A few minutes later, his dad said, “Jameson, we haven’t seen that silver Subaru over at your place the past few days. Everything all right?”
Jameson gave his dad the same look he’d given his sister—the one that said Randall should drop that subject now.
His dad pretended not to get the memo. “A man can’t be sitting around waiting for what he wants to come to him. He’s got to go out and go after what’s his.”
Jameson glared at the spot between his father’s bushy gray eyebrows. “Dad. I mean it. Don’t.”
His family knew better than this—and no, he wasn’t surprised they’d all noticed the absence of Vanessa’s car in his driveway. Of course, they all knew that he’d been seeing Vanessa. Nothing got by any of them. But as a rule, they had the good sense not to butt in on his business.
His mother settled the matter by chiding mildly, “Randall, let it be.” And then she changed the subject. “How’s the gravy, Jameson?”
He gave his mom a slow nod. “The best. Thanks, Mom.”
The rest of the dinner went by without incident in that no one else tried to bring up the sudden absence of Vanessa from his life. He really didn’t want to talk about her.
Too bad not talking about her didn’t stop him from thinking of her all the time. He conjured images of her at Happy Hearts leading her Young Adventurers in some new science experiment. He kept remembering her face at the moment she won the Miss Bronco crown, so horrified and absolutely adorable, spitting a giant bite of pie all over her old T-shirt and jeans. Even pissed off on behalf of his sister, he’d thought Vanessa was about the cutest, most bewildered Miss Bronco he’d ever seen.
He loved the way she treated Slim, always taking time to greet the mutt properly, give him a good scratch around the neck as she let him lick her face. She asked Slim how he was feeling and then listened as if he actually answered her in English. Vanessa was the kind who always made sure Slim got plenty of kibble. She took him out to do his business any time he whined at the door.
Slim missed her. The sound of a vehicle driving by out front would have him racing to the door. Plunking his butt down, staring hopefully at that shut door, Slim would wait for her to come through it.
Since Sunday, she never did.
For Jameson, nights without her were the worst of all. He woke often with his hand stretched out into the cool expanse of sheet where her lush, soft body damn well belonged.
He needed to do something, change something, make a move.
But he couldn’t think of any move that would get through to her, help her to see the light, get her to accept that he loved her and wanted to be with her. That she was the one for him, that he was all hers, the man different from all the others, the one who would never let her down.
Thursday morning, he remembered he hadn’t picked up the mail in a while. He drove out to the mailbox and gathered the stack of bills and flyers and worthless junk. Back at the house, he tossed his keys on the kitchen table and went through the envelopes and advertising circulars, tossing most of it in a pile to discard.
At the bottom of the stack, he found a flyer for Winona Cobbs’s new psychic enterprise. Printed on deep purple cardstock with bright yellow lettering, the flyer announced that Winona could be consulted at her new shop, Wisdom by Winona, located on the premises of Bronco Ghost Tours.
Life! Love! Happiness! the flyer proclaimed in giant shouty yellow caps. The flyer announced that consultations, consolation and excellent advice could all be attained in a visit with Winona.
Jameson stared at that flyer for a good five minutes. For half that time, he was shaking his head. He admired Winona, but that didn’t mean he would ever waste good money on a visit to a fortune teller.
He tossed the flyer on top of the junk mail stack—and then snatched it right up again. Sticking it in a back pocket, he scooped up his keys from where he’d thrown them on the table and headed for the door.
At Bronco Ghost Tours, he found that Winona had her own separate building. The discovery brought relief that he wouldn’t have to go near the office or the gift shop, where he might run into Vanessa’s roommate or even her brother, Evan.
It was something of a shed really, Winona’s shop—a very charming wooden shed. Painted turquoise, the rough plank siding had been decorated with stars and crescent moons. Wisdom by Winona, announced the sign above the heavy purple door. To either side of that door, thick curtains covered the old-fashioned double-hung windows. He couldn’t see anything inside.
Jameson stood on the step for a few minutes, growing more and more unsure that he had any right to be here. Really, seeking out Vanessa’s great-grandmother could end up being just as awkward as meeting up with Callie or Evan.
In fact, the more he considered going through that purple door, the more certain he became that showing up here was a bad idea. Better to just get out. He turned for his quad cab—and heard the door open behind him.
“Jameson John,” said a husky voice with only the slightest quaver of age.
Slowly, he turned back to face her. “Winona. Hello.”
Wizened and bright-eyed as ever, Winona wore an outfit worthy of his ex-wife, the rodeo queen, including purple jeans, boots to match and a jewel-bedecked purple shirt. On her head she wore a purple turban accented with an enormous gold brooch in the shape of a crescent moon.
“About time you came to see me.” With a gleeful little laugh, Winona reached out her skinny, wrinkled hand and grabbed his arm. “Don’t dally on the step, young man. Come in, come in. We need to get moving on this.”
This, what?he would have asked, if only his throat hadn’t suddenly locked up tight.
A moment later, he found himself on the other side of the door. Winona gave that door a push. It swung shut, and semidarkness descended. The only light came from dim bulbs in ancient-looking lamps. Jameson breathed in the heavy scent of incense. It burned in several brass containers set on small tables next to faded wing chairs.
