The road she’s meant to be on

Hoping for a fresh start, Kitty Galloway packs up her son and a few bare necessities and hits the road. Only now they’re stranded in the Blue Ridge Mountains and at the mercy of small-town justice. But it’s the temporary gig she gets caring for an injured pilot that makes her start believing in second chances.

After completing his tour of duty, Campbell Oakes came home a hero to his North Carolina town. Until a freak accident forces the decorated soldier to accept the help of the down-on-her-luck single mother. Quirky and far too appealing, Kitty—along with her sassy kid—is making Campbell trust in the future again. Except it turns out that Kitty isn’t the woman he thought she was...

Her eyes glistened with tears, and he pulled her to him.

Kitty drew in a long, shuddering breath. He wasn’t wrong about her. She cared deeply about her son and, he had to believe, about him. He could make her change her mind. “I wanted to talk to you. Come sit with me.”

Kitty walked with him to the sofa. Campbell sat beside her and took her hands. The familiarity of the act made his heart ache with the pure satisfaction her nearness instilled in him. He rubbed the pads of his thumbs over the backs of her hands. “There’s something going on between us. We’ve only known each other a few weeks, but don’t you think we owe it to each other to see where this leads?”

Dear Reader,

If you’re like me, you’ve probably heard that raising a child is the toughest job there is. I believe motherhood is the greatest responsibility we’ll ever know and the job with the greatest reward.

I hope you enjoy the journey of Kitty and her troublesome twelve-year-old son, Adam. Both mother and son grow up in this novel, with the help of one American hero, an injured ex-pilot who flew in the Iraqi War. I don’t know if it takes a village to raise one child, but it sure helps to have two good role models. One summer in the Blue Ridge Mountains proves to be a roller-coaster thrill for all three characters. I encourage you to come along for the ride.

I love to hear from readers. Please contact me at cynthoma@aol.com.

Cynthia

Firefly Nights

Cynthia Thomason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CYNTHIA THOMASON inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antiques stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someone’s life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes.

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated to mothers and sons everywhere, with a special shout-out to John Patrick Thomason. You make me proud, son.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“OUCH!” THE SOUND of her own scratchy voice woke Kitty from a fitful sleep. The steering wheel of the old pickup she’d purchased yesterday was poking into her ribs through her Juicy Couture jacket. Her neck ached because her head had been jammed against the driver’s-side window all night. Her right leg, draped awkwardly over the back of the front seat, was asleep.

She smoothed the wrinkles in her favorite eggplant-colored D&G sweatpants and was grateful she hadn’t picked a pair of tight jeans for the drive. Things could be worse. She and her twelve-year-old son, Adam, had been warm enough all night, which was another plus. It could have been the dead of winter in... She struggled to remember the last road sign she’d seen. Oh yeah, they’d made it to North Carolina, the boonies somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and probably still a hundred and fifty miles from Charlotte. It might as well be a thousand miles if a person was trying to get there in a broken-down truck.

Kitty squinted through her windshield at the rising sun, sat up, stomped her foot on the floor to wake up her toes and then reached over the seat. She groped for the mop of blond hair that would identify her son. “Adam, you awake?”

A groggy voice answered her, “Yeah. But that doesn’t mean I want to be.”

“Me, either. But I suppose we have to start this day anyway.”

Her son’s droopy-eyed face appeared over the seat back. He wrinkled his nose. “This truck stinks.”

Kitty sniffed and agreed. The truck did stink. It had that musty, road-weary smell of cracked vinyl and perspiration like most old vehicles.

“Why did you buy this piece of junk?” Adam asked. “Why didn’t we just take the Beemer?”

“I told you why. It’s the little matter of the title, which is in your grandfather’s name. Legally I don’t own the BMW.”

Adam fell back against the seat. “You don’t own anything important.”

An image of the clothes and accessories in the massive walk-in closet she’d left behind flashed in Kitty’s mind. She owned...or she used to own until this morning, dozens of pairs of shoes and too many designer blouses to count. She sighed at the image of her paychecks going to boutique stores. Many of the blouses she’d left behind still had the tags attached. A person couldn’t bring everything in one vehicle.

Trying to assert herself to Adam, she said, “I own this pickup truck. And I paid cash for it. Besides, if we’d taken the BMW, Grandpa would have put out a trace on the car, and we’d be back in Florida by now.”

“And that would be a bad thing?”

After last night, Kitty was still trying to convince herself that, yes, it would definitely be a bad thing. She had to stay focused on the bigger prize. She was removing her son from her father’s all-powerful grip. And this time would be different from her last effort to leave Richland.

Adam stared at her with heart-stopping doe-brown eyes that always masked the devilish intent behind them. She reminded herself for the hundredth time that she was taking this drastic step for Adam.

He jerked his thumb toward the ignition. “Have you tried to start it this morning?”

“No, but with the smoke that was pouring from under the hood, I don’t see much point.” Nevertheless she turned the key and cringed at the grinding noise.

“Tell me again how you got us into this mess,” Adam said.

Kitty dropped the worthless keys into her purse. “Which one?”

“Let’s start with the one that put us on this road to nowhere.”

“Give me a break. I wasn’t responsible for that oil tanker overturning on 285. I didn’t divert traffic off the Atlanta bypass.”

“But it was your idea to leave the main road and drive past every cow pasture in Georgia.”

Kitty was tired of defending herself, but she did it one more time. “I did that to get directions, remember? I thought we’d get good advice from a local business.”

“How’d that work out for you, Mom?”

Count to ten, Kitty. “Adam, it was nearly midnight. I’d been driving for eleven hours without benefit of a GPS.”

“You would have had a GPS if you’d driven the Beemer or turned on your cell phone,” Adam pointed out.

Ignoring the same tired complaint, Kitty continued. “It’s not easy to keep an eye on unending miles of blacktop while trying to read a map. Anyway, I thought we would get back to the highway eventually.”

He stared out the window. “I wish I had my PlayStation. I wish I had all the stuff in my room.”

Kitty couldn’t blame him. His bedroom at her father’s eleven-room Georgian mansion in central Florida was an adolescent boy’s techno paradise. She twisted the rearview mirror so she could see her face, and immediately regretted it. “Why don’t you wish for something we both can use?”

“Like what?”

“A bathroom.”

He screwed up his face. “Or a million dollars.”

She squinted hard to block the image of the bags under her eyes and the mental vision of Adam frantically shaking the contents of her purse onto the front seat a few hours ago and announcing that her wallet was not among them. Looking back, she wished she’d taken her purse into the convenience store instead of a couple of twenty-dollar bills to pay for gas. At least she would still have her wallet.

“If only you’d stayed in the truck like I told you or at least locked it when you came inside,” she said, repeating herself.

“Yeah, and then those guys might have stolen me. Besides, we’re not going to go through that one more time, are we?”

She sighed again, knowing the rehashing of events wouldn’t ease her frustration. She’d paid for the gas, bought Adam a soda and they’d returned to the truck. She’d seen two men running down a narrow side road, but it wasn’t until an hour later when Adam was looking for her wallet to pay for a motel room that she realized those guys had been making a getaway with her precious five hundred dollars. “No, we’re not. It’s history.”

“So, are you gonna call Grandpa?” he asked.

“No!”

“I wish I had my phone. I’d call him.”

“I know, and that’s why I made you leave it at home. And don’t even think of borrowing someone else’s or using a pay phone.” Realizing Adam needed some assurances, she added, “We’ll be fine. We’re not totally broke.”

“Right. We’re only practically broke.”

She glared at him.

“Well, how much have you got?”

She stretched her leg so she could get her hand into the pocket of her sweatpants and pulled out a wad of bills. She counted. “Thirty-seven dollars. There’s money on the floor of the backseat, too. How much is it?”

She listened to her son scrape his hand over the rubber mat and then heard the jingle of coins. “Eighty cents.”

“Great.”

“You’d better call Grandpa.”

“I am not calling him,” she stated with greater emphasis. “I’ve still got my bank card. We can get more money as soon as I find an ATM.” She quickly calculated what she had in the bank. Fifteen hundred for the truck, five hundred in cash. She had about twenty-seven hundred left in savings back in Richland. Plenty to get to Charlotte and enroll in school.

Adam set his chin on the back of the front seat and stared out the windshield at an unending panorama of pasture and trees. “Ought to be a lot of ATMs around here,” he said.

Kitty ignored him. If only Adam had used some of that intelligence to succeed in his schoolwork instead of coming up with sarcastic comments. After finally taking this positive step, she was determined not to crawl home to Daddy like the first time, eleven years ago, when she’d called Owen Galloway and begged him to send money so she could leave Bobby Watley and bring her one-year-old son back home. Her father had spent the past eleven years reminding her of the mistake she’d made marrying the down-on-his-luck golf pro. Owen had consistently pointed an accusing finger with one hand while handing her cash with the other—and she’d let him.

Her friends might call her crazy for taking this step. After all, who had a better, more comfy life than Katherine Thelda Galloway? She lived in a fine house, drove a super car and had a cushy job in her father’s corporate citrus groves offices. But Kitty, as she was called by those who knew her best, often thought about running away from home again. Only now her reason would be different from thirteen years ago when she was twenty years old, grieving over her mother’s death and letting Bobby Watley fill her eyes with stars and her heart with promises. This time she needed to go for the sake of her twelve-year-old son.

Adam opened his fist and dropped coins onto the front seat. “I can’t believe you cut up every single credit card.”

His latest accusation brought her back to the present. “I couldn’t use them anyway. The receipts would leave a paper trail for Grandpa to see where we’re headed.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Grandpa knows a lot of people. I bet he can find anybody. Remember how he found us two summers ago when we barely made it into Georgia?”

She remembered. The failure still clawed at her insides.

“And I know he’ll want to find me especially,” Adam said.

Kitty had considered Owen’s wide web of contacts, making her even more determined to fly under his radar. Yes, he would do almost anything to regain control of her son, the young heir to Galloway Groves that Owen had substituted for the worthless bundle of female his wife had handed him thirty-three years ago.

“And besides,” Adam said, “why do you all the sudden hate him? He takes care of us. He buys us stuff...”

“I know that, and I don’t hate him.” That was basically true, but how did she tell Adam that she didn’t admire his grandfather, either? Any more than she admired herself. She’d allowed her father to pull the strings of her life while she never tried to cut them—until two days ago when Owen had pulled those magic strings with the principal of the middle school to get Adam out of a theft charge.

“I’ll handle this,” her father had said. “Adam’s just spirited. You know that.”

Theft! She’d been completely shocked. Adam had everything, and yet he’d stolen an iPhone from a kid who’d just gotten it for his birthday and had justified his crime with a flippant remark about how the kid had irritated him by showing off the games he’d already downloaded. Since Friday had been the last day of school, and because he’d promised the principal he would punish Adam appropriately, Owen had once again avoided expulsion for his grandson. More strings and more lies. Ignoring Kitty’s attempts to discipline her son with grounding, Owen had accused her of “sucking the spunk right out of the kid.” And he’d even defied her by taking Adam to the racetrack in Tampa that very night.

Now, looking out the window of a rusty old truck, with thirty-seven dollars in her pocket, Kitty felt as if she’d finally severed those strings—with a chain saw.

“I thought you understood, Adam, that I think you and I need some time alone. Just the two of us.” That was true. She hadn’t shared nearly enough quality time with her son, and that was a major reason for his problems and attitude now. “Is that so bad?”

“No.” He thought better of his answer and said, “It’s just weird, that’s all. Why now?”

Because now I need to seriously be your mother before it’s too late. “Adam, don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll think of something.”

“Think of using your phone to call Grandpa.”

She skewered him with a threatening glare before pointing to some bushes several yards from where the pickup had wheezed to a halt. “You gotta go?”

“Oh, right. Me, first. Then if anything bites me on the butt, I can warn you.”

Kitty slid her feet into her chunky cork sandals, scooted to the passenger side and yanked on the door handle. “Forget it. I’ll go first.” She wiggled her fingers at the backseat. “Hand me that box of tissues.”

When he did, she managed a smile. “See? Aren’t you glad I thought to bring these?”

“I’m thrilled.” He nodded at the window that separated the cab from the back of the truck. “We got a bunch of crappy material, a sewing machine and tissues. Fat City.”

She got out of the truck, leaned inside and said, “While I’m gone, you get all that sarcastic trash talk out of your system, because when I get back I don’t want to hear another word of it.”

As she walked toward the bushes in her suddenly impractical designer slides, Adam hollered, “I’m hungry!”

Ten minutes later Kitty and Adam stood by the side of the road scoping out approaching traffic. When a van appeared, Adam stuck out his thumb. Kitty pulled his hand down.

“What’d you do that for?”

“We’re not hitchhiking. It’s dangerous.”

“So is starving. We gotta get to a town somehow.” Again Adam scrutinized the endless stretch of rolling hills and farmland. “If there even is a town in this state.”

“I’m watching for just the right ride,” Kitty said. “I’ll know it when I see it.” And she did—a farm truck loaded with watermelons. She waved at the driver, and the vehicle braked. Tugging Adam behind her, Kitty ran to the passenger window and explained to a middle-aged woman in a cotton dress and straw hat about the truck breaking down.

“You wantin’ a lift to town, then?” the woman asked.

“If you don’t mind,” Kitty said.

The woman looked to the driver, a man of her same approximate age. He nodded. “We’re headin’ to the grand opening of the twenty-four-hour Super Value-Rite,” she said, “so we can get you that far.”

A Value-Rite! Food. Bathrooms. An ATM. “That’s perfect,” Kitty said. “How far is it?”

“About two miles to Sorrel Gap,” the man answered. “The Value-Rite’s just on the outskirts. We’re taking all the melons to set up a stand in the parking lot. You and the boy are welcome to climb in the back.”

“Thank you.”

Kitty and Adam climbed over a wooden gate at the rear of the truck and settled in among a mound of watermelons. When the truck lurched forward, Kitty patted Adam’s hand. “There, see, it’s better than walking, and the farmer and his wife were nice.”

“You told me never to ride with a stranger.”

“I told you never to get in a car with a stranger. I never said anything about riding with watermelons. Anyway, this is a special case.”

He leaned back on a large melon and lifted his face to the sun. “It’s not so bad, I guess. But I’d sure like to know how you’re going to get us out of this.”

“I’m thinking. I told you I’d come up with a plan, and I will. We’ll be back on the road to cousin Bette’s house before you know it.” Bette was Kitty’s one true refuge. Her mother’s cousin had been comforting and sympathetic when Kitty called her the day before.

“Of course I’ll help you, Katherine,” Bette had promised. “I’ll find out about the fashion-design institute for you and lend you enough money to enroll. You and Adam can stay here as long as you need to.”

“And if Daddy calls you,” Kitty had said, “please don’t tell him I contacted you.” Bette had vowed secrecy.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Adam blurted out. “Going to some old lady’s house I don’t even remember? School just let out two days ago, and already it looks like this is going to be the worst summer I’ve ever had.”

“You’ll like Charlotte. They have museums and—”

“I hope I get my own room.”

Kitty pictured Adam’s bedroom in her father’s house and even allowed herself an image of her lavender suite at the mansion. No doubt it was tough giving all that up. “You will have a room,” she promised. “Just as soon as I can afford to leave Bette’s and rent a place. And once my business takes off, I’ll even replace some of the things you left at Grandpa’s.”

“Your business? You make it sound like we’re never going back to Florida.”

She hadn’t meant to scare him with that conclusion. “Of course we’ll go back. Sometime. But we’ll definitely be away long enough for me to go to the design institute.”

“You mean I might have to go to school in this Podunk state?”

“There’s nothing Podunk about Charlotte,” she said. “I’m sure there are very nice schools...if we need them.”

“You think you can really design clothes that people will buy?”

Kitty had wanted to make clothes since she was a child. In the back of the truck, she even had a few original patterns she’d developed herself and fabrics she’d hired a graphic artist to draw in a modernist style.

Adam seemed to be staring at her nape-length, spiky blond hair. He scrunched up his nose. “Remember, I’ve seen some of the stuff you’ve made. It’s kind of weird looking.”

“That’s why I’m going to school.” She was used to hearing criticism of her fashions from the males in her family, and she hoped they were wrong. Except for the purchase of her new Singer, she’d always been too complacent to take the plunge and pursue her dream seriously. Or maybe she’d been too lazy. Or scared. But in the past twenty-four hours, she’d taken quite a few plunges into the unknown, so what was one more?

Kitty clutched her stomach as a familiar stab of pain took her breath. The doctors told her it was anxiety. She’d suffered from phantom bellyaches off and on most of her life, but they’d gotten much worse after her mother died. And now she was banking her and Adam’s futures on her ability to succeed in a competitive business.

She kept telling herself that she had a plan, a good one. After a while, when Owen had calmed down, Kitty would call him and explain why she’d felt she had to leave, but right now he’d just have to be satisfied with the note she’d left telling him that she and Adam were taking a vacation. He wouldn’t believe it. And even if he did, he was probably already raising holy heck to find them. Thank goodness he’d never think to look in the back of a watermelon truck.

Adam had settled into a sort of temporary acceptance of their situation and was watching the passing scenery. She hoped he hadn’t picked up on her discomfort. She didn’t want him to bear any responsibility for what the immediate future held. This was her decision, and she’d made it at a crucial time in her son’s life. So she was the one who had to make it work.

The farm truck eased into a right turn off the highway and slowly crept along with the rest of the traffic entering the Value-Rite parking lot. It was eight-thirty on a Sunday morning, but already the lot was filling up, and people were heading toward the automatic doors.

The farmer drove to a large tent set up at one end of the asphalt where everything from corn on the cob to Georgia peaches was for sale. He chose a spot, and Kitty and Adam scrambled down.

“Thanks for the lift,” Kitty said as Adam headed toward the store. “I need to get my son some breakfast, but after that we’ll be glad to help you unload the melons.”

“No need for that,” the farmer’s wife said. “You don’t owe us for that ride.”

Kitty thanked the couple again and caught up with Adam. “Can I have a couple of bucks, Mom?” he asked. “I’ll bet they got doughnuts inside.”

“No doughnuts. That tent is full of fruit and healthy things. I’ll buy you a banana and a muffin and orange juice.”

He groaned his opinion of the breakfast menu. “At least let me go inside for a minute.”

She studied his expression, trying to determine his motive for wanting to enter the Value-Rite. “What for? I thought you were starving.”

“I am...or I was. But I have to use the bathroom.”

“Okay. And while you’re in there, find out where the pay phones are...so I can use one,” she added.

“You calling Grandpa?”

Kitty ignored the glimmer of hope in his eyes. “No, I’m calling Bette to tell her we’re going to be late.”

“Then use your cell phone.”

“I can’t. Every call from the cell is listed on the company bill and will alert Grandpa to anyone I contacted.”

“Then why did you bring the cell phone if you weren’t going to use it?”

“I would use it if there were an emergency.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Mom, we have no car, no money and we’re stuck in Nowheresville. What the heck do you call an emergency anyway?”

He had a point, and she was almost ready to admit it when she saw the answer to their problems. “Look there,” she said, pointing to an ATM just to the right of the store entrance. “I can withdraw money from my account.” She walked toward the machine and took her bank card from her purse. Thankfully she’d been smart enough to remove all plastic from her wallet, or the card would have been stolen, too. She slipped the plastic into the slot, started to punch in her PIN and then yanked the card out so quickly a bystander might have thought the machine had caught fire.

Adam stared at her. “What’s wrong now?”

Kitty squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to quell the shock of what she’d almost done. She’d put this plan together in less than a day, but she’d forgotten one vital detail. “We can’t get money this way,” she said.

“Why not? You said you’ve got some in your account.”

“I know, but...” She paused. Adam would never sympathize with the mistake she’d nearly made.

His eyes widened with impatience. “But what?”

But when I opened this account ten years ago, my father listed himself as a signer on the documents.

That move had been necessary at the time, since after she’d been with Bobby, Kitty’s credit rating had been stuck somewhere in financial quicksand. Like it or not, Owen still had access to her accounts, and ATMs left paper trails. He’d know she’d used this machine and where it was located. Besides, Kitty wouldn’t have been surprised if Owen had already closed the account, tightening the net that would force her and Adam back to Richland. She squeezed her eyes closed for a minute and drew a deep breath. She should have anticipated this problem.

Adam waited for an answer, so she repeated, “We can’t get cash this way, but, Adam, don’t worry...”

He shook his head. “I know. You’ll think of something.” He walked toward the store entrance. “I’m going inside.”

Grateful he’d dropped the subject, Kitty watched him go. “I’ll meet you here after I buy your breakfast.” She dug a few precious dollar bills from her pocket. “Remember to locate the pay phones. But don’t use one,” she hollered after him. When she spoke to Bette, she’d have to ask her to wire money. She knew her mother’s cousin had it to lend, but it wouldn’t make asking any easier.

Kitty walked toward the outdoor market and considered the selections and how much each cost. She figured five hundred from Bette ought to cover the cost of truck repairs and gasoline. With any luck, she and Adam would be back on the highway and driving east to Charlotte by the afternoon.

She bought two blueberry muffins, a banana and orange juice for Adam, and a cup of coffee for herself. Then she stood in the parking lot, feeling the warmth of the morning sun, and the renewed confidence that comes from having a solution. She’d just swallowed a generous swig of coffee when a sudden commotion at the entrance to Value-Rite made the coffee percolate in her empty belly. It couldn’t be.

It was. Adam was streaking across the parking lot, dodging cars, people and baby strollers. His arms were wrapped tightly around the elastic waist of his Tampa Bay Buccaneers jacket. And huffing and puffing, but steadily gaining on him, were two uniformed security guards.

Kitty dropped her paper cup, gripped the brown bag that held Adam’s breakfast and ran toward the chase, which was now drawing a crowd. By the time she reached Adam, a security guard had his arm around her son’s chest. He held Adam above the pavement while he attempted to dodge blows from Adam’s wildly thrashing legs.

“Let me go, you big goon,” Adam shouted. Sweat poured down his face. “You lay a hand on me and I’ll sue.”

The guard didn’t loosen his grip. “Watch your mouth, kid. You’re in enough trouble already.”

A quick inspection of the parking lot confirmed what Kitty already suspected. At least a dozen electronic items lay scattered at the guard’s feet. Digital cameras, MP3 players, video games... Kitty couldn’t take it all in at once. “Oh, Adam, you didn’t.”

A man in a white shirt approached with the second security guard, who held a radio in his hand. “I’ve got Sheriff Oakes on the line,” the guard said. “He’s only a half mile away, so he should be here pretty—”

A siren cut him off as a patrol car careened into the lot and came to a lunging stop next to them. A large man in a uniform with a badge that proclaimed him Sheriff stepped out of the car and strolled around the hood. After appraising the situation, he removed his wide-brimmed hat and ran his hand through thick gray hair. Then he looked at Adam, whose face was the color of chalk. “Looks like you’re in a heap of trouble, little buddy.”

“What’re you gonna do?” Adam squawked as the guard lowered him to the asphalt.

“Well, let’s see here.” He picked up the damaged remains of what was obviously an expensive camera. Adam didn’t comment.

Next the sheriff examined the split blister packaging that contained a handheld gaming system. The contents rattled in the throes of electronic death. The rest of the merchandise, which had obviously been stuffed into Adam’s jacket, was in a similar state of ruin.

Kitty pinched the bridge of her nose to ward off a pain that had sliced between her eyes. She stepped between Adam and the sheriff. “Officer, I’m his mother, and...”

The sheriff touched the brim of his hat. “Sheriff Oakes,” he said, and motioned to the man in the white shirt. “Quint, run a tab of what all this costs.” He looked down at Adam and raised thick bushy eyebrows. “I hope you got a lot of money, son. It’s not likely to get you out of this mess, but it’s a start.” He returned his attention to Kitty. “So you’re the boy’s mother?”

She nodded.

“Can’t say as I envy you, Mrs....”

“Watley. Miss Kitty Watley.” She stared intently at her son, warning him not to reveal the truth about her name. “This is Adam.”

“Where are you from?”

“Florida, most recently.”

“You come all the way from Florida to attend the opening of our Value-Rite, Miss Watley?”

“No, of course not. My son and I were just passing through. We’re on our way to Charlotte, but our truck broke down, and that’s not all. We got lost. We’ve been robbed...”

“Sounds like a hard-luck case, all right,” the sheriff said. “But how do you figure this justifies what your boy just did?”

Kitty felt her hopes for a sympathetic solution to this current disaster deflate like an old inner tube. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, and looked at Adam.

He rubbed a dirty finger under his nose and stood ramrod straight. “You wouldn’t let your mother starve, would you, Sheriff?” Poking the same finger in Kitty’s direction, he added, “Look at how skinny she is. I was just trying to fetch a few dollars to keep her from fainting. You were close to fainting from hunger, weren’t you, Mom?”

“Oh, Adam...”

The sheriff placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder and nudged him toward the patrol car. “Let’s go down to the station and see what charges will have to be filed.”

Adam jerked away. “Charges! You got to be kidding.” He gawked at Kitty. “Did you hear that, Mom? Are you happy now? He’s gonna put me in jail for trying to save us from starvation.” The look on his face was pure desperation when he said, “Cripes, Mom, it’s time to use your cell phone and call Grandpa!”

Kitty looked away from the pleading in her son’s eyes and spoke to the sheriff. “He’s not going to jail, is he? You wouldn’t put a boy in jail.”

“No, ma’am, but we do have the juvenile intervention center over at the Spooner County seat, and that’s a strong possibility, especially with your boy’s attitude.”

“I have a right to a lawyer,” Adam protested. “If you lock me up anywhere, my grandpa will sue you for every cent—”

“Adam, for heaven’s sake, be quiet,” Kitty said. “Even Grandpa can’t sue somebody because you broke the law.”

“I’d take your mama’s advice, son,” the sheriff said, leading them to his car. “I think now’s the time to be quiet.”

CHAPTER TWO

ADAM AND KITTY rode in the back of the patrol car to the downtown area of Sorrel Gap, North Carolina. The police station was a redbrick building on a shady two-lane street of similar structures designed to capture a historic feel.

Sheriff Oakes’s office was sparsely furnished with three desks, a few filing cabinets and a gun rack. There was one other person in the office, a plump, fiftysomething woman. She stood up when they came in and appraised the prisoners with a disapproving eye. “These the folks who stole from the Value-Rite, Virgil?” she asked.

“Yep. This is Kitty Watley and her son, Adam. Folks, this is my wife, Wanda Oakes.”

“How do you do,” Kitty said, attempting a smile. Good manners couldn’t hurt.

The woman nodded, disturbing tight gray curls in a nest on her head. “I knew something like this would happen,” she said to her husband. “Once the Value-Rite opened, we’d have a crime wave, and you and I would end up working most Sundays.” She handed a piece of paper to the sheriff. “Quint called from the store. He said the boy stole fifteen hundred and twenty dollars’ worth of merchandise. Only a cordless mouse for $69.97 wasn’t damaged.”

Kitty stared at her son in disbelief. “A cordless mouse? We didn’t even bring your computer.”

“That’s a serious crime, son,” Sheriff Oakes said.

“Look, I can get the money,” Adam said. “If you’d just let me make my one phone call...”

“No, Adam,” Kitty said. “You’re not calling anyone.”

The office phone rang and Wanda picked it up. “It’s Tommy,” she said, handing the phone to her husband.

He listened, mumbled a brief response and hung up. “That was my deputy, Miss Watley, calling from where you left your truck. He traced the temporary tag to a dealer and says the vehicle is registered in your name. Your story checks out.”

Thank goodness the car dealership had accepted her old driver’s license as proof of identity. Of course when a person paid cash for a junker, not many questions were asked.

“Look, Sheriff,” Adam said. “My mom and me—we’re stinkin’ ri—”

Kitty clamped a hand over his mouth. “Not now, Adam.”

Sheriff Oakes asked for Kitty’s driver’s license. She could honestly say it was in her stolen wallet. “Run a check on her name anyway,” Oakes said to his wife. “See if there are any warrants in Florida.”

“There aren’t,” Kitty said.

Oakes did a quick head-to-toe appraisal of Adam. “And no rap sheet on the boy?”

“Of course not,” Kitty said, though the words not yet came to her mind. “Adam was just trying to help me.”

“Seems like he only made things worse,” Oakes said.

“Sheriff, what can we do? What I told you about my money being stolen is true. I can’t pay for that merchandise. But I’d be glad to work off the debt. I’ll do anything you say that will make up for what my son did today.”

The sheriff rubbed a thumb over his upper lip. “Well, Miss Watley, that’s mighty generous of you, but you weren’t the one who stole that stuff.”

She felt color rise to her cheeks. She was doing exactly what her father had always done. She was making excuses and offering solutions for her son’s behavior. Maybe now was the time to show Adam that he had to be responsible for his mistakes. They’d come to a symbolic crossroads in the town of Sorrel Gap, and, as desperate as they were, Kitty decided it was time her son took the proper path.

“You’re right, Sheriff,” she said. “It was Adam who stole that merchandise. And I’ll make sure he does whatever you think is appropriate punishment for his crime.” She paused when another pain knotted her stomach. This time she analyzed it as a symptom of parental guilt. She wasn’t blameless in all this. She was Adam’s mother, and her complacent acceptance of Owen’s dominance all these years made her responsible by default for what Adam did. She looked at Sheriff Oakes and said, “But I’m still his mother, and I’ll do my part to make up for what happened.”

Adam gulped. “What are you saying, Mom?”

“You’re not going to get out of this so easily, Adam.” She waited for Oakes’s reaction. “What do you think, Sheriff? We’ll do whatever you say.”

“Kitty,” he began with an almost fatherly patience, “I hate to see a boy head down a road of crime. I surely do, but this being Sunday, I suppose I’ll have to remand him over to juvenile until tomorrow when he can appear before the county court judge...”

Kitty’s empty stomach plunged, and she fought a wave of nausea. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but certainly not this. Not a detention facility. Maybe she could call Bette, ask her for more money. But fifteen hundred dollars plus the fine, and truck repairs...

And then Wanda Oakes called her husband over to speak privately. But in a compact office, privacy wasn’t an option, and Kitty heard most of what she said.

“Virgil, Campbell comes home from the hospital today,” Wanda whispered.

“I know.”

“I’ve asked everyone in those hills to look after him. Even offered a small salary. Nobody has time what with planting going on now. Plus, it’s not like your nephew’s tried to fit in with us since coming home. Folks may admire what he did in Iraq, but he’s changed.”

“It’s the accident, Wanda,” the sheriff argued. “He’s had a hard time.”

“I think it’s more than that. Every time I ask him what happened over there in Raleigh, he says he doesn’t want to talk about it. If you ask me, he’s been in the city too long.”

“I know he’s been secretive, but he served his country. He’s due a little privacy.”

Wanda sniffed. “Fine, but I’m just telling you. No one’s going to put themselves out for him. And he flat out refused to come live with us till his leg and ribs are healed. Let’s face it. I’m the one who’ll be stuck going out to that place every day to see to his needs.”

The sheriff scratched his neck. “Are you going somewhere with all this, Wanda?”

She passed a furtive look at Kitty before mumbling something about working off the theft, community service and totaling up the debt to Sorrel Gap.

“Do you think Quint will go for it?” the sheriff asked.

“I’ll call him and ask, but I know he will. He’ll want this incident to go away quietly so he doesn’t get any bad press on the opening weekend of his store.”

Virgil shrugged. “I suppose it could work. At least the bill will get paid. Plus, we’d be saving the county what it costs to keep the boy at the detention center.” After a moment the sheriff returned to Kitty and Adam. “My wife and I are good judges of character,” he said. “We can see that you two are good people deep down.”

Kitty held her breath. This sounded like a snow job. Even so, she was willing to listen. Whatever Oakes was about to say might be their only hope of getting back on the road.

“Do you have time before you have to be in Charlotte?” Oakes asked.

“Yes, sir. Some.”

“And you’ll guarantee that your boy will take care of all debt to the village of Sorrel Gap and the Value-Rite?”

“Yes. Adam?”

“What?”

She pinched his arm.

“Okay, jeez!”

Sheriff Oakes grinned. “Then there might be a solution to this problem.” He leaned against a desk and crossed his arms. “My nephew comes home from the hospital today. He had a little crash with his airplane and busted up his leg pretty good.”

A little crash? Kitty pictured wrecked metal and broken limbs.

“He’s a fine fella,” the sheriff continued. “An Iraq war hero. Lives in a place down the road with lots of rooms. I don’t guess he needs any serious nursing. Just general care. If you can see clear to staying out there and looking after him for a spell, and if your boy agrees to work with Quint over at the Value-Rite, I expect I can convince a judge and the citizens of Sorrel Gap to call your debt paid.”

Was the sheriff acting a bit too casual? At this point, doubts flooded Kitty’s mind. What exactly would their living arrangements be? How would she get along without her truck? And sure, the sheriff vouched for his nephew, but he was a complete stranger to her and Adam. He could be a jerk or worse.

As if sensing her reluctance, Sheriff Oakes stood straight and stared at her. “It’s a fair solution, young lady,” he said. “I guarantee you’ll be treated right, and once this debt is paid, you’ll be free to move on.”

The sheriff waited for her answer, his features stern. Kitty knew she was out of options. It was this deal or detention and court for Adam—with all the evidence rightly stacked against him. She could put off her entrance to the design school if that meant Adam wouldn’t be incarcerated. And since Oakes had said his nephew was in a plane crash, chances were his leg injury was severe. If she and Adam felt threatened by him, they could outrun him to the nearest neighbor’s house to find help. And he was a veteran. That was a detail in his favor.

She took a deep breath, glanced at Adam, whose disbelief was etched in his features. The best part about Oakes’s proposition was its benefit to her son. He’d finally learn that his actions had consequences. She put her hand on Adam’s shoulder. “I’m ready to accept this deal, Sheriff,” she said.

Adam gasped. She ignored him. “But I still have a problem with my truck. How will Adam and I get around?”

“My nephew has a Jeep,” he said. “He might let you use it once you gain his trust. But your first obligation is to him. I don’t want to hear that you’re driving around Spooner County on joy rides.”

Kitty almost smiled. As if she could do anything remotely joyful on thirty-seven dollars. In her old life, that didn’t even cover a haircut. She nodded. “Agreed.”

They could do this, look in on the sheriff’s relative while Adam worked off his debt. Plus, there was an added bonus. They had a place to stay and Owen would never think to look for them in Sorrel Gap. “We’ll do our best,” she added.

“I know you will, Kitty, and to show my appreciation, I’ll have your truck towed into town at our expense.” He grinned. “But I’ll keep the keys here in the office until this matter’s settled.”

“Mom!” Adam wailed.

Ignoring the sheriff’s veiled warning, she said to Adam, “Would you rather go to the detention facility?”

He mumbled a brusque “No.”

Kitty pressed her keys into the sheriff’s outstretched hand. “Can I ask one question?”

“Now’s the time.”

“How long until I get those back?”

He gave the keys to Wanda. “A few weeks maybe. Give or take. Fifteen hundred dollars is a lot of money, especially when the boy can’t work more than three or four hours a day. But it’s pretty country here. Might be the best summer you folks ever had.”

Adam grabbed her hand. “The whole summer?”

“No, surely not,” Kitty whispered to him. “Not if you work real hard.” But Kitty still had her doubts, both about her son and the man they were dedicating the next weeks to. But they were committed now. “We’ll need our personal things from the truck,” she said to Oakes.

“I’ll have my deputy run them out to you later. But I’ll take you to Campbell’s place now so you can settle in.”

Kitty walked to the door with Adam reluctantly beside her. When she looked over her shoulder to say goodbye to Mrs. Oakes, the woman appeared quite satisfied with the arrangements. Blissfully so.

* * *

AFTER A TWENTY-MINUTE ride in the patrol car down a narrow, two-lane road, Kitty was beginning to wonder if they were ever going to get to the home of Sheriff Oakes’s nephew. But the scenery was beautiful—summertime green and lush—and she found herself relaxing despite her misgivings and listening to Sheriff Oakes’s description of Sorrel Gap history.

The town had begun to thrive as a tourist destination once the four-lane road called the Spooner County Expressway opened in 1980. Before that, this narrow highway, which Oakes told her was called Old Sorrel Gap Road, was truly nestled in the elbow of two ridges of foothills rising from each side.

Kitty expected to see lavish homes bordering the country road, so she was surprised when they drove past an abandoned gas station and a couple of vacant clapboard buildings. “How much farther?” she asked the sheriff.

He pointed to a vague spot in the distance. “The Saddle Top Motel’s just over that rise.”

A motel? Good news. She and Adam wouldn’t be alone with Oakes’s nephew after all. There would be guests and employees around. When the car crested the hill, she spied a tall metal pole with a rusted oval sign on top. Then she saw the motel—a one-story brick building baking in the noon sun like a sedentary caterpillar. The sign on top of the pole proclaimed its identity.

Kitty made out the faded image of what might have been an engaging old cowpoke in chaps and stocking cap—years ago. His arm jerked crazily up and down in the wind, pointing first at the sky and then at the faded words, Saddle Top Mountain Motel. All of the letters except for the first ones in each word had paled to near obscurity. Three lightbulbs, out of an entire ring of empty sockets, clung stubbornly around the perimeter of the sign.

“Where the heck are we?” Adam asked. He’d sat up and had flattened both hands to the passenger window. His expression had transformed from disinterest to something resembling terror.

Sheriff Oakes veered left into a gravel parking lot riddled with potholes and ground to a stop. “We’re at the Saddle Top Motel, son,” he said. “This is where you and your mother will be staying.”

Kitty shot a warning look over the front seat when Adam started to speak. Then she swallowed past a lump in her throat that accompanied the realization that vacationers hadn’t stayed here in years. “Your nephew lives here?”

“Sure does. The place has been in Campbell’s family for a long time. Camp’s grandpa used to run it, but the business failed when the expressway diverted traffic. It’s been closed now for nearly thirty years.” Oakes stared out the windshield. “Doesn’t look too bad, all things considered.”

Right. If your current home was a park bench or the asphalt under a bridge. Kitty didn’t see the point in expressing her own opinion, so she just said, “Why does your nephew live here instead of in town?”

The sheriff paused a moment before saying, “Free-and-clear housing, I would expect. Once Campbell’s grandfather passed, he inherited the place.”

So this man is an incompetent pilot with a busted-up leg, and no visible means of support. Great.

Oakes continued. “Campbell didn’t need the motel until recently. Before coming home, he lived on the Matheson estate in Raleigh.” Oakes’s voice held a hint of pride. “Now, that’s a name you’ve heard of, I’ll wager.”

“Matheson? No, sorry.”

“Matheson Fine Furniture?”

Kitty shook her head.

“Well, I’ll be. I thought everybody had heard of Leland Matheson. He’s worth a few cool millions. Campbell lived on his estate and worked as his business adviser and personal pilot for the past three years since he got out of the Air Force.”

Kitty felt as if she were on a roller coaster of good news–bad news. This last bit of information was encouraging. Apparently the nephew had recently held a decent job. But since she was here to take care of this pilot who had just crashed his plane, Kitty couldn’t help wondering if his former employer, doubting his pilot’s skills, had fired him. Figuring the best way to know was to ask, she said, “So, why did your nephew leave his job?”

Oakes frowned. “He said it had something to do with a personal matter. Plus, he wanted to start a business back here where he grew up. Bought his own two-seater aircraft for taking aerial photographs. Unfortunately the fuel line ruptured, so that plan’s on hold.”

A shiver ran down Kitty’s spine. Her father often chartered personal aircraft in his capacity as owner of Galloway Groves. She always found an excuse not to accompany him on trips. The thought of being in a small plane was high on her list of least favorable ways to travel. And she figured that anybody who made a living flying one of those death traps ought to know he was only a loose screw away from disaster.

The sheriff opened his car door and stepped out. “Come on, folks. Campbell should be here in the hospital van any minute. Wanda says the motel key’s under the potted plant by the office door.”

Potted plant? Was he referring to that mildewed pickle crock with three spindly twigs sticking out the top? Kitty guessed he was because that’s precisely where he headed.

She got out and opened Adam’s door. When he remained in the car, she reminded him why they were here.

“Okay, already.”

They stood side by side staring at ten worn-out, run-down, dismal units broken by a peaked-roof office in the center. If a building could droop, this one did. In fact, the entire structure looked as if it was just waiting for the mercy of a wrecking ball.

* * *

“HOW YOU DOING back there, Captain Oakes?”

Campbell turned away from the familiar landscape flashing by the side window of the Spooner County medi-van. “I’m okay, Joe,” he said to the young man in the front passenger seat. “And you don’t have to call me captain. It’s been plain old Campbell for quite a while now.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’re still a hero around here. Everybody knows what you did over in Iraq.”

Campbell glanced down at the fiberglass splint that went from his ankle to his thigh and suppressed a grimace of disgust. Everybody knows what I did four days ago, too, he thought. A few years before, during Operation Iraqi Freedom, he had flown forty successful sorties over Baghdad in a Fighting Falcon. And then on Wednesday he crashed a single-engine Cessna Cardinal into a cow pasture. “My status as a hero, if I ever had one, is over,” he said.

Joe shrugged. “I still remember the stories about you. I think the town council should have had a parade or something when you came back home.”

Campbell focused out the window again, mostly to hide the smirk he couldn’t suppress. Joe didn’t understand. Nobody in Sorrel Gap would have a celebration for a prodigal son who’d been living on Matheson property in Raleigh. A renovated six-room carriage house on the lavish twenty-acre estate was a cultural world away from this small North Carolina town.

And the truth was, Campbell wouldn’t be here now except Diana Matheson had screwed him over one time too many. His future had come down to a choice between his pride and his cushy income, and Campbell had opted for pride. He’d left the estate just ahead of Diana, who caught a plane to Europe to get over her distress. Right. At least he’d been the one to say goodbye first.

The medi-van topped the hill and descended toward the Saddle Top Motel, a sad reminder of Campbell’s childhood and the glory days when Old Sorrel Gap Road was known as the Gateway to the Blue Ridge. Campbell could have afforded better accommodations in town, but so what? The building, as pathetic as it was, was his.

Still, as the Saddle Top came into view, Campbell experienced the same melancholy that gripped him whenever he returned to the cheerless structure struggling to survive in the gap. Only this time it was worse. This time, instead of just feeling as hopeless as the old motel was, Campbell would have to suffer the indignity of being hoisted into his living quarters by the medi-van driver and his helper.

And there would be no easy escape from the gap. Because of his leg, he wouldn’t be able to walk or drive away for weeks. And even after five hours of surgery and a half dozen rods and pins, the doctors still couldn’t tell Campbell for certain that he’d be able to walk without a limp, or ever pilot the Cardinal again. And that was assuming the plane’s landing gear and right wing could be repaired.

Unfortunately this mishap had occurred just when things had started to turn around for him. He had a half dozen contracts for aerial photographs stacked up on his desk. Now he’d have to tell his customers to wait out his iffy recovery or hire somebody else.

Campbell pressed his lips together as a painful draw of air stretched the muscles in his chest. Hard to believe that the dependable Fighting Falcon hadn’t suffered so much as a scratch on her steel-gray exterior during his entire deployment. Four months after he’d started Oakes Aerial Photographs, Campbell had watched the Cessna towed back to the airstrip in shambles.

The van pulled as close as possible to the covered walkway in front of the motel office. Even with two fellas supporting his weight, Campbell knew it wouldn’t be easy to get his six-foot-two, hundred-and-eighty-pound deadweight inside the building.

Joe Becker jumped out of the vehicle and opened the wide side door, giving Campbell a clear view of his uncle Virgil’s patrol car. Once he spotted Virgil at the breezeway where the washers and dryers were located, Campbell scanned the front of the motel for Virgil’s wife, Wanda. He’d never hit it off with Wanda and dreaded the thought of having to endure her interference if she followed through on her threat to take care of him.

But it wasn’t Wanda who appeared at Virgil’s side. It was a skinny purple pole of a woman with electrified blond hair that stuck out every which way. And a gawking, curly-haired kid who looked as if he’d just lost his puppy.

“Oh, great,” Campbell grumbled aloud. “You don’t think somebody actually wants to rent a room?”

Only one lone tourist, an old guy in a vintage Oldsmobile claiming he was experiencing America’s back roads, had stopped at the Saddle Top Motel in the six months Campbell had occupied it. Campbell had sent the fella on his way with an unappealing but very accurate description of the lack of amenities to be found here. He hoped Virgil wasn’t thinking he’d do him a favor by letting someone stay and contribute a bit of income. Campbell didn’t need the money. He needed peace and quiet.

The van driver pressed a lever under Campbell’s seat, and it swiveled smoothly toward the door. “I wouldn’t know, Mr. Oakes,” the man said to answer his question. “I can’t see anybody wanting to stay here.”

The two men each slipped one arm under Campbell’s knees and another around his back. With perfect timing coordinated by a command from the driver, they lifted him from the van. Less humiliating, he supposed, than a ride in a wheelchair, but only slightly so.

The men supported Campbell as he hopped on one foot the short distance to the covered porch. Virgil met him and looped Campbell’s arm over his shoulders to help him stand. The van attendants returned to the vehicle to get Campbell’s equipment, which included the detestable wheelchair, crutches, medical supplies and a bag of prescriptions. Campbell narrowed his eyes to get a look down the sidewalk at the couple standing in front of the breezeway. “Who are those people?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s Miss Kitty Watley and her son, Adam,” Virgil said. “They’re going to stay here awhile.”

Campbell wasn’t certain of much in his life at this point, but he was darn sure of his response to Virgil. “No, they’re not. Tell them to go into town to the Blue Ridge Lodge or the Sorrel Gap Chalet. Nobody’s rented a room at this motel for years.” He took a couple of quick hops toward his front door and regretted it immediately when his chest burned as if his broken ribs had erupted into flames. “There probably isn’t a clean towel in the whole place,” he said to Virgil after taking an agonizing gasp of air and letting his uncle support him.

“Well, there will be,” Virgil announced. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. This lady and her kid are going to take care of you while you’re laid up.”

“Like heck they are...”

“Listen to me, Camp. You won’t have to lift a finger. Just sit back and let these two wait on you until you heal.”

Campbell’s sharp gaze connected for a quick heartbeat with the lady’s remarkably round eyes. She attempted a smile and wiggled her fingers from the pocket of a pair of hip-hugging, baggy purple pants. The kid set his lips in a hard, tight line and scowled as if Campbell was his worst enemy. “No deal,” Campbell said. “I don’t want anybody taking care of me.”

Virgil frowned. “You might want to reconsider, Camp. You need somebody and these two are willing.”

Campbell’s innate skepticism took over. “Oh yeah? And how much is this going to cost me? And why would anybody want to stay out here in the first place?”

“It’s not going to cost you anything,” Virgil said. “And they more or less got talked into volunteering as a legal penance.”

Campbell almost laughed. “A legal penance? Come on, Virg.”

“Sort of, yes. They’ve got a small debt to pay to society, and you’re their means to that end.”

Campbell shot his uncle a dubious look. He knew small-town justice worked in mysterious ways, but this was too quirky, even for Sorrel Gap. Was his uncle actually proposing that his incapacitated nephew harbor criminals desperate enough to agree to stay in what amounted to the Sorrel Gap Outback? “What’d they do? Murder somebody?”

Virgil chuckled, but the sound was forced. “Oh, nothing that bad.”

Campbell returned his attention to the desperadoes. The woman, from this distance, at least, didn’t look capable of tangling with a june bug. She worried a pile of dust with the toe of a sandal that had a heel high enough to make Campbell wonder how she didn’t get nosebleeds. She wasn’t looking at him anymore, and he took that as a sign that she was as uncomfortable with this situation as he was.

“Virgil, let’s have it,” he said. “The whole story. Where’d you find these two?”

The men from the van walked past them after bringing in the last of Campbell’s gear and wished the patient good luck. Virgil hollered to Miss Kitty Watley to wait outside, and he helped Campbell hobble through the motel lobby to the former manager’s quarters in back. “Let me get you settled,” he said, “and then I’ll tell you how all this came about.”

He eased Campbell into a tan leather recliner, one of the newer pieces of furniture Campbell had brought with him from the carriage house to brighten up his living quarters. And, with his attention firmly fixed on his uncle’s face, Campbell heard the tale of two Florida travelers down on their luck, a broken-down pickup on the side of the road and Adam Watley’s involvement with the grand opening of Value-Rite.

Virgil proceeded as if the matter were settled. “So, can I go get Kitty and the boy and make the introductions?”

Campbell shook his head. “Not so fast. I don’t like it, Virgil. I know you saw this as a temporary solution...”

“The only solution as I see it. I promised your dad I’d look after you, and you aren’t making my job too easy.”

Campbell held his temper. He’d told his father he’d deal with this on his own.

“You’re not Superman, Camp,” Virgil reminded him. “You need help.”

“Okay, I guess I have to admit to that, but how much assistance am I going to get from a lady who looks like an underripe eggplant and her outlaw son?”

Virgil waved his hand, dismissing Campbell’s concern. “You’ve got them all wrong. Kitty can do anything—cook, clean, do laundry. And her boy, why, he just stole that stuff to help out his mama. He’s a good boy.”

Campbell only believed about half of what Virgil was saying, since he’d seen the glower on the kid’s face, and he’d already concluded that Miss Kitty looked as if she needed more help than she could give. A good stiff wind sweeping off Saddle Top Mountain could carry her all the way down the gap. But on the other hand, a woman without any means of support who was driving an old pickup could probably use the work. Of all the people Virgil might have brought to his door, she’d likely be so grateful for a place to stay that she’d just do her job and mind her own business as he’d tell her to.

Campbell chewed on his lower lip. He hated being dependent on anyone. But for now, like it or not, he was. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give this living arrangement a chance—as long as the woman and her kid fed him and kept his clothes clean and otherwise left him alone. He thought of the alternative—Wanda Oakes force-feeding him collard greens and down-home advice—and decided that trying to make it work with the Watleys was a better solution.

“You win,” he said. “At least I won’t have to treat these strangers like family. But if it doesn’t work, you’re going to come get them.”

Virgil nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”

“Okay. Bring them in.”

CHAPTER THREE

KITTY HURRIED FROM the breezeway to meet the sheriff when he came out of the motel lobby. “How’d he take the news?” she asked, shaking her fingers, which had become numb from clenching them so hard. “Is he okay with Adam and me staying?”

“He didn’t like the idea at all, did he?” Adam said, his voice blatantly hopeful.

“He liked the idea all right—after I told him you could cook and clean, wash clothes and—”

“Okay, sure,” Kitty said. “How hard can all that stuff be?”

Virgil’s eyes rounded with shock. “What?”

“What I meant was that cooking and cleaning—it’s all second nature to me. Not hard at all.” Actually those tasks were second nature to Esmeralda, the housekeeper who’d been working for Owen Galloway for years.

“All right, then. Let’s go inside.”

Kitty and Adam walked ahead of the sheriff into the lobby. They passed a couple of tired old Danish chairs and a counter with a chipped Formica finish. Adam’s fingers wrapped around Kitty’s arm like a claw. “Nice place you picked here, Mom,” he whispered.

“I picked?” Kitty started to argue but realized the futility of bringing up Adam’s mistake again.

“Do you know the difference between a washing machine and a stove?” Adam asked.

“Hey, I’m not the one who confused a jacket for a shopping cart.”

They entered a living space just slightly larger than a typical studio apartment. Forcing her gaze to sweep quickly across the room, Kitty avoided for the moment the man whose presence was definitely the dominant feature. A queen-size bed covered with a colorful Navajo-print comforter sat next to an uncluttered desk. A knotty pine dresser held an assortment of men’s toiletries on a wooden valet tray situated precisely in the middle of a pair of polished brass lamps. Brass drawer handles sparkled on each of the nine dresser drawers.

An immaculate kitchen occupied one corner. The gleaming white appliances appeared new. Two doors at the rear of the room were closed. Kitty assumed one was a closet and the other led to a bathroom.

And in the middle of this space, there was a distressed leather sofa and a pine coffee table with a notebook computer on top. And then, because she could no longer avoid acknowledging the man at the center of this meticulous display of orderly living, Kitty focused on a wide leather recliner, which was filled quite respectably by Campbell Oakes.

He wore a Charlotte Bobcats T-shirt and navy blue cargo shorts. A shock of dark brown hair fell onto his forehead and partially covered a fresh bandage. One long bare foot at the end of a well-muscled leg extended over the chair’s footrest. Campbell’s other leg, buried in at least a three-foot length of cotton batting and fiberglass splint was supported by a pillow.

He stared at her with an overtly appraising green-eyed gaze that made her feel like squirming. She tried to smile, but her lips refused to obey the command from her brain. She wondered how Campbell Oakes, even with damaged ribs and a broken leg, had the capacity to render a person speechless and smileless. Just imagining him standing fully upright, dominating everything around him, brought a strange quiver to her stomach. It wasn’t like the trepidation she felt when she faced her father. It was strange in a different sort of way.

“All right, now,” Sheriff Oakes said cheerfully. “I’ll just make the introductions and be on my way. You young folks’ll get along just fine. Campbell, this is Kitty. Kitty, Campbell.” The sheriff reached over and tousled Adam’s hair. Adam flinched. Sheriff Oakes pretended not to notice. “And this towheaded youngster is Adam.”

Campbell nodded, but his intense scrutiny didn’t ease up. In fact, his gaze settled above Kitty’s neck and refused to move.

Assuming something must be amiss, she ran a hand through her hair, felt the blunt-cut strands prickle her palm and spring back to attention with what was left of yesterday’s gel. She drew her lips together. No lipstick, of course. What little she’d applied before hitching a ride on the watermelon truck had been chewed off in the Value-Rite parking lot. She ran her tongue over her teeth, searching for an embarrassing food scrap, and then remembered that raspberry lipstick and two swigs of coffee were the only things she’d eaten all day.

Campbell’s gaze wandered over her and ended in a puzzling frown. “Kitty, is it?” he said, returning his attention to her face.

“Yes.”

“You picked out a room to stay in?”

“No, not yet. Any one will do.”

A low, rumbling sound that might have started as a sarcastic laugh but ended as a stifled groan came from his throat. Obviously something hurt, bad. He pushed himself up in the chair. “Actually none of them will do, but it’s take it or leave it.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Virgil intervened. “I’ll put Kitty and the boy in the first room past the breezeway. That way they’ll be right next to the washing machines.”

Adam cupped his hand over his mouth. “Lucky break, eh, Mom?”

“Is there a phone in there?” Virgil asked.

Campbell nodded. “Doesn’t work, though. The only phone that’s hooked up is this one.” He pointed to a portable unit on the end table.

“No problem,” Virgil said with a chirpiness that was beginning to get on Kitty’s nerves. “I’ll stop at the phone company and have Kitty’s turned on. That way you can call her and Adam in their room anytime you need them.”

“I won’t need them much,” Campbell answered.

“You could just keep us on a leash and yank,” Adam said.

The sheriff laughed as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard and tried to tousle Adam’s hair again. This time Adam was too fast for him.

“Wanda was here yesterday,” Virgil said, sticking the hand that had swatted the air over Adam’s head into his pocket. He walked to the kitchen. “She stocked the cupboard and icebox for you.”

He opened the refrigerator door and stuck his head inside. “You’ve got milk, cola, orange drink, bologna, bread, bacon and eggs. You won’t starve.” He pointed to a broom closet. “I guess the cleaning supplies are in there, Kitty. Knowing my nephew, he’ll have stocked up on everything you need to keep the place sparkling.”

“Maybe he keeps the maid in there, too,” Adam mumbled, and Kitty shushed him.

“Anyhow,” the sheriff continued, “if you think of something else you want, just call the sheriff’s office and either my deputy or I will bring it out to you.”

Adam had moved to the cupboard, where he was investigating the food provided by Wanda Oakes. “Grape-Nuts and cornflakes? You got to be kidding! Where’re the Pop-Tarts?”

Kitty rushed over and shut the cupboard doors. “Don’t complain, Adam. Let’s have Sheriff Oakes show us our room and then we’ll come back and fix lunch for Mr. Oakes.” She glanced back at Campbell. “Is that all right with you?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and laid a hand on his stomach. Kitty figured he was weighing the advantages of trying to eat through the pain versus starving to death. From the look on his face, it was a tough call.

“I guess I could eat,” he said, opening his eyes again.

“Are you having pain?” she asked him.

“He sure is,” Virgil said. “He’s got, what is it, Camp? Three cracked ribs?”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“You’ve got pills for that pain, don’t you?” Oakes asked.

“Yep.”

“Make sure he gets those,” Virgil said to Kitty. “But for now, follow me.” He jangled the motel keys and nudged Adam to walk ahead of him. When they were in the lobby, Oakes leaned over to deliver a special message to Adam. “I’d advise you to rest up as much as you can today, Adam. Come Monday you’ll be working for Mr. Quint Cheevers over at the Value-Rite.”

Obviously the sheriff’s cheerfulness in front of his nephew hadn’t caused him to forget the real reason for this act of penance. And it was a stark reminder to Kitty that she and her son were definitely expected to fulfill their pledge as participants in this unique example of Sorrel Gap justice.

Kitty walked woodenly behind the sheriff and Adam. Maybe exhaustion and hunger were catching up with her. Maybe her commitment to a situation that could prove to be a disaster was making her stomach jump as if dozens of moths had been released inside. Or maybe it was Campbell Oakes himself. He hadn’t done anything other than scope her out with those cool green eyes. But it was enough to make her feel as if her legs were made of matchsticks, and the lobby of the Saddle Top Motel was suddenly the size of a football field.

When they finally reached the porch, Adam held Kitty back. This time there was no joking in his voice when he said, “Mom, you’ve got to stop this. That guy’s weird. You have to call Grandpa!”

She took a long, soothing breath of mountain air and straightened her spine. “No, Adam. We’re going to do what’s right even if we make a mess of it.”

“You mean even if it kills us,” he added.

She gave him what she hoped was a smile of encouragement. “Mr. Oakes is just unhappy because he’s hurting. He’ll warm up to us when we’ve been around for a while, you’ll see.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but it certainly was wishful thinking.

* * *

SHERIFF OAKES UNLOCKED the door to unit number six, slipped the key off the ring and handed it to Kitty. “Here you go. I hope you and the boy enjoy your stay in beautiful Spooner County.”

“You won’t forget about our things, will you, Sheriff?”

“Tommy will bring them out to you at the end of his shift, about five o’clock. In the meantime, I expect you’ll find whatever you need in this room or in Campbell’s place.”

The sheriff stepped off the sidewalk and headed toward his patrol car. What remained of Kitty’s confidence threatened to walk away with him. A wind had kicked up, sending a film of sand over the sidewalk. Loose gravel pinged across the porch shingles—the desolate, lonely sound of a place forgotten by the human race. Kitty shivered and fought an urge to rush to the car and beg Virgil Oakes for other options.

Maybe Campbell Oakes wasn’t exactly weird as Adam said, and his injuries rendered him virtually harmless, but he seemed to have a chip on his shoulder large enough to fuel a bonfire. Plus, she feared that she would be a miserable failure at helping him. According to her ex-husband, Bobby, during the longest two years of her life—her marriage—she’d been a failure at nearly everything she tried. More recently, her father made her feel as if she wasn’t even capable of taking care of herself and her son, an opinion that had been substantiated in the past twenty-four hours. How was she going to take care of an invalid?

The sheriff set his elbow on top of the car. “I’m counting on you to keep your word, Kitty, and to make Adam keep his. Don’t make me regret giving you and the boy this chance.”

His implied warning only added to her guilt and uncertainty.

“That fella in there is my brother’s son. He’s been through a lot over the years.”

Right. Campbell was a war veteran. But he’d also worked for the wealthy Leland Matheson and made his home in Raleigh before coming to Sorrel Gap, so he hadn’t bedded down with land mines without a break. “I’ll look after him,” she said, and sent a silent prayer skyward that she’d succeed. “You take care of my truck, all right?”

He smiled at her. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll even have my mechanic look it over. That truck’ll be all yours again about the same time my nephew can live out here on his own.”

How long would that be? How long would she and Adam have to remain in this dusty, forsaken patch of North Carolina despair? “You won’t forget to have the phone turned on in our room, will you?” she asked as a flood of panic returned.

Oakes indicated that he would remember. The promise of a connection to the outside world, the chance to call Bette and Esmeralda, erased some of Kitty’s misgivings.

The sheriff climbed into the patrol car and backed out of the parking lot. Soon he was over the hill and returning to blessed civilization.

And Kitty and Adam went into their room.

Actually none of them will do.

The words Campbell Oakes had uttered a few minutes ago about the rooms at the Saddle Top Motel flashed in Kitty’s mind. And now, standing just over the threshold of unit number six, Kitty understood what he’d meant. And she suddenly felt as tired as this abandoned old room looked.

Adam entered the room and covered his nose. “Phew. Now we have another gross smell.”

Kitty yanked open the rubber-backed drapes covering the picture window. “That’s neglect, Adam,” she said. “Mildew. Stale air. Whatever you want to call it. Just please help me open the room up.”

They each cranked handles on opposite sides of the glass until two large panes creaked open. A breeze swept inside, depositing dust from the sill on a round Formica table and two orange vinyl chairs.

The admittance of air helped eliminate the odor, but the accompanying sunlight emphasized the deplorable condition of the furnishings. There were two double beds, each covered with thin spreads in faded gold and avocado stripes. Kitty walked over flat shag carpet that might once have been a peachy color, but was now nondescript. She ran her hand over the top of a six-drawer brown dresser. Three of its pulls, which reminded her of the fins of a vintage automobile, dangled loose, hanging by only one screw. A television sat next to the dresser on a rusty metal stand.

Kitty went to the rear of the room where there was a gold vanity under a rectangular mirror held in place by a half dozen clear plastic mounts. She opened a door to reveal a bathroom decorated in small gold-and-white tiles. When she flushed the toilet, she was relieved to see the discolored water swirl over rust stains in the bottom of the bowl and disappear. It was replaced with a welcoming pool of clear water.

A sharp click followed by an electrical buzz sent Kitty rushing back to the sleeping area. “What’s wrong?” she asked Adam, but immediately saw what had produced the strange noises. Her son sat on the end of a bed, his face cupped in his hands as he stared gloomily at a TV screen with more static than picture.

“It’s not even color,” he said. “I can’t watch this.”

She checked the back of the television. Its bulbous shape convinced her the set was color even if the only remaining evidence of the NBC peacock was a sickly Martian green. “Probably just needs a new antenna,” she said.

“This place sucks.” Adam turned the channel wheel, which only had thirteen numbers. He was able to get minimal reception on four of them.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Kitty said. “For now, get off the bed.”

“What?”

Seeing her son on the old linens had revitalized Kitty with the instinct to protect her young. “I don’t want you sitting there.”

He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, but he stood. She ripped the linens from both beds and piled everything, sheets, spreads and two thin blankets, into Adam’s arms. “Take these to the breezeway. I saw a decent washer and dryer and a bottle of detergent. Fill the washer with half the linens, dump in some soap and turn it on.”

He grimaced at the load in his arms. “I don’t know how to wash clothes.”

“It’s easy. Read the dials and choose whichever settings claim to have the most superpowers.”

He trudged out of the room, sheets trailing behind him. Kitty followed him outside but stayed on the walkway. She leaned her elbows on a railing that ran the length of the covered walkway and took a deep breath. “Okay, Kitty,” she said to herself. “You can do this. It won’t be so bad.”

The wind had calmed so that only a gentle breeze rustled the pitiful shrubs that stubbornly existed in nutrient-depleted beds in front of the motel. Kitty plucked a pale, drooping leaf from an evergreen plant and studied it. “All it would take is a little fertilizer and some serious weed removal, and this bed could be brought back to life,” she said. “I’ll bet these bushes could look as good as...”

She stopped, wondering where she had been going with that sentence. And then she looked across the two-lane road to hills that dipped and rose in elegant curves up from the gap and into the horizon. A wispy haze hovered over a cleft, a saddle-shaped indentation in the tallest peak, bathing the mountain top in a cool blue-gray mist.

It must have been a nurturing spring, she decided, because every tree in her view was dressed in the most remarkable shades of green, from deep emerald to pale olive. She twisted the leaf between her fingers. “Yep, you could look as good as what lives just across that road.”

She blew the leaf into the breeze and glanced over her shoulder into the bleakness of her room. What had seemed hopeless only moments ago now at least hinted of promise. “It’s sure a long way from my father’s house,” she said, “but it’s a heck of a lot better than Bobby’s sixteen-foot travel trailer.”

She’d been in her second year at the University of Florida when charming, sinfully handsome Bobby Watley played a golf tournament at a nearby resort. Kitty volunteered to be a scorekeeper. Her mother had died a few weeks before, and Kitty was desperately seeking any activity that would get her out of the classroom and the claustrophobic despair where her grief had taken her. Unfortunately it had been Bobby’s dazzling smile that had taken her mind off her problems, not his less-than-stellar golf swing.

Two weeks later, she dropped out of school and married Bobby in the town where the next tournament had been held. Now she couldn’t even remember the name of the place. Towns all ran together, and state lines became indistinct when you stayed in campgrounds that all looked alike.

She shivered now, thinking of that dismal time in her life when she was married to Bobby. They never had enough money. They never had enough room. When Adam came and he needed space, she’d been forced to toss out most of the possessions she’d brought with her. She fixed simple meals on a small, two-burner stove.

But of all the things she lacked with Bobby, the most glaring was encouragement. When she craved support, Bobby offered criticism. When she asked for help, Bobby demanded more than anyone could give. Had she known Bobby was so emotionally needy, she never would have married him. Had she realized the same of herself, she especially wouldn’t have.

She’d been young when she married Bobby. But she’d felt old when she left him. After twenty-four months of watching her husband fail on the golf tour, Kitty called her father and begged for his forgiveness. A day later she walked away from a dry, dusty campsite in Arizona with nothing in her pocket but the credit card her father had overnighted, and her ten-month-old son in her arms. And because Bobby knew he didn’t have a chance of seeing any of Owen’s money, he signed the divorce papers sent by the Galloway attorney.

Even when she’d put those years behind her and moved back to Richland, she constantly struggled to move forward without being haunted by the past. It didn’t help that Owen fanned the fires of her memories. Sometimes she thought the greatest satisfaction he had in life was reminding her of the foolish mistake that had cost her a college education, her independence and, most importantly, her self-esteem.

“Mom?”

Brought back to the present, she smiled at Adam. “How’d you do with the laundry?”

“I guess I did okay. I read the directions on the soap jug.”

She drew him close to her side. He flinched at first and then stood quietly, as if he sensed that contact was what she needed. Stroking his hair, Kitty admitted that this child of hers was a handful, but he was all she had of Bobby Watley and all she wanted from him. At least Bobby had given her Adam.

During Adam’s twelve years of life, Bobby had been little more to him than a crinkled copy of an internet article about the players in some insignificant tournament. Adam read that story over and over, connecting with his father the only way he knew how. Kitty had made sure the article was among their belongings in the broken-down truck. Adam wouldn’t have wanted to leave that piece of his history behind.

“We’ll get washed up,” she said to Adam, “and then look in on Mr. Oakes.”

The mention of Campbell’s name brought a strange image to Kitty’s mind, as if the Adonis beauty of Bobby’s face had mutated like a Hollywood camera trick into the imperfectly rugged features of Campbell Oakes. She hardly knew anything about Campbell, but she sensed that he wasn’t a bit like Bobby. Not that she should be thinking of Campbell as anything other than an obligation, but some things were just obvious. Bobby was sand, shifting with the tides, pretty to look at, but you couldn’t build a house on it. Campbell, despite being bested by a busted fuel line, was definitely rock.

“We got some money left, don’t we?” Adam said as they walked back into unit number six.

“I have a little. Why?”

He nodded at the television. “Maybe we can buy an antenna for that old piece of junk.”

“I’ll think about it.”

He grinned at her. “Give me back my Tampa Bay jacket, and I’ll pick one up at the Value-Rite when I go into work.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE RINGING PHONE irritated Campbell, but not just because he didn’t want to talk to anyone. He couldn’t reach the dang receiver. The phone mocked him from an end table at the far end of the couch, ten feet at least from where he had parked himself in the recliner.

He gripped the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. Swearing under his breath seemed to give him enough strength to hobble to the sofa and sprawl across the three cushions. He’d answer the darn thing now, but he reminded himself to keep the receiver nearby from now on. And then he reminded himself never to crash his plane again. He read the caller ID, Travis Oakes, and punched the connect button. “Dad?”

“Oh, good,” came the calm, authoritative voice of the decorated Army Lieutenant Colonel. “You’re out of the hospital.”

Campbell painfully hoisted himself into a sitting position. “Yeah. They released me about an hour ago. I’ve only been at the motel a few minutes.”

“I’m not happy with your decision, Campbell. I had it all set up with Virgil for you to stay with him and Wanda.”

“Much as that idea warms the cockles of my heart, Dad, I chose this option.”

His father chuckled. “I know Wanda can be difficult...”

“She’s a self-righteous harpy,” Campbell said.

“But she knows how to make chicken soup,” his father pointed out.

“I don’t like chicken soup.”

There was a pause during which Campbell figured his dad was preparing a lecture about common sense in times of adversity.

Thankfully Travis surprised him. “So, what arrangements have you made?” he asked. “Who’s looking in on you?”

“Virgil found someone. I’ll be fine.”

“Someone with medical experience?”

Kitty Watley? Campbell wasn’t one to draw upon stereotypes when evaluating an individual, but in this case he would bet money on the fact that he knew more about nursing than this quirky, out-of-luck, out-of-options lady did. And his expertise was limited to the variety pack of bandages in the tin under his sink.

“I assume so,” he said. “Virgil thinks she can handle the job. And besides, I have a home health person coming twice a week to clean the surgery incisions.”

“That’s good. Can the woman Virgil hired fix your meals?”

“He claims she’s a great cook.”

“Okay, I guess that will suffice. How are you feeling?”

Campbell pressed his hand over his chest. “Pretty good.” Lousy. Like I could spit hot nails. “Still some pain, but it’s not too bad.”

“This is a mess, son. I can’t locate your mother in South America or I’d demand that she come to Sorrel Gap and take care of you.”

Playing host to his mother had all the makings of a nightmare. Campbell knew Vivian Parnell Oakes didn’t respond well to demands. She and Travis had been forced to accept that fact three years after they married, and Vivian had run for the hills. At that time, the hills had been the Pyrenees, not the gentle rises of Sorrel Gap, North Carolina. It seemed Campbell and his father had both chose women who hated having their wings clipped.

“Don’t worry about it, Dad,” Campbell said. “Mom’ll probably call me in the next few days, and I’ll tell her what happened. But I don’t need to ask for her help.”

His father sighed. “You’re better off not to expect it, Camp. I wish I could have stayed longer.”

“Hey, you were here after the accident. That’s enough. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, most of the time. Just keep this woman Virgil found on her toes. I know how you like things around your place—neat and orderly. Don’t let her slack off and take advantage of you.”

Campbell smiled to himself. He’d grown up under the strict but fair supervision of Travis Oakes. Now they both believed in the same motto. No slackers allowed. “Would I do that?”

“No, you wouldn’t. I’ve got to run. I’ll call you again in a couple of days. You know where you can reach me.”

“I do, Dad.” The last thing on Campbell’s agenda was whining to his father. Besides, Fort Irwin, California, was a long way from the Saddle Top Motel. Campbell was on his own. And as bad as his situation was, he thought of Wanda and knew things could be worse.

He set the phone back on its cradle and reached across the sofa for his book. He’d just found his place and resumed reading when he heard a tap at his door.

“Hey, you in there?”

He laid the book on the coffee table and stared at fingers wrapped around the partially open door. “I am,” he said. “Where else would I be?”

The door swung open the rest of the way and banged against the wall, leaving a permanent mark on the new paint job. Adam Watley, his shorts reaching below his knees, sauntered inside. “Oh yeah, I guess you’re stuck here even more than we are. At least we can walk away.”

Campbell acknowledged the obvious conclusion with a frown.

“My mom sent me over to see if you have any soap larger than a bottle cap and maybe made in this century.” To illustrate, he unwrapped a pint-size bar of motel soap, held the paper by a corner and let the crumbling contents of Cashmere Bouquet fall to the floor.

Campbell stared at the polished honey maple planks he’d recently refinished and imagined the kid pulverizing soap shavings into a gummy mess with his bulky sneakers. “In the bathroom,” he said, pointing over his shoulder to the door to his right. “Under the sink. And clean up the mess you just made before you walk in it.”

Satisfied for the moment when Adam sidestepped the soap, Campbell picked up his book and tried to reacquaint himself with the hero’s dilemma. Trapped in a dank basement, his wrists handcuffed to a steam pipe and the bad guys just upstairs, the fictional cop’s problems were worse than his own, but only barely.

The kid returned with a regular-sized bar of Dial and stood directly in front of the couch. Without waiting to be acknowledged, he blurted out, “Are you a neat freak?”

Campbell dropped the book to his lap. “What?”

“That cabinet in the bathroom. All the bottles are in a line, shortest to tallest. The towels are in rolls, for Pete’s sake. It’s like you’re expecting the queen of England to stop by.”

Campbell reminded himself to give the kid the benefit of the doubt for now. Maybe nobody had ever taught him basic manners. “No. I’m not expecting anyone in here for any reason. Got the message?”

Adam snorted through his nose. “Yeah, but it won’t work. Mom’s coming over to fix your lunch.” He bounced the bar of Dial in his palm. “She just wanted to wash her hands first. Our room is disgusting.”

“I’ll tell housekeeping.”

“Huh? We’ve actually got a maid?”

Campbell rolled his eyes.

“Oh. Funny.” When Campbell started reading again, Adam turned toward the door, but stopped when he spied the fifty-two-inch TV in the middle of an oak entertainment center. A baseball game was on the screen, the volume turned low. Adam squawked. Campbell looked up to see the kid’s jaw drop. He backed up a couple of steps and plopped onto the sofa. “You’ve got cable!”

“No, I don’t,” Campbell said, wincing at the pain the kid’s uninvited and inconsiderate movement had caused in his chest. “There’s no cable out here. I’ve got a satellite dish.”

“Even better!” His eyes lit up when he spotted the remote control on the table. “I want to be connected in our room!”

Campbell scowled at him. “They don’t let juvenile offenders have luxuries like three hundred TV channels.”

“Heck, if I was in prison I’d have a better TV in my cell than that crappy ol’—”

“Adam!” Kitty Watley burst into the room like an avenging angel and swooped over her son. “I just told you not ten minutes ago to stop complaining.”

He shrugged. “I forgot.”

“Apologize to Mr. Oakes.”

“For what?”

“For expressing your opinions in such a vulgar way.”

Campbell raised his eyebrows. “Actually I’ve been known to use worse language than that.” Like when I’m in a plane heading nose-down with fuel spraying in all directions.

A full thirty seconds passed before Adam responded to a nudge by his mother and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“While you’re being so humble,” Campbell said, “get the dustpan and a whisk broom out of the closet and sweep up those soap crumbs. Maybe the next time you want to make a point you won’t use visual effects.”

Adam shuffled to the closet, and his mother took his place on the sofa. At least when she sat, she didn’t send shock waves into Campbell’s cracked ribs. But she did wiggle, and for some reason, that bothered Campbell more than the kid’s unceremonious plopping. She placed her hand flat against her bare chest above the top of a tank-type shirt. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Oakes. Adam is high-spirited. He doesn’t mean any harm, but...”

“Do you always apologize for your son?” Campbell said. “If so, it must take up a lot of your time.”

“Well, there are days. Unfortunately Adam has had some bad influences on his life.”

Typical cop-out for lack of discipline. “So you’re using the wrong-crowd theory as a defense for the boy’s behavior?”

Kitty’s clear, disturbingly blue eyes locked on to his. “It’s more the wrong role model. But Adam won’t cause you any trouble, I promise.” She stood up and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll get your lunch now.”

“You don’t have to. I’m not hungry after all.”

She stopped, turned and placed her hands on the waistband of her low-slung pants. “You’ve got to eat. Otherwise you won’t get your strength back.”

He turned a page in his book. “That, Miss Kitty, is up to a power much greater than the meager benefits of a bologna sandwich.”

Confusion veiled her eyes for an instant. But then her foot started tapping in its ridiculously impractical sandal. “I told your uncle I would take care of you, and I intend to keep my word.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to keep the hoodlum out of jail...”

Her eyes narrowed. She took in a sharp breath that seemed to raise her up a couple of inches. “However...” She drew the word out for several seconds. “I can only put food in front of you. I can’t give you the good sense to eat it.” She lifted her chin in a defiant gesture. “I guess either you were born with that or you weren’t.”

He stared at her, waiting for her to look away. She didn’t, so he hitched one shoulder in what he knew was childish insolence. “Suit yourself.”

As he watched her walk to the refrigerator, he pondered the information she’d given him. What role model had the kid had in his life? Was Kitty talking about the boy’s father? Was she married? If so, where was the man who should be taking care of this desperate pair? Was he going to show up at the Saddle Top Motel someday?

That was all he’d need. Campbell felt the first manifestation of unease coil like a spring in his gut. He didn’t want to be in the middle of a domestic dispute, forced to defend this duo, not in the condition he was in. Then he remembered Virgil had referred to Kitty as “Miss Watley.” That eliminated the husband possibility, if Virgil was right. But it didn’t eliminate an ex-boyfriend one.

After she took a can from the cupboard and a package of lunch meat from the refrigerator, Kitty looked over her shoulder at him. It was the first time he realized he was still staring at her and that he probably shouldn’t be.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Oakes?” she asked.

Truly he was gawking at her as if he’d been trapped in a mine shaft for a week and she was the sun. “Nothing’s wrong,” he barked at her. She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for a logical explanation. He certainly couldn’t tell her that he’d been memorizing every curve under that shirt, so he improvised. “It’s those clothes you’re wearing. They’re, uh, interesting to say the least.”

That was a stupid thing to say. What did he know about women’s clothes? Only that the hip-hugging pants and top that Kitty wore had to be the most unforgiving garments he’d ever seen on a female. If she’d had a blemish anywhere on her torso, he’d have seen the outline through that fabric. But the more he looked, the more he concluded that she was awfully pretty.

She grinned bashfully and turned her attention to heating something on the stove. “Thanks, Mr. Oakes. These clothes certainly aren’t fashion statements, but they’re comfortable.”

Kitty Watley was strange. He’d expected her to blast him for what some women would have interpreted as a snide comment about her appearance. That’s exactly what Diana would have done if, heaven forbid, there had ever been a reason for him to question her impeccable taste. And yet Kitty had taken it like a compliment.

Once again he found himself searching for the right words. “I wish you’d stop calling me ‘Mr. Oakes,’” he finally said. “It makes me feel old, as well as lame.”

She slathered something on two pieces of bread. “Okay. You’re certainly not old, Campbell. And once your leg heals, you won’t be lame, either.”

If only the doctors were as confident, he thought. “When you’ve got that food ready, you can leave it on the end table. Then you and the kid can take yours and go.”

A few minutes later Kitty quietly set a tray on the table without disturbing his reading as her oblivious son had done. But this time it wouldn’t have mattered, since Campbell hadn’t done anything but stare at the pages as if they were blank. She brought him a glass of water and his pain pills and then took her own food and left with Adam, who had spent the past minutes zipping through the channels on his remote.

Almost as if he owed Kitty some consideration, Campbell forced himself to eat the cheese and bologna sandwich and, of all things, chicken soup.

When he finished eating, Campbell took his pills and watched a few minutes of the baseball game before shutting off the TV. He picked up his book, slammed it closed and set it down again. He glared at the useless leg, which prevented him from going outside in the cleansing mountain air and walking off the restlessness.

And then he opened the end table drawer and took out the half dozen postcards from Diana that for some stupid reason he’d saved over the past few months. He flipped through them, staring at the typical tourist photos again. The Piazza San Marco in Venice. The Place Royale in Bordeaux. The Grote Markt in Antwerp. Beautiful places that, at one time, he could have imagined visiting with Diana.

Once he finished reading, Campbell ripped the cards into shreds before realizing he’d have to pick up all the pieces from the floor.

He blamed Kitty Watley for this infuriating and completely uncharacteristic emotional outburst. Before this darn accident, when work occupied his days, he’d convinced himself that he was finally over Diana Matheson. Cool, sophisticated, boarding school–bred Diana, who’d knocked him for a loop the first time he saw her. He had adored her since the night she showed up at her father’s estate, home from her European trip.

The day she agreed to become his wife had been the happiest of his life. He’d given her a ring and urged her to set a date. He was anxious to settle down with her, have a family. She kept putting him off, and she did it so cleverly he hardly noticed. Or maybe he just wasn’t smart enough to read the signs.

Eventually Campbell realized that Diana would never be his. She’d never commit to a simple ex-military type like him, who worked for her father. To preserve what was left of his dignity, he told Diana goodbye. And then, weeks later, the postcards started to arrive, and Campbell resented the heck out of the fact that Diana didn’t want him but wouldn’t let him go.

It wasn’t Kitty’s fault that her very femaleness sent Campbell spiraling down to that dark period after he’d packed his bags and left the Matheson estate. When he settled back in Sorrel Gap, he gave himself time and permission to think of Diana. He missed what he’d hoped they would have together with a deep ache that stole peace from his daylight hours and sleep from his nights. But he didn’t regret his decision, any more than he regretted tearing up those postcards today. In Sorrel Gap he’d hoped to start over. But he wasn’t doing such a bang-up job of it so far.

Kitty and Diana were nothing alike except that they were both women. Diana had everything she’d ever wanted. Kitty obviously survived on the barest essentials. Campbell had sworn off all women for now, but especially rich, spoiled ones who would choose money and possessions over everything else.

The phone rang again, jolting Campbell from his pathetic self-pity. He picked it up. “Hello.”

“It’s Virgil. Just wanted you to know I got the phone turned on in unit six so you can reach Kitty when you need her. Here’s the number...”

Campbell scribbled it down on a pad, though he wasn’t likely to use it. He was a long way from admitting that he needed anyone.

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