I’ve got you now, he thought with grim satisfaction. He hurried to the end of the backstreet in time to see her slip into the Dixie Diner.
Now he’d get answers.
Inside the diner, the aroma of fried chicken, biscuits and gravy made his mouth water. Chasing Charlotte was hard work and it was past lunchtime. He scanned the tables filled with families.
No Charlotte.
He proceeded to the back exit and stuck his head out to check the alleyway.
Still no Charlotte.
Only one place left unchecked. He rapped on the ladies’ room door once and then entered.
Lucille Bozeman, an elderly member of the local Red Hat Society, shrieked and clutched her pearls. “James Robert Tedder,” she said breathlessly, “what on earth do you think you are doing?”
At least she’d used his full name instead of Jim Bob. Normally, he found her and the other members of the Red Hats a hoot—amusing older ladies with their red hats, purple attire and carefree spirit. But not today. Heat traveled up the nape of his neck. “Sorry, Mrs. Bozeman. I’m looking for a woman.”
“You’ve come to the right place, but this is hardly appropriate behavior. I’ll speak to Harlan Sampson about this. How dare you...”
But he tuned her out and bent over. No feet were visible under the stalls, but one door was closed. He knocked on it.
“Come on out, ma’am.”
A long sigh, and then a dry voice answered. “You going to order me to put my hands up or you’ll shoot?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he answered in kind. “Unless you try to flee from an officer of the law again.”
Charlotte emerged with a wry smile and leaned against the wall, arms folded. “Sorry. You never arrested me so I’d assumed I was free to leave earlier.”
Despite her flippant attitude, James noted that her face had paled and her eyes were slightly glazed. “Right. So that’s why you ran and tried to give me the slip.” He nodded at the bump on her head. “You might be concussed. Change your mind about going to the hospital to have that looked at?”
“Not at all. I’m fine.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble, young lady?” Lucille walked over, the brim of her outlandish purple hat brushing against his shoulders. Her gaze swept Charlotte from head to toe. “You appear a mite peaked.”
Charlotte’s smile was tight. “Just a few superficial wounds.”
“Jim Bob, you should take her to see Miss Glory. She’s a sight better helping folks than any doctor.”
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea—and the healer’s shop was only two doors down.
He addressed Charlotte. “What do you say? No forms to fill out or insurance cards to process.”
“All I need is over-the-counter pain medication. If you could point me in the direction of the local pharmacy?” She pushed past them both and made for the bathroom door.
James took her arm. “You’re coming with me. Stop being so stubborn. It’s obvious you’re hurt. Miss Glory can fix you right up.”
He caught a glimpse of Lucille gaping at them in the bathroom mirror. News of this bathroom encounter would be all over town in an hour.
“Thanks for the suggestion, Mrs. Bozeman.” He leaned into Charlotte, whispering in her ear, “If you don’t want your business common knowledge, let’s continue this outside.”
He stayed near her as they walked through the diner. Charlotte briefly glanced at every face in the crowd, as if taking their measure. She opened the door and stumbled, pitching forward a half step. The full weight of her body leaned against him. She smelled like some kind of flower—a rose, perhaps. It was as though a touch of spring had breathed life into a dreary November day.
Charlotte stiffened and drew back. A prickly rose, this one—beautiful but full of thorns. James clenched his jaw. Didn’t matter how she looked or smelled or felt. This woman was a whole host of complications he didn’t need or want. He’d get her medical attention, find out why she came to Lavender Mountain and then escort her to her truck and wish her well.
“If you’re on the run as you claim, the last thing you want is an infection to set in that injury. Miss Glory really can help you.”
“If I agree, will you give me a ride to my truck afterward and let me go?”
“You’re in no position to negotiate. You trespassed on my property and pointed a gun at me, as well. I believe I’m holding the trump card.”
“Okay, okay,” she muttered.
She hobbled beside him until they reached the store.
Miss Glory’s shop, The Root Worker, was dark. Glory claimed the light deteriorated the herbs strung along the rafters. The placed smelled like chamomile and always reminded him of the time he and his sisters, Darla and Lilah, had all come down with the flu at the same time. Their mother had infused the small cabin with a medicinal tonic provided by Miss Glory.
“What brings you here today, Jim Bob?” Glory asked, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle. She swiped at the gray fringe of hair on her forehead. Her deeply lined face focused on Charlotte. “And who’s your friend?”
James quickly made introductions. “She’s here because of a lump on her head, a twisted knee and cut skin on her right thigh. She refuses to see a doctor, so I thought I’d bring her to you.”
Glory didn’t even blink an eye. No telling how many strange stories she’d heard over the years.
“I’ve already cleaned it out and bandaged it,” Charlotte said. “Don’t see the need for anything else.”
“How bad do your injuries hurt?” Glory asked gently.
“I wouldn’t turn down some aspirin.”
“Hope you’re not so stubborn that you ignore any signs of a concussion or infection. You start runnin’ a fever or see red streaks flame out from the flesh, you get to a doctor quick, ya hear?”
Surprisingly, Charlotte nodded her head slightly. “I will.”
“You seein’ double or got the collywobbles in yer tummy?”
“None of that.”
Every moment he spent in her company, his doubts about her story grew. He remembered her steady aim and fierce eyes as she aimed a gun dead center on his chest. This wasn’t a woman who ran away from danger. She’d confront it head-on.
“Tell you what I’m gonna do, darlin’. I’m sending you home with a gallon of my sassafras tea. You drink a big ole glass of it at least three times a day. That sassafras is my special tonic that’ll clear up any nasty germs brewing in yer body.”
Miss Glory went behind the counter and rummaged a few moments, returning with a couple of items.
“A little poultice to draw out infection,” she said, pressing it into Charlotte’s palm. “And a few capsules filled with feverfew, devil’s claw and a couple other goodies. Much better than an ole aspirin.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t—”
“Now don’t you fight me on this, child. I see the pain in them eyes of yers. You’ll need a sharp mind to be of any use to anyone and you can’t have that without rest. Take it before you go to bed at night.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte murmured, stuffing the poultice and pain packet in her backpack.
“Jim Bob, grab a gallon jug of sassafras tea on yer way out. It’s in the cooler by the door.” Glory rested an arthritic-weathered hand on Charlotte’s