call Tom and Betty—”
Already guessing where her grandmother’s line of thought was going, Phoebe said, “If you’re thinking about backing out, you can just think again, Myrtle Henderson. You’ve talked about nothing but this trip for weeks! Don’t you dare disappoint the Walkers. They’re counting on you.”
“But I can’t just go off and leave you with all this work. It’s not fair. When I called and asked you to hold down the fort for me, I never imagined that I’d be swamped with reservations. I should have turned some of them down.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phoebe scolded. “The more, the merrier. It’ll be fun.”
“But how are you going to take care of a whole houseful of people without any help?”
“I’ll just add a few more eggs to the skillet in the mornings and double the biscuit recipe. It’s no big deal, Gran. You know I love cooking for a crowd. I’ll be fine.”
When Myrtle hesitated, still unconvinced, Phoebe knew she was going to talk herself out of the trip if she didn’t do something to stop her. “You’re the one I’m worried about,” she said quickly. “Do you have your blood pressure pills? And your glasses? What about your clothes? Did you take a sweater? I know it’s summer, but the nights can still get cold in the mountains, and there’s no telling where you’ll end up with Tom at the wheel.”
Safely redirected, Myrtle laughed. “That’s because he leaves the navigating to Betty and half the time, she reads the damn map upside down. It’s a wonder they haven’t ended up in a ditch some-where.”
Phoebe could picture the Walkers crisscrossing the country, making wrong turns everywhere they went, and not caring. It sounded wonderful. “You’re going to have a great time,” she said with a grin, “but you’d better be prepared for anything. When Tom heads for L.A. and you end up in the wilds of Montana, you’re not going to be able to run to town for a toothbrush.”
“He’s not that bad, dear.” Her grandmother lahughed, only to jump, startled, when a horn suddenly blasted outside. “Oh, my goodness, they’re here!” Frantic, she glanced around. “I forgot to get my pillow—I’ll sleep better with it. And the mosquito repellant. You’ll need my keys to the storage shed just in case you need to get in there for anything. And the reservation list. Where did I put it?”
Flustered, she would have rushed into her office, but Phoebe quickly stepped into her path. “I’ll take care of the reservation list—it’s around here somewhere. The keys to the shed are on the hook by the back door, and I already put the mosquito repellant in your bag. Here’s your pillow,” she said, stuffing it into her grandmother’s arms with a grin. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t have to tell her twice. Her beautiful wrinkled face alight with anticipation, Myrtle hurried out to greet her friends, while Phoebe trailed behind with her bag. Before her grandmother could think of something else to worry about, hugs and kisses were exchanged, her things were stowed in the Walkers’ new motor home, and Myrtle only had time to wave before Tom fired up the RV and pulled away from the curb. In the time it took to blink, the motor home had disappeared around the corner.
Another woman might have immediately felt lonely, but Phoebe didn’t have time. She had guests coming for the weekend. Her thoughts already jumping ahead to the elaborate breakfast she would serve them, she hurried into the house to check to see what staples Myrtle had the pantry stocked with. She had taken only one step into the kitchen when she stopped in surprise, a slow smile spreading across her face. Given the chance, she would have given her grandmother a bear hug if she could have reached her. Because there, on the table, was the old flour tin Myrtle kept her favorite recipes in, including the one for buttermilk biscuits she’d won with at the state fair. Armed with nothing more than that, Phoebe knew she could make the bed and breakfast a success. Now all she needed was a guest!
The thunderstorm descended on the Colorado Rockies like the wrath of God. One moment, Tayler Bishop was cruising through the mountain pass west of Liberty Hill, his thoughts on his father and everything he would say to him when he got the chance, and the next, a driving rain was pounding the windshield of his black Mercedes. Swearing, he jerked his attention back to his driving just as a fierce crosswind buffeted the car, but it was too late. He started to skid. Fighting the wheel and the wind, he didn’t realize he’d left the road until a pine tree appeared right in front of him. He didn’t even have time to hit the brakes before he slammed into it.
Dazed, he couldn’t have said how long he sat there in the dark as the storm raged around him. He held the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles white from the strain, and stared blankly at the air bag that had kept him from hitting the windshield. Overhead, lightning flashed like an exploding bomb, lighting up the night sky and outlining the pine tree that had stopped his car from careening down the mountain. In the dark, it looked as big as a barn.
He supposed he should have been thankful the damn thing hadn’t killed him. Then he forced open his jammed door and stepped out in the rain to get a good look at what the tree had done to his car. That’s when he started to swear. He was still swearing when a wrecker arrived fifteen minutes later in response to the call he’d made on his cell phone to his road service.
Dressed in a yellow rain slicker, the wrecker driver took one look at the situation and whistled softly. “You took quite a hit, buddy. Are you okay? Want me to call an ambulance?”
“No, I’m fine,” Taylor growled, disgusted, as he swept his dripping hair back from his face. “I had my mind on something else and didn’t notice the storm until it was too late.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” the other man advised. “You’re not the first person to take these mountains for granted. At least you were lucky enough to walk away. Where were you headed?”
“Liberty Hill,” he retorted. “The last highway sign said it was ten miles from here.”
The wrecker driver nodded. “If you’d made it through this last set of S-curves, you could have coasted the rest of the way without ever hitting the gas pedal.” Noting the California plates on Taylor’s car, he arched a brow in surprise. “It must be family bringing you to these parts because it sure ain’t business—there ain’t much in this neck of the woods. So who you visiting? I’ve been working a wrecker in this area for the past twenty years. Maybe I know them.”
Studying him through narrowed eyes, Taylor didn’t doubt that he probably knew Gus or had at least heard of him—which was why he had no intention of mentioning McBride’s name. He’d planned his revenge carefully and knew the importance of surprise. He’d keep his identity—and his reasons for coming to Liberty Hill—to himself, casually seek out McBride and earn his trust, then find a way to make him pay for abandoning his mother when she’d needed him most.
Even to himself, the plan sounded ruthless and diabolical, and he knew if his mother was looking down on him from heaven, she wouldn’t be pleased. However, he hoped she’d understand. This was something he had to do, and nothing and no one was getting in his way.
His expression grim, he looked the other man right in the eye and lied. “My cousin only moved here a couple of months ago, so I doubt that you know him. His name’s Christopher Deacon. He bought some land east of town and moved a trailer in.”
He didn’t know if someone had moved a new trailer in or not, but the wrecker driver apparently didn’t know either. Frowning, he said, “I don’t remember doing business with anyone named Deacon, but my memory’s not what it used to be. Since you got family here, and it’s so late, I can
