They started up the stairs, making it halfway before she paused to rest, a weak kitten, holding the rail.
“Are you going to make it?” He touched her back, holding her steady.
“Of course.” She wavered again, turned to look at him and then down she went. Jesse scooped her in his arms, carrying her up the remaining stairs and down the hall to the door where his grandmother waited.
“Is she okay?”
“She will be. I think it would help if we got some food in her.” She was light in his arms.
“I’ll go heat up a can of soup.” His grandmother pulled back the blankets and he placed her guest in the bed, backing away to let his grandmother continue fussing.
“I’ll make the soup.” He kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “You get her settled.”
Jesse walked down the stairs and back to the kitchen where he found Laura White’s purse still hanging on the stool. He picked up the leather bag with frayed seams and thought about snooping. After a minute he listened to his better self and set the bag down on the counter.
He wouldn’t snoop, but he’d stay and make sure his grandmother remained safe. And he’d make sure Laura White recovered.
After that, he’d let his grandmother take over. She was good with projects. His plate, however, was pretty full.
Chapter Two
Morning sun soaked the room in bright light and warmth. The rain had ended. Laura stretched in the softest bed she had ever slept in, but her relief didn’t last. Her head ached and she felt as if lead weights had been placed in her arms and legs. She rolled over and squinted to look at the clock.
She was in Myrna Cooper’s home. She had made it to Dawson. But now what? She had nowhere to go. She had no money and no real friends.
Dressed in the same clothes she’d worn the day before, she tried to run her fingers through her hair and make herself presentable. Her suitcase was in the trunk of her car, wherever that happened to be. She shivered and reached for the afghan that Myrna had draped over her shoulders the night before. Light-headed and achy, she walked down the hall to the wide stairs.
As she walked through the living room a quilt-covered lump on the couch moved. She paused as he rolled over, flopping an arm over his face. He had stayed. Not because he wanted to make sure she was okay, but because he’d been worried about leaving his grandmother alone with her.
Laura didn’t blame him. Instead she liked that he was the kind of person who would stay, spending the night on an old Victorian sofa just to make sure his grandmother was safe.
The aroma from the kitchen pulled her away from the good doctor and back to her goal. Food. She could smell coffee and bacon. As she walked through the door, Myrna turned, smiling. She flipped a pancake and pointed to the coffeepot.
“Help yourself to coffee and the pancakes will be done shortly.”
“Thank you.” Laura turned and coughed. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ve got it handled. How are you feeling this morning?”
“About the same.” Her body still ached, and her throat burned. She was looking forward to the coffee. “I should make arrangements, though. To go somewhere.”
She needed a plan and she didn’t have one. This had been it for her. This had been her last resort.
“You’ll do no such thing.” Myrna handed her a plate of pancakes. “Sit down and eat.”
She took the plate, her hands trembling as she moved to the counter. She spread butter and then poured syrup across the golden-brown cakes. Her mouth watered as she thought about the last time she’d had pancakes, good pancakes.
From the living room she heard shuffling, mumbling and then footsteps. Myrna shook her head and then poured more batter on the griddle. A moment later Jesse walked through the door, disapproving but gorgeous with his chocolate-brown eyes still sleepy, and shadowy whiskers covering his lean cheeks. His straight, dark hair went in all directions, and he must have known because he was trying to brush it down with his fingers.
Laura took a bite of pancake and looked away from the barefoot cowboy in his faded jeans and flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She glanced quickly at her faded jeans and fuzzy sweater, both from a decade or two past, trying hard not to make comparisons.
“How are you this morning?” He walked straight to the coffeepot and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. He looked at her and pulled out another one. “Want coffee?”
“Please.” She glanced in Myrna’s direction. Myrna flipped another pancake on the platter and then scooped bacon out of a skillet.
Jesse turned from the coffeepot. He set a cup of coffee on the counter next to her. “You can sit in the dining room.”
“I’m good.”
He shrugged one shoulder and turned away from her. With an ease that she envied he walked up behind his grandmother, gave her a loose hug and pulled a plate from the holder on the counter.
“Do you have anywhere to go?” He leaned against the counter, watching her.
She swallowed a syrupy bite and shook her head. No time like the present to just get it all out there. She wouldn’t hide her story or her life from them, not after they’d been so kind. Well, Myrna had been kind. Jesse... She watched as he poured syrup over the stack of pancakes on his plate. He didn’t look at her.
Jesse had been kind, too.
“I don’t have anywhere to go.” She sighed and pushed the plate away, unable to eat the last few bites. A place to go, a job, she needed those things. Had to have them in order to fix her life.
The headache she had thought gone returned with a vengeance, pounding behind her eyes and in the back of her head. She rubbed her forehead.
“I had hoped Aunt Sally would give me a place to stay until I could get back on my feet.”
As she’d talked, Jesse opened a cabinet door and pulled out a bottle of pills. He shook a couple into his hand and handed them to her. Laura took them, smiling her gratitude and washing the medicine down with her coffee.
“Well, now, honey, why don’t you tell us what knocked you off your feet?” Myrna turned from the stove, wiping her hands on the corner of her apron. “And we’ll see if we can’t make a plan. Sometimes everything looks dark because we haven’t had friends to help us put our situation in a better light.”
“I’ve been living in a halfway house for the past month.”
“And before that?” Jesse asked as he leaned against the counter, his plate in his hands.
“Before that I was in jail.”
“Jail?” Myrna’s eyes understandably widened and she glanced from Laura to Jesse. Of course he had an “I told you so” look on his face. His dark brows arched and he frowned.
Laura scraped her plate in the sink and turned on the water and then the garbage disposal. She gave it a few seconds and flipped the switch off. That gave her a little time to gather her thoughts and prepare herself.
How much did she tell? Did she tell the truth or the court’s version of the truth? A jury hadn’t believed her, so why should anyone else? Evidence, beyond a shadow of a doubt, pointed to her guilt.
“I was in jail on a drug-dealing and possession charge.” She looked away. She wanted to pretend this wasn’t her life and that people didn’t look at her with surprise, disgust and every other emotion she’d seen in the past month.
From now on this would be her story.
“You sold drugs?” Myrna scoffed and shook her head. “Now, I might be old, but I’m not