Silent Run

down this road before -- and he wouldn't go down it again.
    "Maybe we ought to take her to the hospital," Sam said, rubbing his jaw with one hand.
    "I don't think she needs a doctor -- maybe a driving instructor."
    "She's a sweet thing, isn't she? Reminds me of someone -- but I can't think who."
    "That sweet thing almost killed Rogue."
    "But she didn't. It's all about inches, my boy. You can win by an inch, lose by an inch, and survive by an inch. Figured you'd know that by now." Sam sent him a knowing smile. "You can't leave her here. Wouldn't be the right thing to do."
    "Since when do I worry about doing the right thing?"
    "Since now. She won't be driving that car any time soon, that's for sure. I don't expect she'll get off this road in anything but a tow truck."
    "Oh, hell, like I need this right now." He ran his hand through his hair and stared at the latest problem to erupt in his life. He was so close to getting everything he wanted, he could almost taste it. Thirty-four years of struggling, of climbing out of the darkness of his childhood, to finally have something, to be somebody, and he wouldn't let anyone get in the way.
    "No harm's done," Sam reminded him. "How about I get Rogue on home, and you stay with the woman? Unless you're afraid of a little thing like her."
    "Yeah, right."
    "I already called for help. Tow truck should be here in a few minutes. Now, be nice to her, you hear?"
    Be nice? Zach still felt like wringing the woman's pretty neck. He walked over to where she was sitting and squatted down next to her. "You okay?" he asked gruffly.
    She lifted her head. Her eyes were watery, but she wasn't crying, and he saw a gleam of bravado in those baby blues. "I'm fine, thank you. I thought you'd be gone by now."
    "I thought someone better stay with you in case you pass out or something."
    "What about your precious horse?"
    "Sam will take him home. The tow truck is on its way."
    "I guess that's good," she said, staring at her car in bemusement.   "Do you think they'll be able to get it out?"
    "Yeah, but I wouldn't plan on driving it."
    She frowned, then scrambled to her feet.   She strode over to her car and yanked open the door to the backseat.   "Oh, thank goodness."
    Zach got up and walked over to the car, expecting to see her reaching for her makeup case, but the large cedar chest in the backseat was obviously not filled with cosmetics. "What's that?"
    She patted the top of the chest with a loving hand. "This is my past and maybe -- just maybe my future."
    "What does that mean?"
    "It's a long story."
    He didn't like her evasive answer.   "Where are you headed?"
    "Paradise Valley."
    His gut tightened. "Why?"
    She seemed taken aback by his question. "Why not?"
    "It's not exactly a hub of nightlife."
    "I'm not looking for nightlife. I'm looking for a place called Golden's Grill. Do you know it?"
    Zach felt a chill run through his body. He didn't like the look in her eyes. She certainly hadn't come from wherever she'd come from to go to Golden's Grill.
    "I know Golden's," he said reluctantly.
    Her mouth blossomed into a sparkling, hopeful smile that stole his breath away. "Then it really exists. I hoped it would still be there."
    "Why do you want to go to Golden's?"
    "I'm looking for someone."
    "Who?"
    She didn't answer right away, and his uneasiness deepened.   She was here to cause trouble. He could feel it in his bones.
    "My father," she said finally.
    "Who is your father?"
    "I don't know."
    "If you don't know, then how are you going to find him?"
    She hesitated. "Maybe you could help me."
    "Me? No way." He uttered a short harsh laugh.   "I don't look for fathers, mine or anyone else's. In my experience, the best family is no family." He stared down the empty highway. "Where the hell is that tow truck?"

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    Excerpt @ Copyright 2011 Barbara Freethy
    All Rights Reserved

    Chapter One

    Michael Ashton beat the fire engines to his house by thirty seconds. Smoke poured from the kitchen window of the old Victorian as he jumped out of his car and ran up the walkway. His daughter's favorite teddy bear lay abandoned on the top step. Cups from a tea party were scattered across the welcome-home mat as if the participants had left in a big hurry, as if they had smelled smoke and run inside to see what was wrong.
    His heart raced as he reached for the doorknob. Locked! He fumbled with his keys, swearing, sweating each second of delay. His children were inside. He had