Seeking Shelter

She could only stare. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.” His smile changed, softened, deepened.

He didn’t move, but suddenly she felt as if he settled more firmly in her space. Her heart picked up a beat. She backed away, inching toward the door. She had it half-open, and had stepped into the shadows just inside before he spoke again.

“I knew your dad, Mac. Mackenzie Grey,” he whispered.

She froze. Her father? All the sounds around her vanished. Had he really said that? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about him.

Mom had called him a mistake and little else. When Katie had come along, Amy had understood what her mother meant.

She turned back slowly and, lifting her chin, stared defiantly at Jace. “I don’t have a father. And unlike Katie, I’m not looking for one.”

CHAPTER FOUR

AMY REALIZED SHE was trembling. Her father? Jace had just said he’d known her dad? That wasn’t possible. That just was not possible.

The tiny back hallway of the store was only dimly lit even at the brightest time of day. Amy stood on the small landing inside, unmoving. To the left, she’d go into the store. Straight ahead, a flight of steps led down to the basement apartment she and Katie shared.

She looked down those steps, shaking her head, trying to dispel his words. What kind of sick joke was this? She didn’t have time for it. She had a business to run and a daughter to get ready for school.

At the bottom of the steps, the door was closed. As she faced it, her hand on the knob, she paused. How had she gotten down here?

Once she stepped across the threshold, she’d shift into mom mode. Here in the dimness, she could still be Amy, the scared little orphan who had no idea what to do.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her hand still on the doorknob, her fingers curled around its cool metal. She couldn’t let go. She couldn’t even think about letting go. It was the only solid thing she was conscious of, and surely the only thing keeping her standing.

Her father was a scumbag who’d walked out on her and her mother when Amy was three. She knew that because... Her mind trailed off. Because her mom had told her so. Dozens of times, usually with anger and disgust in her voice.

Mackenzie Grey was the one topic her mother had greeted with such negativity. Always. Rather than put either of them through the pain, Amy had stopped asking about him. But she’d never stopped wondering.

Mac, Jace had called him. She hadn’t even known he’d used that name. The man’s blood ran through Amy’s veins and she knew nothing about him.

Wait. That wasn’t totally true. She had those vague, disjointed memories of a three-year-old. She remembered a mall. She was with her parents, and she could still feel her mother’s death grip on her arm. Angry words flew above her head, back and forth between her parents. Looking back now, Amy wondered if she’d had marks on her arm from her mom’s ever tightening fingers. A mother herself, Amy understood her better.

She’d have had the same tight hold on Katie.

Amy didn’t remember how she’d gotten separated from her parents that day. But she remembered crying, tears streaming down her three-year-old cheeks. Faces—there were dozens of faces, far above her.... “Daddy!” she’d screamed. Then whimpered, “Mommy?” She’d fallen, dropping the purse her mom had given her. She remembered that little toy purse being run over by someone else’s mom pushing a stroller. Why was that mother there, and not hers?

Hours seemed to go by before she’d been swept up in her dad’s arms, hugged too tightly against his big burly chest....

Those baby sobs echoed over time, filling the space at the bottom of the stairs. She was no longer holding the doorknob, but was huddled on the bottom step.

She looked back up the narrow stairway. Jace was gone. Thank goodness he hadn’t followed her.

She was alone. Which was a good thing, she rationalized. She was an adult, a parent herself, not a three-year-old lost in the mall anymore. So why was she disappointed? Why, after all this time, did she ache to have her father back again?

Because he’d heard her in that store. He hadn’t stopped looking until he’d found her that day. She didn’t remember ever feeling that safe since.

So, how could he have left them? Why?

What had made her father finally give up?

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, Jace was still in town.

Amy had seen him walking across the square a couple of times, probably checking on the repair part for his motorcycle. He hadn’t said a thing to her, but already three customers had come to the store to fill her in. He was new, and new always generated gossip.

Too bad they hadn’t come in to spend money.

Standing in the front door of her store, watching two tumbleweeds race each other down Main Street, she fought to clear her mind.

She closed her eyes, letting the heat of the day wash over her. She’d lived nearly all her life here in the desert. She was used to the heat. But sometimes she wondered what it would be like to live someplace else, someplace with more than one and a half seasons.

She heard the roar of a motorcycle engine and expected to see a vehicle appear on the street. Then the sound faded. A second later, she heard it again.

She looked down the block to Rick’s gas station. The north garage door was open, and she could see Jace hunkered down beside his monstrous motorcycle. Rick appeared beside him and handed him something. That must be the engine she kept hearing as he worked on it.

She figured they were talking, but she was too far away to hear anything. She watched, feeling only slightly like a voyeur.

What did she care? Once it was fixed, he’d be gone.

As would the knowledge he had of her father. She swallowed that realization with a gulp and went back inside. This was too much. Too confusing.

She’d just closed the door when the phone rang. She answered automatically, with words she’d said a million times. “General Store. Can I help you?”

“Is this—” The man cleared his throat. “Is this Amy Grey?”

“Uh, yes. How can I help you?”

He was quiet for so long she thought maybe they’d lost the connection. “My name is Stephen Haase.” His voice changed. It was stronger, deeper. “I’m with the firm of Bailey, Whitberg and Haase in Los Angeles. I was wondering if you’ve been contacted by a man named Jace Holmes.”

Amy pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it for a long second. “Why do you ask?”

She didn’t like strangers any better over the phone than in person. This felt weird.

“I’m calling because I’m not comfortable with Mr. Holmes’s intentions.”

Intentions? What century was this guy from? And people thought Rattlesnake Bend was the backward small town? “Who are you?” Something nagged at her memory. What kind of company had a name like that? It sounded almost like—she turned to the pile of mail on the desk and rifled through it—a lawyer. It had to be.

She tried to find the legal papers that had arrived several weeks ago. She knew they were here somewhere. She’d meant to give them to Hank, to go with the rest of the files he kept of her mother’s. Realizing the man was still on the line, she repeated the question he hadn’t yet answered. “Hello? Who are you again?”

“I’m here, Miss Grey. Sorry. I’m an attorney. You probably don’t remember me, but you used to come to my office with your mother.”

“You knew my mom?”

“Years ago, yes. She used to be one of my clients.”