Phone.
It was difficult to think straight with panic clogging her throat. She patted her hip pocket. Not there.
Then she remembered she'd shoved it into one of the shopping bags when she'd been checking out.
Stupid.
If Toby was on the street, or waiting in a nearby parking lot, he'd see her when she drove by. She couldn't stay ducked down beneath the window line and drive, not unless she wanted to drive blind.
If he cornered her now, she'd have no way to call for help.
She counted to one hundred. Slowly.
Each passing number felt like a thunderclap.
She wanted the No Name, the peace she'd found there.
She wanted Cord.
When she reached one hundred, she straightened and reached for her seatbelt. She put the truck in gear and barely looked for pedestrians as she backed out of the parking spot. She turned the opposite way out of the lot onto Main Street.
There was no red Mustang in sight, but she wasn't taking any chances. If Toby was following her, she'd lead him on a merry chase before she returned to the No Name.
Something had spooked Molly.
Cord finally felt more himself a week after he'd come down with the flu.
He showered away the sick and sweat, pulled together all his nasty T-shirts and sweatpants and sheets and blankets, and ran a load of laundry.
Just that effort cost him. After a week of being off his feet, he felt weak and worn out by such a little job.
But he was determined to do some outside work. He couldn't afford any more days off. The clock was ticking. He had to get the ranch in shape to sell.
And he needed to find out what had happened with Molly. She'd brushed him off every time he tried to ask over the past two days.
She'd gone to town. He'd come downstairs for food only to find the house empty and a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Half the tractor parts had disappeared from the living room, presumably back where they belonged. She'd accomplished a lot, even while she'd been caring for him.
He'd been sleeping when she'd returned from town. That afternoon, she'd jumped at every shadow, been as nervous as a wild mustang seeing its first saddle. Even the dog had sensed it, ears back and underfoot more than normal.
And her nerves hadn't faded since.
He hadn't been able to get out of her what had happened. She'd brushed him off.
But today he was back to full-strength. Or most-strength.
And he was going to find out.
He owed her that much for taking care of him while he'd been sick. He hadn't been down like that in years, sick as a dog and so weak. And he couldn't remember a time when someone had waited on him. Brought him food, water, medicine. Checked in to make sure he was all right.
Maybe when he’d been a little guy. Before his parents had died. Lord knew, Grandma Mackie never had. If he or West got sick, she left it to them to take care of themselves.
In the kitchen, a pot of coffee waited. He poured a cup and sniffed, trying to determine whether she'd poisoned it with some weird spice.
He sipped.
It was black. Normal.
He drank deeply.
