Page 7 of Lone Star Longing
“Tortilla soup, and chicken a la king.” She gestured to the chicken carcass she had deboned. “There’s another of those in the refrigerator.”
“It smells real good.” Mrs. Conover peered into the pot. “I guess you had to learn how to cook, when it was just you and your dad.”
Lacey should be grateful the older woman wasn't more blunt. Maybe she was still sleepy, because she didn't usually soften her opinion. “Made it easier for him.”
Mrs. Conover studied her for a moment, then stepped back.
“I’ll get this packed up for you, and wash up, then I have to go.”
Mrs. Conover nodded and took her seat at the table, where Lacey served her before packing up the rest of the soup and the creamed chicken, then turning to the sink to hand wash the dishes. Dirty dishes were not something she wanted to revisit in two days. Anything else could wait.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asked the older woman, drying her hands on the kitchen towel, which needed laundering. She should have thrown a load in before she drove to town. She didn't want to come back to a washer full of sour clothes, either. Maybe she would have to fit another visit in this week, though, God, she dreaded that.
Mrs. Conover looked like she was going to say something, but then she shook her head and tucked into her soup. Lacey tried not to let the woman see her relief as she gave the kitchen one last inspection and headed for the door.
She heard the howl of the coyote pack as she opened her car door, and fear shivered down her spine. She hated the sound, had always hated the sound. And these sounded so close. She flung herself into the driver seat and locked the door behind her, started the car and turned on the lights.
She had barely turned onto the road when she saw them, at least half a dozen, trotting across the road. One turned and looked straight through the windshield at her, his eyes gleaming gold in the reflection of her headlights, before he turned and followed the rest of the pack off the road.
Chapter Three
BECK CONOVER TRIEDto ignore the tightness in his belly as he turned off the highway toward Broken Wheel.
He could have driven past easy enough. His mother would never know he’d even been in the state. But obligation made him turn down the familiar road.
He pressed a button on his steering wheel, turning down the music before giving the command to call his sister. If he was going to do this, he wasn't going to do it without at least pushing some guilt her way.
“What?” Sara answered the phone in her usual manner.
“”Guess where I am?”
“Beck, you are never in the same place twice. I couldn't begin to guess.”
“Do the numbers 277 mean anything to you?”
A beat of silence. “You’re going to Broken Wheel?”
