Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

“Maybe they came by looking for a room but you were booked, and you might remember having to turn them away?” Hannah placed her hands on the counter and leaned closer. “Red’s about six two, gray hair, mustache. And Margaret’s about my height. She’s got long gray hair and brown eyes, and she wears high heels all the time—even when she’s running from a fire so—” Her voice cracked as she tried for a smile, and she licked her trembling lips. “So you might’ve heard her clacking around the lobby. And you might’ve heard Red grumping because sometimes she’ll boss him around and—”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I really am.” A strand of hair slipped from the young clerk’s topknot and fell over her forehead. She puffed it out of her eyes and shook her head. “But I don’t recall meeting anyone of their description and their names aren’t on the list as being checked into a room. I have no way of finding them with so many people. . . .”

The clerk’s words faded beneath a renewed onslaught of voices. Hannah glanced over her shoulder at the crowd of people standing, sitting, and milling about the large hotel’s upscale lobby. Voices—nervous, fearful, and excited—echoed against marble floors and vaulted ceilings. Several people, holding their cell phones high at different angles, searched in vain for a wireless signal, and others paced along a wall of windows, peering outside at the crowds milling about the parking lot.

After speaking with Dale, Hannah had driven Red’s truck from the motel where they’d spent the night back into the downtown district of Crystal Rock. It had taken forty-five minutes to make the ten-mile drive on account of traffic, new detours, and delays as they’d pulled over to allow long lines of emergency vehicles to pass and make their way toward Paradise Peak. Travis, holding Blondie, had sat in the passenger seat and peered out the window at each parking lot they’d driven through, searching for any sign of Margaret’s or Vernon’s car.

Despite not finding either of the cars along the drive, Travis had assured her there was still a good chance Margaret and Red had made it out of Paradise Peak safely and had checked into the Black Bear Lodge. But it had become clear, after scouring the crowded parking lot of the hotel and standing in line for over an hour to check with the clerk for a second time, that Margaret and Red were not safely tucked in one of the hotel beds as Travis had suggested . . . or anywhere else they’d looked.

A happy shout rang out across the lobby and a little girl around six or seven years old darted through the throng of people into the open arms of an elderly man who hugged her and kissed her cheeks.

Hannah bit her lip as a fresh onslaught of tears dampened her lashes. Oh, Red, where are you?

“Ma’am?”

A hand, light and consoling, touched Hannah’s shoulder. Wiping her eyes, she faced the clerk again.

“Ma’am, is Mr. Bartlett your father?”

Hannah shook her head. “He’s my uncle, but I lost my father years ago so . . .” He’s the only father I’ve ever known. Eyes burning, she blinked hard to keep more tears at bay, then said, “Red is my uncle, and Margaret is a frien—”

No. Friend wasn’t accurate. Margaret had lived with them for a year and had fussed over Hannah’s happiness more than she’d fussed with her. And right now, Hannah missed everything about Margaret, idiosyncrasies and all.

“Margaret is family, too,” Hannah added.

“Well, I’ve written Mr. Bartlett and Ms. Owens’s names down, and if they do happen to check in, I promise you I’ll let them know you’re looking for them.” The clerk grabbed a different clipboard, flipped to a clean sheet of paper, then hesitated, pen in hand. “May I have your name, please, so I can tell them who’s searching for them? And I’d also like to add you to my list.”

Hannah frowned. “Your room list? But I’m staying at the other—”

“No, ma’am,” the clerk said gently. “Not to the room list. I’d like to add you to my list of survivors. That way, if someone comes by searching for you, I can at least let them know you’re okay.”

Hannah stared as memories resurfaced. Absentmindedly, she touched the small scar on the inside of her elbow, then nodded. “Hannah Newsome.”

The clerk began writing. “Thank you, Ms. New—”

“And Travis Miller.” Hannah stayed the clerk’s hand with hers, then glanced out the window, peering through the smoky haze and between groups of people until she noticed Travis still standing on the sidewalk outside where she’d left him.

Travis turned to the side, holding Blondie and scanning the crowds for Red and Margaret. He stood among the chaotic movements in the parking lot, his tall, muscular frame a steady rock amid a turbulent stream of strangers. His big hands, strong but gentle, stroked Blondie’s back in slow, sure movements.

Something warm and comforting unfurled inside her at the remembered feel of his callused palm drifting over her back in soothing circles, his touch tender and patient.

She’d been so grateful to have him by her side last night, and again this morning.

“Would you please add Travis Miller to the survivor list as well?” Hannah asked.

The clerk nodded, finished writing Hannah’s name, then moved to the next line on the paper and wrote Travis’s, too.

Hannah studied the names, printed in ink on the list of survivors, and the sight brought her a small measure of comfort. “Thank you.”

“I wish I could’ve helped you more.” The clerk smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “I hope you find them.”

Hannah thanked her once more, then left the lobby and joined Travis outside.

His expression brightened when she joined him, a glimmer of hope lighting his eyes. “Any luck this time?”

“They’re not here.” She petted Blondie and concentrated on the soft fur beneath her fingertips rather than the hollow forming in the pit of her stomach. “It feels like they’re not anywhere.”

Travis’s strong palm glided through her hair and cupped the back of her head gently. She closed her eyes and felt his lips brush her forehead just as thunder rolled softly overhead.