One True Heart (3 page)

The leader took off his hat and scratched his head as if to stimulate his thinking. Then he nodded and all three advanced 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.

The instinct to react, 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 delivered 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,” an educated, low voice said as her professor/accountant approached her. “Oh, you've dropped your crutch. You poor thing. Let me help you.”

A strong arm circled her waist and helped her to a battered van. She made no protest as the tall man from Twisted Creek 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 one thing she could think of after he loaded her duffel 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-four. 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.

T
HE
HIGHWAY
BETWEEN
A
MARILLO
AND
H
ARMONY

As he drove through the night, Drew Cunningham decided 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 green eyes hadn't said a word since she'd settled into his van. 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 weren't such a nice guy, he could have robbed her, stolen her hundred-pound duffel 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.

Tossing his glasses on the dash, he studied her in the blinks of the passing streetlights. She was pretty, in the down-deep, no-makeup kind of way few women are pretty. Smooth skin, dark brown hair, lips that would probably keep him awake tonight.

He couldn't help but wonder why she'd come to Harmony, a crippled-up 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 did really come to an end, the people around here would probably miss the apocalypse.

Drew turned off Main Street into what everyone called the old part of town. Houses were big, and every one on the street built different from any other. Narrow streets made it easy for old elms to cross over and touch. A heroine would live on a street like this, or maybe an old lady who'd had every pet she'd ever cared about stuffed. In these historical few blocks all the legends and secrets of the town were probably hidden away in attic trunks.

Sleeping Beauty said she was headed to a bed-and-breakfast, and as far as he knew there was only one in town:
Winter's Inn. 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 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 more frightened of her than he usually was of the fairer sex. He had the 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 and remembering her made his imagination move to overdrive. What if she'd stuffed those seven husbands and they were sitting in her parlor right now?

He pulled into the Winter's Inn's 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. Maybe the ghosts of her dead lovers had killed her. Only with her weight, she'd be like Outlaw Jack Ketchum in the Old West. He'd gotten so fat on Clayton, New Mexico's jail food while he waited for the hangman to arrive, 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. Foot-high LED lights, made to look like daisies, lined both sides of the walk. Drew had the depressing impression he was delivering Hansel and 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. She was dressed in a short summer
robe with huge pink birds painted on it. With the belt tied around her waist the flamingos appeared to be choking.

Drew fought the urge to throw the van in reverse and burn rubber, but then what would he do with Beauty?

Having no choice, he cut the engine and circled the rusty old vehicle to open the passenger door. There she was, dreaming away. Her warm brown 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. It had been so long since he'd kissed a woman.

“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 decided 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 one of them genealogy types tracing her roots.”

Martha Q didn't offer to help, but continued to talk.

Drew brushed Sleeping Beauty's cheek. “Wake up, Miss McAllen. We're here.” He fought the urge to kiss her again. That first kiss had certainly brought him fully awake.

In the background he heard Martha Q saying that Hank Matheson told her if another person came here claiming kin he planned to take a power saw to a few branches of the family tree. McAllens and Mathesons reproduced like rabbits around these parts.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Drew whispered near her ear. “You're at Winter's Inn.”

Green eyes opened and stared at him. “Who are you?”

He couldn't believe she didn't seem the least frightened. “I'm just your driver, miss.” He pointed at the backside of Martha Q as she leaned over, straightening one of the daisy night lights. “And that is the innkeeper at Winter's Inn.”

Sleeping Beauty yawned. “Noisy one, isn't she?”

Drew couldn't hold back a grin. “She has to make that noise if there's a chance she might be backing up.”

While Martha Q rambled on about how dark it was around her place, Drew helped his passenger out of his van. “Just hold on to me and I'll carry your crutches. I don't think the walk's wide enough to maneuver on crutches in the dark.”

She looped her arm over his shoulder and he circled her waist. At six feet one he rarely saw a woman near his height, but she was within three inches. They progressed down the walkway, her cast taking out every other LED light.

“I'm Millanie McAllen,” she said as she hopped along.

“Andrew Cunningham. My friends call me Drew.”

“Thank you, Drew, for bringing me here. I owe you one.”

He knew he was probably being forward, but the lady was plastered against his side. “You staying long, Millie?”

She looked up with those tired green eyes, and he knew she was a woman who never lied. “I've always been called Millanie.”

“All right. You staying long, Millanie?”

“I don't know,” she finally answered. “Getting here was my first plan of action. I'll think of my second when I've slept the clock around and eaten a few meals.”

Millanie McAllen might think she knew exactly where on the planet she was, but Drew saw the truth in those beautiful eyes.

She was lost. Had no direction. He knew the look well. He'd been there once.

“Andrew!” Martha Q yelled. “Any chance you two are going to make it in to sign the register before dawn? I can't stand here waiting if she's not interested.”

Sleeping Beauty looked directly at him when she answered Martha Q. “I'm interested.”

W
INTER
'
S
I
NN

From the shadows of hundred-year-old elm trees Beau Yates watched a man almost carrying a woman with a broken leg into the bed-and-breakfast. For a moment he thought of offering help, but if he did he'd have to talk to Martha Q and maybe Mrs. Biggs. He loved the old ladies dearly, but he didn't feel like seeing anyone tonight. He was just passing through.

The air was still and all the sounds and smells of the old downtown area seemed to circle around him, carrying memories. The aroma of popcorn from the movie theater, the faint beat of the drummer playing above the band at Buffalo's, the hollow sound of his boots tapping against the sidewalk.

There was a time, when he'd just been starting out in the music business, that he'd walk these sleeping streets for hours listening to the beat of the town. Only now, his world seemed to be spinning in double time.

Beau thought of how it had first been when he'd played
his guitar all day, writing songs and hoping his neighbor would cook something so he could eat. He'd been so happy when he got his first gig at Buffalo's Bar. The money wasn't much, but they were professionals, even if part of their pay came in a plastic basket with fries.

Now, he packed in thousands and had more money in the bank than he could count, but it was the music that drove him, and he could still count his true friends on one hand.

Funny, the old woman yelling on the porch of the bed-and-breakfast was one of them. Martha Q might nag him to cut his hair and ask him every time she saw him why he hadn't found a girl, but she'd also been the one who'd loaned him a thousand dollars when his car broke down in Winslow. She'd thump him hard if she heard him say he thought of her as a grandmother, and then she'd walk right up to Harley at the bar and tell the old biker that he should clean up his place when a big star like Beau Yates played there.

He crossed her lawn and slid down six feet to the bottom of the dried-up creek bed. The shortcut took him into the back of the Blue Moon Diner, and another few yards got him to the bar's parking lot.

Beau didn't want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to slip into the place and listen for a while.

It was late, maybe a half hour before closing. Few baskets of food remained on the tables; folks ordered drinks at this hour. Cowboys were leading their ladies around the floor to a slow song. Foreplay, Beau thought. That was always Harley's idea. Have the band play slow-country-loving songs so the crowd would leave thinking of romance and not complain when he blinked the lights and announced it was closing time.

Beau stood in the corner and watched, feeling like he was home. Harley yelled last call. The band played three more songs and then, to slight applause, picked up their gear and headed out the back door.

He waited as Harley locked up, leaving the empty bottles on the table as he rarely did. As he circled the bar the room grew darker, and then the huge, tattooed owner walked up
the stairs to his quarters. The low glow of lights near the stage and the exit signs gave off a smoky illumination.

Beau walked over to where Harley had hung Beau's guitar after he'd been inducted into the Grand Ole Opry last year. Without hesitating, he took it down and pulled a chair to the stage. Amid the smell of beer and sweat and cheap perfume lingering in the dusty air, Beau began to play.

The songs, his songs, flowed out of him as if pieces of his life danced through the air. His first date, his fear of thinking he might never make it in the business, his loneliness of never being able to hold on to a girl long enough to fall in love and, worse, of never having anyone, including his parents, hang on to him.

After an hour, he returned the guitar to its place and walked out the back door of the bar, making sure it locked behind him. He crossed to the creek bed and followed it out to the edge of town, where his tour bus waited to continue the drive to Nashville.

He needed the music. He was addicted to it, but it couldn't be all there was for him. He wanted more. A life not only in the lights. A love who didn't care what he did for a living. Beau had no idea how he'd find what he was looking for, but he knew where to start.

Harmony. Where he was born. Where he'd learned music in his father's church and how to play from his grandfather. Where he'd first stood on his own five years ago. Someday he'd stop the double-time world and step off and, when he did, he knew his boot would land on Texas soil.