Finding Her Way Home

“No relatives and no job,” Kitty said, “so that leaves only one other reason for coming here.”

And Cheyenne hoped no one discovered what that reason was.

Knowing when to keep her mouth shut, she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and stared down at the white gravel crunching beneath her boots.

Kitty raised a hand to greet someone. “Hi, Henry. Nice day for fishing. Going to the river?”

Cheyenne looked up. A middle-aged man, fishing rod over one shoulder, hoisted a tackle box in greeting.

“I sure am. Wanna come along?”

Kitty’s merry laugh rang out. “Another time. Gotta wash your sheets today.”

The man waved again and slammed the door of his truck. The engine roared, sending a puff of exhaust into the atmosphere as he pulled away.

Small-town friendliness was something Cheyenne would have to get used to.

Kitty picked up the conversation where she’d left off. “Redemption draws people, Cheyenne. I don’t know how exactly but the Lord must lead them here.”

A skeptical Cheyenne searched the motel owner’s guileless face. Kitty Wainright seemed too nice to be one of those religious wackos. “You’re saying God told me to come to this town?”

That was about as far from true as the woman could get.

“No.” The sun gleamed off blond hair as Kitty shook her head. “I said He leads people—people who need what Redemption has to offer.”

“I have to be honest with you, Kitty. I’m not sure what I believe about God anymore.”

Kitty slid the room key into the door marked with the number 4. As she pushed it open and cool, potpourri-scented air wafted out, she turned and placed a hand on Cheyenne’s arm. “Then I have good news for you, girl. Those with questions, those who are struggling, they’re exactly the ones He leads to Redemption.”

Chapter Three

Cheyenne awoke the next morning with a headache and the remnants of the dream lingering like a bad odor. She sat on the side of the bed, head in her hands, for several minutes to clear the fog.

Last night as usual, after checking and rechecking the locks, she’d lain awake for hours with the lights on. Her thoughts had run the gamut from the old bums to the handsome vet to Kitty’s curious comment about God.

She’d stumbled onto the town of Redemption by accident. A spot on the map. A place to land. There was no other explanation. Certainly not some mystical voice from God.

She scrubbed at her face with both hands, ashamed of her cynical attitude. Kitty hadn’t talked about voices, though her meaning was as mysterious as a voice would have been.

After a glance at the clock-radio, Cheyenne dragged herself out of bed and to the shower. Today was the first day of the rest of her life and she was determined to find a job and get on with living.

By the time she was dressed and ready to hunt down the Sugar Shack, her cell phone jingled. After checking the caller ID, she answered. “Hi, Brent.”

“Hey, sis.” Her brother’s deep voice eased an ache in her chest. “Where are you? Still sleeping in your car?”

“Believe it or not, no.” She looked around the motel room. Kitty took pains to make the units more homey than most. “I’m in a motel in Redemption, a little town in Oklahoma.”

Brent whistled. “Long way from home, sis.”

“Which is what we all agreed was best.”

“I know. Still—”

“A fresh start, new faces and time to forget.”

“You can come home anytime, Chey. Dad and I will take care of you.”

She wanted to take care of herself again, not huddle in her bedroom afraid of shadows and cruel speculation. Her dad and brother thought she should “put what happened behind her,” to “forget about it” and move on. She knew they meant well and she longed to follow their advice. She simply had not been able to do so.

“Maybe someday when things blow over.”

She reached under the pillow and moved a gun to her purse. Kitty probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing her new renter slept with a nine-millimeter Glock. Though Cheyenne never wanted to use the weapon again, she couldn’t fall asleep without that lethal assurance. Even then, sleep was fitful and filled with things she didn’t want to remember.

“You should see this place, Brent. Redemption is like a step back in time. Homey, friendly.” She told him about the Dumpster-divers and savored his warm laugh. “They were interesting, let me tell you.”

“I can imagine,” he said dryly.

“And the woman who owns the motel hosts a Bible study every night.”

Cynic that he was, Cheyenne could imagine Brent’s grimace. “Look out for weirdos.”

“She’s not like that. Really. Although she said something strange about God leading needy souls to Redemption. Or some such.”

“Told you. Weirdo.”

Cheyenne pushed a strand of hair back from her forehead and grinned. “You always know how to cheer me up.”

“You’re not planning to stay there in Weirdo-ville, are you?”

“For now. I’m job-hunting today.”

“Where?”

She heard the tension in his tone.

“Not police work.” Heaviness pulled on her insides like lead weights. “I know I can’t do that anymore, Brent.”

“I’m sorry, sis,” he said softly.

“Me, too.” More than sorry, she was brokenhearted. Being a police officer had been her life’s ambition.

“How are you otherwise?”

She knew what he meant. They never discussed the incident that had changed her life. Like everyone else, Brent and her father had wanted to pretend nothing had happened to her. If they didn’t talk about it, the issue would go away. They were wrong.

The silence of friends and coworkers was one of the reasons she’d left Colorado Springs. No one but the antagonistic press wanted to discuss that night. No one wanted to admit that something terrible and life-changing had happened to strong, sensible Detective Rhodes. She looked all right on the outside, so she must be fine. Only she knew how wrong they were.

The news media reminded her on a regular basis. Even after the investigation and the grand jury, reporters and gun-law activists stayed in her face. They were the second reason she’d fled her hometown.