Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (8 page)

Grace nearly choked in disgust. It was
him
. So that Sam fellow had a girlfriend.

It was so transparent. She’d observed enough drunken abusive rages to recognize the pattern. How could that poor woman stay with a man like that? Didn’t she know how dangerous it could be?

Keeping a protective eye on her in case she needed help, Grace shrunk back into the shadows. Flashes of Kirk’s rage shot through her like arrows. Shouldn’t she have recognized that same quality the second she saw Sam? He’d seemed so docile. Then again, so had Kirk until she’d unintentionally lit his fuse.

Calmer now, the couple continued to talk.

The shadows were lengthening, and anxiety pricked at Grace’s skin. She needed to get home. She started walking again, slowly but with purpose.

Close to the corner of Pine Vista, it dawned on her that she hadn’t done her customary safety check. How could she have forgotten? Scanning her surroundings had been habitual for so long now, like brushing her teeth. It was foolish to let down her guard.

She kept moving as she examined the setting. A couple of people went about their business in front of shops. A Toyota drove by. Nothing unusual.

Sam opened the door to the blue pickup truck and the woman climbed in. He crossed to the driver’s side. He was going to drive in his condition?

Just before stepping into the cab, he glanced across the street, and his eyes met Grace’s. She looked away. Now he knew she’d been watching him. What would he think?

Forget it. Who cares?
That was the last thing she needed to worry about. Making a left-face, she crossed Main, as the truck roared to life behind her and pulled away.

The drone of the engine still echoed in the twilit evening as she took the final leg of her journey at a gallop. She fumbled for her keys in her purse as she bounded up the front steps.

Shoving the door open, she paused. At least that part of her safety ritual hadn’t been lost. Thankful that she’d turned on all the lights before leaving that afternoon, she scanned the part of the house she could see. That was one thing she missed about her studio—keeping track of the entire space with one sweep of her eyes.

The distant sound of kids at play and a car driving by were music to her straining ears. Her house was a tomb. She shut, locked, then leaned on the door—her shield against the world.

What was she going to do?

Taking a cautious step, she peered around the corner till she had a clear view of the dining room. An awful memory fought for her attention. It had been a little over two weeks since that horrible night when she’d returned from her gig in South Carolina, where she’d had six blessed weeks of no unwanted surprises. She had dared to hope that her life had returned to normal, that Kirk had finally given up on his senseless pursuit of her. How could she have been so foolish? She should have known he had a plan for her.

A chill crawled up her spine now as she remembered opening the door to her apartment, prepared to enter the tiny space that was her home. Instead she’d stopped cold at the terrifying sight in front of her, her blood freezing her veins.

Panic had surged, instantly de-icing her immobility. Without thinking, she’d turned and fled, not daring to look back.

The shock of her decision to abandon everything that mattered for the sake of her own survival rose up in her again. Now was no time to second guess that decision. If she had stayed, there was no telling what would have happened, and no one could have helped her.

She shuffled into the kitchen, grateful that she had done a little grocery shopping earlier in the day and that Pinot Blanc had been on prominent display. She grabbed the bottle out of the otherwise bare fridge and thanked the makers of her camp knife for understanding that even an outdoorsman sometimes needs a corkscrew.

Pitiable as it seemed to drink wine out of a mug, she poured to the brim and slunk out to the sun porch. She dropped into the camp chair, disappointment racing through her weary body. Hadn’t the chair been cozier that morning? She slumped down, taking a welcome sip of the heady liquid. Her lips tingled, and her muscles relaxed a little.

Leaning back as much as the seat would comfortably allow, she looked out at the crisp black sky jeweled with stars, and let the emotion she’d been holding in bubble to the surface. Her eyes stung with unwanted sentiment. It was time she faced up to the hardest part of this whole situation—she missed her life.

She made a mental list of who might report her missing. Her manager, maybe? Surely Lana, her vocal coach, would find it odd when she failed to show up for her lesson. Anybody else? Maybe a neighbor in her building, but that seemed unlikely. She was gone so much as it was that no one would take notice.

Her agent would at least notice if she didn’t return his calls, but she wasn’t one of his star clients. She was still just a baby principal in his book, and his efforts on her behalf had done little to change that.

She pinched back tears, but the pain in her chest grew fiercer. What was wrong with her life that she hadn’t bothered to make any real friends? Obviously, if she didn’t care about anybody in a meaningful way, that meant nobody cared about her.

There was her mother, of course. A tear trickled down Grace’s cheek as she remembered how difficult it had been to tell her she was fleeing. Her mother was still so caught up in mourning that it had been hard to tell if she’d understood. Regret and worry strummed at Grace’s heart. If only she could be with her mother without endangering her too.

Emotion caught in her belly. The only other person who would wonder where she had gone was the one person she didn’t want to find her. Ever.

A gulp of wine warmed her throat but chilled her heart. Her mom would disapprove of her drinking alone, but what other choice did she have? She
was
alone. Without plan or purpose. Tipping back her head, she gazed that the crystal stars above and wanted to shout at God for abandoning her. If He was up there somewhere, why would He create the stratosphere and then leave her down here on her own?

She let out a helpless wail, like an animal caught in a trap. All she wanted was to go home, but she couldn’t. Nothing had changed. Rocking gently forward, she shut her eyes. She was waiting for home to be safe again, but with no idea what would make it so.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she allowed the tears to flow like Niagara. What was she doing in a nothing town with a job that she was incapable of executing? It was so unfair that Kirk had unlimited funds and infinite time and she had to sell Oreos to keep herself afloat while hiding from him. Where was the justice in that?

Blowing despondency out between clenched teeth, she thought about the theatre. There was no way she could quit, not now. It would be downright mean to do that to Nancy. Besides, she needed the income.

She took a consoling swig. Her life had been going so well. How could it possibly have come to this…and what was she going to do to change it?

Chapter 12

“This is the best play I’ve seen in years.”

Grace peered up at the grey-bearded patron as she knelt, digging around the fridge for a diet cola. The sport coat he wore over a plaid work shirt must have looked stylish in about 1973. This was apparently the local dress code for an evening at the theatre.

“They always do such a good job here,” the woman next to him raved. “Any one of these people could make it in New York if they wanted to.”

“Broadway quality.” The man’s head bobbed. “I’ve always said it.”

Grace rolled her lips between her teeth to suppress a laugh as she stood and handed him the can. Clearly these people had never actually been to New York.

“Have you ever auditioned here?” The woman directed her serious query at Grace as she handed over her carefully counted change and picked up a cookie with a white cocktail napkin. “You look like you’d make a good little actress.”

“No.” Grace turned her focus to the next customer in line in hopes of discouraging dialogue. “Acting is quite a skill.”

The couple nodded in the apparent belief that they were engaged in a serious discussion of the arts.

“Well, everyone here acts a good part.” The woman took a delicate bite of her cookie. “We’re lucky to have so much talent right here in Madison Falls.”

Grace breathed a little easier as she served a root beer to the last patron in line. With the pressure off, she felt slightly more forthcoming with the chatty couple. “What about all the people behind the scenes?” Her question was met with blank stares.

“What do you mean?” The sport-jacketed man took a swig of his cola and looked at Grace as though she was about to let him in on some sort of theatrical secret.

“Well, you know…” She flicked her bangs from her eyes. Her interest in teaching an impromptu stagecraft class was practically zero. “The stage crew, the stage managers. Front of house staff. All the designers and light and sound board operators. Not to mention the director and producers. It takes a lot of people to put together a production, even a small one.”

The woman eyed her intently, swallowing her last bite of cookie. “All these actors are so good.”

Grace let out a sigh as the end-of-intermission chime sounded and the couple exchanged a look of lottery-winner merriment. She shook her head and watched them go, before turning to examine the mess she’d created. Her head ached, but at least tonight she hadn’t run out of change and no one had shouted at her.

“You have a nice way with people.”

She jerked around at the sound of Devon’s voice. She hadn’t even noticed him standing in the lobby.

“I’m sorry.” He approached, his hands raised in contrition. “I’ll have to start announcing myself.”

She eased into a relaxed chuckle. “I guess I’m just jumpy by nature. Can I get you anything?”

“Actually, I’m hoping that you can rescue me from that torture to end all tortures called ‘stagehand coffee’.”

“
Oh horrible. Catastrophe appalling
.” She put her hand to her throat in mock dismay as she lilted one of her favorite lines.

He arched an eyebrow. “So you’re familiar with
Pirates
. Why didn’t you audition? I could use another daughter who actually looks younger than the Major General.”

Warmth crept up her neck. “I…couldn’t. I just…”

Devon tipped a knowing gaze. “Now, don’t lie to me. You’re a singer. I could tell the first time we met.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs, threatening to break right through. “Me? I…”

He held up a hand. “No use denying it. I’ve directed opera.” He leaned in, assuming a confidential tone. “A well-trained voice can’t be easily disguised.”

She sunk into her shoulders, her manner modest. “Oh.”

A kind smile caressed his lips. “Don’t worry.” He winked. “I won’t pressure you till I’m desperate for a decent soprano. Right now all I ask is for a decent cappuccino.”

She drew in a breath, relieved at the change of subject but oddly comforted by his keen perception. “I’m so sorry.” She cuffed the counter with her palm. “I
told
Nancy this stand needs coffee.”

“And you’re right.” He mimicked her gesture. “I’m taking it up with the management.” As he moved his hand away, it brushed against her arm.

Her knees buckled. This man was even more handsome than she’d remembered, with penetrating blue eyes, and perfect features could have been carved from granite. He exuded something that Grace had always thought of as 'presence.’

His gaze grew distant. “That’s one of the things I miss the most about New York.”

Her face warmed. “What’s that?”

“Decent coffee. I’m sorry, but the good people of Madison Falls don’t know a Breve from a Macchiato.”

She let out a laugh. “I’d have to agree.” A momentary panic seized her. Her guard had slipped like a clumsy soprano on a raked stage. “About Madison Falls, I mean. I’ve never been to New York.”

He folded his arms across the counter, clearly in no hurry to seek a satisfying beverage elsewhere. “And where are
you
from?”

Her heart jumped. “What?”

“Well, you’re new here, and obviously no stranger to the theatre business. I’m guessing Chicago.”

The flush crept further up her cheeks. Was he onto her?

“Se…attle.” The word crawled from her lips like the lie it was.

“Seattle.” He arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

She nodded. It wasn’t entirely untrue. She’d worked there several times and had lived in apartments. It had been ‘home’ for those few weeks.

“Nice place.” His tone was lighthearted. “I hear
they
have decent coffee.”

She nodded, swallowing her trepidation.

He studied her. “So, you’re an actress then?”

Was she? She hadn’t really invented a resume for her new identity, and her close proximity to Devon didn’t lend itself to clear career planning. “No. Just a patron.” Her words tumbled out too quickly. “I worked in a…in a pet store.” Where in the world had that come from?

“Oh? Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the feather and fur type. You seem so…”

His eyes drifted up as if the right word might be etched in the ceiling.

Grace edged in, anxious to learn how her act was reading.

“So classy.” His eyes lowered to meet hers, seemingly satisfied with his assessment.

“Thanks.” She let go of the tension in her shoulders. “It was an
exotic
pet store.”

Raising his eyebrows, he nodded interest.

Suddenly flustered, she grabbed for a bar towel. Overcome by a desire to overshare, she bit her lip. He seemed so insightful, if she said too much, he might see right through her. She’d have to keep the focus on him. “So you’re
from
New York?”

“Lived there my whole life. With the exception of my years at Yale.”

“Oh?”

“And my directing forays out of town, of course.”

“Of course.” It was her turn to study him. His presence here seemed as much a mystery as hers. What was he doing directing inconsequential plays in this practically nonexistent town? Clearly there was more to Devon Sinclair than met the eye.