Linda Goodnight - Finding Her Way Home

“Until I find an apartment.” Or move on.

“Great. You can come to our Bible study and meet some of the other townsfolk. Redemption is a nice place to settle.”

As much as Cheyenne wanted to make friends and have a real life again, she wasn’t excited about a Bible study. If she’d ever had any faith, it had disappeared the night Dwight Hector broke into her garage.

“If you’ll just sign the guest register here.” Kitty tapped a finger against the lined page. “I’ll take down your credit card info and we’ll be all set.”

Feeling as if she’d stepped back in time, Cheyenne complied, waiting patiently while Kitty entered the numbers the old-fashioned way, without the use of a credit card machine. When the widow finished, she took Cheyenne’s registration form to a metal file box.

“Well, look at that,” she said, holding the card at an angle above the box. “You’re from Colorado.”

Cheyenne tensed; the thought raced through her head that Kitty had put the name and state together and come up with a news report.

“Formerly,” she said, words terse and defensive.

Kitty lifted wistful blue eyes, apparently unaware of her guest’s reaction. “My late husband and I honeymooned in the mountains near Breckenridge.”

Cheyenne took a second to make the mental shift from her anxious thoughts to Kitty’s meaning. The place steeped in pain and sorrow for Cheyenne was a place of loving memory for the young widow.

“The mountains are a beautiful honeymoon destination,” she managed, wondering if she would ever stop feeling edgy and suspicious.

“Yes, they were.” The woman stood for several seconds, lost in thought and probably in memories of the man she’d loved and lost. Cheyenne ached for her. Why did life have to be so cruel?

Not knowing what to say, she waited in an oddly comfortable silence. As a police officer, she’d done her share of bringing bad news to hapless families, but she’d never been around for the aftermath.

With a pat to her heart, Kitty’s pink-glossed lips tilted, though her eyes remained sad. “I’ll have to show you my photo album sometime.”

“I’d like that. He must have been a great husband.”

“The best.” She fanned herself with Cheyenne’s card. “I see Dr. Bowman recommended my fine establishment. You know Trace?”

“Not exactly.” Cheyenne told the widow about the puppies.

“Well, that’s Trace. He takes in all the strays. Always has.”

Was that why he tried to hire her? Because she looked like a stray to be pitied? “So you’ve known him a long time?”

“Long enough to know he’s a soft touch, but then everybody in Redemption knows everyone else. Familiarity is the blessing of small-town living.”

Or maybe the curse.

“He offered me a job.” Cheyenne added a light laugh as though the notion was facetious—and maybe it was. What kind of sensible human hired total strangers off the street without so much as a reference?

“Oooh.” Kitty’s eyes twinkled in speculation. “You must have made an impression.”

Cheyenne stiffened, her guard firmly back in place. “He said he hires a lot of people.”

Kitty laughed merrily. “Yes. He does. Trace is always trying to help someone and from what I’ve seen the clinic can use all the assistants he can find. I was teasing you, though you have to admit Trace Bowman is a cutie-pie.”

“I didn’t notice.” Liar, liar.

Kitty laughed again. “Then you need to make an appointment with Dr. Spencer to have your eyes checked.”

Cheyenne tweaked a shoulder. “Well, maybe I did notice.”

Kitty slapped the top of the glass counter and set a half dozen military bobble-heads in motion. “Now you’re talking. I may be a widow but I know fine when I see it. And that man is über-fine. Why didn’t you take the job, you crazy woman?”

“Not the kind of work I’m looking for, but I do need a job, so if you know of anything…”

Kitty stuck a pencil through her blond topknot. “What kind of job do you have in mind?”

Anything but the über-fine vet. “Office work, waitressing, retail, that kind of thing.”

“Quite a variety there. I’ll keep my ear to the ground. You’d do a lot better asking at the Sugar Shack, though. Everyone and everything filters through there. Talk to Miriam. She owns the place.”

“All right. Thanks. I’ll do that.”

Kitty opened a drawer and took out a key. “This is for Unit 4. I’ll walk over there with you to make sure the room suits you.”

“I’m sure it’s okay.”

“Me, too, but I could use a little more girl talk.” Blue eyes widened, she bunched her shoulders in a charming gesture. Kitty’s delicate femininity left Cheyenne feeling like a wrestler. “It’s not every day I rent a room to someone near my age.”

“All right, then, lead the way.” As long as Kitty didn’t pry too deeply, they could girl-talk all she wanted. Kitty could talk. Cheyenne would listen.

Exiting the office, they followed a curving graveled path past three motel doors, each bearing a shiny brass number. Red, white and blue impatiens bordered the gravel in a cheery repeat of Kitty’s favorite color scheme.

“What brings you to Redemption, Cheyenne? Relatives?”

“I don’t know a soul.” And no one knows me. For the people of Redemption, she was a clean slate, just the way she wanted to be.

“No relatives and no job,” Kitty said, “so that leaves only one other reason for coming here.”

And Cheyenne hoped no one discovered what that reason was.

Knowing when to keep her mouth shut, she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and stared down at the white gravel crunching beneath her boots.

Kitty raised a hand to greet someone. “Hi, Henry. Nice day for fishing. Going to the river?”

Cheyenne looked up. A middle-aged man, fishing rod over one shoulder, hoisted a tackle box in greeting.

“I sure am. Wanna come along?”

Kitty’s merry laugh rang out. “Another time. Gotta wash your sheets today.”

The man waved again and slammed the door of his truck. The engine roared, sending a puff of exhaust into the atmosphere as he pulled away.

Small-town friendliness was something Cheyenne would have to get used to.

Kitty picked up the conversation where she’d left off. “Redemption draws people, Cheyenne. I don’t know how exactly but the Lord must lead them here.”

A skeptical Cheyenne searched the motel owner’s guileless face. Kitty Wainright seemed too nice to be one of those religious wackos. “You’re saying God told me to come to this town?”

That was about as far from true as the woman could get.

“No.” The sun gleamed off blond hair as Kitty shook her head. “I said He leads people—people who need what Redemption has to offer.”

“I have to be honest with you, Kitty. I’m not sure what I believe about God anymore.”

Kitty slid the room key into the door marked with the number 4. As she pushed it open and cool, potpourri-scented air wafted out, she turned and placed a hand on Cheyenne’s arm. “Then I have good news for you, girl. Those with questions, those who are struggling, they’re exactly the ones He leads to Redemption.”

Cheyenne awoke the next morning with a headache and the remnants of the dream lingering like a bad odor. She sat on the side of the bed, head in her hands, for several minutes to clear the fog.

Last night as usual, after checking and rechecking the locks, she’d lain awake for hours with the lights on. Her thoughts had run the gamut from the old bums to the handsome vet to Kitty’s curious comment about God.

She’d stumbled onto the town of Redemption by accident. A spot on the map. A place to land. There was no other explanation. Certainly not some mystical voice from God.