years old, wailed miserably in her car seat. It was nearly three in the morning. Jackie couldn’t blame them for feeling put out. But she heard the noise they made as though it came from somewhere far away. Her ears were ringing too loudly, her heart thumping too hard, to hear anything clearly.
Opening her door, just in case she was going to be sick, Jackie put her head between her legs and took long, deep breaths. It’s okay. You’re okay, she told herself.
But she wasn’t okay. She didn’t know if she’d ever be okay again. She only knew she’d leave Terry. She’d take the children with her if she had to crawl on her hands and knees and carry the three of them on her back. And this time she wouldn’t let anything undermine her determination.
“Mommy? What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re gonna throw up.”
“Mom, Alex is touching me.”
“Shut up. You’re such a pain.”
“You shut up. You’re the one who started it.”
Jackie couldn’t answer. She straightened, thinking of the movie classic Gone with the Wind. She pictured Scarlett O’Hara crying and angry and shaking her fist at the sky, swearing she’d never go hungry again, and finally understood the depth of that kind of resolve. Because she felt the same way.
“As God is my witness, I will never let myself become so dependent on another human being again,” she muttered.
“Mommy? Why are you talking to yourself? What’s wrong with you?”
“Just leave her alone. Can’t you see she’s sick?”
Alyssa cried louder. “Out, out, out!” she chanted.
“Yes, sweetheart,” Jackie said, turning, dry-eyed, to face the three of them. “We’re getting out. Soon.” Out of Feld. Out of Nevada. Out of her loveless marriage.
Her words did nothing to placate the baby. Alyssa had no concept of soon, except that it wasn’t now, but Jackie felt infinitely better. Terry thought he had her where he wanted her. Since the car accident that had killed her parents six years earlier, she had no family to speak of. She’d spent what money she’d inherited attempting to leave him once before. And she’d married him right out of high school, so she had no college education, no marketable job skills—and three young children to care for.
What would she ever do without him? How would she make it? They lived with his parents on his father’s ranch. Terry knew he’d inherit the whole operation someday, but they had no real money, not of their own. Her husband hung out with the same guys he’d known in high school, partied nearly as hard and cheated on his wife. And every time he got himself into a scrape, he ran to Daddy.
Her life had turned out so differently from what she’d planned. She’d married Terry Wentworth because she believed in his potential, the sweetness in him. She’d wanted to see him rise to that potential. But at eighteen she probably wasn’t the best judge of character. Since then, she’d realized he was too lazy and too weak to fight the influence of having everything handed to him on a silver platter. He had no determination, no ambition, because no problem was too big for Daddy to solve.
Except this one, Jackie promised. Burt Wentworth was a formidable foe, but if he gave her trouble over the divorce—and she knew he would—she’d fight him.
She thought of marching into Maxine’s to tell Terry so, then decided against it. Why embarrass him? Let him have his fun. Reality would intrude soon enough. But she couldn’t leave without letting him know she’d caught him red-handed. Otherwise he’d claim she’d seen someone else’s truck in the dark. He’d lie and cry and play the martyr. And she was done with all that.
Backing the Suburban out of the lot and parking it where the children could no longer see Terry’s truck, she retrieved the large hunting knife they kept in the glove box, got out and methodically slashed all four of Terry’s tires. The wheezing sound of escaping air followed her back to the Suburban. By now the baby was quiet, and her older children had stopped fighting, too busy turning in their seats, trying to see where she’d gone.
“What did you do?” Alex asked, as she climbed back in.
Jackie put the knife away and started the car again. “I just left Daddy a message,” she said.
CHAPTER ONE
One year later…
JACLYN’S DIVORCE was final today, but she didn’t feel much like celebrating. Her father-in-law and ex-husband had made her life hell with all their legal motions and expensive lawyers. She’d spent almost everything she’d earned waitressing on her own pathetic attorney—had run up a sizable bill, besides—and still she’d gotten no spousal maintenance, a mere pittance for child support and no more custody rights than Terry.
But she had escaped. Finally. She’d won in that regard and in one other: the court had given her permission to leave Feld, as long as she didn’t go farther than a two-hour drive. Now she lived in Reno, Nevada, a mini-Las Vegas, self-dubbed the “biggest little city in the world.” With a small strip of casinos, a constant influx of truckers, and slot machines in every gas station and convenience store, it wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she left the Wentworth ranch, but it was better than Feld. At least she was free to build a life for herself that didn’t include Terry’s family and their influence, or the sickening knowledge that her husband was warming someone else’s bed. No more nights spent searching for him, wondering where or when he might turn up. No more heated arguments and denials.
And no more financial security. For better or for worse, Jaclyn was on her own. And being on her own could be downright lonely, she realized, rinsing off the knife she needed to slice pie for table number five. It was summer so the kids were out of school. Terry had come from Feld to pick them up, and now she was looking at three full days without them. She had to work tonight and tomorrow, but she was off, for a change, on Wednesday. What would she do with herself?
Maybe she should offer to take a shift for one of the other waitresses. She was already scheduled for forty hours this week, but heaven knows she needed the money.
“I just seated another table at your station,” the hostess informed her. “Can you handle it? Or should I have Nicole punch in?”
It was late afternoon, before the dinner crush. Jaclyn was the only waitress on the floor and had three tables going already, but she could manage another. On a busy night at Joanna’s, the manager assigned five tables to each server. Sometimes, when they were slammed, Jaclyn took six. “No problem. I’ve got it.”
“Two men,” the hostess responded. “And one looks good enough to eat.”
Jaclyn didn’t care if they were handsome. She felt no desire for another relationship, at least not yet. That they were male was significant, though. In her experience, men usually tipped better than women or families or seniors.
She delivered dessert to the four older women dining together at table five and approached the newcomers to find them both perusing the menu.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“I’ll have a cola,” the man on her right replied. Heavyset and about forty years old, he was resisting the loss of his hair by combing the few remaining strands over the dome of his head. He certainly didn’t look
