Page 3 of Dusty
Despondent at the thought of leaving another town before she’d even settled for a day, she spotted a bench. Tugging her coat closer around her body, to ward off the sharp chill of the wind, she took one step after another, before collapsing onto the chipped and weathered bench sitting outside Daisy’s Diner. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep, calming breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled. It really was a quaint town, exactly like she pictured a small southern town would be, even though she’d never in her wildest dreams expected to find herself smack dab in the middle of a crime drama, worthy of a television movie.
The early morning light hesitantly broke through the stubborn haze of anxiety wracking her body. In her trembling hands, the envelope felt impossibly heavy—not just a portion of the damning evidence that could prove her innocence, but the burden of being marked as a fugitive. Every crease and fold of the paper carried an echo of betrayal. It was proof, yes, but a curse as well. Most of the papers she’d managed to smuggle out of Cooper’s office were hidden away in San Antonio, far from Chicago, and as far as she’d gotten before Cooper’s men caught up with her. She knew they weren’t the only ones hunting her; the FBI was hot on her trail too. Unfortunately, Cooper hadmanaged to get to them before she’d had a chance to tell them about his illegal activities, laying all the blame at her feet.
She drew in a shallow breath and tried to steady her racing heart. The betrayal by Cooper Madison—the silver-tongued corporate shark—had shattered her trust into a thousand irreparable pieces. It seemed impossible that she’d thought she was in love with the dirty, rotten snake, believing every lying word out of his mouth, only to be exploited and framed, left with nothing but a whispered promise of justice and salvation. Yet, the very evidence that could clear her name also painted a target on her back, a beacon for those who would do anything to preserve his empire of deceit.
As she considered her next move, her mind wandered back to that fateful moment on the side of a lonesome highway. Frozen and exhausted, despair nipped at her as painful as the cold wind whipping through her threadbare coat. The biting chill of an endless length of pavement stretched before her, and she’d wondered if she’d be able to take another step when she’d spotted the headlights of an approaching car. Following her first instinct, she’d tried hiding at the side of the road, adrenaline ramping up the terror she felt, praying that it wasn’t one of Cooper’s hired henchmen. Though they’d been instructed to bring her back to Chicago—back into Cooper’s clutches—she knew they were just as likely to kill her. Either way would provide the solution Cooper needed, her out of the picture.
Instead, the person who’d stopped was Deputy Dusty Warner. His silhouette, strong and reassuring against the harsh winds, seemed like an unlikely lifeline. His voice—steady, calm—had broken through the panic swirling within her. There had been something in the way his eyes carried the weight of responsibility and kindness that made her heart skip a beat despite the chaos of her reality.
Dusty wasn’t just a savior in that moment; he had ignited a spark within her, one she hadn’t dared to feel—hope. When he offered her a comforting breakfast, a rare kindness in a world so cruelly indifferent, Sharon had studied him with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and an unexpected, dawning attraction. His rugged features and unyielding determination painted him as the kind of man who could stand up to any storm, even the ones swirling inside her heart. Despite her desperate need to flee, part of her longed to trust again—to let someone in, to share the weight of her secret.
Girl, you are a piece of work. On the run for your life, being chased by hired guns as well as the feds, and you’re thinking about the hunky deputy like he’s the finest piece of chocolate in a box of Godiva. You need to get your priorities straight, before somebody puts a bullet between your eyes.
Now, as she clutched her secret tightly, grappling with the conflicting urges to run and to fight back against the injustice, a soft voice interrupted her brooding thoughts. A middle-aged woman, her eyes sparking with a knowing tenderness and a hint of mischief, stood in front of her. Her blonde hair was almost as tall as she was, and the twinkle in her eyes also reflected a kindness and compassion Sharon hadn’t seen in a long time, except for one woman who’d worked at the homeless shelter in San Antonio. And wasn’t that a sad thought, that a stranger had been kinder to her than her own family.
“Darlin’, you look like you’re carrying the weight of the entire world on your shoulders.” The woman’s tone was both gentle and laced with unspoken authority. “Mind if I sit?”
Sharon’s eyes lifted, wary yet in need of a human connection. Maybe the kindness of the deputy had awakened something in her, making her crave a moment of connection with a stranger. “Sure,” she mumbled, the edge of exhaustion softening herwords. The presence of this woman was a welcome distraction from the relentless tension that gripped her every thought.
Draping a well-worn shawl over her shoulders as though it were a symbol of protection, and settling onto the bench beside her, the woman handed her a to-go cup. Sharon had been so caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the woman held two of them. “You’re a long way from anywhere you should be,” she observed kindly. “What brings you to Shiloh Springs, Sugar?”
In that moment, Sharon’s mind spun with a mixture of gratitude and terror. The envelope—her only tangible piece of the future she desperately hoped to reclaim—burned a hole in her hand. Instead of answering immediately, she took a sip of the warm drink the woman handed her—hot cocoa. On this chilly morning, so close to the holidays, it was the perfect touch to make her feel melancholy.
In a hushed tone, she replied, “I…” Somehow, she couldn’t force her mouth to form the usual lies she spouted to strangers. There was something about this woman, a warmth that was more than simple kindness to a stranger. She wasn’t sure how she knew this woman was important in a way she didn’t understand, but the thought crystallized in her mind with a certainty as strong as any she’d ever had. She’d hoped, even if only for a fleeting moment, to find refuge—a momentary escape from the relentless pursuit of a man who had turned her life into a labyrinth of betrayal. Now, in the space of a short time, she’d found kindness in not one but two strangers.
For a long second, silence hung between them—a pregnant pause filled with the unspoken understanding that every friendly face in Shiloh Springs carried secrets of their own. Yet, the deputy’s recent kindness, the vivid impression of his sincere concern and quiet strength, lingered in her heart like a fragilepromise. It was a promise that perhaps, even in her darkest hour, there existed a chance for redemption—and even for love.
Sharon’s internal battle raged on. Every tremor in her hand was a reminder of the dangerous truth she held. The evidence in Chicago condemned her, both in the eyes of the press and in the eyes of the law. As her gaze darted around, half-expecting to see the unmistakable silhouette of Cooper’s enforcers in the distance, her thoughts invariably returned to Dusty Warner. His unwavering support and the subtle kindness in every word had lit an ember of hope in her that she couldn’t easily extinguish. How had that happened? She didn’t trust anybody; that was a lesson that had been hammered home with Cooper’s betrayal, and her family’s unwavering defense of him, turning their backs on her without allowing her any actual defense. Was it possible to find solace and trust again when every shadow whispered betrayal?
The woman seated beside her patted her arm gently, her soft voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Sometimes the hardest roads lead us to the people who were meant to walk beside us—no matter how battered we feel.” Her eyes glistened with tenderness and empathy, as if she too had once trod on dangerously thin ice. “Besides, it’s almost Christmas, and nobody deserves to be sad at the holidays. My name’s Patricia Boudreau, but everybody ’round these parts calls me Ms. Patti.”
Something niggled at the back of Sharon’s thoughts at the mention of her name, but it flittered away as quickly as it appeared. The arrival of Ms. Boudreau was the latest ripple in a day already filled with turbulent emotions, and the day had barely started. Sharon nodded slightly, her heart beginning to reconcile the need to escape with an overwhelming desire for protection and human connection. Even as the envelope burned between her fingers, she felt a subtle shift inside. Imminent danger loomed large, yet in that precarious balance she found anunexpected spark: an echo of hope illuminated by the memory of Deputy Warner’s eyes and the tender strength in his smile.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Boudreau. I’m…Sharon.” She nearly winced when she heard the hesitation before her name. It was a stupid move, making it sound like Sharon wasn’t her real name. It was.
“I’m not trying to be nosy—okay, I am, but only because I want to help. Is there anything I can do for you, Sharon? I promise, I’m excellent at keeping secrets.” Ms. Patti chuckled, before adding, “I’ve had to be, with eleven sons and one daughter. I learned to be a mother, a counselor, and a confidant rolled into one.”
“You have twelve kids? Wow.” She couldn’t picture the petite woman seated beside her being able to handle that many rambunctious children. Then again, she couldn’t imagine growing up in a big family. She’d had one sister, Elizabeth, who Sharon adored. A wave of sadness threatened to engulf her, thinking about how Elizabeth had turned her back on Sharon too, just like everybody else. No one believed her when she’d declared her innocence. Cooper’s influence over her friends and family had been complete.
“And I adore every one of them. I’m sure you’ll meet all of them, if you’re staying in Shiloh Springs.” She could hear the unspoken question in Ms. Patti’s voice, wanting to know if Sharon would be sticking around. Was this what it was like living in a small town? People always wanting to know your business, sticking their noses into every aspect of what you were doing? Not a good idea when you’re running for your life.
“I’m…considering my options.”
“I see.” Ms. Patti hesitated for a moment and Sharon could almost read her thoughts, watched the pity flicker across her face before it was quickly disguised, but Sharon recognized the expression. She’d seen it on numerous faces since she’dfled Chicago: on the face of the bus station ticket seller who’d recommended Sharon head south, because people were kinder down here. She’d seen it on the face of the woman at the homeless shelter, where she’d found herself after she’d been robbed of almost everything she owned.
Everything except the precious evidence that might prove her innocence. She thanked God every day that she’d had the foresight to hide the file and the flash drive. If she hadn’t, she would be as good as dead.
“I don’t mean to pry—”
“Then please don’t,” Sharon interrupted, not wanting to hear the pity she’d seen in Ms. Patti’s face moments earlier.
The chuckle that escaped the other woman surprised her. “You’ve got a backbone. That’s good, because I’ve got the feeling you’re going to need it.” Ms. Patti’s gaze met hers directly, no wavering or faltering, and Sharon couldn’t read any deceit or insincerity in it. “I want to help you, Sugar, so you tell me the truth, okay?”
She was so tired. Tired of always being afraid. Tired of running. Tired of looking over her shoulder, terrified that Cooper’s people had found her. After a long moment, Sharon nodded her head slowly. “Okay.”
“Do you have a place to stay?” Lips pressed tightly together, Sharon shook her head. For some inexplicable reason, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to Ms. Patti. “Alright. I’ve got an idea, if you’re willing to listen. It might be an option that’s beneficial for us both.”
“I don’t see how I could be of any help to you, ma’am.”
