CHAPTER TWO
“IT WOULD BE a lot easier if you would just tell me your name,” the trooper said for the fifth time during their ride.
“I’ve agreed to go to the Harrisons’ shelter,” Sara argued. “Believe me, it’s better if no one knows my name.”
“What about your kin?” he asked. “Isn’t there someone you’d like me to call? Let them know you’re okay?”
“I don’t have anyone, but thank you.”
“What kind of man did this to you?”
“The worst kind.”
* * *
THE HARRISONS’ shelter was a converted bunkhouse on an immaculate ranch just outside the town of Pinto. It was pitch-dark when Kathy Harrison greeted them at the locked gate in her bathrobe.
She offered Sara a warm smile, then placed her arm around her shoulders and steered her to the main house. Kathy dismissed the trooper, then insisted that Sara have something to eat.
“You want to tell me your name?” Kathy asked as she piled lettuce on a sandwich.
“Jane Doe?” Sara suggested. She clutched the steaming coffee in both hands.
Kathy chuckled and joined Sara at the spacious oak clawfoot table that dominated the cozy kitchen. “You don’t look like a Jane.”
Sara simply smiled. Her smile slipped a bit when an imposing man with white hair entered the kitchen.
“This is my husband, David,” Kathy explained.
Sara’s greeting was a tentative meeting of the eyes.
“I smelled sandwiches,” David commented easily. Unlike his wife, he made no move to make physical contact. In fact, he seemed careful to avoid invading her space.
“I’m not really hungry,” Sara insisted.
“You should eat,” Kathy admonished.
“You should do what you want,” David countered as he accepted the plate Sara had pushed toward the center of the table. “Kathy can be something of a mother hen.”
“The girl looks half-starved,” Kathy protested.
David took a hearty bite of the sandwich and ate with appreciation. On a routine obviously established over many years, Kathy provided her husband with a glass of milk and a familiar pat on the shoulder.
This was what a marriage was supposed to be, Sara thought.
David met her gaze and asked, “Are you going to make us keep calling you ‘the girl?’”
Sara felt a little silly. Her face warmed with an uncomfortable blush. “If you don’t know my name, then you can’t tell anyone about me.”
“We don’t tell,” David stated with conviction. “This is a safe place. We’ve got an arrangement with law enforcement in four counties. They know if they bring a woman here for shelter, she’ll be safe because we know better than to reveal information. We know how dangerous it is.”
“I doubt it,” Sara sighed.
Kathy disappeared and returned in a flash with a framed photograph. She handed it to Sara as if she were handing her a diamond-studded scepter. The young woman in the photograph was beautiful, with a smile that simply required you to return it in kind.
“That’s our daughter Dorothy,” Kathy explained.
“She’s lovely.”
Kathy nodded and her hand slipped into David’s. “She was. She was beaten to death by her boyfriend ten years ago.”
“I’m s-sorry.”
David’s smile was haunted now. “We do understand your situation. Dorothy is the reason we started this shelter. We know how important it is for women to have someplace safe to hide.”
“Hiding isn’t living,” Sara sighed.
“It’s better than the alternative,” Kathy said.
Sara felt guilty for voicing her thoughts in light of what the Harrisons had just told her. “I don’t think my ex-husband followed me,” she said.
“What happened?”
Sara shrugged and ran her fingertip around the rim of her coffee mug. “He wasn’t exactly proud of my graduation from college.”
“When was this?”
A lifetime ago. “Two days ago,” Sara answered. “I went back to college after my divorce. I worked hard and managed to finish midyear.”
“Congratulations,” David offered.
Amazingly, it was the first she had heard those words from anyone other than herself.
“Can we get you some medical attention as a graduation gift?”
Sara smiled at David’s offer. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “A few bruised ribs. I’ve had worse.”
“Let us call Justin anyway,” Kathy suggested.
“I’m on a limited budget,” Sara countered.
“Justin doesn’t charge anything,” Kathy explained. “He’s a good old-fashioned country doctor. Still makes house calls and is happy to accept a fresh-baked pie for his trouble.”
“Thank you anyway,” Sara insisted.
“You’re as stubborn as the other one,” David commented.
“The other one?”
“Came in just before dinner,” David said. “Looks like the devil chewed her up and spit her out. I’m hoping she’ll rethink things by morning.”
“She’s Jane Doe number one,” Kathy explained. “It’s going to be hard what with two Jane Does staying with us.”
“I’m not staying,” Sara said. “I’m sorry the state trooper insisted on bringing me here. He said it was either this or jail. Apparently I was trespassing.”
“My guess is he knew you’d be safe here.” Kathy took Sara’s coffee mug to the sink. “Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ll see how things look to you in the light of day.”
She was tired, Sara admitted, and she didn’t have any alternative plan worked out. Not yet at least.
Kathy led her from the house to the adjacent bunkhouse. It had been outfitted with beds, dressers, sofas and chairs. There was a fireplace and someone—David probably—had gone to the trouble to enclose two nice bathrooms in the rectangular space.
The rows of single beds reminded Sara of her days in the orphanage. They were bittersweet memories. She had grieved for her parents but was loved by the staff.
Kathy showed her where the telephone was and told her she was free to call anyone, anywhere, anytime. Then she was led to a bed next to one occupied by a sleeping woman. In hushed tones, Kathy wished her good-night and left her to prepare for bed.
Sara washed up and quietly returned to her assigned bed. She had slipped beneath the covers when she heard the soft sobs.
“Are you okay?”
There was no answer.
Sara lay still for several minutes, listening to the cries, before tossing off the blankets and padding over to the bedside of her only roommate.
Gently, she touched her on the shoulder. The wo-man was trembling and gulping air between sobs.
“I’m Sara,” she said as she brushed the woman’s hair away from her face. Sara didn’t flinch when she saw the deep lacerations and dark bruises. It was difficult to get a true picture of the woman’s face in its