Seeking Shelter. Angel Smits
apparently, are you.”
She carefully sipped her coffee and watched him, knowing the back door was open and nearby. Her cell phone was also in her pocket, which wasn’t much help. But still reassuring.
“Yeah. Never did learn to sleep when it was light. And since I sleep outside so much, that’s sort of an issue.” He spoke slowly, easily, as if he had all the time in the world.
“Didn’t Hank get you set up last night?”
“Yeah. Nice place, too. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She wondered about his comment about sleeping outside, but decided that was none of her business.
The world around them was far from silent, with the late-night animals still stirring in the cool morning air, and insects singing in the bushes near the house. She heard the hum of a honeybee near the flowerbed.
“You’re Amy Grey, aren’t you?” Jace asked as he moved closer, stopping only when he reached the rail. He leaned against the heat-battered wood and looked at her with what seemed like too much curiosity.
Maybe she should go back inside.
“How do you know my last name?”
“Don’t look so surprised. I can’t read minds.” He did seem to read her confused expression, though. “I asked Hank,” he said with a laugh.
She liked the sound of his laughter and his smile. It seemed to inhabit his entire face and gave him a warm, welcoming persona. Most people’s smiles were simply muscle movements, not real indications of how they felt.
“Uh...are you planning on staying in town long?” She didn’t really want to know, she told herself.
“That all depends.”
“On?”
“How long it takes Rick to get the parts for my bike. And you.”
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