appreciate all your help—I really do—but please go now. I feel bad enough that you had to take off work to get me here.”

“There’s nothing at work that won’t still be there when I get back. Besides, it’s Saturday. I usually work a short day anyway.”

“Please, Trevor. I’ll be fine.” Frustration colored her words. She walked toward the station, hoping he’d give it up.

But he dogged her steps. “Sorry. I wasn’t raised that way.”

She kept walking. “What are you talking about?”

“My dad raised me to be a gentleman, and I intend to make sure you get safely on that bus. Besides”—he flashed a goofy grin—“Bart will give me what for if I don’t.”

“Fine.” She ignored him and headed for the ticket counter, praying he would stay back far enough that he wouldn’t hear the transaction.

She got in line behind a burly man in a Hells Angels jacket. When he turned to leave, he looked her up and down and wolf-whistled just loud
enough for her to hear. She glanced back to see if Trevor had noticed the exchange. He watched intently from the edge of a booth bench and visibly relaxed when the bearded man left the building.

“May I help you?” The impatience in the clerk’s voice told Maggie she’d asked the question more than once.

She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I’d like to buy a bus ticket.”

The woman stared at her for an overlong second. “Your destination?”

She stole a glance over her shoulder. Trevor had settled in the booth with his elbows propped on the table, raking his hands through his hair.

“What’s the next stop west?”

“That would be Hays.”

“Hays?”

“Hays, Kansas.”

“Oh . . . still in Kansas? How far is that?”

“The bus leaves at 4:25 this afternoon and arrives at approximately 6:00 p.m.”

“How much is that?”

“A ticket to Hays is twenty-seven dollars.”

She studied a route map behind the counter. Hays was only a couple of inches from Salina. At this rate, she’d never make it past the state line. “What’s the next stop after that? Does that bus go on to Colorado?”

“Yes, Greyhound has service to Colorado.” The clerk’s voice rose a few decibels.

Maggie hiked Wren’s canvas bag up on her shoulder and reached into her pocket to finger the ever-thinning roll of bills. “What’s the farthest I could get on fifty dollars?”

The woman typed something on the keyboard and waited for the screen to change. “You could get to Denver for seventy-seven dollars.”

“I don’t have that much. Is there anyplace else a little cheaper?”

“Meg?”

She winced at Trevor’s deep voice directly behind her.

“Is everything okay? Do you need some money?”

She gave the clerk a long-suffering look. “Excuse me. Sorry.” She wheeled to face Trevor. “I’m fine. I said you didn’t have to wait.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay? I heard you ask—”

She turned back to the clerk. “I’m sorry. Hang on . . .” She stepped out of line to let two elderly women go ahead of her.

“I thought you were going back to California.” His tone was even, but his eyes challenged her.

“I am.”

“Then why are you trying to buy a ticket to Denver?”

“Denver is on the way home.” Why was she explaining herself to this man? She didn’t owe him any explanations.

“Come here, Meg.” He motioned toward the door of the convenience store.

“What?” She kept her feet planted.

“Would you please come here for a minute? I want to talk to you.”

Huffing out her frustration in a ragged breath, she trudged after him. He held the door for her, and she stepped outside. The sun was already hot and wavering off the asphalt parking lot. Exhaustion came over her like a gust of hot wind. She wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the soft bed at Wren’s Nest and burrow there until she figured out the rest of her life.

She followed Trevor across the lot where a row of cars had lined up next to his pickup. Just then the sun caught a familiar flash of white, and Maggie recognized a Honda Civic parked at the end of the row. It took a minute for the significance of the vehicle to register.