“Did you want to come in?
I’ll make you hot chocolate this time,” Amy asked.

“No, I just wanted to see you were safe,” Heath replied.

“So you could leave?”

“Something like that.”

Amy wished she could be angry with him, but it wasn’t that easy. How could she be angry with someone that wonderful? He spoke so well and knew how to make hollandaise sauce without checking a recipe and stood tall when danger called. Not the usual wanderer looking for a job. And that left the question “Why?” She instinctively knew it was a question that would only make him turn away.

Some things were left in the past where they belonged. Everyone deserved at least one free pass, one “do over.” Maybe that’s the way it was for Heath….

JILLIAN HART

makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.

Sweet Blessings
Jillian Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

—James 1:17

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

The jingle of the bell above the door announced a late customer to the diner.

Amy McKaslin glanced at the clock above the cash register that said it was eight minutes to ten, which was closing time, and sized up the man standing like a shadow just inside the glass doorway.

He wasn’t someone local or anyone she recognized. He was tall with a build to match. He wore nothing more than a flannel shirt unbuttoned and un-tucked over a T-shirt and wash-worn jeans. He had that frazzled, numb look of a man who’d been traveling hard and long without enough rest or food.

Road exhaustion. She’d seen it lots of times. He wasn’t the first driver who’d taken this exit off the interstate. It happened all the time. With any luck, he’d be a quick in-and-out, looking for nothing more than a shot of caffeine and a bite before he got back on the road.

That was a much better prospect than last night, when a half dozen high-school kids had piled into a booth. Amy enjoyed the teenage crowd, but it had been nearly midnight before she could lock up and head home. Not good when her son was waiting for her, and she was paying a baby-sitter by the hour.

Tonight, Westin would be waiting, too, and on a school night when little boys should be fast asleep. He was an anxious one, always worrying, and she prayed the lone stranger had somewhere he had to go, too. Someone who was waiting for him. She turned the sign in the window to closed before any teenage clique decided to wander in.

Forcing a smile after being on her feet since 6:00 a.m., she grabbed a laminated menu. “Table or booth?”

The loner shrugged, looking past her as if he didn’t see her at all. His eyes had that unfocused look drivers got when they’d been staring down pavement and white lines for too long, and the purple smudges beneath spoke of his exhaustion.

Yep, me too, buddy. She led him past the row of tables, washed and prepped for morning, to the booths in the corner, where the night windows reflected the brightly lit dining area back at her. Already she was thinking of home. Of her little boy’s after-supper call.

“Come home, Mommy,” he’d said in that quiet way he had. “I told Kelly not to read me any more of my story. You were gonna tonight, remember?”

She remembered. Nothing was more serious than the promises she made to her little boy. Almost there, she thought, as she watched the clock’s hands creep another minute closer to ten. Aware of the man behind her making less noise than a shadow, she slid the menu onto the corner booth.

She whipped out her pad. “What can I get you to drink?”

Haggard. That was one word to describe him. The overhead light glared harshly on his sun-browned skin and whisker-stubbled jaw as he folded his over-six-foot frame behind the table. “Coffee.”

“Leaded or decaf?”

“I want the real thing. Don’t bother to make fresh. If you got something that’s been sitting awhile, I’d rather have it.” He pushed the menu back at her. “A burger, too. With bacon if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Sure thing.” As she scribbled up the ticket, already walking away, something drew her to look one more time.

He had gone to staring sightlessly out the window, appearing tired and haunted. The black night reflected back the illusion of the well-lit café and his hollow face. The man wasn’t able to see through the windows to the world outside. It was within that he was looking.

Her heart twisted in recognition. There was something about him that was familiar. Not the look of him, since she’d never met him before, but it was that faraway glint in his eyes. One that she recognized by feel.

She, too, knew what it was like to feel haunted by the past. Life made a mark on everyone. She didn’t know how she saw this in this stranger, but she was certain she wasn’t wrong. The regrets and despair of the past yanked within her, like a summer trout caught on a fishing hook. As she grabbed the carafe from the burner, where it had been sitting since the end of the supper rush, she risked another glance at the man.

He sat motionless with his elbows braced on the table’s edge and his face resting in his hands.

Hopelessness. Yeah, she knew how that felt, too. Pain rose up in her chest, pointed like an arrow’s tip, and she didn’t know if it was the stranger she felt sympathy for or the girl she used to be. Maybe both.

She slid the cup and saucer onto the table. “I hope this is strong enough. If not, I’ll be happy to make a fresh pot that will hold up a spoon. You just ask.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He didn’t make eye contact as he reached for the sugar dispenser on the small lazy Susan in the middle of the table.

Whatever troubled him on this cool late-spring night, she hoped at least a cup of coffee and a meal would strengthen him.

Something sad might have happened to him to make him a traveler tonight, she speculated. Maybe some family tragedy that had torn him from his normal life and had him driving on lonely roads through the nighttime. She knew that pain, too, and closed her mind against it. Some pain never healed. Some losses ran deep as the soul.

She put in the order, catching sight of her sister. “This is the last one. I already turned the sign over.”

Rachel glanced at the ticket and pivoted on her heels to remove one last beef patty from the cooler. “If you want to take the floors, I’ll total out the till. Have those other guys left yet?”

“No.” Amy had almost refused them service when they came in, a little too bright-eyed and loud. They’d quieted down once they started eating. “They were just finishing up when I walked by.”

“Good. I don’t like them. I know they’ve been in before, but not this late.”

Amy knew what her sister didn’t say. Not when we’re alone with them. Yeah, that had occurred to her, too. Big-city crime didn’t happen in their little Montana town, but that didn’t mean a woman ought to let down her guard.

She could see the two rough-looking men through the kitchen door with their heads bent as they both studied the totaled check.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured her sister. “We aren’t exactly alone with them.”

“Good.” Rachel slapped the meat on the grill. “We may get out of here before eleven, if we’re lucky. Say, how’s Westin holding up?”

Westin. Amy’s stomach clenched thinking of all her little one had gone through. “He had a rough day, and now we’re just waiting for the test results. They can do a lot for asthma nowadays. It won’t be like what Ben went through.”

They both fell silent for a moment, remembering how ill their brother had been when he was Westin’s age. They’d had to keep oxygen in the house just in case of a severe attack. They’d almost lost him a few times, calling the ambulance while his lips turned blue and he struggled for breath that was impossible for him to draw in.

Amy’s stomach clamped into a hard, worried ball. It wouldn’t be like that for Westin. She would make sure of it. How, she didn’t know, but she certainly had the strength to will it. That, with prayers, had to make a difference, right?

“I slipped a little gift for him into your coat pocket. Don’t get mad at me. I couldn’t resist.”

“You got him that video game, didn’t you? You’re spoiling him, you know. It was supposed to wait until his report card.”

“Yeah, yeah, but you know me.” Sweetheart that she was, with a heart-shaped face and all gentleness, Rachel shrugged helplessly, as if she had no choice but to spoil her nephew.

Since it was impossible to be even a little mad at Rachel, Amy just rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

“Oh, excellent!” Pleased, Rachel set the hamburger buns on to toast.

Yep, it was hard to do anything but be deeply grateful for her big sister. Amy gave thanks, as she always did. They’d lost their parents long ago, when they were all still kids. It had only made her hold tight to the loved ones in her life now. Her sisters, her brother, and her son. So tight, there was no way she’d let them go.

It looked as if the two men, who’d initially been upset there was no alcohol served in the diner, were getting ready to leave. Although Amy couldn’t smell alcohol on them, she suspected they’d imbibed sometime earlier in the evening. Not that she approved, but there was no outward reason to refuse service. In a small town, turning away customers tended to be bad for business.

Still, they’d done nothing more than laugh a little too loudly while they’d waited for their burgers. Now, with any luck, they’d pay and be on their way. She’d breathe easier once the door was safely shut behind them. They had that rowdy look to them. Men like that…no, it was best not to remember.

Her life was different now. She was different.

There was a ruckus from table five. “Hey, waitress! What pie do you got?”

Oh no, and here she’d been wishing them out the door. Amy had to dig deep to remain patient and courteous. She didn’t like the way they were looking at her. As if she were a slice of pie with whipped cream on top. “We have a few slices of apple left.”

“Nah. I was hopin’ for something sweeter.” The one on the left—with a gold cap on one front tooth—gave her a wink.

As if. “I’ll be your cashier if you’re ready.”

“It’s too bad about that pie. You must be just about done here. Maybe you’d like to come out with us?”

“No, I have to get home to my little boy.” She waited.

One gave her an oh-I’m-not-interested-now look.

The other didn’t so much as blink. “Then maybe you need a night out worse than I thought.”

“Sorry. Will this be cash or charge?” Hint, hint. Let’s go, boys. Out of my diner. She waited, trying to be courteous but firm.

“It’ll take us a minute.” The one who was not so interested in her reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

Good. Rachel’s call bell jangled, signaling the last customer’s burger was ready. She left the men to their arithmetic, glad for an excuse to put as much distance between them as possible.

She caught a movement in the window’s reflection. The loner was in the act of lifting his coffee cup. Had he been watching her?

“Hey, waitress.” They were talking to her again.

She dreaded turning around, but these weren’t the first tough customers she’d dealt with. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you don’t have a bottle or two hid in back? I know you said you don’t got beer to sell. But me and my buddy here sure could use a couple a beers.”

“Sorry, we don’t have a liquor license.”

“What kind of place don’t serve beer?”

“A family restaurant.” Amy kept her smile in place as she withdrew the order pad from her apron pocket.

The bigger of the two swore.

She flinched. Okay, she didn’t want any trouble. She wanted them gone, the faster the better. She pivoted on her heel, hoping this was the end of it. C’mon, just leave your money and go.

In the window’s reflection, she again noticed the lone stranger. Sitting hunch-shouldered as if uninterested, but his gaze was alert. He didn’t move, although she could feel how his every muscle was tensed like a wolf watching his prey. Waiting to spring.

It strengthened her. She knew it was the Lord at work in her life, as He always was. For every bad customer, there was always another who was not.

Thankfully, there was no trouble. The offending parties left a pile of greenbacks and pounded to the door, chewing on toothpicks and making as much noise as possible as they went. The bell chimed when the door shut.

Trouble averted. Relieved, she hurried over to turn the dead bolt. Thank you, Father.

Her reflection stared back at her in the glass. She saw a woman of average height and weight, with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her face was shadowed by too many hollows. The circles beneath her eyes looked like gouges from too many nights without sleep.

Maybe tonight she’d sleep better. A girl had to hope. She had so much to do before she could get home and into her warm bed. There was this one more customer, and then clean-up, and she could be home by eleven, eleven-thirty, depending. Westin would be listening for her. The hard knot in her stomach relaxed a smidgen, just thinking of her little boy. Yeah, she couldn’t wait to get home to him. To see his sweet face.

Rachel peered at her over the hand-off counter, where a plate piled high with a deluxe bacon burger and fries waited beneath a warming light. “Our last customer looked road-weary, so I made the burger with an extra patty.”

“I thought you might.” Amy didn’t bother to change the total on the ticket she left on the table with the meal. “Can I get you anything else?”

The lone wolf was staring out the window again. He shook his head.

He seemed so far away. His black hair was cut short, but not too short. Just enough for the cowlick at the crown of his head to stick up. It made him seem vulnerable somehow, this big beefy man with linebacker’s shoulders and a presence that could scare off a mountain lion.

Curiosity was going to get the better of her, so before she could get caught staring at him, she left a full ketchup bottle next to the meal ticket and went to collect the money the other men had left.

“I don’t believe this. I should have known.” She recounted the stack of ones.

“What?” Rachel appeared in the doorway, dishcloth in hand. “Didn’t they pay?”

“For only half of the total. I should have watched them closer. I just didn’t want to be any nearer to them than I had to be.” It wasn’t the end of the world. It was only five dollars. “Men like that just make me so mad.”

A flash of movement caught her attention. The loner stood with the scrape of his chair. Without a word he took off down the aisle.

She looked at him with surprise.

“Should I give Cameron a call at home?” came the woman’s voice from the kitchen doorway. “He can handle it for us.”

The waitress dropped the bills back on the table. “It’s not worth it. Men like that—”

She didn’t finish the statement, but Heath Murdock could read it in her stance. She wrapped her slender arms around her narrow waist as if in comfort and he had to wonder if a man like the two lowlifes that were out in the parking lot had hurt her somewhere down the line. Not just a little, but a lot. And because he knew how that felt, he headed for the door.

The world was a tough place and sometimes it was enough to break a man’s soul. There was a lot he couldn’t fix that was wrong in this world and in his own life, but this…he could do this. The dead bolt clicked when he turned it and he went outside into the gust of wind that brought new rain with it.

He felt the woman watching him. He didn’t know if she approved, or if she was instead one of those ladies who disapproved of any show of strength. But it didn’t stop him. He knew what was right. And walking out on a check was stealing, plain and simple. Not to mention the disrespect they’d paid to the perfectly decent waitress who’d done nothing more than remain polite.

A small diner in a small town didn’t probably make much in sales. Heath knew he had justice on his side as he stalked across the parking lot. A pickup roared to life. Lights blazed in the blackness, searing his eyes.

Trouble. He could feel it on the knife’s edge of the wind. Through the blinding glare of the high beams, he made out a newer-model truck with big dirt-gripping tires. A row of fog lights mounted on the cab were bright enough to spotlight a path to the moon.

The engine roared, as the vehicle vibrated like a predator preparing to attack. Heath didn’t have much of a chance of stopping them now. Not when they were already in the cab and behind the wheel. When the engine gunned again, their crude words spat like gunfire into the air. The truck lurched forward with an ear-splitting squeal of tires.

Heading straight for him.

Heath didn’t move. A small voice inside him whispered, “This is it. Let it happen. Stand still and it will all be over.”

It was tempting, that voice, inviting as it tugged at the shards of his heart still beating. All he had to do was not move, that was all.

He held his breath, letting it happen, feeling time slow the same way a movie did when the slow-motion button was hit on the remote. His senses sharpened. The rain tapped against his face with a keen punch and slid along his skin. So wet and cold.

The wind blew through him as if he were already gone. His chest swelled as he breathed in one last time. He smelled the distinct sweetness of wet hay from some farmer’s field and the petroleum exhaust from the truck. The headlights speeding toward him bore holes into his retinas.

Just don’t move. It was what he wanted with all his being. He felt the swish of the next moment, although it hadn’t happen yet. The truck gaining speed, the squealing tires and the stillness within him as he wished for an end to his pain.

But even the wish was wrong. He knew it. His spirit bruised with the sin of it. At the last moment he sidestepped, the same moment the pickup veered right and careened off into the rain. Time shot forward, the rain fell with a vengeance and his lungs burned with the cold. He listened to the subwoofers thumping as the truck vanished.

Lightning split the sky. The sudden brightness seared his eyes and cleaved through his lost soul, and then he was plunged into darkness again.

Alive. He was still alive.

Wind drove icy rain against him like a boat at sea and wet him to the skin. Water sluiced down his face as he stood, shivering from the cold and a pain so deep it had broken him. Being alive was no victory. He felt that death would have been kinder. But not by his own choice and, once again, hopelessness drowned him.

“Are you all right?” Her concern came sharp and startling as the thunder overhead.

Heath turned toward her, like a blind man pivoting toward the sound that could save him. But nothing could. Lost and alone, he was aware of what he must look like to her. His clothes were soaked through. His hair clung to his scalp and forehead. Rain dripped off the tip of his nose and the cleft in his chin.

There, in the cheerful glow of the diner’s windowed front, the two women stood framed in the light. Two women, one a half inch or so taller than the other, with blond hair pulled back from nearly identical faces. They had to be related. The classic features of girl-next-door good looks ought to be a reassuring sight.

Except both women were watching him with horror-filled eyes. He must look like a nut.

With the darkness tugging him and the brutal rain beating him back, he ducked his head and plowed into the storm. He splashed through puddles and the water seeped through the hole in his left boot. As he went, his big toe became wetter and his sock began to wick water across to his other toes.

“Goodness, you gave us a scare!” The waitress was holding the door for him. Concern made her seem to glow as the light haloed her.

He blinked, and the effect was gone. Maybe it was from his fatigue or the fact that adrenaline had kicked in and was tremulous in his veins. He still had the will to live, after all.

Thunder crashed like giant cymbals overhead, and it felt as if he broke with it. As he trudged up the steps and into the heat of the diner, bitterness filled him. There was shelter from this storm, but not from the one that had ripped apart his life.

No, there was no rest and no sanctuary from the past. Not tonight.

The waitress moved aside as he shouldered by, and he felt her intake of breath. The concern was still there, for she wore it like the apron over her jeans and blouse. As sincere as it was, he had no use for concern or sympathy. Those paltry emotions were easy to put on and take off and the words, “I’m sorry for your loss” came back to him.

Words meant to comfort him, when for a fact they were for the speaker’s benefit. To make the speaker feel safe from the brutal uncertainty this life sometimes had to offer.

He’d learned it the hard way. Life played tricks with a person. Get too much, become too happy and bam! It could all disappear in the space between one second and the next.

It was a lesson he would never forget and he doubted the pretty waitress with her big blue-violet eyes and lustrous ponytail of gold would ever understand. What tragedy could happen here in this small little burgh miles from frantic big cities and desperation?

None, that’s what. His boots squished and squeaked against the tile floor as he ambled down the aisle. The faint scent of perfume stayed with him, something subtle and sweet that made him think of dewy violets at dawn’s first light and of hope. That’s what that fragrance smelled like, and he wanted nothing to do with hope.

He didn’t look back as he lumbered the length of the diner to the booth where his burger waited. He reached into his back pocket and hauled out his wallet. Dropped a ten on the table. “I’ve changed my mind. I want this to go.”

“Sure thing.”

She’d said that phrase before and just like that. Politely cheery words held up like a shield as she efficiently went about her work. Amy, her little gold nametag said. Amy. She didn’t look like an Amy. Amys were cute and sweet and bubbly, and this one was somber. Polite and nice, but somber. She liked to keep people at a distance. He knew enough about shields to recognize one when he saw it. He had too many of his own.

She returned with a container and he took it from her. He didn’t like to be waited on. He tipped his plate and the burger and fries tumbled into the box.

Ever efficient, the waitress reached into her crisp apron pocket and laid a handful of ketchup packets on the table. That annoyed him. He couldn’t say why. Maybe because he felt her gaze. Her heavy, questioning gaze as if she were trying to take his measure. Trying to figure him out.

He’d given up long ago.

“There’s no charge,” her voice followed him like a light in a bleak place. “For what you tried to do.”

“I pay my own way.”

Whatever kind of man he looked like, he had standards. He had pride. He had no use for handouts. He wasn’t looking for a soup kitchen and a quick revival meeting to patch up the holes in his soul.

He doubted even God could do that. So he faced the storm. What was a little wind and rain? Nothing.

He was so numb inside that he didn’t feel the icy rain streaking in rivulets along the back of his neck. He didn’t feel the water squish into his boot as he crossed the unlit parking lot and became part of the chill and the night.

Chapter Two

“What’s with you?” Rachel asked as she tied off a bulging black garbage sack. “You’re attacking that floor as if it’s your own personal enemy.”

Amy put a little more shoulder power into the mop. The yellow sponged head compressed into a flat line, oozing soap bubbles as she wrenched the handle back and forth. “I’m trying to get the floor clean.”

“Yeah, but we don’t want the tile to come off with the dirt.”

She had a point, Amy realized as she gave up on the faintest of black streaks—she’d need to buff those out. Otherwise the floor sparkled. She dunked the mop into the bucket, surrendering, and rubbed at the small of her aching back. “Is this day over yet?”

“Go home. I can finish up.”

“No, I told you I’d stay and I will. We leave together.”

“What about Westin? He’s waiting up for you. I don’t have anyone at home for me. You go on.”

“No. We share the work. And that’s low, using my son to get me to do what you want.” Amy loved her sister, who meant well. Who always gave too much. “You know I’m thinking of him.”

Was it wrong that she was thinking of someone else, too?

Yes. Determined to sweep the lone stranger from her mind, she lugged mop and bucket to the industrial sink and, with a heave, emptied the dirty, soapy water. There. The bucket was clean and so was her…well, her list of distractions. Westin came first. Always first. She had no business thinking about some man whose name she didn’t know.

Men always led to trouble. Sure, there were a few good ones in the world, but they were as rare as hen’s teeth, as her grandmother used to say. And you couldn’t always tell the mettle of a man, no matter how wonderful he seemed, until it was too late.

That was the truth. There were so many things she wished she could go back in time and change. She’d right every mistake and every problem that had blown up into a bigger problem.

But there was one thing she would never regret, and that was deciding to keep her son. It hadn’t been easy for either of them, but they were a team, and somehow they’d get through this. With the good Lord’s help. And, of course, her family’s.

Rachel wrestled a second garbage bag out of the industrial-sized bin and tied it off. “If you want to trade shifts tomorrow, let me know. Or, if you need me to sit with him so you don’t have to pay a baby-sitter, I’m available. You know how I love to spend time with my nephew.”

“Thanks, I’ll let you know. This means I’m doing the early-morning shift tomorrow?”

“Paige gets back in two days. We just have to survive until then.”

Amy dumped a dollop of soap into the bucket and ran fresh hot water. “Survive? I think we’re doing really good on our own.”

“Except for the short-handed part.”

Paige was their older sister, who ran everything perfectly and was out of town. And while chaperoning the youth-group trip to the Grand Canyon was great, no one had known ahead of time that the cook was going to up and quit out of the blue and leave them shuffling to fill his position and cover most of Paige’s duties.

Rachel, her soft heart showing, straightened from garbage detail. “You’ve been working way more shifts than I have. I know, you don’t mind. You can use the extra tip money. Speaking of which, please take me up on my offer to baby-sit. I know you think it’ll be imposing, but I really want to help. I’m supposed to spend tomorrow doing the books, so it’s done for Paige’s inspection when she gets back. I can just take everything over to your place. Maybe alternate posting to the ledgers with playing a few games, video and otherwise.”

There was no way Amy could say no to her sister’s big doe eyes. And Rachel knew it. Not to mention it would help with the baby-sitter’s bill. But that wasn’t the driving reason she agreed. “I’m sure Westin would love to spend his day with his Aunt Rachel. He’s been wanting to play Candyland with you.”

“Oh, that’s my very favorite game. Probably because I’ve always had a sweet tooth.” Rachel cheerfully grabbed the bulging garbage bags, one in each hand. She was gone with a slap of the door.

Thunder cannoned overhead, echoing in the empty dining room. Amy rocked back on her heels. Wow, that was a good one. As she turned off the faucet and hefted the bucket from the sink, her heart went out to her son miles away. Had he heard it, too? He didn’t like storms.

I’ll be home as soon as I can, baby. Just one patch of floor left. Moving fast, she leaned the mop against the wall and hustled down the aisle, flipping the chairs onto tabletops as she went.

She stopped at the last booth. It was where he’d sat. The stranger. The image of him remained as brightly as if he’d been on a movie screen, how he’d stood with feet braced and shoulders wide in the rain. How he’d faced down the oncoming blaze of headlights and refused to move. He was either really brave or he had a death wish, and she’d nearly fainted with horror watching as the truck had careened toward him. Certain he was about to be hit, she’d started running toward the door until, at the last moment, he’d stepped out of harm’s way.

Then, as if he’d done nothing of consequence, he growled at her, refused her thanks and left the diner with his meal in hand. He just stalked out the door, eager to be on his way, solitary and remote.

Wasn’t that just like a man?

Oh, well, he was gone. She wished him luck. She didn’t know what else to do. She would add him to her prayer list tonight. He’d made her feel things she’d worked hard to keep buried. Feelings and memories she’d banished after her son was born and she’d come home a different woman from the girl who’d left for big-city excitement with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove—only to find out that home wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

The back door blew open and slammed against the wall. Rachel came in with the wind and rain. “Whew. It nearly blew me away out there and it’s getting worse. Let’s hightail it out of here while we can.”

“I’m almost done.” Determined to finish, Amy upended the final chair. Something dark tumbled to the floor.

She knelt to retrieve it. Mercy’s A’s was scrawled in worn gold-and-white letters on the black fabric of a man’s baseball hat. The bill had curved into a sagging humped shape as if from years of wear. Her loner had sat at this table, but had he been wearing a hat? She didn’t remember one.

It had been a busy day and a busier evening rush. Anyone could have left that cap any time during the supper hours, but there was something about it that made her think of him. Maybe it was the color; her loner had been wearing black.

Her loner—that’s how she was thinking of him, as if she knew him. Maybe it was that she recognized a part of herself in the man. Maybe because she understood it wasn’t only courage but something stronger that had made him stand motionless staring down death.

Yeah, she recognized the feel of despair that clung to him. She knew a like soul when she saw it.

She stowed the cap in the lost-and-found box, tucked it beneath the cash register and got back to work. Rachel was clattering around in the back office—it was little more than a closet, which it had been years and years ago when their parents had run the place.

But after their death, Paige had taken over and decided the front counter was no place to work on the books. So she’d checked out a how-to guide from the library and put them all to work. Amy had chosen the soft yellow paint because it was her favorite color. Of course, she was nine years old at the time. Now the color only reminded her of times best left forgotten. So she was happy to finish the mopping while Rachel muttered about over-rings in the cramped little office.

Amy glanced at the clock—ten thirty-eight—before rapping on the door, which was open. All she saw was Rachel’s back as she hunched over the plywood desk built into the back wall. That didn’t look comfortable. “I’m done out here. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nope. This tape is a mess. I need to talk to whichever of the twins did this today.” Frustrated, Rachel slid back in the folding metal chair and rubbed her forehead with both hands. “Those two are giving me a serious headache.”

Their teenaged cousins were not the most faultless of employees, but they were eager and worked hard. “They just have a lot to learn.”

“I know.” Rachel’s sigh spoke more of her own tiredness than of her upset at the girls, who had both turned seventeen last month. “I’m just going to throw all this in a bag and take it home. I’ll make the deposit tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me—”

The lights blinked off and stayed off. Pitch black echoed around them.

Amy didn’t move. “It looks like we lost power. Do you think it’s off for good?”

It stayed dark. That seemed like answer enough. Amy was trying to remember where the flashlights were when Rachel’s chair creaked and it was followed by the rasp of a drawer opening. A round beacon of light broke through the inky blackness. Leave it to Rachel. Amy breathed easier. At least they’d be able to close up without feeling their way in the dark.

Lightning flashed, and immediately thunder crashed like breaking steel overhead. Closer. The front was coming fast and moving toward home. She thought of her little boy. Westin was safe with the baby-sitter, but he’d be worried. She couldn’t call to reassure him. It wasn’t safe with the lightning crackling overhead and besides, if the power was out, then the phone lines were probably down, too.

She grabbed her purse from the shelf and her jacket hanging next to it, working in the near dark, for Rachel was hogging the flashlight to zip the cash receipts and the day’s take into her little leather briefcase. Once that was done, Amy hurried ahead and rechecked the front door—locked, just as it was supposed to be—and followed the sound of Rachel tapping through the kitchen toward the back door.

Outside seemed just as dark. An inky blackness was broken only when lightning strobed overhead and speared into the fields just out of town. It was definitely heading south. All she wanted to do was to get home before a tree or a power line blocked the road out of town.

She manhandled the door closed and turned the key in the dead bolt. The wind whipped and lashed at her, strong enough to send her stumbling through the puddles. In the space between lightning bolts, she could feel the electric charge on her skin. It came crisp and metallic in the air.

Rain came in a rage and it bounced like golf balls over the battered blacktop lot and over them. She hadn’t gone two yards and she was drenched to the skin. Following the faint glow of Rachel’s flashlight, she let the wind hurl her toward two humps of shadows that became two parked cars as they stumbled closer. The windshields gleamed, reflecting the finger of fire sizzling overhead. Lightning snapped into a power pole a block or two away. The thunder boomed so hard, Amy’s eardrums hurt with the shock.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t see another shadow until headlights flashed to life. She recognized the row of piercing fog lights blazing atop a pickup’s cab. Oh, heavens. It was the two men who’d hassled her in the restaurant.

It happened so fast. The truck screeched to a halt inches from Rachel, who’d been in the lead. The passenger door thrust open and suddenly there he was, the dark form of a stocky man, muscled arms held out with his hands closed into fists. Everything about him screamed danger. He stalked toward Rachel like a coyote ready to strike.

Amy didn’t remember making the choice to fight instead of run. She was simply there, between the man and her sister. Protective anger made her feel ten feet tall. “Get out of here. Now.”

“Hey, that’s no way to talk. I just wanted to give you girls a chance to make back your five bucks. Maybe even earn a tip.” The strong scent of hard liquor wafted from him.

She wasn’t afraid; she was mad. “That’s a horrible thing to say. Shame on you. You get back in your truck and leave us alone, or I’ll—”

“Yeah, what are you gonna do, pretty lady?” he mocked, and then the smirk faded from his shadowed face.

For out of the black curtain of rain emerged another man. One who stood alone.

Maybe it was the glaze of light snaking across the sky behind him. Or the way his dark hair lashed in the wind, but he looked like a warrior legend come to life. There was no mistaking the sheer masculine steel of the man as his presence seemed to silence the thunder.

He didn’t utter a word. He didn’t need to. The look of him—iron-strong and defensive—made the troublemaker shrink back as if he’d been struck. The ruffian cast one hard look at Amy—she saw the glint of malice before he leaped into the cab and slammed the door. The truck shot through the downpour, roaring out of sight.

Amy realized she was trembling from the inside out, now that the threat was gone. She swiped the rain from her eyes. She didn’t know why some people behaved the way they did. As long as Rachel was safe. They were both safe. She remembered to send a note of thanks heavenward.

And her loner—her protector—waited, his back to them, his feet braced wide, his fists on his hips looking as invincible as stone as he watched in the direction of the road, as if making sure those troublemakers weren’t doubling back.

“Oh, I can’t believe those men! If you can call them men.” Rachel walked on wobbly legs toward her car. “I’ve got to sit down.”

“They scared me, too.” Amy opened her sister’s car door and took the keys from her trembling hand. She sorted through them for the ignition key as Rachel collapsed onto the seat.

“Are you all right?”

Amy turned at the sound of his voice, rough like the thunder and as elemental as the wind.

He was simply a man, not legend or myth, but with the way he looked unbowed by the rain and lashed by the storm, he gave the presence of more.

When he spoke, it was as if the world silenced. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? I came across the parking lot as fast as I could.”

But from where? Amy wondered. He could have come out of the very night, for he seemed forged out of the clouds and dark. She swiped a hand across her brow, trying to get the rain out of her eyes and saw the faint glaze of lightning reflecting in the windows far down the alley. The town’s only motel. That’s where her loner had come from.

“You arrived just in time,” she assured him, standing to block the rain for her sister. “We’re all right.”

“Thanks to you. Again.” Rachel was still clutching the briefcase to her chest.

Amy knew what she was thinking. Rachel had their day’s take tucked in her leather case. It was a lot to lose, had the men been interested in money only.

“You ladies want me to call the sheriff?” The loner kept his stance and his distance like a protective wolf standing on the edge of a forest, ready to slip back in.

“No, it looks like the phone lines are down, too. I’ll stop by and see the deputy. I drive right by his place on my way home—”

Lightning flashed like stadium floodlights, eerily illuminating the parking lot and the three of them drenched with rain. Thunder exploded instantly and a tree limb on the other side of the alley crashed to the ground, smoking.

The rain increased so she had to shout to be heard. “This is dangerous. Get inside. I’ll—”

She didn’t get to finish her invitation for breakfast in the diner. The lightning returned and made every surface of her skin prickle. Here she was, standing up in the parking lot, and how dangerous was that? She yanked her car door open and dove into the seat, grateful for the shelter. Through the rain-streaked windshield, she could see her loner in the parking lot, a dark silhouette the storm seemed to revolve around.

Rain hammered harder, sluicing so fast down the glass she lost sight of him. When the water thinned for a second, he was gone. There was only wind and rain where he’d stood.

Good. He’d returned to his motel room, where he’d be safe. The car windows began fogging and she realized her fingers were like ice, so she started the engine and flipped the defroster on high.

In the parking spot beside her, Rachel’s old sedan came to life, too, the high beams bright as she put the car in gear, creeping forward as if to make sure Amy was okay.

Amy wasn’t okay, but she knew her sister wasn’t going to drive off and leave her sitting here. So she buckled up and put the car in gear. She ignored the groan of the clutch because it needed to be replaced and, after creeping forward, realized she needed both the wipers and the lights on.

Rachel’s car moved away and Amy followed her, steering through the downpour that came ever harder. But her gaze drifted to the rearview, where the motel ought to be. She couldn’t see it; there was only darkness. Remembering the loner and the way he’d stood as if he were already not a part of this world, she wished…she didn’t know what she wished. That he would find rest for whatever troubled him.

She would always be grateful he’d stepped between her and possible danger twice. Lord knew there had been times when that wasn’t always the case.

The rain pummeled so hard overhead, she couldn’t hear the melody of the Christian country station or the beat of the wipers on high as she let the storm blow her home.

“Mom!”

The instant Amy had stumbled through the front door, she’d been caught by her son. His arms vised her waist, and he held on tight, clinging for moments longer than his usual welcome-home hug as thunder cannoned over the roof and shook the entire trailer.

Oh, her sweet little boy, the shampoo scent of him, fresh from his bath, and the fabric softener in his astronaut pjs just made her melt. She feathered her fingers through his rich brown hair the color of milk chocolate and when he let go, he didn’t look scared. But his chin was up and his little hands balled tight. Westin was great at hiding everything, true to his gender.

Only she knew how storms scared him. The hitch in his breathing told her his asthma medicine was working. The image from earlier today of the needle pricking along his spine tore at her. Her little one had had a rough day, and she remembered how he’d set his jaw tight and not made a sound. Tears had welled in his eyes but he hadn’t let them fall.

Her tough little guy.

She knelt to draw him against her. “I figured you’d be sound asleep by now and I wouldn’t get to read you another chapter in your story like I promised.”

“The thunder kept wakin’ me up. It’s loud. So I just stayed awake.”

That was his excuse. Tough as nails, just like her dad had been. Every time she looked at him, she saw it, the image of her father, a hint that always made her remember the man who’d been twenty feet tall for her. Who could do anything.

There were the little things Westin did that would twist like a knife carved deep. In the innocent gestures, as he was doing now, chin up, arms crossed in front of his chest, all warrior. Tough on the outside, soft as butter on the inside. Yeah, he was just like her dad.

“Okay, tiger, it’s way past your bedtime. Get to your room and under your covers. I’ll be back in half a second.”

His big brown eyes stared up at her. She caught the flash of fear when it sounded as if golf balls were hitting the roof with the force of a hurricane, but she nodded, letting him know without words that she was here now. He might be cowboy-tough, but he was a little boy who needed his mother. She wouldn’t let anything hurt her little one.

“’Kay,” he agreed, “but hurry up! We got a light all set up and everything. Bye, Kelly!” he called to the woman in the shadows of the tiny kitchen.

“G’night, don’t let the bedbugs bite!” came the answer and then her cousin by marriage emerged from the dark with her coat in hand. Kelly slipped one arm into the raincoat’s sleeve and then the other. “Hi, Amy. I got the dishes put away, too, just to help out. If you want me tomorrow night, just give me a call. You know I can use the extra cash.”

“Sure.” Amy dug through her apron pocket and counted out a small stack of ones. Tips had been sparse with the state economy the way it was and they’d been even worse tonight.

She regretted that three-quarters of her tip money was already gone, but there were other places to cut corners. Her son’s care was not one of them. “Rachel wants to come over and spend time with him tomorrow, but if I have to work at night, I’ll give you a call. We’re still short-handed. Are you sure you don’t want a job at the diner?”

“It’s harder to do my school work and wait tables at the same time. I have a test Monday.” Kelly settled her backpack on one shoulder. It was heavy with college texts and notebooks.

Amy had wanted to attend college, too, like so many of her friends and cousins had. Sparkling-eyed freshmen going to classes and chatting over coffee and learning exciting new things. There were a lot of reasons that had kept her from that path, mostly her own choices and the fact that a college education took money neither she nor her family had.

She admired Kelly for sticking to the hard course. It couldn’t be easy working several jobs and studying, too. “Drive safe out there. The roads are slick.”

“I will. Heavens!” Kelly opened the door and the racket was deafening.

Hail punched the pavement and hammered off the row of trailers lined up in neat order along the dark street. Ice gleamed black as it hid lawns and driveways and flowerbeds starting to bloom.

The wind gusted and Amy wrestled the door closed. She pulled the little curtain aside and watched through the window in the door, making sure Kelly got to her car safely and it started all right. In a town where few people ever bothered to lock anything, Amy turned the dead bolt and made sure Kelly made it safely down the lane.

It’s just the storm, she told herself. That’s why she felt unsettled. But she knew that wasn’t the truth.

The hail echoed like continual gunshots through the single wide, and she circled the living room, dodging the couch. A thick candle, one she’d gotten for Christmas, sat in the center of the coffee table and shed enough light for her to see her way around an array of toy astronauts and space ships arranged in the middle of a battle. The windows were cold, streaked with ice and rain and locked up tight.

Amy knew it wasn’t the storm that bothered her. It was those two men tonight. The harsh, brash way they’d laughed over their meal. The suggestive leers they’d shot at her. The way they’d walked out of the diner without fully paying, as if they had the right. It all burned in her stomach, the anger and the helplessness of it. They probably thought nothing of it, just two guys out having some fun.

But it was a big deal, their lack of respect. She wasn’t some questionable woman. She had standards and morals she lived by. What hurt is that times like this and men like that reminded her of the days when she’d behaved in ways she deeply regretted.

Don’t think about it. It’s over and done with now. She’d do best to erase the entire experience from her mind. She’d told the incident to the deputy on her way home. He lived four doors down. He was on his way out on an emergency call, but he told her he’d be by the diner in the morning if she wanted to file a report. She didn’t. There was no point. Things like that were public record and she wanted to keep as far away from the ugliness of the outside world as she could. For her son, and for herself.

This trailer wasn’t much, but it was hers and she’d worked hard to make the best of it. The tan shag carpeting was nothing fancy, but it was freshly vacuumed and in good repair. She’d laid it herself, after buying it as a remnant from a flooring outlet store in Bozeman.

Last year she’d retextured the walls in the living room and applied several coats of the lightest blue paint. The couch had been in the family for what seemed like generations. She’d reupholstered it and made the throw pillows that cheerfully matched the walls. Pretty lace curtains—she’d made a good yard-sale find with those—hung on decorative rods she’d mounted and gave the cozy room a sense of softness.

This was her sanctuary, and Westin’s boyhood home. She breathed in the serenity and felt more centered. She knelt to blow out the candle, and darkness washed over her. Tonight the shadows did not seem as peaceful. Hail echoed through the spaces and corners of the trailer and filled her with trepidation, as if the past could rear up and snatch away her life here.

I’m just tired, that’s all. Amy rose, breathing in the faint smoke rising off the wick and peppermint-scented wax. The uneasiness remained.

“Mom!” Westin stood in the wash of light from his bedroom door, looking like a waif in pjs that were a size too big. He was holding his stuffed Snoopy by the ear.

Her heart broke. Why was she letting the unease from the past trouble her? There was no reason to look back. She’d come a long way, and she’d done it all by herself—okay, with the help of God and her sisters. Westin was waiting for her, and no way was she going to let him down.

“Are your teeth brushed?” she asked, because it was her job as a mom.

“Kelly made me.”

“And what about your prayers?”

“Yep. I told ya. I’m really, really ready.”

“Then get into bed, young man. Hurry up.”

He ran, feet pounding as he raced out of her sight. The squeak of the box spring told her he’d jumped onto his mattress and was bouncing around, all boy energy, even this late at night.

If only she could harness it, she thought wistfully, as she bent her aching back to blow out the other candle on the little dinette set in the eating nook. Every bone in both feet seemed to groan and wince as she headed down the hall, drawn through the darkness by the light in her little boy’s room.

Westin was waiting and ready, tucked beneath his covers. A candle in a stout holder—Kelly must have placed it there—shone brightly enough on the pillow to reveal the boy’s midnight-blue bedspread with the planets sprinkled all over it. The rings of Saturn. The storms of Jupiter. The icy moon of…Jupiter? She couldn’t keep straight which moons belonged to which planets, but she should know it by heart because it was nearly all Westin talked about.

“Kelly and I saved the chapter on black holes for you to read, Mom!” Big blue eyes sparkling, Westin hid a cough in his fist and scrunched back into the pillows. Snoopy, clenched tightly in the crook of one arm, was apparently anticipating the wealth of information on black holes, too.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” Amy settled onto the bedside and held the heavy library book open in her hands. The spine cracked, the plastic cover crinkled and she breathed in the wonderful scent of books, paper and ink. She cleared her throat and began to read.

As exciting as gravity was, and as awesome as it was to hear about some stars exploding their matter into space, while others sank into themselves, Westin’s eyelids flickered. He yawned hugely and fought hard to stay awake. When she got to the part about gravity sucking light and matter into the net of a black hole, Westin’s lids stayed shut. His jaw relaxed. Snoopy kept watching her, however.

She slipped a bookmark between the pages and set the book on the nightstand. She just watched her son sleep for a few minutes with her heart full. Then she rose, blew out the candle and shut his door tightly.

The hall was pitch-black. Hail still rattled against the walls. Listening to the wind groan, Amy slipped into the darkness of her room. There was a tiny reading light, run on battery power, on her headboard. She unclipped it and flicked it on. It was a faint light and not strong enough to scare away the deep shadows from the room.

The uneasiness was still inside her. It was the loner. Tonight he’d somehow breached the careful shield she kept around her. Maybe it wasn’t that he’d broken through her defenses as much as she saw through his. And what she saw there reminded her of hard lessons she’d learned.

When a person lost her innocence, there was no way to get it back—even if she surrounded herself with family and friends, lived in a small rural town where she’d lived nearly all her life, where she knew everyone, where nothing bad hardly ever happened.

She could work hard, do her very best, pay her bills on time, make a home, raise a son and sometimes, like tonight, there would be something that would remind her.

Some wounds ran too deep to heal. And there lived within her a scar that cut into her soul. She was as lost as the loner had seemed to be. And as wounded.

In the dark, alone in her room, she felt revealed. In an act just short of desperation, she switched on the clock radio by her bed and forgot the lights were out. Tonight there would be no soothing twang of familiar Christian songs to lull away some of the void.

She hurried about her bedtime routine, the little habits reassuring her, making her feel as if everything was in its place. She washed her face, flossed, brushed her teeth, smoothed cream on those little lines beside her eyes and mouth. She changed into her soft flannel pajamas and knelt to say her prayers.

The storm was moving on. The hail turned to rain as she crawled under the covers, and then to silence.

But it wasn’t a peaceful silence.

Chapter Three

Heath growled in frustration from beneath the pillow that he’d wedged over his head. But it wasn’t working to block out first light.

It was his brand of luck. His motel room faced east—and that meant bright searing sunlight was finding its way through the gaps in the fifty-year-old curtain, and it lit up the place like a lighthouse’s beacon. The light seemed to pulse and dance because the old heater that clattered like a hamster running on a squeaky wheel all night long and wouldn’t turn off, was spewing hot air full-blast beneath the curtains.

Oh yeah, it was another night in a long string of countless nights without much sleep to speak of. His eyes were gritty, his mind numb and his back muscles aching from the sagging mattress. By the time he’d stepped into the shower, he was already resigned and so the fact that the water stayed cold even when he’d turned the knob to full force hot didn’t bother him so much.

These days not much did. His single duffel bag was ready to go and waiting by the door. He never bothered to unpack. When he was dried off and dressed, he tossed his toothbrush and half-rolled tube of toothpaste into the bag’s side pocket. He then added his unused razor. He scraped a hand over his two-day stubble—not too long to itch yet and he didn’t care if he looked a little on the scruffy side.

He squinted into the mirror as he zipped up the duffel. The man who looked back at him had the weary look of a drifter. The worn-down-to-the-nub soul he’d seen in so many of the homeless men he’d treated when they had stumbled into his emergency room.

He winced. Any thoughts of his old life brought up the beginnings of a pain so black, it would drown him. Or, maybe it already had, he reasoned as he looked away from the man in the mirror and slung the battered bag over his shoulder.

The stranger staring back at him didn’t resemble Dr. Heath Murdock, not in any way. He was no longer the vascular surgeon with a specialty in trauma medicine, who could handle any crisis, any unspeakable catastrophe with the calm steady confidence of a man born to save lives.

What he couldn’t stand to think about were the lives he’d failed to save.

So he headed out into the morning and welcomed the crisp bite to the early-spring air. The cheerful sun burned his eyes. Blinking hard, he ambled along the cracked sidewalk, uneven from the towering maples lining the parking lot, their roots exposed like old arthritic fingers digging into the dirt.

Head down, he dropped the room key off at the front desk where a tired woman in brown polyester mumbled thanks without looking up at him. He saw a home dye job and graying roots. The deep creases in the woman’s face were testimony of too many decades of hard living and heartbreak.

Yeah, he knew. He unlocked the passenger door of the old pickup. The truck used to be his granddad’s. Faint memories of sunny days riding around the Iowa farm with his grandpop washed through him.

Good times. Times he could tolerate thinking about. He dropped the duffel on the passenger floor, where decades of boots had worn scuffs. Tiny bits of straw and dried grass seed remained dug deep into the grooves around the door. The distant voices of long ago echoed for one brief moment—Grandpop, when I grow up I’m gonna be just like you!… Lord I hope so, son, ’cuz there ain’t nothin’ better than bein’ a cowboy.

The voices silenced as he slammed the door hard and breathed in the scented air.

There was hay and alfalfa growing next door in fields that rolled out of sight. The faint scent of irrigation made him feel like breathing in a little more deeply. When he pulled out his wallet, there were no pictures inside and no credit cards. There was nothing but a driver’s license and insurance card and, tucked between the two, his social security number.

Not that the jobs he’d been working lately had required legal ID.

He checked the thin bills—forty-six bucks left. That wouldn’t get him far. Looked like it was time to think about working for a while. This town with dust settling on the main drag through town—only one pickup had bothered to drive past this early in the morning—didn’t look like a hopping place…and that was just about his speed these days.

Across the parking lot he recognized an older model compact car, neat and clean and familiar. The waitress. He watched as she hopped out of the vehicle. She was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt that was baggy more than it was form-fitting. Her long blond hair was still damp from a shower and dancing on the breeze.

He watched her, unable to look away, as she took two steps toward the back door, skidded to a halt on black tennis shoes, and spun. She scurried back to her car, muttering to herself as if in great frustration. She hadn’t locked her car, so it took only a moment to yank it open. Then she bent down and he couldn’t see her beneath the door.

He leaned his forearms on the truck bed and watched as she bobbed up into sight. Her hair was more disheveled and she was muttering harder to herself as if she were having a very bad morning. This time she had a small tan purse in a death grip as she paced across the parking lot, looking as if she was working up a good head of steam. Yeah, he used to have mornings like that—

In a flash, it was right at the edge of his mind, the days of rushing out of the house, leaving too much behind him undone and two shadows in the doorway he couldn’t let himself see even in memory. Breaking into pieces, he slammed the door on the past and locked it well. Some things a man couldn’t live through.

Not that he was alive. Only his heart was beating, that was all.

He hung his head, hidden behind the pickup as he heard the waitress’s rapid gait stop in midstride. He peered through his lashes, not lifting his head, to see her hesitate, looking around as if she felt him there, felt him watching her. But she didn’t spot him. Was she remembering last night and feeling jumpy? Any woman would. He hadn’t meant to make her uneasy, he just didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t want a lot of things.

Maybe there was another place to eat in town.

He followed the alley to the front street. On the far side of the empty two-lane road, a train rumbled along the tracks hauling a long string of box containers. The bright black-and-blue paint of inner-city graffiti marked the sides of the cars, heading west, probably to the ports of Seattle or Portland.

Portland. He wondered why he even let that word into his mind.

A lone pickup, vintage fifties model, perfectly restored in a grass-green and shining chrome rolled down the street and pulled into a spot directly in front of the diner. The Open sign in the front window and the door open wide to the morning was invitation enough.

The man who climbed down from the pickup’s seat without bothering to lock up as he loped up onto the sidewalk looked to be a retired farmer. There was the look of a hard-working man to him, lean, trim and efficient. Gray-white hair fringed the blue cap he wore.

He pushed through the screen door that slapped behind him and voices rose from inside the restaurant.

“That’s what I like to see, coffee waiting….”

A woman’s lilting laughter answered.

It was all Heath could hear before a puff of wind changed direction, taking the words away. In the glint of the sparkling front window, Heath could see into the diner. He watched the man take a booth at the front window, his coffee cup full and already waiting for him. A regular customer? He probably showed up every morning now that he no longer had a farm to tend and ordered the same breakfast.

It was early yet, but the rest of the main street—which was what, only four blocks long?—was as dark as could be. The only other sign of life was the flash of a neon sign newly blazing on a quaint coffee shop on the corner. Drive-through Open, it announced in cheerful blue letters.

Heath’s stomach rumbled as he debated what to do.

The whisper of a car approaching on the road had him turning around. There was no mistaking the big gray cruiser with the mounted red and blue lights and the emblem on the doors. The local law had arrived. The passenger window whispered down as the car pulled up alongside the curb. Behind the wheel was a man in uniform, as fit and as steely as only a marine could be.

Recognizing his own kind, Heath gave a salute. “Is there a problem, sir?”

From inside the cruiser, the uniformed deputy gave him a cursory look and, finding him satisfactory, saluted him in return. “We don’t get a lot of out-of-towners this time of day. Need some help, soldier?”

“I can find my way, sir.” His years in the military—there was a time Heath didn’t mind remembering.

His service in the first Desert Storm had done more than change his life. It had made him know the true meaning of being a man. And what medicine was all about. Individuals. People. Not five years spent afterwards in one of the best hospitals in the country could change the integrity he’d learned in service to this country.

It was the only thing holding him together.

The deputy cracked a grin. “I was Marine Recon.”

“I was the doc that patched up your kind. You Special Forces guys seem to get into trouble on a regular basis.”

“I let a few of you sawbones work on me a time or two. I blame the ache in my arm on those docs. It couldn’t have been the two bullets and grenade shrapnel I caught. You wouldn’t happen to be the customer Amy McKaslin was tellin’ me about last night. You stopped her and her sister from bein’ hassled?”

“I didn’t do much. I just showed up. Did she get their license plate?”

“No. You didn’t happen to—”

Heath recited it from memory. “You look those boys up. The way they acted, it was no way to treat two real nice women.”

“Exactly.” The deputy reached for his radio. “You wouldn’t object to making a statement, would ya? I don’t take well to women being threatened in my town.”

“They skipped out on part of their bill, too.” Heath saw the lift of surprise of the officer’s brow, and knew the waitress hadn’t told the whole story. Probably because it was a matter of five dollars. “I’ll sign whatever you need me to.”

“Drop by the office after you’re done eating. It’s down past the hardware and keep going. You’ll see us.” With another salute, the deputy drove on.

Heath felt a ghost from the past—it was his own spirit. The man he used to be: whole and full of optimism and enthusiasm. Full of heart.

There wasn’t much left of that man. He didn’t recognize his reflection in the diner’s windows. He merely saw a man who looked more tired and aged instead of a vibrant, driven marine. He was like any man about to patronize a typical diner in a typical rural American town.

A bubbly waitress—not Amy—led him to the table in the back. It suited him. He had a view of the train still rolling by like an endless caravan. He ordered the special—whatever, he didn’t care—and thanked the waitress for handing him a local paper.

In his reflection in the window he caught sight of a man he used to know, just for one moment, and then it was gone like the train, the caboose slithering away and leaving a clear view of the park across the street. He stared for a long moment at the lush green grass waving in the wind.

The waitress returned with a carafe of steaming coffee, poured his cup full and dashed off with her sneakers squeaking on the clean tile. The coffee was black, had a bitter bite, and he drank it straight. He enjoyed the punch of caffeine.

He turned to the classified ads and browsed through them. The waitress returned with a huge plate stacked high with sunny-side-up eggs, sausage links, pancakes and hash browns. Just the sight of it brought back memories of his grandma’s kitchen, where the syrup was the real thing and the jam homemade.

“Do you need anything else?” the waitress asked, producing a bottle of—just as he’d predicted—real maple syrup and a canning jar of what looked like blueberry preserves.

Before he could shake his head no, she was gone, rushing off to bring coffee to the new arrivals.

Alone in the corner, he ate until he was full. He felt like the outsider he was as more people arrived, friends greeted friends and family said hello to family. Cars began to crawl down the main street, mostly obeying the speed limit.

By the time kids were walking by on their way to school, Heath was done.

He pushed the empty plate and the newspaper away. There were no temporary jobs in the local paper. Maybe there’d be something in the next town along the highway. As for the blond waitress from last night, he wasn’t disappointed over not seeing her again. He’d pay, leave a tip and be on his way. But would he think of her?

Yeah. He’d think of her. He couldn’t say why as he headed down the aisle, past families and friends gathering, past conversations and everyday average human connections. There was something about the woman and it made him wonder…

No wondering, man. No wishing. He dropped a small stack of bills on the counter and pushed through the door.

Once again losing sight of the man he used to be, he ambled down the sidewalk. He was already thinking of moving on, as weightless as the wind.

Amy spotted long-time customer Bob Brisbane through the small window of the hand-off counter. The warmer lights cast a golden hue as she squinted through the opening, standing on tiptoe to see if he was alone. He was late this morning joining his buddies, who met every morning like clockwork to share gossip over breakfast, coffee and the morning paper.

Over the background music from the local inspirational station and the din of the busy diner, she could pick up Jodi’s cheerful good morning as she poured Bob’s coffee. As the two exchanged small talk of family and last night’s storm, Amy cracked three eggs and whipped them in a bowl, with just enough milk and spices.

By the time Jodi had arrived with the order ticket, Amy already had the omelet sizzling next to a generous portion of link sausage and grated potatoes.

“Is that Mr. Winkler’s order you’ve got nearly ready?”

“Yep, just need to add the bacon—” Amy used the spatula to lift the eight blackened strips of bacon, cooked just the way kindly Mr. Winkler liked it, and added it to his order of buttermilk pancakes and two poached eggs and handed up the plate. “I think I’ve almost caught up. Who knew it’d be such a busy morning?”

“It’s the power outage. It sounds like nearly half the county was out of electricity last night, and a lot are still out this morning.” Jodi bustled away with the order.

The noise in the dining room seemed to crescendo, or maybe it was because she was trying so hard to listen for the doorbell. She’d hardly been able to sleep last night, for she was troubled not only by the weather and the stress of normal life, but also because she couldn’t get the loner out of her mind.

As she added plenty of cheese, smoked sausage, onion and jalapeños to Mr. Brisbane’s omelette—how anyone’s stomach could handle that at 6:23 a.m., she didn’t know—she thought of the loner again. Last night rewound like a movie, to the place where he’d stepped out of the storm, looking more intimidating than the lightning forking down to take out a transformer half a block away.

By standing tall, he’d stopped whatever those awful men had planned. She knew in her heart he was leaving, maybe he’d already left, but she had prayed he might stop in for breakfast before moving on. She’d been watching for him between scrambling eggs and frying bacon and browning potatoes and whipping up her family’s secret pancake recipe.

Had she seen him? No, of course not. She’d been busy, that was one problem, but there was only so much of the dining room she could see from behind the grill. Maybe he wasn’t coming. He certainly didn’t seem eager to see her last night. And she’d had the sinking feeling when he’d seemed to disappear in the storm that she’d never see him again. He’d more than likely followed the road out of town and she had responsibilities. People who counted on her. She ought to pay attention to her work—the omelet oozing melting cheese and the sausages nearly too brown.

She whisked the meat and eggs onto a clean dish, handed it up with her left hand as she turned bacon with the other. Wherever her loner was, she prayed the good he’d done for them was returned to him tenfold.

With the edge of the spatula, she scraped the grill—she liked a tidy kitchen—and studied the last meal ticket on the wheel. It looked like Mr. Whitley had shown up, the sixth member of the retired ranchers who met every morning at the same table. She cracked three eggs neatly—Mr. Redmond’s Sunrise Special was the last of the first wave of the usual Saturday-morning rush. Maybe she’d be able to take a few minutes away from the grill, grab some coffee and—

Jodi shouldered through the doors, loaded down with empties, which she unloaded with sharp clatters at the sink. “Well, I tell you, that just about breaks my heart.”

“I’m betting you don’t mean the pile of dishes to clean?”

“Nope. I waited on a man this morning. Striking, young guy, somewhere around our age, maybe a bit older. You know how on some folks it’s hard to tell?” She washed and yanked a paper towel from the dispenser to dry her hands.

Amy’s pulse thickened. It was as if her blood had turned into sand, and her heart was straining to pump it through her veins. The background sounds of the cooking food and customers in the dining room faded to silence. Why was she reacting this strongly to the mere mention of the man?

Unaware, Jodi continued on. “Well, I tell ya, I’ve never seen a sadder-looking man. People got all kinds of heartaches, we both know that, but it just sort of clung to him like an aftershave or something. Just so much despair.”

Amy knew. She’d seen it, too.

She tossed the used paper towel. “He looked like he was down to his last dollar, but he left me a five-dollar tip.”

“You mean he was here and left?” And I didn’t see him? The spatula clattered forgotten to the counter as she went up on tiptoe to peer at the long line of booths in front of the sunny window.

Of course he wasn’t there, and she rocked back on her heels. “Finish this up, will you? I’ll be right back.”

“Well, sure, but what—?”

Amy pushed through the doors and left without answering. She hurried down the center aisle where old timers argued over politics and the weather, where early risers read the day’s paper over coffee. A typical morning, with the scents and sounds and people she knew so well, and she couldn’t explain why she felt so desperate. It was as if she’d failed to do something important, and that didn’t make any sense at all.

The cap. She remembered, skidded to a stop in the doorway, let the glass door swing shut as she reversed and dropped behind the counter. The cap was still there on the top of the plastic bin and she grabbed it without thinking, pounding out the door, and making the bell jangle like a tambourine. Her shoes hit the pavement and the fresh breeze punched her face.

She ran half a block, past the diner and the drug store closed up tight. He was nowhere in sight. What was she doing running off like this? She’d left eggs on the grill. The sunshine slanted into her eyes, too bright to see up the sidewalk where it stretched the rest of the length of town. There was only one more block before buildings gave way to green pasture. He wasn’t here. The hat probably wasn’t his. So why was she standing here wanting something, and she didn’t even know what it was.

What she should do was go back inside, rescue the Sunrise Special from the grill, concentrate on her job and not give the loner another thought. She didn’t like men—she didn’t trust them. She got along just fine in the world when they were customers or friends of the family or family. She had a policy against interacting with the male gender for any other reason. So, had she lost her senses, or what?

No, she was shivering in the brisk wind because of her conscience. Her faith taught the golden rule—to do unto others, and she had to thank him, if she could. Even if it was only to return his hat, if it was his hat.

A strange sensation skidded against her jaw and cheek, or maybe it was the trees whispering in the breeze. Either way, she turned toward the sensation and there was a man’s dark form, a man dressed all in black, a shadow moving in the sun-bright alley.

It was him.

“Hey, wait up!” She started toward him, but the wind snatched her words and she feared he hadn’t heard her. He kept on walking with his purposeful, leggy stride. She saw an older-model blue pickup, dusty and well used, parked at the motel’s alley-side lot.

There. She had her answer. She firmly believed that the angels above wouldn’t have brought him to her diner twice if there hadn’t been a reason.

Determined, she jogged after him, with the cap clutched tight in her hand. “Hey! Mister!”

He had to have heard her this time. His brisk gait stiffened. His shoulders tensed to steel. His long athletic legs pumped noticeably faster as he bridged the last few yards to the driver’s door of his truck, unlocked the door and yanked it open. He was behaving as if he didn’t want to talk with her. As if he wanted to avoid her.

She wasn’t about to let a little thing like that get in her way. “Is this your cap?”

He turned, meeting her gaze through the window of the open cab door. His was a chilling look as he studied her from head to toe.

She was intensely aware of her scuffed sneakers and the knot in the right shoelace keeping it together as she jogged closer. As if resigned, he left the door open and backed away from the truck. A dark look masked his face. She held out the cap so he could read it.

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