Somewhere Along the Way (41 page)

Gabe didn’t comment. Most of the people he’d seen who’d died did it all at once. He thought of telling her it must be a great luxury to get to pass a little at a time, but in truth he doubted dying that way was any easier.

Brandon walked into the room and handed Gabe his coffee, then offered his cup to Mrs. Biggs.

She shook her head. “Can we talk?” she whispered. “Just for a minute.”

Brandon looked like he was trapped. “All right. Let’s talk.”

Gabe watched as they moved to the hallway and sat a few chairs away from Denver. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Brandon finally lifted his hand and put it over hers. Mrs. Biggs looked like she was silently crying. After a while, she wiped her eyes on a napkin and smiled. They were a mismatched pair, but they seemed to be forming the beginnings of a family.

For years Gabe felt like he’d been closing himself off to any relationships. The mailman wouldn’t even know his name if it wasn’t written on the box. It was time; he could feel the shell around him cracking. Time for him to join the human race.

The one person he needed to talk to was Elizabeth, and she seemed to have vanished. After he checked everywhere they’d let him enter, Gabe walked over and sat down next to Denver.

“Why don’t we head home and get some sleep?” Denver complained.

Gabe grinned. “Food, then sleep.”

“I’ve already had a half dozen muffins. Mrs. Biggs should have never set the basket beside me. I’m not a person who can be trusted to guard sweets.”

Gabe laughed. “The diner should be open by now. How about I buy you the left side of the menu?”

“Fair enough.”

As they stood, Claire stepped in front of them. “Mind if I join you?” she asked, as casually as if she talked to them on a regular basis.

Gabe wanted to yell
No
, but to his surprise, Denver said, “Sure, come along. You know the diner. I believe you’ve been there before to not eat.”

Gabe tried to think of some reason, any reason to get out of going with the two of them, but short of faking his own death, he couldn’t come up with anything.

Claire followed them to the diner. When they walked in, Denver took one side of the booth and Claire took the other. Gabe said he needed to wash his hands and realized neither one of them noticed him talking or cared if he self-combusted on the spot. If he dropped dead over the table, they’d probably have breakfast on top of him.

Walking out of the diner, he headed toward the square and Elizabeth’s office. When he glanced back, they were glaring at each other.

INSIDE THE DINER, DENVER FELT AN ICE STORM WORSE than he’d lived through the night before. He had no idea why Claire had come along, but he wasn’t ruling out the idea that she’d done so just to torture him. Or maybe all the women he’d spent a few nights with and left got together and wished her on him, thinking Claire rated up there somewhere in the “worse than death” category. Hell, he thought, for all he knew he’d done something terrible in a former life and this was his punishment, to fall for a woman who not only broke his heart, but painted it for the world to see.

A sixteen-year-old waitress, obviously in her first day on the job, dropped by to try to take their order. While she chewed her gum at light speed, she admitted that she might not get it right, and would that be okay. Apparently she wasn’t willing to take the order unless some leeway was allowed.

Denver shrugged and ordered two breakfasts, thinking he might have a third for dessert. Claire ordered coffee.

After the girl left, he watched Claire. She didn’t look at him for a few minutes and when she did, he saw the tears floating, threatening to fall.

Denver shook his head. “You know, I think I hate you. No woman’s hurt me in a long time like you did. Funny thing is, even though I know you’ll probably poke my eyes out, I can’t stop looking at you.”

When she didn’t talk, Denver waved his hand. “Oh, you don’t have to say you’re sorry. I know you did it all for your art. I was just someone you needed to use as the bowl of fruit for your study. You don’t have to say you didn’t mean to destroy me.”

The waitress delivered their drinks.

He had to lighten the mood before he started yelling at Claire. Forcing himself to face the waitress, he asked, “Where’s Edith this morning?”

The waitress shrugged. “She left a note saying she was taking the first bus out of here this morning. I have no idea where she is by now, but she’s definitely not in Texas.”

“Thanks.” Denver decided not to ask any more questions. She’d already given him more information than he wanted to know.

The waitress took the hint and moved away.

Claire played with the tiny cream cups and didn’t look like she was following the conversation.

Denver waited. When she didn’t say anything, he tried again. “Maybe you’ve been hurt by some guy and just figured you’d go around killing us all one at a time.” He meant to tell her off, he really did, but honesty stopped him. “You fooled me, Claire. I fell for you hard. I didn’t go further, because I didn’t want a onetime fling with you. For the first time in a long time, I wanted something that might last longer than breakfast.”

They sat in silence for a while. The waitress delivered his food, but he didn’t eat.

“As it turned out,” he said, “we didn’t even make it to breakfast.”

She finally met his stare. There she was, the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. That unbelievable mixture of sophistication and vulnerability. She was the kind of woman he would have spent a lifetime trying to figure out. The kind he could wrap a life around.

For once, he had nothing else to say. He had no idea why she’d wanted to come to breakfast with him. Maybe just to get another few minutes of torture in.

She stared down at her fork for a few minutes, then picked it up and ate a bite of his scrambled eggs.

He just watched her.

When she took her third bite without looking at him, he said, “Those are my eggs.”

“I know.” She picked up a piece of toast. “I thought you’d share.”

He shoved the plate on her side of the table. “You’re not going to apologize, are you?” Frowning at her, he continued, “And you’re not going to promise never to do that to me again.”

“No.” She cut a slice of his steak.

“And I may see myself on some other canvas someday, facing another horrible death.”

She added ketchup to his hash browns. “It’s a possibility.”

“I don’t like ketchup on my hash browns.”

She smiled up at him. “My hash browns.”

“You’re not giving them back?”

“Not a chance.” She smiled at him, her knife pointed at his chest. “If we’re to have breakfast together, you need to order another meal.”

Denver grinned. “Lady, you’re a heartache waiting to happen.” He pulled the pancakes he’d ordered to his side of the table before she cut into them and added, “You’re not getting any of my pancakes.”

She smiled. “We’ll see about that tomorrow.”

SATURDAY, 10:00 A.M.
FEBRUARY 23, 2008
WRIGHT FUNERAL HOME

TYLER WRIGHT SLEPT SIX HOURS IN THE SILENCE OF HIS rooms over the funeral home before Little Lady woke him up wanting out. He pulled on his jogging suit and took her out the back door. The air had climbed above freezing and the sun was shining on a snow that made the whole world look newborn.

He checked his watch. Ten o’clock. He never slept until ten. But then he’d never manned the phones at the fire station. Surprisingly, he’d loved it. He felt like he was in the center of the action. Talking to the dispatcher, the sheriff, the men on patrol. When they’d finally found Reagan, Tyler shouted like he hadn’t yelled since his band won first in region.

Little Lady picked her favorite spot under the eaves of the house, where the snow was only dusting the ground. Tyler waited patiently.

“You know, Little Lady,” he said to the border collie, “you could come here to live if you like. After all, you never chew on anything or make a mess. You can reach the elevator buttons, and the families who come seem to love you.” He’d noticed it almost every time. A few people walk right past dogs, but most stop to visit. Little Lady seemed to know who needed her. She’d sit by their chair as if holding their hand through the process, and they’d reach down to pet her whenever they needed an ounce of comfort mixed in with their ton of pain.

One man asked how Tyler got the dog, and when he told the widower, the man said, “She must have lost her owner because I can tell she knows how I feel right now.”

When he came back a week later to pick up the ashes of his wife, he asked if he could sit on the porch with Little Lady awhile.

The collie tugged on her leash, and Tyler started back inside. When he passed his office, Tyler realized that in his haste to get to the station last night, he hadn’t turned off his computer.

He started the coffee and then sat down, planning to read the headlines before climbing the stairs and getting dressed for the day.

An hour later, he was still staring at the screen.

He’d been writing his nightly note to Kate when Hank called and told him about Reagan. Tyler had jotted down,
Have to run. Emergency. Reagan Truman in danger.
Then he’d clicked Send, planning to return in an hour and jot another note. But the night had been long and it was so late he’d gone straight to bed.

Now, a message waited for him.

Ty, are you all right? Is Reagan safe? I saw you folks had quite a storm.

She’d answered him. After two years, Major Katherine Cummings had finally answered him.

He made his fingers move across the keyboard.
Reagan has minor cuts and bruises, but she’s safe. Sorry I didn’t get back to you. It was late when I got back.

He wanted to ask a million questions. The most important . . . why she’d waited so long to contact him.

Instead, he let his heart guide him. He typed:
I’ve missed you, Kate.

He clicked Send. Finally got up and poured himself a cup of coffee and sat back down as his computer dinged.

The message read,
How about you tell me all about it a week from Monday. Order me red wine.

He typed
Quartz Mountain Lodge
and clicked Send.

The message came back.
I remember.

Tyler sat back in his chair. It no longer mattered where she’d been for two years. He’d ask no questions.

For now, it was enough that his hazel-eyed friend was back.

SATURDAY, 10:00 A.M.
FEBRUARY 23, 2008
OFFICE ON THE SQUARE

LIZ RUMMAGED THROUGH THE CLOSET IN HER OFFICE FOR something that looked like an eighteen-year-old would wear. She felt like she’d been run over by the snowplow. She’d spent the night worrying about Gabe and Reagan and Jeremiah. She’d called Jess so many times he threatened to get a restraining order against her phone. Then, to top it all off, her big sister shows up at the hospital this morning looking great and reminding her of how wrinkled and terrible she looked.

This was not a good day. She wanted to go back to college, where all she had to do was study and think about who to date. Trying to run an office and manage family was stressful on a good day, but last night was crazy.

She had learned something, though. Her family was much more than just the people she was related to in this town. “This is an impossible place to be self-centered in,” she complained aloud. “Before I know it I’ll have to give up thinking about myself all the time and start worrying about everyone else. It’s downright depressing.”

Someone knocked on her door.

“I’m closed!” she yelled. The last thing she wanted to deal with was the young couple wanting to rewrite their will to include the goldfish they just bought. Or the bookstore man downstairs wanting to sue the palm reader for false advertising.

The pounding came again. “Elizabeth.” Gabe sounded angry. “Answer this door.”

Liz waddled through the clothes on the floor of her closet and answered the door. She’d planned to tell him to come back after she’d had a shower and put on makeup and had caffeine, and decided to join the human race.

But when she saw him, all muddy and unshaven, and adorable, she was in his arms before either of them could say a word.