Page 39 of Jasmine Street Blues

Four months she’d been here. Four months! In less than a month, Olive had become a friend. A couple of weeks ago she’d foolishly fallen for Mac. Friends, comfort, love… those were the real traps. She’d fallen into them hard, this time around.

No more.

Where to next? After the south Mississippi heat, she was ready for cooler weather. She hadn’t been north in a while, not for years. She tried to think. Cooler weather would be nice, but she’d have to deal with bitter cold when winter arrived, if she managed to stay in one place for more than a couple of months. In the past she’d lived in her van for a few weeks here, a few days there, but when winter rolled in that wouldn’t be an option.

She’d choose a small town, as always, maybe one like Seawolf Beach that had regular tourists and the occasional art or music festival. She might need a different last name, at least for a while, in case Mac decided to try to track her down. If he searched for her she’d need a different first name too, and she hated that. Loran was all she had left of the girl she’d been before… before…

Her mind wouldn’t settle on a place, or a name. It was time to leave Seawolf Beach, it was necessary, but she didn’t want to go.

* * *

Mac drove down Jasmine Street three times before he headed home for the night. The last time he passed Loran’s house, the lights were all off. Her van was still parked in the driveway. He’d seen no unusual activity in the neighborhood, no stalkers hanging around. Stanton was probably gone for good, but how could he be sure?

He didn’t think anyone had been following as he’d driven Loran home, but he’d been so damned distracted he couldn’t be positive. Stanton wouldn’t have any idea where Loran lived, he wouldn’t know where to look. Unless he’d circled back and started asking others about the artist Loran Raine. Unless he hadn’t given up as easily as he’d seemed to.

Stanton wasn’t a threat, he was just an annoyance. A fly, easily swatted away.

But the guy scared Loran, so he couldn’t be confident about that. Would she be here in the morning or would she load up that van in the middle of the night and disappear?

Gone. Like Carrie.

Mac let himself into his house. Bubbles greeted him, glad to have company. He gave the dog a good scratch behind his floppy ears, and double checked the water and food bowl in the kitchen. Just days ago, he’d been trying to find a home for the mutt. Now Bubbles, ridiculous name and all, felt like his. Just as well. It wasn’t like anyone else was going to be here.

He hadn’t wanted a dog or a woman, had been determined to remain a single entity until he found Carrie and could focus his attentions elsewhere. He had the dog. The woman was a lost cause.

* * *

It would take a while to get ready to leave. She could jump into her van and go, she’d done it before, but there were details to take care of. If Henry was really gone, if he’d accepted Mac’s lie, then she had time to make a few preparations.

She needed to tell Colt and the woman she rented the studio from that she was breaking her leases. She’d lose her deposits but she didn’t think either of them would chase her down. The properties were in demand, and wouldn’t stay empty long.

Loran hated to close up shop on a Friday. It was usually a busy day, second only to Saturday when the town bustled with tourists. Did she need to leave today or did she have a little time?

Henry might spread the word that he’d thought he’d found her. Over the years he’d run into others who were searching for her, with their accusations and their questions she didn’t know how to answer. Did they stay in contact? Anyone might show up to check her out for themselves, to be sure, but she should have a day. One day. Twenty-four hours.

She’d hang a big sign on the porch. 50% off everything! Cash only.

Then she’d load up the best pieces, paintings she could use to start over somewhere else, and by midnight she’d be on the road.

Running in the middle of the night, the way she always did when things got dicey.

Most days she walked everywhere, but she’d drive to work today. Even though Henry had supposedly left town, she didn’t want to be exposed. Knowing he’d been here, in her space, in her town, made her jumpy. Dammit, she’d miss walking to work. Even when it was hot out, there was usually a breeze to cool her off. Fresh air, sunshine, neighbors and friends…

Mac.

Loran loaded one painting into the back of her van, then headed to work. She had a stop to make. Just one. It was foolish, not at all a good idea, but she couldn’t help herself.

She parked at the curb, behind Mac’s patrol car, pushing second thoughts away. It wasn’t necessary that she actually see him. She’d ring the bell and leave the painting on his front porch. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t know where it came from.

Good plan, but it didn’t work. He must’ve heard her van, because he opened the front door before she reached the porch.

“Let me help you,” he said, stepping out of the house, onto the porch.

“I’ve got it.”

“What is that? Dogs playing poker?” Even with everything going on, he could still tease her.

He backed up and held the door open wide, and she carried the painting into the house, turning it around so he could see. His relaxed expression tightened, lips pursing, eyes narrowing.