thought about the offer so long Trace knew she was going to refuse. What he didn’t expect was how disappointed he was when she did.
The drive to the motel on Charity Lane was short and easy and filled with thoughts of Trace Bowman, the friendly veterinarian.
“I should have taken that job,” she muttered.
When she’d first walked into the empty, darkened building, being alone with a strange man had made her skin crawl. But even though he had been as scruffy looking as the two Dumpster-divers, the amiable vet had a way about him. When he’d teased her about doughnuts she’d almost said yes.
But she hadn’t. He’d been too friendly, too accommodating, and her suspicion meter had gone off the charts. Nobody did something for nothing.
Though he wasn’t overly large, he was taller than her by a head and far more muscular. Lean and fit with tanned arms strong enough to handle a large animal practice, he’d be a hard man to take down.
Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Beneath the unshaven face and mussed brown hair, he was undoubtedly attractive and not much older than herself, though most days she felt a hundred instead of thirty.
Attractive. Young. There was the problem. She found the kindhearted vet a bit too attractive, the exact kind of man she was inclined to fall for. The last thing she needed in her life was another man like Paul Ramos who would disappear the moment he learned about her late-night encounter with Dwight Hector.
Besides, he probably had women bringing in stray cats and dead birds and pet guppies as an excuse to see him. She didn’t need that either.
She killed the car in front of a short row of maybe ten tidy cottages. The motel was old, likely built in the 50s or 60s, but well kept and pretty in a retro kind of way. The widow obviously liked plants because each unit came with a white window box of red geraniums, a short-clipped patch of grass in front and tidy shrubs growing close to the white siding. From the back of the establishment, huge oaks bent shady arms above each roof, letting in only dappled slices of sunshine. The effect was provincial, warm, peaceful. Cheyenne almost believed she would like it here.
Beneath a waving American flag, a sign outside said Redemption Motel and Gifts, Vacancy. Bible Study at 8.
Envisioning a gentle, white-haired widow who offered prayer and Proverbs with her tea, Cheyenne found her way to the unit marked Office and went inside. A bell above the door gave a merry jingle.
As she scanned the room in search of the proprietor, Cheyenne breathed in the smell of rose potpourri and cataloged the premises. The Widow Wainright was not only a Christian; she was a patriot who made extra money selling inspiration and Americana. The place was decorated in red, white and blue with American flags sprouting from potted plants, eagle-topped fountain pens crowded into coffee mugs and a display case filled with various other souvenirs and gift items. The walls were plastered with military photos and Uncle Sam posters. One of them pointed straight at her. Uncle Sam Wants You!
“Hello, hello. Sorry to keep you waiting.” A tall, willowy blonde carrying a basket of snowy white towels swept into the office with an air of cheerfulness. Cheyenne did a double take. This young, beautiful woman could not be the Widow Wainright.
Pale hair pulled into a loose topknot with unfettered strands framing a delicate, heart-shaped face and wide blue eyes, she made Cheyenne think of a fairy-tale princess. There was a vulnerable sweetness about her completely out of context with Cheyenne’s idea of an independent widow.
“Are you Mrs. Wainright?”
“Kitty, please. We don’t stand on ceremony in Redemption.”
So much for assumptions. “I’m Cheyenne Rhodes.”
“How can I help you, Cheyenne? Need a room? Or just looking at the gift shop? I have some great gift ideas.”
“A room please.”
“You’re in luck! I just happen to have a vacancy.” She made a cute face and bunched slim shoulders in a girlish gesture. “Too many of them, actually, but that’s the nature of Redemption. The only time I’m filled up is during the Land Run celebration.” She dug out a registration form and pushed it across to Cheyenne. “New in town or passing through?”
Was everyone in this town nosy?
“New.” Using one of the pens with a flying eagle topper, Cheyenne bent her head to the form. “Do you have a room with cooking facilities?”
“Oh, sure. Half of my units are long-term rentals with kitchenettes. Otherwise, I couldn’t keep the doors open.” Kitty placed her forearms on the glass countertop. Rose potpourri stirred around her. Everything about this woman was fresh and clean and inviting. “Does this mean you’ll be staying a while?”
“Until I find an apartment.” Or move on.
“Great. You can come to our Bible study and meet some of the other townsfolk. Redemption is a nice place to settle.”
As much as Cheyenne wanted to make friends and have a real life again, she wasn’t excited about a Bible study. If she’d ever had any faith, it had disappeared the night Dwight Hector broke into her garage.
“If you’ll just sign the guest register here.” Kitty tapped a finger against the lined page. “I’ll take down your credit card info and we’ll be all set.”
Feeling as if she’d stepped back in time, Cheyenne complied, waiting patiently while Kitty entered the numbers the old-fashioned way, without the use of a credit card machine. When the widow finished, she took Cheyenne’s registration form to a metal file box.
“Well, look at that,” she said, holding the card at an angle above the box. “You’re from Colorado.”
Cheyenne tensed; the thought raced through her head that Kitty had put the name and state together and come up with a news report.
“Formerly,” she said, words terse and defensive.
Kitty lifted wistful blue eyes, apparently unaware of her guest’s reaction. “My late husband and I honeymooned in the mountains near Breckenridge.”
Cheyenne took a second to make the mental shift from her anxious thoughts to Kitty’s meaning. The place steeped in pain and sorrow for Cheyenne was a place of loving memory for the young widow.
“The mountains are a beautiful honeymoon destination,” she managed, wondering if she would ever stop feeling edgy and suspicious.
“Yes, they were.” The woman stood for several seconds, lost in thought and probably in memories of the man she’d loved and lost. Cheyenne ached for her. Why did life have to be so cruel?
Not knowing what to say, she waited in an oddly comfortable silence. As a police officer, she’d done her share of bringing bad news to hapless families, but she’d never been around for the aftermath.
With a pat to her heart, Kitty’s pink-glossed lips tilted, though her eyes remained sad. “I’ll have to show you my photo album sometime.”
“I’d like that. He must have been a great husband.”
“The best.” She fanned herself with
