Somebody Like You (12 page)

She was unemployed. Damn.

S
he’d sooner pass up a new pair of Christian Louboutin shoes than sit here in her apartment and feel sorry for herself. Wallowing was
not
Annelise Montjoy’s style.

But then, neither was that fight she’d had with Cash. She’d been trained in the arts of diplomacy and negotiations straight out of the womb. So what had happened?

She’d been herself. That’s what had happened. She’d dared to show him the real her—warts and all. She’d never, ever allowed herself to do that. But Cash, simply by being Cash, allowed her that freedom. She didn’t need to hide behind social niceties with him. Didn’t need to be anyone but herself.

It felt so good not to have to hold back, to think before she spoke. Before she acted.

And she’d screwed it up.

Well, no way would she sulk about it.

Nothing cured the funks like a long soak. Drawing a bath, she jumped when her cell phone rang. Smiling, she grabbed for it. She knew once Cash had time to really think it over, he’d understand.

But it wasn’t Cash. It was Ron. He’d hit a brick wall. His research had dead-ended. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Instead, she thanked him politely and hung up.

Carefully, she laid the phone on the edge of the sink. Misery seeped into her heart, her bones, and the tears fell. Sinking into the frothy water, she cried as she washed away both the paint streaks and Cash’s scent. Half an hour later, wrapped in a towel, she opened her closet door and studied her choices through tear-reddened eyes.

A week ago, she’d stood in a closet almost the size of this whole apartment, surrounded by a veritable warehouse of designer outfits. No more. Her choice. Shoving aside a faint wistfulness, she plucked one of her two clean T-shirts off the hanger and slid into it and a pair of jeans, then walked barefoot into the kitchen. Time to get to work.

Twenty minutes later, she sat in front of her computer. Back in Boston, she’d already Googled, searched Wikipedia and Yahoo!, and run a gazillion AOL searches. She’d rummaged through the Mormon Church genealogy records, dug through ancestry and family search websites. What could she do that she or Ron hadn’t already done?

There had to be someone left, someone in Lone Tree who would have an answer for her. So, even though she’d gone over and over them, she had to believe something would turn up. No matter how long she dug, though, she couldn’t find anything on family members still living in Lone Tree.

Knowing the futility of it, she typed in another search and her heart beat a little faster. Unbelieving, she stared at her screen. She’d found a casual mention of wildcatter Davis “Driller” Montjoy in an article about Lone Tree’s history. A cross-reference at the end directed her to another site.

The page popped up on her screen, and she couldn’t hold back the smile. The text contained a brief narrative about a housekeeper who’d saved Driller’s life. Her great-grandfather, at the age of thirty-five, had suffered an attack of appendicitis. No big deal now, but Annelise understood the nearly hundred intervening years made a huge difference in medical care—and its availability.

Driller’s timing couldn’t have been worse. According to the article, a tropical storm had blown through the area several days before, and the then dirt road had become impassable, literally cutting them off from town and the only doctor.

Lucky for old Driller, his housekeeper had nursed at a Dallas hospital before coming to work for him. She’d performed a crude appendectomy right there at the house. Annelise cringed at the thought, then saved the information on her computer.

She stood, stretched, then walked to the fridge and pulled out a soda. After rubbing the ice-cold can over her cheeks and neck, she popped the top and took a long drink. Blowing a strand of hair from her eyes, she went back to the computer. If she and Ron had missed this article, maybe they’d overlooked something else.

After giving it another hour, she signed off. No amount of crawling around on websites had unearthed anything more.

But…she had something. Finally, an avenue to explore. Excitement crept through her again as she played with this new information. While she still didn’t have a concrete lead and no actual name or address to visit, this was a start, wasn’t it?

Antsy, unable to stay in her apartment, she grabbed her helmet and motorcycle keys and headed out of town. Time to get off her duff and go Montjoy hunting.

Every day since she’d hit Maverick Junction’s city limits, she’d promised herself she’d drive over to Lone Tree. Yet something always got in the way. She’d had no idea simply taking care of the basics of life could be so time consuming. And the job at Whispering Pines took up a lot of her hours. Maybe that had been a mistake.

Way down deep inside, though, she knew she wouldn’t do it any differently given another chance.

She headed south, the vista unchanging except for random patches of bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush. Geez, Louise, could it get any hotter? Dust devils swirled along the side of the road, and a sense of urgency and expectation whipped through her.

When the Lone Tree city-limits sign came into view almost an hour later, she gave a whoop of joy. That died fairly quickly, though. Looking around, she had a pretty good idea why they’d named it Lone Tree. Hardly more than a wide spot in the road, the town’s starkness intimidated her.

She drove slowly down Main Street on her Harley. None of Maverick Junction’s charm overflowed into Lone Tree. No awnings welcomed shoppers respite from the sun. No pretty flowers smiled from barrels along the sidewalk.

One thing for sure, though. She didn’t need to fight for a parking spot. Pulling alongside the curb, Annelise released the kickstand and stared up and down the street, trying to decide where to start now that she’d arrived. Amazing to think Grandpa had actually been born here, started school here. She’d never known her great-grandfather, but from the stories told about his almost obsessive compulsive need for perfection, he had to have been more than happy to see the backside of this town.

A sleek black cat slunk in and out of doorways, wrapping itself around a light pole. Did it have a home, she wondered, or was it a stray? The cat made its way to her, and Annelise threw a leg over her bike and knelt beside it to rub its chin. No, this feline definitely wasn’t homeless. Up close, it appeared well fed and way too well taken care of to be living on the streets.

Speaking of well fed, after she’d tossed the pizza she had made for her and Cash, she never had eaten lunch. She frowned, thinking about her first few minutes in Maverick Junction. She’d headed into Sally’s Place, and that’s where she’d met Cash.

Her stomach plummeted. Cash was so angry with her, and she could blame no one but herself. She should have been up-front with him—or at least confessed at his cabin who she was. She couldn’t have handled things any worse if she’d tried.

Cash wasn’t the reason she’d come here, though. She’d driven to Lone Tree for her grandfather. His life depended on her finding his sister. Why not start with the local café? She could squash her building hunger while, hopefully, ferreting out information.

She hung her helmet on the sissy bar and removed her small purse from the saddlebag. Two doors down, the Cowboy Grill appeared to be the only choice for Lone Tree restaurants. Without giving herself more time to think, she walked inside. She saw no one. Not another soul. Not sure what that said about the food, fearing the worst, she reminded herself it didn’t matter. She hadn’t expected a five-star restaurant. She almost laughed. Good thing, that.

But somebody had to be here. A waitress or a cook? A busboy? Somebody. This felt creepy, like being the sole survivor after a nuclear attack. Or falling into the pages of a Stephen King novel.

Forcing herself to move farther inside, she headed for the counter, a place she always avoided. If she really wanted to chat, though, she needed to step outside her comfort zone—as if she hadn’t already. Taking a seat at the bar, she plunked her purse down on the stool beside her.

“Hello?” she called. “Anyone here?”

A gruff-looking guy with a day’s heavy stubble and a food-smeared apron swung out from a side room. He grabbed a plastic-coated menu from a stack and plopped it down in front of her.

“Sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.” He nodded at her. “What’ll you have to drink?”

“A huge glass of ice water, please.”

“Got that. Though if we don’t get rain soon, that might change.”

Within seconds he returned with a gigantic red pebbled-plastic glass, condensation trailing down its sides. He set it in front of her. “Don’t guess I’ve seen you before, so welcome to Lone Tree. Name’s Oliver.” His voice sounded like a garbage can rolling across a gravel pit.

“Thanks, Oliver. I’m…Annie.” Annelise smiled, unaccountably comfortable with this rough-edged, burly man. Hope sprouted inside her. Maybe she’d get lucky with Oliver, and he’d have some information that would help her. Since she seemed to be his only customer, they should have plenty of time to chat.

“Well, Annie, looks like you’re stuck with me.” He waved his counter cloth toward the window. “You hit smack-dab in the middle of our downtime. I sent Judy out to run a few errands, so I’ll be the one takin’ your order
and
doin’ the cookin’.”

“I’m good with that.” She took a long drink of water, then turned her attention to the menu.

Very similar to Sally’s, it had a few Lone Tree twists. Ollie’s half-pounder took center stage. Annelise decided to forgo that and ordered a turkey sandwich with a side salad.

Waiting for her meal, she focused on the song coming over the small radio on the back counter. Reba. One of the songs she’d listened to earlier with Cash. Score one for her quiz.

Tranquility settled over her. The hurt from her argument with Cash, the niggling doubts she’d not find her relative, the anger her parents and grandfather undoubtedly sent her way—all of it scurried off to a dark corner of her mind. She hadn’t a doubt that this diner, with Oliver at the griddle, was exactly where she was supposed to be right at this moment. It felt safe, a place a person would want to spend time.

Leaning her elbows on the counter, she watched Oliver. Efficient and competent. He’d obviously been doing this a long time. No wasted effort. Every move purposeful.

And maybe, just maybe, he knew her lost aunt—or knew something about her. If not, well, she’d enjoy herself and the summer afternoon.

She’d call Sophie later for an update on her grandfather.

Oliver set a plate in front of her, and she was embarrassed when her stomach rumbled.

“Sorry.” She laughed. “I had half a donut for breakfast and skipped lunch. This looks great.”

It did. Two slabs of homemade-looking bread piled high with shaved turkey, tomatoes, and lettuce. Yum.

“You passin’ through?” Oliver asked, hands on hips, watching as she took her first bite.

Nodding, she chewed and swallowed. “Yes, I am. Actually, I’m working as a ranch hand at Whispering Pines over in Maverick Junction.”

“Boy, you’re a long way from there. You drive all those miles for a late lunch?”

She shrugged, chewed another bite, and calculated how best to broach her subject. “I had the day off. After I took care of some things this morning, I thought I’d take a ride.”

He glanced out the window and whistled. “That’s some sweet bike. Nothin’ better than a hog.” He swiped at the already clean counter. “What brings you to Texas? Obviously, you’re not from these parts.”

She grinned. “What was your first clue?”

He grinned back. “You don’t exactly sound like a native. I’d say you’ve got a little Boston in you.”

“You’d be right.” Oliver had handed her the opening, and Annelise ran with it. “Actually, though, my family used to live here in Lone Tree. So in a roundabout way, I am from here.”

She hesitated. Here was the root of her problem. If she gave him her last name, it wouldn’t be long till he told someone who told someone, and quicker than a Tom Brady smile at a cocktail party, the press would be breathing down her neck. If she
didn’t
give her name, how could she get help tracking down her relative?

“Any of your people still around?”

Her mouth went dry, and she took another, much-needed drink of water. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, if you’re interested in findin’ out, I know an old gal who might be able to help you. I’m no good with names, but I can tell you who is. Miss Thelma Hanson. She lives a couple miles outside of town on the old family homestead. Miss Thelma and her family have been here since before Texas was a state. If your kin lived here, she’d know about it.”

Hope stirred in Annelise. “Oh, I’d love to visit her.”

“Miss Thelma’s gettin’ on, so it might be better if you called instead of surprisin’ her.”

She nodded.

“Let me give you her phone number.” He scrawled it on his order pad and tore off the page, handing it to her. “Here you go. Tell her Ollie down at the Cowboy Grill told you to give her a call.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks.” Surprised, she looked down at her plate—her empty plate. She’d eaten every crumb.

“Want some dessert? My wife made a lemon meringue pie today. Ain’t nobody makes them better.”

“Oh, I’d love a piece, Oliver, but I’m too full. Maybe next time.”

“Good enough. Look forward to seein’ you again and hearin’ what you find out from Miss Thelma.”

“Why don’t I give you my phone number, too, just in case you think of anything else that might help?”

“Sure thing. I’ll stick it in the register here.”

She grabbed a napkin and jotted down the number for the cell Cash had given her. “Here you go.”

Annelise paid for her meal and thanked the owner again. Tucking the slip of paper in her purse, she stepped out into the Texas heat. Eyeing the sky, she figured Miss Thelma would have to wait. As much as she wanted to head over there right now, it was too late to visit her today. It would take a good hour to get home. Considering the wild game, the livestock, and armadillos that made a habit of wandering onto the roads, she didn’t want to tackle the trip in the dark.