hadn’t been
away, I might have met her today in Bessie’s Diner. Right
off the bat . . .
The imminent prospect of coming face-to-face with her grandmother filled her with a strange mix of emotions—excitement, curiosity, and . . . reserve. Once she did meet Ada, she’d need to decide if she should tell the woman who she was—or if she should just keep her distance and eventually leave Thunder Creek as her mother apparently had years ago, never having reached out to make contact.
After I meet her, I’ll decide,
she told herself. Right now, with Ada away, all she could do was take things one step at a time.
Today she needed to buy groceries and toiletries and linens for the apartment. And she had to find a library.
She walked along Thunder Creek’s main street until she reached Lucy’s Grocery and Drugs, where she stocked up on crackers, peanut butter, Rice Krispies, and other essentials. While checking out, she asked the gangly young boy working the cash register where the nearest Wal-Mart might be found. “Casper,” he told her without hesitation.
“And is there a library in Thunder Creek?”
Sure, but it was only open three days a week—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
“How do I find it?” she asked as he handed over the second bag of her groceries.
“Uh, Miller Road, a quarter mile west of town, near the high school,” he mumbled, his gaze shifting to the two teenage girls in halter tops and shorts who’d just entered the store, giggling.
“Does it have a computer?”
“Yep. A computer and a printer. Wood and Tammie Morgan donated ’em both last year.”
She breathed an inward sigh of relief. She’d be able to get in touch with Ricky easily after all. Tomorrow was Wednesday—she’d go to the library and send him an e-mail. With any luck, he’d read it within a few days and let her know when he’d be coming to get the package.
Ever since she’d landed in Salt Lake City, a part of her had itched to rip open the package and see what was inside. But that impulse wasn’t nearly as powerful as the part of her that didn’t want to know. The part that hoped Ricky would show up and take it off her hands before she had to know—and deal with—whatever was inside— whatever had cost Archie his life.
She pushed away the unspoken worry in her mind— that something could have happened to Ricky already. That he hadn’t gotten away as she had. That there’d be no answer to her e-mail. And that he wasn’t coming for the package at all . . .
Those thoughts made her throat tighten and the muscles of her neck clench, but she did her best to ignore them and decided to concentrate on the positive.
Thunder Creek had a library. And a computer. And very friendly people. So far, so good.
She’d just take it one step at a time.
She was hugging both bags of groceries to her chest as she headed back to the gas station, when a red pickup cruising past suddenly braked against the curb and a lean, sandy-haired young cowboy wearing a broad smile, a green polo shirt, and worn jeans jumped out.
“Those bags look heavy. Can I give you a hand?”
He looked like he was in his early twenties, with hazel eyes, a lean jaw, and the fresh-off-the-range handsome-ness of a model in a Ralph Lauren ad.
“No thanks, I’m good.” She strolled past him without slowing her steps. “My car’s at the gas station, right over there—”
“All the way over there? Then, c’mon, let me help you.”
“I don’t think so.”
He was following her, his muscular arms spread wide. “I promise not to run off with your groceries. And if I do, we have a crackerjack sheriff here in Thunder Creek and he’ll get them back for you. You can give him my description.”
She had to laugh. He had a killer grin and a Western drawl and his words brought a reluctant smile to her lips.
Her arms
were
aching a bit. Oh hell, why not?
“All right, but I have your face memorized. If you hightail it out of town with my Rice Krispies,
away, I might have met her today in Bessie’s Diner. Right
off the bat . . .
The imminent prospect of coming face-to-face with her grandmother filled her with a strange mix of emotions—excitement, curiosity, and . . . reserve. Once she did meet Ada, she’d need to decide if she should tell the woman who she was—or if she should just keep her distance and eventually leave Thunder Creek as her mother apparently had years ago, never having reached out to make contact.
After I meet her, I’ll decide,
she told herself. Right now, with Ada away, all she could do was take things one step at a time.
Today she needed to buy groceries and toiletries and linens for the apartment. And she had to find a library.
She walked along Thunder Creek’s main street until she reached Lucy’s Grocery and Drugs, where she stocked up on crackers, peanut butter, Rice Krispies, and other essentials. While checking out, she asked the gangly young boy working the cash register where the nearest Wal-Mart might be found. “Casper,” he told her without hesitation.
“And is there a library in Thunder Creek?”
Sure, but it was only open three days a week—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
“How do I find it?” she asked as he handed over the second bag of her groceries.
“Uh, Miller Road, a quarter mile west of town, near the high school,” he mumbled, his gaze shifting to the two teenage girls in halter tops and shorts who’d just entered the store, giggling.
“Does it have a computer?”
“Yep. A computer and a printer. Wood and Tammie Morgan donated ’em both last year.”
She breathed an inward sigh of relief. She’d be able to get in touch with Ricky easily after all. Tomorrow was Wednesday—she’d go to the library and send him an e-mail. With any luck, he’d read it within a few days and let her know when he’d be coming to get the package.
Ever since she’d landed in Salt Lake City, a part of her had itched to rip open the package and see what was inside. But that impulse wasn’t nearly as powerful as the part of her that didn’t want to know. The part that hoped Ricky would show up and take it off her hands before she had to know—and deal with—whatever was inside— whatever had cost Archie his life.
She pushed away the unspoken worry in her mind— that something could have happened to Ricky already. That he hadn’t gotten away as she had. That there’d be no answer to her e-mail. And that he wasn’t coming for the package at all . . .
Those thoughts made her throat tighten and the muscles of her neck clench, but she did her best to ignore them and decided to concentrate on the positive.
Thunder Creek had a library. And a computer. And very friendly people. So far, so good.
She’d just take it one step at a time.
She was hugging both bags of groceries to her chest as she headed back to the gas station, when a red pickup cruising past suddenly braked against the curb and a lean, sandy-haired young cowboy wearing a broad smile, a green polo shirt, and worn jeans jumped out.
“Those bags look heavy. Can I give you a hand?”
He looked like he was in his early twenties, with hazel eyes, a lean jaw, and the fresh-off-the-range handsome-ness of a model in a Ralph Lauren ad.
“No thanks, I’m good.” She strolled past him without slowing her steps. “My car’s at the gas station, right over there—”
“All the way over there? Then, c’mon, let me help you.”
“I don’t think so.”
He was following her, his muscular arms spread wide. “I promise not to run off with your groceries. And if I do, we have a crackerjack sheriff here in Thunder Creek and he’ll get them back for you. You can give him my description.”
She had to laugh. He had a killer grin and a Western drawl and his words brought a reluctant smile to her lips.
Her arms
were
aching a bit. Oh hell, why not?
“All right, but I have your face memorized. If you hightail it out of town with my Rice Krispies,
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