Broken Ties (eBook)

Chapter Three

Bailey rubbed her palms across her cheeks and forced a grin. “Yeah. I’m... I’m okay.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” the man asked. “Do you need help?”

“No.” Her voice was steadier, but her heart still flopped like a beached fish. “I just...I got some bad news is all.” She nodded and broadened her smile. “I’m okay.”

The man stared at her for a couple of seconds with a puzzled expression, concern in his dark eyes. “I hate to see such a pretty little gal crying her eyes out. You sure I can’t help you with something?”

“No, but thanks for asking. And don’t worry about the door. It’s not like a 1997 Mazda MPV is a classic or anything.”

One side of the man’s mouth quirked. “Well, I hope your day gets better.” He put a hand on the little boy’s upper back and steered him into the store.

She rummaged in her glove box for more napkins, blew her nose then reached into her purse for lip gloss. Inside, she walked down the closest aisle, the opposite direction from the man and the little boy. She selected several packages of junk food and pretended interest in the refrigerated coolers until the man and child exited. At the cash register, she paid for her items, adding a Western states roadmap to the pile of snacks and bottled water.

She tucked the paper bag into the crook of her arm and slung her purse over the other shoulder. Using her teeth, she tore open a package of honey roasted peanuts. When she rounded the corner, she stopped short, spilling nuts onto the cracked sidewalk. The dark-haired man leaned against the grill of his truck.

He smiled. “You were pretty upset a minute ago. Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

She swallowed the mouthful of peanuts, somewhat creeped out by his stalker-like activity, yet touched by the sweet gesture of a stranger being concerned about her. “I’m better now. Thanks.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” The man straightened and pulled open the truck door. “Be careful.”

She unlocked the van and slid into the driver’s seat, making a show of adjusting the mirrors and seat belt until the pick-up vanished from sight. She leaned back in the seat with a sigh. Lowell used to be sweet like that.

As quickly as the memory emerged, so did panic. Flagstaff isn’t nearly far enough away from Lowell. With his connections at the Sheriff’s Department, he’ll have ways to track me. When he found out she’d taken all their money—most of it his—he’d use all available resources to find her.

She rammed the key into the ignition and stomped her foot on the accelerator. The motor roared to life, a mocking reflection of the agitation throughout her mind and body. She backed up and pulled onto the asphalt keeping a steady speed through town. After turning north on Highway 89, she increased her speed and the volume on the radio.

Rhianna’s “Take a Bow” blared, and she marveled at the coincidence. Of all the songs in the world, this one represented her situation to a T. She increased the volume and sang along, releasing pent up rage and hurt in the process. “Yeah,” she screamed at the windshield. Lowell would undoubtedly apologize, like the lousy bastard Rhianna sang about, but, like the singer preached, she also knew he’d only be sorry because he got caught, not for what he did.

Her voice grew raspy from crying and singing at the top of her lungs. She dug in the bag from the convenience store and removed a bottle of water. After several long swallows, she curled her shoulders back and craned her neck from side to side, wincing at the crunching and pops.

At the final refrain, she inserted Lowell’s name as Rhianna belted out lyrics about someone getting the award for best liar. Lowell’d definitely made her believe that he’d be faithful to her.

“Bastard,” she screamed. “You ugly, lying, rotten, son of a snake, bastard!”

Fingers aching from clenching the steering wheel, a pinching headache wormed its way up from the base of her skull. She massaged the back of her neck, muscles bunched tight like granite beneath her fingers.

The farther north she traveled, the less populated the highway became. The feeling of isolation intensified as mile after mile of desert stretched on both sides of the road. But with the aloneness, came peace. Occasionally, a car or a big rig headed south whooshed past, but for the most part, she was completely alone on the road. After leaving the Hopi Indian Reservation, near the Utah border, she stopped to stretch her legs.

Her entire body hurt, muscles taut from stress, anger, and worry. She walked along the side of the road for about ten minutes, attempting to loosen the tension. A cacophony of emotions bombarded her, exacerbating the full-fledged headache that worsened as she drove. A multitude of images raced through her brain. A whirlwind of actions akin to watching three movies at once but only catching occasional snippets of each individual film, her mother’s naked body, rapture on Lowell’s face, her mother’s passionate cries, a pool of ivory silk. Like neon bar signs, images wouldn’t stop flashing. She slammed her palms against her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.

She didn’t know how long she’d been standing in the middle of nowhere, but after a few deep breaths, she focused on her surroundings, attempting to remove herself from the ugly party going on in her head. Determined to put the past behind her and concentrate on her future, she walked slowly back toward the van, pausing once to pick up a shiny rock and again to watch a lizard skitter across the sandy soil. Even though it was the middle of May, the ground was already bone dry, parched from a too-short winter and lack of rainfall.

Back on the road, she rolled down the windows, thinking only about where she was heading and what she might do when she got there. She crossed the Utah state line and smiled, knowing she’d put several hours between her old life and her new one. An hour later, she stopped in Kanab for gasoline.

Although a few brightly colored wildflowers still graced the landscape, the rust-stained sandstone cliffs and brush covered mesas surrounding the touristy town of roughly six thousand, according to the city limits sign, felt too much like Twisted Fork. She needed to immerse herself in something completely different, including the scenery.

After consulting the map, she started the engine and hit the road again. Her stomach demanded food for the past hour, but she’d refused to give in to the pangs, relying on the snacks she’d purchased to carry her until she stopped for the night. According to the clock on the dashboard, it wasn’t even two in the afternoon, too soon to even think about stopping for the night. The farther away she got from Arizona, the better she’d feel about settling down for some sleep.

When 89 fronted I-15, she opted for the interstate, hoping a faster speed limit would get her down the road sooner. She followed the signs to Park City, stopping again at a truck stop for gasoline and snacks. Back on the highway she encountered several areas where the Highway Patrol had set up speed traps on certain sections of the heavily traveled road. Fear niggled each time she drove past troopers stationed with radar guns.

Not knowing how long Lowell would wait before trying to track her down, she exited at the next off-ramp and followed the frontage road north. Just to be safe, she’d stay off the interstates. So far, on the smaller streets and highways, she hadn’t encountered a single law enforcement vehicle.

As the hours passed, she strategized about her future. Her only work experience was for her aunt in a small-town diner and for Shiloh at her ranch, helping special needs and under privileged kids overcome some of their challenges through equine therapy. While her resume wasn’t extensive, she did have some skills that might land her a decent paying job. She’d learned to type, had a very large vocabulary, and was relatively proficient with computers.

Shiloh would say good things about her, but she couldn’t think of anyone else to use as a reference. She had no college education, but Shiloh had helped her get her GED last year. Now, at twenty-three, she didn’t have much to offer except a willingness to learn. Hopefully that’d be enough.

Twice since her departure from Arizona she’d lost a local radio station and had to find another, which wasn’t always easy on the twisting mountain roads. It was almost nine o’clock when she reached the outskirts of Park City. Road signs and billboards grew more abundant, advertising motels and eateries and which exits would lead her to them.

As she wove her way through the mountains, she passed a road sign listing two hundred and fifty-five miles to Jackson Hole. Wyoming. One more state farther away from Arizona. She found yet another radio station and pushed a little harder on the gas pedal.

With each mile she’d felt a little more fury slip away. Maybe if she drove far enough, she’d lose the sense of loss and betrayal altogether.

Eventually the road climbed steadily, the changing...