the road.” And get as far out of Juniper Springs as possible.
She edges one hip against the stainless steel counter and folds her arms. “Who ya running from?”
Now my stomach is so tight I’m physically ill. “What makes you think I’m running from anyone?” What is it about this town that makes everyone so intuitive? First Adam and now Francine. How many other women like me came through here? Was this town a stop-over for women running from boyfriends and husbands?
“Cause I’ve seen that hunted look before. Used to see it in the mirror myself.”
That catches my attention. I couldn’t see Francine in an abusive relationship. She seems far too strong and outspoken to ever tolerate a man putting his hands on her. “Really?”
“Yep.” She strolls to a large refrigerator and pulls out a carton of orange juice. “Have a seat, and I’ll fix you some breakfast.”
A part of me wants to stay while common sense is urging me to get going. I may end up having to walk to find a bank, but if I can get my hands on some money, I could put Mark far behind me…at least for a while. Getting the money is a big if. Even if I do manage to find a sympathetic teller, Mark could have already frozen the account. His first thought would be to disable me in some way.
What he doesn’t know is escaping him is something I have to do, no matter what it takes. Even crippled, I’ll limp my way to the West Coast if I have to. Francine hooks her foot around the leg of a stool and pulls it forward. “I said sit. You need to eat regardless of whether you’re staying or going. And I’m still a damned good cook even if I don’t do much of it now as I used to since Art started hogging the kitchen.”
In spite of my reservations, I sit and watch her efficiently whip up an omelet and toast all while chattering on about what she loves about Juniper Springs.
The people are top on her list. They care about one another. Look out for each other. That translates to “can’t mind their own business” to me, but I stay quiet. I learned enough about nosy neighbors in Broomtown, and with the information she’s giving me, this town is the last place I’d consider staying.
“They saved my life, ya know.” She stops stirring the grits long enough to look at me.
Her statement yanks me back to the conversation. “Who did?”
“These people. When I came back here—I’d left right out of high school—I was running from a bad relationship, thinking I was never going to be the same. But, to everyone here, I was the same old Francine they’d known since grade school. When I was ready to crawl into a hole, they rallied around me. Especially Art.” Her eyes soften. “He was right there, ready to beat the hell out of my ex. Of course, Adam, who wasn’t a cop back then, but he still had that ‘got to help everyone attitude’ stopped him, but I thought it was sweet that he made the effort.”
While she rattles on, a wistful smile on her face, I sink into her story, imagining that could be me one day…except I don’t have a brother willing to risk his life for me nor do I have a town to run back to. Broomtown is my town, and since Mark’s family owns it, leaving it behind is all I can do.
“You didn’t tell me who you’re running from.” Francine slides an omelet onto a white, china plate and sits it in front of me before lifting the pot of grits off the stove and setting it atop the counter. She sits across from me, her elbows on the table.
I open my mouth with every intention of lying. It’s best for everyone concerned, but the words coming out are true. And before I can rein my mouth in, I’m horrified to realize I’ve told her about Mark. I reach across the countertop and grip her hand. “Francine, you have to promise me you won’t tell this to anyone. Please.”
She pats my hand and gives me a sympathetic look. “Oh, honey, I won’t tell a soul. I know how I felt when I came running home. I was always looking over
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley