Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (2 page)

“Where’s my head?” Spritz crossed toward her, hands outstretched. “You flew all the way from Seattle, then had that long cab ride from Missoula. You must be dead on your feet.”

Grace’s stomach pitched at the ill-chosen words, but she coerced a smile. Spritz had shown such kindness without even knowing how much Grace had needed it. She allowed the realtor to enclose both her hands in a solid, warm grasp.

“I’ll see myself out.” Spritz gave Grace’s hands an extra squeeze. “You just call if you need anything.” She turned for the door, speaking over her shoulder as she walked. “Or stop by my office. It’s on Main, right across from the park. You can’t miss it.”

Grace chuckled to herself. As if finding anything in this town would require the use of MapQuest.

Grateful for her long-awaited solitude, she bolted the door after Spritz’s exit and lowered the blinds over its small cut glass pane. Talk about impractical. Why would anyone want a window in their front door?

Looking around the quiet house, she surrendered to a welcome yawn. She hadn’t been this tired in a very long time. All she needed was a refreshing night’s sleep to plan her next step for surviving this ordeal.

She dragged her feet back to the bedroom and stopped. Looking down at the hard wood of the floor, she let out a throaty moan. Where had her head been? She had always prided herself on her ability to think things through down to the minutest detail. How could she have neglected to arrange for a bed?

She sat down with a thud and buried her face in her hands, not knowing if she would burst out in laughter or sobs.

“Good grief, Grace Addison.” A quiet laugh escorted her words. “Or whatever your name is. Get your act together, would you?”

Chapter 2

Stepping onto her front porch and into the morning sun, Grace groaned. She rubbed her aching shoulder, making a silent promise not to spend another night on the floor. By comparison, her Murphy bed back home was a feathery cloud. She pulled the door shut and locked the deadbolt, vowing to add ‘get some kind of bed’ to her To Do list.

As she turned to face the street, her stomach roared like the lion at the beginning of an MGM movie. Even though she felt like signing up for the hermit’s union, survival forced her to plunge headlong into a limited exploration of the town.

Taking the initial tread down the steps that bridged her front porch and the rest of the world, she scanned the tree-lined street. Two women with strollers, and a couple of kids on stingrays. Just an ordinary summer day in Small Town, U.S.A.

As her foot left the bottom step, a movement caught the corner of her eye. Someone sprang up from the flower bed, as if they’d been lying in wait. Terror shot through her.

Her heart could have auditioned for a seat in the timpani section as her body propelled forward. The heel of her sandal hooked her pants hem, landing her face down on the pebbly pavement. Panicked, she pulled her legs under her and scrambled to her feet.

Stumbling ahead, she threw a glance over her shoulder, then lurched to a halt and reeled around. As she looked down into a pair of deep brown eyes, a wisp of relieved laughter escaped with the breath she’d held for the past several seconds. Scruffy fur, coffee-brown with clouds of cream, covered a scrawny knee-height frame. Her guest gave a tentative wag of his long ratty tail and Grace tittered. If the former homeowner had left this forlorn canine behind, that couldn’t be her problem. She could barely take care of herself much less a dog.

“You’re a pretty boy, but I can’t keep you.” She gave her linen pants a quick swipe. “You wouldn’t want in on my life anyway if you knew what a mess it is. Go on!”

He cocked his head with a questioning whimper.

“You heard me.” She made a shooing gesture with her hand. “Go find someone who has their act together.”

He gave one more high-pitched plea before lowering his nose and ambling down the walkway. When he was several houses away, Grace set off in the opposite direction, chuckling to herself. Clearly, she’d have to adjust to being out west where packs of wild dogs roamed the streets.

There had been a time when a walk, or better yet a run, on a clear early summer day like this would have soothed her soul. Now, as she strode under the arch of trees that enclosed the street, she wondered how hard reclusiveness would be, what with the internet and home delivery.

Taking care not to trip where a tree root had turned the sidewalk into a roller coaster track, she rallied her thoughts. Had it really only been three days since she had shut her eyes and circled her finger over a map of the United States? Madison Falls, Montana had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now the reality seemed strikingly unromantic.

Still, she had to go somewhere. Kirk had left her no choice.

A few minutes later, she looked up at the street sign on the corner of the undeniably charming main street.
Main Street
. At least something in this new world made sense.

Her nose caught a distinctive scent. Pleasant…oh yes very. Instinctively, she turned to the left and inhaled her way past quaint little shops until the spicy sweet aroma enveloped her. As it became clear that the Madison Bakery was to be her first stop of the morning, she did a quick calculation. Twenty hours since that skimpy little sandwich at the airport. No wonder the fresh-baked smell lured her like a carnival barker.

The creak of the old wooden screen door announced her entrance, and the dozen or so people seated at café tables turned on cue to look at her. She stopped cold, overtaken by stage fright. It wasn’t an audience she craved. Not anymore.

Forcing a feeble smile, she honed in on the pastry case just a few feet ahead.
Get a bagel and get out
. Her will to live instructed her to stay nourished and, besides, she smelled coffee.

“You from out of town?” The chipper young girl behind the counter greeted her.

Grace sputtered. Did she look out of place? Why weren’t these people going back to their newspapers and small talk? It felt as if they were all waiting for her response.

“Yes. I mean, not anymore. I just moved here.”

“No kidding. Oh, you must be the woman who bought the Miller place. I heard about you.”

What had she heard? Grace’s mind raced as she tried to recall every detail she’d given to Spritz. Most of it had been made up, but still. Her palms grew clammy and her appetite slipped into hiding.

“Coffee?” the girl chirped. “First cup’s on the house.”

Relief swept through Grace. Coffee would do the trick. “Sure. Coffee. And a bagel with lox please.”

A delighted clucking erupted behind her and she turned to face her spectators. Laughter in the wrong place had always been a sign of an off performance.

“Where do you think you are Miss, New York City?” A jovial looking older man in grubby overalls seemed to take great joy in her awkwardness.

Warmth washed her cheeks as she looked at the counter girl again. “No bagels?”

The girl shook her head, as if she’d never been asked for such a thing and had no appropriate comeback prepared.

Grace glanced down at the case and pointed at nothing in particular. “One of those then.”

“Oh, a bear claw.” The girl brightened. “Those are fresh out of the oven.” She beamed with some sort of yeast-induced pride as she brandished a pair of tongs.

Grace released a lungful of air. She had pleased a local and today that felt like hitting a high C.

“Here you go.” The girl presented a chipped, pastry-adorned plate. “Have a seat and I’ll bring your coffee out. I’m just brewing a fresh pot.”

Heartened by the promise of nourishment, Grace accepted the plate and scanned the room. Her recent victory faded. All the tables were taken.

Clutching her claw, she made eye contact with a woman who also dined solo but had evidently arrived early enough to commandeer a table. The empty chair across from her opened its arms wide and Grace nodded toward it with her best non-threatening expression. The woman smiled, and Grace took a step toward her, stumbling over an uneven floorboard. Gasps erupted from the audience as she fumbled with her free hand to prevent her bear claw from attacking an innocent bystander.

Just as gravity threatened to get the better of her, someone gripped her upper arms from behind. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She let out a relieved breath, realizing that she’d been saved from toppling headlong into the half-devoured cinnamon roll of the man in the grubby overalls.

She pulled her arms free, whirled around and looked up into a pair of eyes the color of a dark chocolate mocha.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” The possessor of the eyes took a step back. “I just hate to see a lady in distress.”

She clasped her plate with both hands and surreptitiously assessed her rescuer. He was about her age—twenty-five or so—clad in what was probably typical local garb, faded Levis and a light blue work shirt. A faint hint of stubble shadowed his strong-jawed face, and his dark hair needed a cut. He reminded her of the stagehands back home. The ones who looked for any opportunity to slip a hand around her waist or stand a little too close in the wings.
Distress?
Just who did this guy think he was?

“You could sit here, if you’d like.” He gestured toward his table.

He expected her to sit with him? A diffident sound escaped her throat as her eyes darted around. “I…I really…”

“What I meant was,” his voice sounded smooth, like a cappuccino. “I was just leaving and you look like you need a table.” He picked up a mug and a crumb-covered plate, setting them on the counter behind him.

In spite of her desire to appear aloof, her eyes locked onto his. Dark chocolate had always been her weakness.

“Thank you.”

She set her plate down and took a seat as the stagehand wannabe nodded toward the counter girl and hurried out of the bakery. Feeling like a reluctant Lois Lane, Grace let her eyes linger on the screen door after it had banged shut. A murmur rumbled through the room. What was with these people? Didn’t they have cable?

Remembering her empty stomach, she glanced down at her plate. Mouth watering, she lifted the sticky concoction to her lips and took an eager bite. Her eyes closed as her head tipped back slightly. It tasted like heaven with extra icing.

“Good, isn’t it?” The young girl arrived with a large mug of welcome brew.

Grace smiled and took the handle. She hadn’t had a decent cup of coffee in days, what with the throng of details she’d had to attend to. Now, as she inhaled the wonderful rich smell and put the cup to her lips, she felt for the first time in months that life would be good again. She drew the liquid into her mouth and wanted to cry.

That was the worst coffee she’d ever tasted.

Chapter 3

Though still caffeine-deprived, Grace’s hunger had at least been satisfied. Now she could focus on the next item on her To Do list—finding a safe place to stash her life savings.

As the bell on the bakery door jingled behind her, she gave her money belt a reassuring pat. She’d made a habit for months of keeping important documents and cash safely nestled at her waist. The stack of bills currently crammed into the pouch represented nearly all she had in the world, and she cringed at the thought of anything happening to it. She wouldn’t be able to relax until it was safely stowed away in a bank—under her assumed name, of course.

She started down Main Street, which was more far-reaching than she’d realized. The businesses spanned two full blocks, but she couldn’t spot a bank in either direction.

A familiar sensation breezed through her like a whispered warning. Adrenaline flooded her system. She hated this feeling so much she had flown clear across the country in the hope of shedding it. Slowing her steps, her eyes darted from one side to the other. A few people milled about, but would anyone help her if she screamed?

Panic rose in her throat as it became obvious that someone was following her.

She had to act quickly, and with nowhere to run she decided to take a chance. She whirled around with a rush of anger-fueled bravado, ready to unleash the wrath that had been brewing in her for the past two years.

She froze. There, just a few yards in front of her, stood her tracker, looking up at her with deep brown eyes. His long scraggly tail wagged tentatively.

Grace laughed as relief cleansed her veins. “You again?” She put her hands on her hips, not wanting to encourage him. “That’s twice now you’ve nearly scared me to death.”

The dog sat and held up a paw, by way of gentlemanly introduction.

“Small town hospitality, huh?” She folded her arms and smiled in spite of her unsteadiness. “Well, do yourself a favor and shoo.” She took a step away, then looked back. “Oh, but before you go, can you point me in the direction of a bank?”

He cocked his head, then looked across the street and barked.

She followed his gaze. “You’re kidding me.”

There up the street stood a beautiful old brick structure with a sign over the massive doors that read “Banque”.

As she looked back at her obedient guide, he offered a cheerful wag. She waved him off and darted across the street.

She climbed the hefty stairs to the imposing double doors. How old was this place, anyway? It looked like something out of an old Gary Cooper western. Her heart jumped to her throat as she heaved one of the doors open. Showtime.

A rush of cool air ricocheted off the gray marble floor as she stepped inside and scanned the room. It looked bigger than it had from the outside. A soothing sigh slipped from her throat as she noted that not one customer or clerk seemed to notice her. Feeling safer now, she moved toward a desk marked ‘New Accounts.’ The man plunking at a computer keyboard didn’t even look up.

“Excuse me.” She spoke
sotto voce
, so as not to attract unnecessary attention.

“Yes?” His eyes grew wide under his round spectacles, as if he wasn’t used to interruptions. “May I help you?”

“I hope so.” She took a seat opposite the desk. “I’d like to open a checking account.”

“You would? Oh, well then…” He dug through some papers on his desk, finally pulling one from the stack. “You must be new here. Name?”