One True Thing. Marilyn Pappano
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was an easy-going, unsophisticated part-time cowboy. She was a woman for whom people would kill.
All those things were among her regrets.
And hopefully, when she left here, Jace Barnett wouldn’t be.
Avoiding him would be the best way to prevent that. No matter that he was handsome and friendly and his mother made the best strawberry pie she’d ever had. No matter that she had been—to borrow a line from Hank Williams—so lonesome she could cry. She needed to stay away from him. He asked too many questions and she didn’t have the right answers. He was suspicious of her—she had seen it in his eyes yesterday at lunch. Maybe he wouldn’t do anything with his suspicions.
Or maybe he would.
The hell of it was, it was her own fault. All she’d wanted was a little time to do nothing. Peace and quiet in a place where she wouldn’t have to worry about fitting in, having friends or meeting enemies. She’d wanted to be as alone in her private little world as she was in the world at large.
She shouldn’t have lied to Paulette Fox, but the woman had been so damn nosy, wanting to know why Cassidy had chosen Buffalo Plains, refusing to believe that anyone would come to the shores of little Buffalo Lake for a vacation. After all, the lake offered no amenities beyond a few picnic tables. There was no resort, no place to rent a boat or Jet Ski, no charmingly quaint vacation cottages, not even a convenience store for a quick run. The only cabin for rent had no telephone and lousy television reception and depended on a window air conditioner to keep it cool.
You can tell me, honey, the woman had wheedled with a gleam in her eyes and a confidential air. What are you really here for?
Cassidy had thought of the paperback in her purse and the lie had found its way out before she’d even thought about it. I’m a writer. I’m looking for a quiet place to finish my book.
It wasn’t the first time she’d lied and wouldn’t be the last. Besides, how hard could masquerading as a writer be? It wasn’t as if she needed a degree to hang on her wall. She skimmed the author biographies in every book she read—and for the past few years that number was in the hundreds. There were doctors, teachers and lawyers writing, sure, but there were also housewives and mothers and high-school graduates.
And what did a writer do? She sat around dreaming up stories, then put them on paper. Cassidy sat around dreaming up stories—that sounded so much better than making up lies—and she could pretend to put them on paper. In fact, she’d decided to actually try her hand at writing. Lord knew, she had a story to tell.
There was just one small problem—at least, it had started out small. It seemed to get bigger with each passing day.
What she didn’t know about being a writer would…well, would fill a book.
And Jace was reaching that conclusion, too, if he hadn’t already.
Suddenly too antsy to sit still, she exited the Free Cell game, then stood and stretched before grabbing her car keys and purse. She needed a few groceries—she never wanted to eat another ham sandwich as long as she lived—and she could certainly benefit from some fresh air and a change of scenery.
After locking up, she climbed into her blisteringly hot car, backed out, then headed down the narrow dirt lane. The air conditioner was turned to high, all the windows were down, and the wheel was so hot that she steered using only the tips of her fingers, but she felt damn near giddy at the prospect of getting out and seeing people.
She was not cut out for a life of isolation.
A few hundred yards from her cabin, another narrow lane forked off to the northwest. She’d paid it little attention the times she’d been by it, but now she knew it led to Jace’s house—partly because it was logical, and partly because he was sitting there in a dusty green SUV, half in his driveway, half in the road, watching her approach.
Her car was small enough she could ease around him, give a neighborly wave, then drive on—and let him drive in her dust for the next ten miles—but she politely slowed to a stop.
Instead of driving on, he got out of the truck and leaned in the passenger window. “Where are you off to?”
“The grocery store.”
“Me, too. Why don’t you park your car and ride with me?”
She wanted to coolly say no, thanks, almost as much as she wanted to agree. She needed conversation, to hear other voices, and his was a damn easy voice to listen to.
But he asks questions, her own inner voice reminded her, and he wants answers. She could be satisfied talking to the clerk at the grocery store, couldn’t she?
Oh, sure, that would be a great conversation. How are you today? Will that be all? You want paper or plastic?
Apparently her reluctance was obvious, because he grinned a killer grin. “Aw, come on…I bet you don’t even know where the closest grocery store is.”
“The only grocery store is in Buffalo Plains.”
He made a sound like a game-show buzzer. “The Heartbreak store is five miles closer. I’ll even treat you to lunch at the Heartbreak Café.”
Heartbreak. Sounded like her kind of town, she thought with a touch of irony and rue. And lunch…in a restaurant…with people. Sounded too good to pass up. And it wouldn’t hurt, would it? Not just this one time?
“Let me take my car back.”
With another grin, he lifted his hand in a wave, then returned to his truck.
It took some effort, but she managed to turn around without getting too far off the road. On the brief drive to the cottage, she tried to talk herself into reneging, but when she got out of the Honda, she didn’t blurt out an excuse, rush inside and lock the door. No, she climbed into the cool interior of the SUV, buckled her seat belt and glanced at Jace.
He wore gym shorts in white cotton with a gray T-shirt, worn-out running shoes and no socks, and his black hair was pulled back in a ponytail again. As a general rule, she didn’t like to see men with hair longer than her own, and she couldn’t help but think he would be a hundred times handsomer with it cut short. Even so, he was still incredibly hot. Heavens, she was hot just looking at him.
She adjusted the vent so the cool air blew directly on her, then crossed her legs. Deciding it would be in her best interests to start—and therefore hopefully control—the conversation, she asked, “How big is Heartbreak?”
“A better question is how little is it. I believe Paulette likes to refer to it as ‘a wide spot in the road.’”
“Yeah, I heard that phrase from her a couple of times.”
He grinned. “You don’t need to spend much time with Paulette before she starts repeating herself. She can be annoying, but at heart she’s a good person.” At the end of the lane, he slowed almost to a stop, then turned east onto the dirt road. “Heartbreak…let’s see…. It has an elementary school, middle school and high school, though if the number of students keeps dropping, they’ll have to close them and bus the kids to Buffalo Plains. There are a couple of cafés, a hardware store, a five-and-dime, a grocery store, a part-time doctor and lawyer, a post office—oh, and a boot-and-saddle maker. If you want to take home a one-of-a-kind souvenir, you should see her. There’s also a couple of small junk stores—pardon me, antique stores—and a consignment store. That’s about it.”
“All the necessities of life,” she said with a faint smile.
“If you’re not looking for anything fancy. If you are, you have to go to Tulsa or Oklahoma City.”
At the intersection where they would have turned left to go to Buffalo Plains, he turned right instead, then asked, “Get any writing done today?”
So much for controlling the conversation. “A little.”
“After you write the book, what happens then?”
She