Night Thunder (5 page)

As she pulled out a suitcase and slipped a black tote bag on her shoulder, he stopped with the bottle lifted halfway to his mouth.

He’d never seen her before, but she didn’t look like anyone from around here. His keen eyes saw the sweep of chin-length silky blonde hair, the jeans that hugged her lean figure, the dainty pink tank top encasing small, firm breasts.

He couldn’t see her face too well, but nothing about her that he could see looked familiar.

She’s probably from Hope or Medicine Bow or Douglas and got hired on as a waitress or guest wrangler at the
dude ranch,
he thought, taking another swig of his beer. The Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch, owned by Wood and Tammie Morgan, had more employees than just about any other business in Thunder Creek, and they were always coming and going. Most of those who didn’t live in the bunkhouses on the Crystal Horseshoe property lived here at the Pine Hills, which offered half of its units with month-to-month leases.

Between the dude ranch’s wealthy guests and its employees, a small but steady flow of strangers came and went from Thunder Creek these days, but fortunately, even that hadn’t much changed the character of the little town, which was much the same as he remembered from his childhood.

A gust of wind blew down from the mountains, ruffling the woman’s hair as she started toward the door of the building, dragging the suitcase behind her. Ty shrugged, finished his beer, and left the balcony, slamming the door closed behind him.

Restlessness churned through him, almost crowding out the emptiness he’d felt ever since the day Meg died. He eyed the laptop on the desk and knew he could always work until he couldn’t see straight. Or he could run—another five-mile jog might sap some of what was eating him. Better yet, he’d do both. Run now, work later. And maybe, just maybe, he’d eventually manage to sleep.

He stuffed his keys into the pocket of the sweats he’d changed into and headed for the door.

On the stairway, he saw the woman struggling with her suitcase. She was halfway up to his floor and nearly fell backward when she spotted him sprinting suddenly toward her.

“Your tire’s going flat,” Ty said, cruising past her.

“Ex— . . . excuse me?”

“On your Blazer. Rear tire’s going flat,” he said curtly over his shoulder as he reached the ground floor. Then he noted how pale and tired she looked, and how filled to the gills her suitcase was.

“Oh, hell. Give me that.” He sprinted back up and took it from her before she could protest, then ran it up to the landing as if it weighed no more than his briefcase.

“Thanks . . . I . . . think,” she mumbled with a small, hesitant smile, but Ty was already forgetting her. He bounded past her and out the door, plunging into the deepening cool of the night and thinking of Meg, of how she’d chuckled when he’d gotten her veil all tangled lifting it for their first married kiss, of how warm her lips had felt, of how they’d promised themselves to each other for always.

He put his head down, clenched his fists, and ran faster.

Josy dragged her suitcase down the hallway until she reached 2D. For a moment she wondered if all the men in Thunder Creek could possibly be as handsome as the one she’d just met.
Well, not
met,
actually,
she thought wryly.
Encountered
was more like it.

He obviously had things on his mind, but at least he’d helped her with her suitcase. For a moment when she’d seen him running toward her with that scowl on his face, she’d feared he was one of the men she’d seen at Archie’s house, arriving in Thunder Creek right on her tail. She didn’t know why, but she’d had a quick impression of toughness, danger, and a kind of darkness—on his hard-planed face and in the way he moved.

Or maybe, she reflected wearily, her nerves were just shot.

Her leather tote with the package inside swung against her side as she fitted the key Candy Merck had given her into the lock and pushed the door open. She flipped on the light switch and peered in at her new home away from home.

The apartment wasn’t bad. It was small, with a cheap overhead light fixture that gave out merely adequate light, but the nubby forest-green sofa against one wall looked decent enough and there was a tall maple bookcase, and two armchairs upholstered in a passable maroon twill. She tugged her suitcase inside, closed the door, and walked through the place slowly.

The furniture was inexpensive but sturdy maple veneer, the kitchen cabinets looked new, and the floors were all plain buffed wood. The white-painted walls were uniformly bare, except for one framed print over the sofa—a moose standing by a river with a backdrop of snowcapped mountains. There was a lonely looking potted silk plant near the sliding doors that opened onto a small balcony. All in all, it was pretty generic but decent, and nothing that a few rugs and prints and maybe some throw pillows couldn’t brighten up a bit. Not that she was in a position to spend much money decorating a place that was going to be a very temporary home. She’d depleted most of her combined checking and savings account when she’d made the ATM withdrawal, and after paying cash for her airline ticket and the Blazer and then laying out the security deposit on this place, she only had six hundred dollars left. She’d have to count her pennies—or find some part-time work while she was here and earn a little money on the side.

In the small bedroom that overlooked the meadow she found a double bed, nightstand, and closet, but was dismayed to discover that there weren’t any linens—only a mattress pad, a pillow, and a cheap polyester-cotton quilt. She’d need to buy a set of sheets, a pillowcase, and blanket . . .

Anxiety rose up suddenly and she felt her stomach clenching. She probably should have just booked a room at the Saddle-Up Motel she’d passed on her way into town. It would have definitely been more affordable. But it had looked isolated and shabby and she’d passed it up in favor of finding a bed-and-breakfast or something. But it turned out that Thunder Creek didn’t have a bed-and-breakfast—only the Saddle-Up Motel, the Pine Hills apartments, and the Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch, which was all the way at the other end of the spectrum, far too plush and pricey for her to even consider.

The Pine Hills had made the most sense. She’d have privacy and security—and anyone searching for her would probably check in motels and hotels, not in an apartment building.
If
anyone even
was
searching for her. They were probably after Ricky, not her.

What in the world is he mixed up in?
she wondered for the hundredth time.
And what does that stupid package
have to do with it?

She closed her eyes, praying he was all right, praying he’d show up soon to take this damned package off her hands.

She had a life to get back to in New York—what was left of her life, at least—and she couldn’t stay here in this speck of a town forever.

But while she was here . . . Josy rose from the bed and strode to the window, staring out at the meadow and the distant mountains shadowed in darkness now. While she was here, she’d clear her head, come up with some ideas, and get them sketched out for Francesca.

And she’d find Ada Scott. She wasn’t sure if she’d approach her or tell her about the connection between them, but she’d find her, and at least know what her grandmother looked like, who she was.

It would make the time go faster until she could go home. It would distract her from the fact that she could be in danger. It would keep her from thinking about Doug.

And surely by the time she finished with all of that, Ricky would be in touch, he’d show up, he’d take the package off her hands and explain this mess to her.

All she had to do was take it one step at a time.

Exhaustion dragged at her. She’d been driving long hours for days on end, eating at truck stops and greasy spoons. What she really needed was a massage and a facial at the Red Door. A Pilates workout with Jane at the gym. She needed a martini at the Soho Grand, take-out Mongolian beef from Shun Lee Palace, and ten hours’ sleep on her own fluffy featherbed complete with cloud-soft DKNY linens.

Instead, she sat on her nubby green sofa and ate half a chicken sandwich and a bag of potato chips. After a final sip of tepid Coke, she pushed Ricky’s package into the shadowy recesses of a kitchen cabinet, curled up on top of the thin maroon quilt atop her bed, and fell asleep until the sun woke her in the morning, shining like a fiery opal in the pristine blue Wyoming sky.

Chapter 4

JOSY DROVE THE TWO MILES INTO TOWN EARLY the next morning armed with a shopping list and a plan. Though she was ravenously hungry, she’d discovered that her right rear tire was indeed flat, as the dark-haired stranger on the stairway had told her, so she pulled into Slade’s gas station first and arranged to have the spare put on, then walked swiftly up the street to Bessie’s Diner.

The morning was mild, without any trace of the chill that had pinged the air once the sun went down last night. She was comfortable in her sandals, Diesel jeans, and a red tank top as she studied the long, pleasant main street, filled with rows of shops. Some of them—like Granny’s Quilts and Mrs. Brown’s Antiques—looked brand-new and were probably geared toward the tourists staying at the Crystal Horseshoe Dude Ranch. Others—like the Mane Event beauty salon, Merck’s Hardware, and Krane’s drugstore—looked as weathered and permanent as the mountains themselves and had probably been here the last time she walked along this street—with her parents when she was eight years old.

What struck her most was the pure freshness of the pine-laced air, the vastness of the rolling gray and green expanses stretching in every direction from the town, and the gorgeous silk-blue sky that seemed to fill the universe. Her breath caught at the sight of the mountains towering in the distance, glittering snow frosting their peaks. A waterfall glinted like liquid crystal amid cool green ponderosa pine. And something inside of her, something knotted tight, relaxed at the sight of all this space and openness, at the grand wild beauty of it arrayed before her as far as she could see.

She felt at last that she might be safely, thoroughly, totally removed from New York—and from the danger that had sent her fleeing from the city.

“Morning. Coffee?” A buxom, middle-aged waitress with a mane of wiry, silver-frosted hair pulled back in a low ponytail dashed toward her, coffeepot in hand, the moment she slid into an empty booth near the back of the restaurant.

“Here’s the specials of the day, and here’s our regular menu. I’ll be back in a sec,” the waitress told her breathlessly as she finished pouring coffee. She flashed a quick, harried smile, and her dangling crystal earrings swung as she rushed over to the cash register where several customers were lined up to pay.

Josy cradled the coffee cup in both hands as she raised it to her lips. Thank God for caffeine. The coffee was hot and strong and glided down her throat. The waitress had her hands full, bringing out plates of eggs and sausage, pancakes, toast, refilling coffee cups, trying to wipe down a newly vacated table as yet more customers entered the diner and the little bell over the door jangled an announcement of their arrival.

By the time the waitress had a moment to skid to a stop beside her table once more, she was ready to order scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast.

“Got it, I’ll bring it out quick as I can,” the waitress promised, scribbling frantically on her pad.

“Is it always this crazy in here?” Josy asked with a smile, and the woman rolled her eyes.

“It’s busy every day, but usually we’ve got it covered. Today we’re shorthanded. The owner and the lady who works the cash register are in Vegas, and the owner’s granddaughter was supposed to come in but her baby has a cold, so . . .” She sighed. “It looks like I’m ‘it’ for now. Don’t worry, though, hon, we’ve got a great cook and he’s fast, so you shouldn’t have to wait too long.”

And she didn’t. Her breakfast arrived in a remarkably short time considering the crowd, and she dug in, famished and feeling like she hadn’t really tasted anything since she’d left New York.

She savored every bite and by the time the last crust of toast was gone and she was lingering over her third cup of coffee, Bessie’s Diner had pretty much emptied out and the waitress was clearing tables left and right.

“Is that it for you, hon—?” The waitress began, but she stopped in midsentence as the door to the diner opened and a lean blonde of about thirty wearing a lemon-yellow shirt, black jeans, and a slim gold bracelet slipped inside.

“Roberta, don’t kill me, but the invitation list for my shower isn’t ready yet.” The blonde thrust a hand through her hair as she hurried across the room. The waitress sighed and set Josy’s bill on the table. She turned toward the other woman, shaking her head.

“Aw, Corinne, don’t do this to me.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.” The blonde offered a rueful, somewhat frustrated smile.

“You know I can’t even start writing out those invites until you get me that list—”

“I know, I know. I promise I’ll have it by tomorrow afternoon. Things have been crazy.”

“Yeah, honey, that’s what happens when you get married.”

“
This
stuff isn’t what happens—not to everyone.” Corinne leaned a hip against one of the tables and continued on in an agitated tone. “My wedding gown came in yesterday—finally—in the wrong damned color! I wanted ivory and it’s white. Stark snow white. I’m going to look completely washed-out. Roy will think he’s marrying a ghost when he sees me. That’s not how I want to look on my wedding day.”

“Aw, sorry, honey.” Roberta sighed sympathetically.

Corinne hurried on, her words tumbling together. “So now I have to send it back and hope it comes in right next time, and I’m deciding about place cards and, can you believe it, I still can’t find shoes. Did you ever in your life see a barefoot bride? At this rate, you will.”

Corinne drew a deep, disgusted breath and tugged a cigarette from her purse. Josy couldn’t help listening, amusement and sympathy rising in her as the woman with the short ash-blonde hair kept talking rapidly only three feet away, in between harried puffs on her cigarette.

“My only hope is to find shoes in Casper. So I’m going to have to get there in the next day or so and pray they have something worthy of a bride in size nine narrow. On top of that, last night I promised I’d make dinner for Roy and I meant to work on the shower list right after that, but . . . dinner turned out so great. Roberta, we just ended up having this really romantic night, you know? It was perfect.” She sighed with contentment, then added drily, “So perfect that I never got to the shower list.”

“Didn’t you guys even come up for air?” Roberta snorted.

“Not even. I mean, we lost all track of time and I ended up being late for work. My last night at the Tumbleweed and I was late! Elam was fit to be tied, and I thought he was going to cancel the party tonight, but he didn’t and it’s still on. So be there by ten, okay?”

“You know I’ll be there, hon, but you’re cutting it close. The shower’s a week from Saturday. I need that invitation list pronto. We can’t just send out invites the day before—not if you want folks to show up. Hang on a sec.”

Roberta turned back to Josy, tapping a fuchsia-colored fingernail on the bill. “Sorry, I’ll take this whenever you’re ready. Don’t mind us, just a little prewedding crisis here.”

“No problem.” Josy smiled at the bride-to-be as she slid from her seat. “Congratulations. These are nice problems to have, if you’re going to have problems,” she murmured sympathetically.
Not like having murderers looking
for you and having to run for your life halfway across the
country,
she thought.

Corinne gave a slow, rueful smile and her shoulders relaxed. “No kidding,” she conceded. Her brown eyes suddenly glinted. “And if you saw the groom, you’d know I have no right to complain.”

“He’s a cutie, that’s for sure.” Roberta winked at Josy. “Nearly as handsome as my own poor Luther, Lord rest his soul. Now, that man of mine was a
hunk.
I’ll never find another like him if I live to be a hundred.”

“Maybe not, but all the widowers in town hope you’ll keep trying.” Corinne grinned. She turned back to Josy. “You’re new to town, aren’t you?”

“I only arrived yesterday.”

“Welcome to Thunder Creek.” Roberta spoke over her shoulder as she led the way to the cash register. “Passing through, sticking around, or visiting?”

“Sticking around—short term, at least.”

“Don’t tell me. I bet you’re up staying up at the Crystal Horseshoe Ranch. It’s one pretty place, isn’t it?” Roberta’s sharp hazel gaze flicked over Josy’s designer jeans and pendant necklace, even down to the distinctive crystal beading on her sandals, which Josy realized must scream
tourist
.

She shook her head, bracing herself for the lies to come. “No, actually, I’ve rented a place for the month. I probably won’t be staying much longer than that. This is sort of a working vacation. And once I’m caught up with my work, I’ll need to get back to Chicago right away.”

“Well, if it’s peace and quiet you’re looking for, you’ve come to the right place.” Roberta met her gaze squarely. “I’ve only been here for about a year, but you won’t ever find a nicer town.”

“How in the world did you end up coming to Thunder Creek?” Corinne asked suddenly. She’d followed them to the cash register and was studying Josy curiously. “I’m not trying to be nosy, but we’re not exactly on the beaten path.”

“That’s easy.” Roberta slammed the register’s drawer, answering before Josy could speak. “I bet she knows someone who stayed at the Crystal Horseshoe. That place has been getting a lot of good write-ups in the travel magazines. We’ve had guests from all over the country. Am I right?” she asked Josy.

“Yes, absolutely.” She grabbed at the excuse like a lifeline. “A good friend of mine stayed at the Crystal Horseshoe for a week. She loved it and raved to me about what a nice town this is. Thunder Creek sounded like the perfect place for a working vacation. Nice people,” she added with a smile, “and few distractions.”

Josy stuck out out her hand, hoping to avoid any more questions. She’d rehearsed her “story” in the car all the way from Utah. But she wasn’t a good liar, never had been, and she felt guilty lying to these two nice women. “I’m Josy Warner—I’m happy to meet you,” she added, and at least that was the truth.

“You too, Josy. I’m Roberta Hawkins, and this is Corinne Thomas—soon to be Corinne Hewett, if she ever gets her act together,” Roberta added with a snort. At that moment the diner’s door opened and several men in cowboy boots, T-shirts, and jeans sauntered in and headed for the big table up front.

“Gotta go.” Roberta grabbed the coffeepot again. “Corinne, honey,
please.
Get me that list, will you?”

She sashayed toward the men’s table as Josy and Corinne moved toward the door.

“When’s the big day?” Josy asked as they emerged into the sunlight. For a moment she caught her breath at the striking vista of soaring mountains, prairie, and sky. She guessed it would take some time to get as used to that view as people in Thunder Creek no doubt were.

“Three weeks from Saturday. If I make it until then.” Corinne shook her head. “Thank heavens for Roberta. My dad and brother are coming in from Texas for the big day, but they weren’t too interested in helping me plan a wedding. And I lost my mom five years ago. So here in Thunder Creek, Roberta’s been like family to me. She and Bessie and the lady who works the cash register at the diner have helped me out with just about everything—and kept me sane. Make that semi-sane,” she amended with a laugh. “I’m normally a very calm woman. But I’m thirty-four, I’ve never been married, and I want my wedding day to be perfect. Pretty unrealistic, right?”

“If I were getting married, I’d feel the same way.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel slightly less neurotic.” Corinne chuckled and took another drag on her cigarette. “What about you? No ring, I see. Anyone special in your life right now?”

“No.”
Too late, Josy realized that the single word had snapped out, sounding far more emphatic than she’d intended. She bit her lip. “And for the time being I plan to keep it that way,” she added as lightly as she could.

“Sounds like you’ve been burned.”

Josy didn’t reply. Corinne studied her cool, closed face with knowing sympathy. “In case you change your mind, you should know we’ve got a herd of handsome cowboys in this town.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. This is strictly a working trip.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

Josy hesitated. She’d already lied about being from Chicago and not New York. It was highly unlikely that any of Ricky’s enemies, whoever they were, would trace her to Thunder Creek, and she probably could tell the truth about her job at least without risking discovery, but . . .

An inner voice advised her to play it safe. “I’m an assistant to an interior designer,” she said.
At least the assistant and designer part was true.
“I’m working on some sketches for an important client. He’s moving into a new penthouse in the Loop and I’m coming up with a range of ideas for the home.”

“Wow.” Corinne stared at her. “That sounds so exciting. It really does. Maybe you can give me a few tips—I’m redoing Roy’s house now that it’s going to be our home. We’ve been living together there for over a year,” she explained, “but with us getting married and everything, I want to make it more . . . well,
ours.
”

“Oh . . . yes. Of course, I’d be glad to help.” Josy wanted to crawl into a hole.