Night Thunder Read online

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Aw, Corinne, don’t do this to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “I only arrived yesterday.”

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

  “Sticking around—short term, at least.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Sounds like you’ve been burned.”

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

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

  “What kind of work do you do?”

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

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

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

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

  “Thanks. Actually, though, the house is the least of my worries at the moment. I’m about to get married without a wedding gown.” A sweep of forceful May wind danced around them. “I swear if I don’t have a nervous breakdown before this wedding, it’ll be a miracle. I honestly think Roberta’s going to kill me if I don’t get her my list for the shower.”

  “She does sound pretty desperate.”

  “I’ve got to get caught up—I don’t mean to make it hard on her. I really appreciate her throwing the shower for me. Actually Roberta and Ada are hosting it together—it’s going to be at Ada’s house. Sweet of them.”

  Josy stopped walking. Ada’s house. Ada Scott? She shifted, trying to relax her suddenly tense shoulders. “Who’s Ada?” she asked, trying to sound no more than casual. But she held her breath as Corinne replied.

  “Oh, sorry. Ada’s the woman I told you about—she works the cash register at Bessie’s Diner. Bessie Templeton owns the place and Ada—Ada Scott—is her best friend. Roberta works with both of them, and with Bessie’s granddaughter, Katy Brent, who helps out once in a while and does the books. They’ve all become really good friends of mine in the past year or so.”

  “So . . . it’s Ada and Bessie who are away in Las Vegas?” Josy asked slowly. “Roberta told me they were away, but she didn’t mention their names.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Actually, they’re coming home tomorrow. And if I don’t have the invitation list ready by then, Ada will be on my case too.” She laughed. “I’d better get my act together. Look, I don’t know if this working vacation of yours includes socializing or not, but my boss, Elam Lowell, over at the Tumbleweed Bar and Grill, is throwing a good-bye party for me there tonight. I’ve been waitressing there for years, but now that Roy and I are getting married, I want a day job, so he and I can spend all of our evenings together. So I’ll be working weekdays at Roy’s real estate office. Tonight’s my last night at the Tumbleweed. Want to come?”

  “Oh . . . thanks . . . but . . .”

  “Think about it.” Corinne smiled, and gave a small shrug. “No big deal. If you want to get out, have a few drinks, meet some people, come on by. I’ve got to run over and meet Roy at the office real quick, but . . . maybe I’ll see you later.”

  “Yes, maybe. Thanks.” Josy stared after her as Corinne stamped out her cigarette and hurried down the street.

  So. Corinne’s Ada is my Ada. Ada Scott. And she’ll be home from Las Vegas tomorrow, Josy mused as she walked slowly back up Main Street. If she hadn’t been away, I might have met her today in Bessie’s Diner. Right off the bat . . .

  The imminent prospect of coming face-to-face with her grandmother filled her with a strange mix of emotions—excitement, curiosity, and . . . reserve. Once she did meet Ada, she’d need to decide if she should tell the woman who she was—or if she should just keep her distance and eventually leave Thunder Creek as her mother apparently had years ago, never having reached out to make contact.

  After I meet her, I’ll decide, she told herself. Right now, with Ada away, all she could do was take things one step at a time.

  Today she needed to buy groceries and toiletries and linens for the apartment. And she had to find a library.

  She walked along Thunder Creek’s main street until she reached Lucy’s Grocery and Drugs, where she stocked up on crackers, peanut butter, Rice Krispies, and other essentials. While checking out, she asked the gangly young boy working the cash register where the nearest Wal-Mart might be found. “Casper,” he told her without hesitation.

  “And is there a library in Thunder Creek?”

  Sure, but it was only open three days a week—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

  “How do I find it?” she asked as he handed over the second bag of her groceries.

  “Uh, Miller Road, a quarter mile west of town, near the high school,” he mumbled, his gaze shifting to the two teenage girls in halter tops and shorts who’d just entered the store, giggling.

  “Does it have a computer?”

  “Yep. A computer and a printer. Wood and Tammie Morgan donated ’em both last year.”

  She breathed an inward sigh of relief. She’d be able to get in touch with Ricky easily after all. Tomorrow was Wednesday—she’d go to the library and send him an e-mail. With any luck, he’d read it within a few days and let her know when he’d be coming to get the package.

&nb
sp; Ever since she’d landed in Salt Lake City, a part of her had itched to rip open the package and see what was inside. But that impulse wasn’t nearly as powerful as the part of her that didn’t want to know. The part that hoped Ricky would show up and take it off her hands before she had to know—and deal with—whatever was inside— whatever had cost Archie his life.

  She pushed away the unspoken worry in her mind— that something could have happened to Ricky already. That he hadn’t gotten away as she had. That there’d be no answer to her e-mail. And that he wasn’t coming for the package at all . . .

  Those thoughts made her throat tighten and the muscles of her neck clench, but she did her best to ignore them and decided to concentrate on the positive.

  Thunder Creek had a library. And a computer. And very friendly people. So far, so good.

  She’d just take it one step at a time.

  She was hugging both bags of groceries to her chest as she headed back to the gas station, when a red pickup cruising past suddenly braked against the curb and a lean, sandy-haired young cowboy wearing a broad smile, a green polo shirt, and worn jeans jumped out.

  “Those bags look heavy. Can I give you a hand?”

  He looked like he was in his early twenties, with hazel eyes, a lean jaw, and the fresh-off-the-range handsome-ness of a model in a Ralph Lauren ad.

  “No thanks, I’m good.” She strolled past him without slowing her steps. “My car’s at the gas station, right over there—”

  “All the way over there? Then, c’mon, let me help you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He was following her, his muscular arms spread wide. “I promise not to run off with your groceries. And if I do, we have a crackerjack sheriff here in Thunder Creek and he’ll get them back for you. You can give him my description.”