Big Sky Cowboy. Jennifer Mikels
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for her CD player.
As she drove, fingers of lightning reached downward, brightening the street with eerie flashes. Thunder rumbled, overpowering the lilting sounds of flutes and a Celtic melody.
She slowed the van, peered between the swishing windshield wipers, checked her rearview mirror for cars behind her. One followed at a distance. She passed the Calico Diner. Through one of the trailer’s windows, she saw a server. Her dark hair shone beneath the lights. Tessa had planned on going in for a hamburger, but judging by the cars parked in the dirt lot outside the trailer with its fifties decor, the diner was crowded. She wasn’t in the mood for that many people. She turned off the town’s main street. She’d head home and search her refrigerator for dinner.
The headlights of the car behind her glared in her rearview mirror. She squinted. Was that the same car? Why would it be?
In a test of sorts, she sped up. The car closed in. Tightly she clutched the steering wheel. As she turned down another side street, the car followed. Why was someone following her? Though some people indicated displeasure about her store, no one had ever threatened her.
Yet earlier, while she’d looked at antiques, an uneasy sensation had crept up her spine. Despite the congenial greetings and the laughter generously sprinkled among conversations, people had seemed jumpy. She’d tried to ignore the feeling. At the time, she’d thought she was feeling their apprehension. But now she knew. There had been more. More than once, she had sensed ill will from someone in the crowd.
Was that person in the car behind her? She maneuvered around another corner and toward Main Street. People. She didn’t want to drive all the way to the Calico Diner. But she needed people. Lots of people.
In the dark confines of the car behind her, desperation seized the driver. No chance could be taken. People were remembering how Winona Cobb’s niece, Crystal, in Whitehorn, who was supposed to be psychic, had helped authorities after the Montgomery girl’s death.
The possibility existed that Tessa Madison, too, had what people called sixth sense. Whatever was necessary had to be done to scare her off.
Her car stayed on Main Street, then turned into the parking lot adjacent to Joe’s Bar. It looked packed with the expected Friday-night crowd. Did she know she was being followed? That was good. If she was scared, she’d back off.
She’d better.
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