"Um, thanks," Deborah said hesitantly, trying her best not to touch the woman as she took back the bottle. The woman with the bright red hair gave her a big smile, her lips too wide for her face. Deborah wouldn't say she was attractive-perhaps pa.s.singly pretty at the most, with very noticeable curves in all the right places.

"Don't worry about the spill. Timmy won't chase you away for making a mess."

"Timmy?" Deborah asked carefully.

"Timmy's the owner. He just took over the business since his father just retired. Meede's been here since the beginnings of the town back in the late nineteenth century," the chatterbox broadcasted with great enthusiasm.

"Are you an employee here?" All Deborah wanted to do was buy her medicine and her tampons and leave.

The annoyingly cheery woman laughed loudly and shook her head. "I haven't worked here since high school. I'm a teacher at the elementary school." The woman held out her hand. "I'm Bridgette Woodberry."

Deborah didn't talk the hand offered to her and held the tampon box against her chest. "Your last name is the same as the town's."

"Yes, it is. My family founded Woodberry Creek."

"That's nice. Anyway, I have to buy this." Deborah waved the box. When Bridgette took a step closer, Deborah backed away. "B-bye," she said quickly and walked as fast she could to the register.

What a freak! What type of person advises strange women on what type of tampons they should buy? Thankfully she didn't have to stand in line and as she paid, she expected the strange, bubbly woman to come up behind her and start talking to her. She never did, and when Deborah took her purchases, she looked over her shoulder to see if she was being followed.

Bridgette's hands moved animatedly as she talked with a man behind the counter of the pharmacy. When the redhead shifted to the side and rested her hip against the counter, half facing the front of the store, Deborah jolted out the door, almost b.u.mping into a group of teenagers, and ran back to her hotel room as fast as she could.

Later on she'd blame her reaction on her headache and cramping. And not because she'd been helped by a woman who had the sweetest smile and the kindest eyes she ever seen.

Chapter Nine.

The interaction with the overly friendly redhead shook Deborah so much that she stayed in her room for the remainder of the day. She flipped through the phone book and ordered a pizza. It had been so long since she'd eaten pizza that when it finally came she ate more than half of it, vegging out on the bed and watching television, going as far as ordering a few movies until she fell asleep.

The next time she woke up, her cramps had lessened considerably and she actually felt rested and not as anxious as the day before. She took another shower, trying her best to style her hair, wishing she bought styling gel when she'd gone to the drugstore. Maybe after she talked to a real-estate agent, she'd go back to Meede's.

But what if the redhead was there again?

Pushing her thoughts away from the strange woman with the soothing eyes and outgoing smile, Deborah left her room to face the world again.

It was another sunny day and the street she walked down was busy with activity again. She tried to hide her discomfort and acted carefree, much like most of the people who called out greetings to her. She was so used to people rushing by without a glance that the friendly residents in Woodberry Creek freaked her out.

When she found a cafe with sign in the front window offering Internet access, she went in. She bought herself a large coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, purposely ignoring the yogurt and fruit plate on display, and sat down in front of a computer where she bought a half hour of online time.

She brought up the Las Vegas Sun newspaper and went back into the archives from the past week to see if she could locate any information about her death.

It took her most of the half hour to find anything. On the third page in the early-morning Sunday edition, there was a short article about a possible drowning in the river. A black Mercedes Coupe was found five miles down the river, and the unnamed woman driving the car hadn't been found yet. The police believed the woman might have been unstable when she took off without her driver, who reported the woman and the car missing. Upon further investigation, a suicide note was left for the woman's wife. The case was still open as authorities searched the river for a body. There was no mention of Genevieve anywhere in the article. But then again, Genevieve knew people in positions of power and could pay them off to keep her name out of the paper.

When the time began to blink at the bottom of the screen, she walked away. Since she only had a few dollars left in her pocket and didn't want to use her bank card without stopping at the bank first, she left to happy farewells from the cafe staff. She was becoming accustomed to the cheerful townspeople, she thought, as she went the short distance to the bank.

The same type of welcome waited for her there even though she was only using the ATM. Brushing aside the help of one of the representatives, she went over to a vacant ATM and slid her card into the slot. When her balance came up, her eyes went wide, still in disbelief at how much was in her account. She took out one lump sum to carry her over for the next few weeks.

With her cash in tow, she mentally checked off the next item on her list: finding a place to stay. She asked one of the bank tellers for a reputable real-estate agent in town. The a.s.sistant manager was more than willing to advise her to go to Woodberry Reality, run by the mayor's sister. Deborah couldn't help but wonder if Woodberry Creek was so small that everyone was related to one another.

As she walked toward the three-story brick building around the corner, she suddenly felt very lonely, wishing her mother could be here with her. Her mom would have gotten a kick out of looking at homes with her.

By the time Deborah reached the building with the Woodberry Realty sign in big gold lettering above the door, she'd lost all her excitement and wanted to go back to bed for the rest of the day. Before she could do just that, a woman wearing a striking white suit and matching heels, holding a binder and a cell phone up to her ear, got out of a silver Lexus she parked in front of the building.

"Thanks, Todd, I see her now." She finished the call and smiled brightly at her. "Why, h.e.l.lo! You must be the young lady interested in buying something in the area. I can help you with that."

"Actually, rent," Deborah replied automatically and hugged herself, confused that this professional-looking woman knew about her situation. "How did you know I was on my way over here?"

"You were just at First National asking about real-estate agents in the area, correct? The manager you talked to is one of my cousins."

"Are you all related to one another here?" Deborah asked, not caring if she sounded rude or not.

The woman didn't seem to notice, or care, as she nodded. "All it takes is to b.u.mp into one of the natives here and they'll tell you they're so-and-so's brother, cousin, uncle, and so forth."

"How...nice," Deborah replied with a weak smile and did her best not to be taken aback by the woman's loud, almost obnoxious laugh.

"You're definitely in for a culture shock, since Woodberry Creek is the type of place to welcome anyone and treat them like family. You must come from a big city where everyone is in a rush and don't have time to even say good morning or ask how your day was."

Deborah shrugged and pulled on the back of her hair. "Maybe this isn't a good idea. I just arrived in town and I'm-"

"Dear, if I let you go, you'll just go back to your hotel room or wherever you're staying and sit there all alone watching bad Pay-Per-View movies and ordering takeout. Why not come inside with me where we can chat?"

Deborah flinched from hearing "dear"-that word she hoped she'd never hear someone call her again-and from the way this woman knew what Deborah planned to do if she walked away.

"Are you sure you're just a housing agent and not a psychiatrist?" Deborah asked half jokingly, half seriously. The woman responded with a loud laugh again.

"You'd be surprised by how insightful I can be after twenty years in this business." The woman held out her hand for Deborah to shake. "I guess before we go any further, I should introduce myself. My name is Sandra Woodberry and I'll be more than happy to be your real-estate agent."

Deborah almost backed into the window, startled by hearing her last name. "Woodberry? You're not related to-"

"Honey, I'm related to everyone. My family founded the town."

Deborah bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted to ask Sandra if she was related to the bouncy woman she'd met in the drugstore.

"I'm...I'm Sharon. I think I've met some of your family members already." Deborah said nonchalantly and did her best not to cringe when Sandra lightly took hold of her elbow.

"That shouldn't come as a surprise since there's more than one hundred of us Woodberrys living here. Why don't you come in like I said before and have a cup of coffee? I can tell you about some of my wacky relatives while you tell what you're looking for in a home."

There was no way she could get out of this now without making a scene, which was the last thing she wanted to do. Instead, when Sandra unlocked the door, she walked inside and told her she'd like her coffee light and sweet.

By the time Deborah had finished her coffee and Sandra, who preferred to be called Sandy, went over her housing needs, it was if a weight had been lifted away.

Sandy didn't waste any time and told Deborah about four properties that would suit her and ones she could show her today. Deborah didn't have any excuse not to go, so off they went. Sandra also gave her the nickel tour, as she called it, by driving around town and pointing out certain areas such as the commons in the middle of town where people picnicked, listened to free music on the weekends or where children played in the playground. Deborah saw the high school, all the key buildings such as the police station and fire station, and even went so far as to show off the mayor's house. Deborah couldn't help but admire it.

The tour ended as soon as Sandy parked in front of an apartment building where the first three places she wanted to show Deborah were located. Other than one apartment looking more like a loft and the other two having different dimensions and a floor plan, nothing about them called out "home" to her.

"These apartments haven't impressed you," Sandy stated as she and Deborah walked over to the car.

Deborah shrugged. "They were all very nice and in the price range I'm looking for, but I'd rather live in a place with more s.p.a.ce, like a house. Didn't you say the fourth property is a house?"

Sandy nodded as she unlocked her car. "Yes, I did. It may be too big for a single woman like yourself, unless you're thinking of starting a family in the future."

Deborah never mentioned if she was single or otherwise and allowed Sandy to think what she wanted. "Would it be all right if we looked at it?"

"Of course," Sandy replied with a big smile that had Deborah giving her one in return.

Less than ten minutes later, Deborah found herself on a residential street in front of a white two-story house with a nicely sized, newly mowed front lawn and a wooden porch with two rocking chairs in the right corner. The roof looked like it needed some work and the outside could use a new coat of paint, but otherwise Deborah couldn't find any other faults with it.

"The house has been vacant for almost a year. The landlord is more than willing to stay on top of the upkeep, as you can see from the lawn. I can promise you the inside has no big issues." Sandy jangled her keys as Deborah followed her up the steps.

She unlocked the front door and motioned Deborah to go inside first. A sneeze escaped Deborah as dust flew up her nose. She sniffed and sneezed again, turning her head toward the beautiful stained gla.s.s window near the staircase leading up to the second landing.

Home.

Deborah barely listened as Sandy talked about the house as she walked from room to room. White sheets covered the furniture, and the walls had wonderful woodwork. She caressed one of the pillars near the kitchen and a pleasant warmth built low in her stomach. The kitchen had white cabinets and peach-colored walls, much like the ones she had grown up with. The upstairs had two bedrooms. The master bedroom faced the street while the other one overlooked the backyard surrounded by a wooden fence. The bathroom matched the decor of the kitchen and to Deborah's surprise had a sunken bathtub.

"I'll take it," Deborah announced in the middle of Sandy's speech about the former renters.

Sandy stopped speaking and tapped her red-painted fingernails against the folder she held. "This may sound strange, but it's like the house has been waiting for you to arrive."

Deborah wiped her hand across the sink and glanced around the small bathroom, a smile hovering over her mouth. "I've...I've never been on my own before," she admitted quietly.

Sandy gave her a sympathetic look and patted Deborah's back. Deborah shifted to the side and rocked on her heels. "When can I move in?"

"The owner is very flexible and anxious for someone to move in. I don't see why you can't have the keys by Sunday, or Monday the latest. All I need is a three-month deposit and signing a lease for six months."

Deborah calculated the cost in her head. Six months would work perfectly for her in case she had to leave suddenly if Genevieve- Stop thinking about her!

"Sharon?" Sandy asked in concern and touched her shoulder.

This time Deborah didn't flinch from her touch. "Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment there. The deposit and lease shouldn't be a problem. Also, would it be too much of a problem if I met the owner and asked them any questions I might have?"

"The owner would love to answer any questions you have." Sandy's lips twitched in humor.

Deborah walked out into the hall and started down the stairs. "Why do I have the feeling you going to tell me the owner is one of your relatives?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Actually, the owner is me," Sandy replied.

Deborah stopped mid-step and started laughing. Sandy joined in and afterward they sat at the kitchen table and went over paperwork and contracts Deborah would sign.

Renting a house was the third biggest decision Deborah ever made. The second was becoming a nurse, and the first was marrying Gen. Deborah was the type who always thought long and hard before doing something so drastic, but her failed marriage had been the exception. The moment Gen had kissed her outside her dying mother's room, one month after she started working for her, she'd wanted Gen and didn't think of the consequences.

How was she to know by doing just that, she'd be the one damaged in the process? But she'd survived, even with both physical and internal bruises. Now she was in middle of her new home that was all hers for the next six months. Since she'd never rented a property before, she thought it would be more difficult, expecting Sandy to run an intense background check. But she didn't, and even bypa.s.sed a few other steps when Deborah said she was trying to start over again after going through a bad relationship, and that she didn't want to be found. Sandy didn't even bat an eyelash, and the only thing she expected from Deborah was the money up front. In less than forty-eight hours, Deborah had the keys.

Grabbing her suitcase, Deborah climbed the stairs and walked into the bedroom. Instead of putting her things away in the drawers or closet, she pushed aside the curtains and opened both windows. The smell of freshly cut gra.s.s and a warm breeze entered the room. A dog barked somewhere in the vicinity and she smiled at the thought of possibly owning her own dog.

"I can't believe I'm standing in my own house!" Deborah covered her mouth and squealed against her palms. She may just be renting, and the house wasn't in her name, but it was good enough for her.

Mom would love it here. Deborah sat down on the bed, dust floating up around her as she thought about her mother, and how she wished she could send for her, but couldn't because of the danger. If only she could make one phone call to make certain her Mom was still alive and Gen hadn't gotten to her- Ding dong.

Deborah jumped up from the bed and peeked outside the window. A white truck parked in front of her house. Her mattress had finally arrived! Clapping softly, she ran out of the room to welcome the men in.

Tonight she'd be sleeping in her own bed all by herself and wouldn't have to share it with anyone else.

Chapter Ten.

Deborah put the rest of the gla.s.ses and dishes away in her newly cleaned kitchen. After her mattress had been brought in, she spent most of the morning cleaning and setting up the kitchen. She was grimy and sweaty, but didn't care. Next she'd tackle the bathroom. After she was done in there, she would reward herself with a nice soak in the tub.

"There are just not enough hours in the day," Deborah grumbled as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. The breeze through the window over the sink didn't do much to cool her. If she still had her long hair instead of her short cut, she'd be sweltering by now. With another swipe over her forehead and a back bend, she grabbed her bucket full of dirty, murky water and carried it outside near the back where she threw it onto the gra.s.s. She fisted her hands on her hips as she looked up at the sky. A few white puffy clouds floated by. Breathing in deeply, Deborah stepped off the rickety steps and scuffed her sneaker in a crack as she thought over the various cleaning supplies she would need. The process of cleaning the house would take days, if not an entire week. When Sandy said she'd have a cleaning crew come in, Deborah shot that idea down. She wanted to do the cleaning by herself-needed to do it.

Deborah snorted silently at the amount of cleaning she still had to tackle and went over to the garage shed-type structure she couldn't wait to paint. She lifted up on her toes to look through the darkened, dusty windows. Patting her pockets for the keys, she groaned, only just realizing she left them on the kitchen counter. Turning around to go back into the house, she froze when she heard an angry growl.

Less than five feet in front of her a black Rottweiler, with its ears back and nostrils flaring, snarled at her. Deborah took a step back with her hands out in front as the rabid-looking dog stalked her. When her back met the garage door, a whimper left her mouth.

"Ni-nice doggy. Where'd you come from?" she asked the creature in a soothing voice to not upset it any more.

The dog let out a sharp bark and scurried over to her. Its nose brushed over the top of her thighs, venturing toward her crotch.

"Hey!" Deborah yelped as the dog molested her. She was ready to make a run for it, but the fear of being mauled and having her head torn off froze her in her tracks.

The dog barked again, and when it landed back on its haunches, it released a low rumble from deep within in its mouth.

"Help me." Deborah's throat closed up and she closed her eyes, praying the demon dog would get bored and leave.

"Rotquel! Get over here now!"

Rotquel? What the...Deborah opened one eye as the dog lifted its head upon hearing the voice. Its tongue flapped out of its mouth as it trotted over to a woman standing in middle of the driveway.

Deborah's legs trembled and she slid down on her b.u.t.t as she waited for her racing heart to calm down. Not only was she completely covered in sweat, but her bladder was begging her to empty it.

"Good girl." The woman with the bright red hair whom Deborah had met days ago in the drugstore, knelt down and gave the evil dog a hug. Her hair, Deborah noticed, was now in a more subdued braid.

When Deborah finally caught her breath, she rested her arms over her knees and glared at the duo, who continued to ignore her. "I thought dogs like that needed to be on a leash. That dog gave me the scare of my life."

The woman-Bridgette stood up and patted her demon dog on the head. The creature lifted her leg and licked at a spot that had Deborah turning away from in disgust.