Her legs ached, the cuts and scrapes on her arms and legs hurt, her feet were blistering. In fact, it seemed that every inch of her was in pain. But the image of the expensive car driving over the book kept her going. In her mind, it was just like Carter driving over her. He’d never looked back either. She put one foot in front of the other, each step so hard it jarred her body. But she kept going, never slowing down—just as the driver had done.
She heard the noise of the tavern before she saw it. It wasn’t particularly loud, but when the door was opened the music, a mixture of rock and country, floated out.
Sophie’s steps began to slow down. Here at last was civilization. She’d be able to call a cab. Or maybe her landlady, Mrs. Wingate, could come and get her. If this town of Edilean was as good as Kim had said it was, there would be help.
When Sophie stopped and waited for a car to pass, she saw it. In the far left of the parking lot was the silvery BMW that had nearly run over her, had destroyed her phone, and was probably going to cause Sophie to spend a few years in prison. She put her head forward, set her sore jaw in a hard line, the recipe book in its torn envelope under her arm, and strode across the street.
Inside the restaurant, the lights blinded her for a moment, so she stood in the doorway to look around. It was a quiet place, with booths full of people eating huge amounts of fried food. Very American. To the left was a big jukebox, a dance floor, and some tables with men and women drinking beer from pitchers and eating great bowls full of chicken wings.
Sophie had been sure that she’d be able to pick out the person who’d nearly killed her.
Over the last several miles she’d conjured an image of a long face, close-together eyes, even big ears. She imagined him to be tall and thin, and of course he was rich. Carter’s family was rich. If he ran over a woman, he’d wonder why she didn’t get out of his way. Would he call it his “summer hit-and-run”?
She walked to the bar along the wall and waited for the bartender to come to her. He was a young man, blond and blue eyed.
“Hey! What happened to you?” he asked.
“I was nearly run over.”
He looked concerned. “Yeah? Want me to call the sheriff?”
Sophie tightened her grip on the stolen book. “No,” she said firmly. “I just want to know who owns the silver BMW.”
The young man’s mouth opened as though he meant to say something, but a woman sitting at the bar spoke first. “See the guy over there in the blue shirt?”
“Is that him?” Sophie asked.
“Yes it is,” the woman answered.
“Mrs. Garland,” the bartender began, “I don’t think—”
“Take it from me,” the woman said to Sophie, “that guy’s a real bastard. Thinks he knows more than anybody else in town. I’d like to see him taken down a peg or two.”
Sophie didn’t answer, just nodded and walked straight to the table. He had his back to her so she couldn’t see his face. There were two other men sitting there, and when they saw Sophie their eyes lit up in appreciation. Ignoring them, she walked to stand in front of the man.
Her first impression was that he was strikingly handsome, but he looked tired—and sad. She might have felt sympathy for him, but when he saw Sophie he grimaced, as though she were someone he was going to have to do something for. It was that look that broke her. All she’d wanted to do was talk to him, tell him what she thought of him, but she’d be damned if anyone was going to look at her as though she were a . . . well, a burden. She’d not been a burden since she got her first job at sixteen. She prided herself on carrying her own weight.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, his deep voice sounding as though Sophie was going to demand something dreadful of him.
“You own the BMW?”
He nodded once, and that look that Sophie was a great bother to him deepened.
She didn’t think about what she did. She picked up a full pitcher of beer and poured it over his head. Not dumped, but poured it so it took several seconds to empty the contents. While cold beer was running down his face, she was aware that every person in the tavern had stopped talking. Even the jukebox was silenced, as though it had been unplugged.
As for the man, he just sat there, blinking up at Sophie, nothing but surprise on his face. When she finished, the restaurant was totally silent. Sophie glared at him, his face dripping beer. “Next time, watch where you’re going.” One of the men at the table took the empty pitcher, and Sophie walked across the room and went out the front door.
Outside, she stood still for a moment, not sure what to do next. Then the door behind her opened and one of the men who’d been sitting at the table came out.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Russell Pendergast and I’m the new pastor in town and I think maybe you might need a ride.”
When Sophie heard noise returning to the tavern, she didn’t give herself time to think. “Yes I would,” she said and got into a green pickup beside the man. They started the drive into Edilean.
Chapter Two
They rode in
silence for a while before Russell said, “Is it possible that you’re Sophie Kincaid?”