Joanna Wayne - Riding Shotgun

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll blab too much?” Grace teased.

“Wouldn’t mind if you did. At least it wouldn’t be the same old stories and gossip I’ve been listening to for years.”

“I’m a stranger,” Grace said. “You know nothing about me. You really shouldn’t invite strangers into your home.”

“I know plenty about you. You climbed through a barbwire fence and ran to the aid of someone yelling their lungs out when you had no idea what you might be getting into.”

“Anyone would have done that.”

“No. Not these days. Well, they do in Winding Creek, but not everywhere. Don’t matter, you seem like a good person to me and I’m an excellent judge of character. Even Charlie used to admit that I can spot a liar the second they open their mouth. I can spot an honest person even quicker.”

Which didn’t bode well for Grace, since almost every word out of her mouth from here on out would be based on a lie. But she did hate the idea of leaving Esther alone tonight.

What harm could one night do? It wasn’t as if she was being followed. She’d been far too careful for that. There was no earthly reason for anyone to look for her here.

“I have four extra bedrooms,” Esther encouraged. “One ought to be to your liking. None of them are fancy, but the beds are comfortable—even have clean sheets on them. Beats driving an hour or more and then being stuck in some stuffy old motel room down the highway.”

“You are putting up a good argument.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll spend the night here. We’ll get to know each other better. I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

Grace was certain the prediction they’d become friends would never come to fruition. Keeping her past and true identity locked away like bones in a crumbling crypt never allowed her to get too close to anyone.

“Okay,” Grace agreed. “One night, if you really want me to stay. But you have to promise to let me take care of you. I don’t want you trying to play hostess on that ankle.”

“I’m just going to lie right here except when I have to go to the bathroom.” Esther smiled and the lines in her face softened as she readjusted her leg on the pillow.

Grace had made the right decision—at least for Esther.

As long as Esther never discovered that the woman she knew as Grace Addison only existed as a character in a horror tale.

* * *

GRACE WOKE FROM a sound sleep to a blinding flash of lightning that seemed only inches from her window. An earsplitting crash of thunder followed. She shivered and pulled the quilt up to her chin, not that she expected to go back to sleep with a thunderstorm raging.

She reached for her phone to check the time. Ten past three. Lightning struck again and the accompanying thunder was so loud it rattled the windows.

Esther was at the other end of the long hall. The storm had surely woken her, too. Better go check on her, since that was why Grace was there. If nothing else, she could get her a fresh ice pack.

She flicked on the lamp, shoved her feet into her slippers and pulled on her pink fleece robe, glad she’d remembered to grab it when she’d packed so hurriedly.

Grace was already in the hallway when she remembered the horrid wig she’d been wearing when she’d arrived.

If she’d had any idea she’d be staying in someone else’s home even for a night, she would have made another choice. Perhaps a freaky dye job and a short, spiky haircut. She could have gone goth. She still might when she left the Double K Ranch.

Rain began to pelt the windowpanes. Grace grabbed the wig from the top of the antique dresser and pulled it low on her head. She adjusted and readjusted until she was certain none of her own brown locks escaped the wig.

Reminding herself she was Grace Addison, she tiptoed to Esther’s bedroom. Her door was ajar. Esther’s whistling snores overrode the sounds of the torrential rain. Perhaps that was why the storm hadn’t awoken her.

The temperature in the house was several degrees cooler than it had been when Grace had gone to bed and she could feel a chilly draft in the hallway. She’d made certain the front and back doors were closed and locked, but the draft had to be coming in somewhere.

She followed the chill to the family room and turned on the overhead light. It took only a few seconds to discover the problem. A window behind the sofa was open a crack and the wind and rain were blowing in.

Grace closed and locked the window, then went to the bathroom to get a towel to wipe up the water.

Another bolt of lightning hit, this one cutting a path straight downward as if the house itself were the target. Thunder roared. The light blinked twice and then went out.

A suffocating sensation sucked the air from Grace’s lungs as pitch-blackness closed in around her.

It had been storming like this the night this had all started. Almost six years ago. A night of terror that refused to let her go. The memories crawled from beneath the darkest recesses of her mind and she was back there again.

Lying alone in the king-size bed, silk sheets skimming her naked body. Surrounded by opulence. Drowning in suspicions she could no longer deny.

Her dreams died that night and the never-ending nightmare began.

Grace made her way back to the bedroom in the dark and climbed beneath the covers. The storm still raged on outside, but the real upheaval was inside her soul.

* * *

“LAND O’ GOSHEN, you’re just as busy as a buzz saw in a pine knot, Grace. I swear you haven’t stopped working since you woke up.”

“I haven’t actually accomplished that much.”

“Cooked my breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, ran the vacuum cleaner, washed and dried sheets and towels, straightened my little nest here on the sofa and waited on me like I was the Queen of England. I’d say that’s a powerful lot.”

“I like to stay busy, and I have to earn my keep. After all, you did provide me a port in the storm last night.”

“It was you who did me the favor. I’m not afraid to admit that ankle had me worried. I was afraid something was broken. I sure didn’t need that.”

“I’m glad it’s better this morning, but you shouldn’t overdo it. It would be helpful if you had a walker or at least a cane you could use for support.”

“You know, I think Charlie’s cane might still be in the closet of one of those spare bedrooms. He bought it after he had his right knee replaced a couple of years back.”

“I’ll take a look before I leave and see if I can find it. Right now, it’s time for you to have a fresh ice pack on the ankle again. Are you ready?”

“How long do we have to keep doing that?”

“At least another twenty-four hours. You want to avoid as much swelling as possible.”

“Good thing I like purple,” Esther said. “Looks like I might get about ten shades of it when those bruises burst into full bloom.”

“That you may.”

Grace went for the ice pack and adjusted it on Esther’s ankle.

“I hope you don’t think I’m taking advantage of you,” Esther said.

“I’d never think that. I’m going to check and see if I can find that cane, and then I need to get back on the road. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?”

“Well, there is one favor that would mean a lot to me. Not exactly a favor, ’cause I’ll pay you what I can.”

“What is it?”

Esther sucked in her bottom lip and put her palms to her cheeks as if she were afraid to say what was on her mind.

“Just ask me,” Grace encouraged. “I don’t promise I can say yes, but I won’t be upset with you for asking.”

“I was thinking maybe I could get you to stay with me a week or so—perhaps through Christmas. This whole holiday thing is about to get me down. Every time I think about it, I start crying.”