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She remembered having seen a road sign indicating that Telarosa was only three miles to the west. Certainly she could walk that far and spare herself the indignity of having to beg a ride from someone at Windmill. They could have her job, she told herself, but they weren’t taking the few shreds of pride she had left. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way across the field to the road and began to walk along the dusty shoulder.
Barely fifteen minutes passed before she, realized that she had seriously underestimated her stamina. The strain of the last few days, the sleepless nights she’d spent worrying, the meals she’d only picked at, had left her exhausted, and her black pumps weren’t designed for walking any distance. A pickup flew by, and she lifted her arm to protect her eyes against the dust. Less than three miles, she told herself. That wasn’t far at all.
The sun beat down on her head, and the sky was bleached to the color of bone. Even the weeds along the side of the road looked parched and brittle. She peeled off her damp suit coat and carried it over her arm. Off to her right she caught glimpses of the river, but it was too far away to provide any relief from the heat. She stumbled, but quickly righted herself. As she glanced above her, she hoped the dark birds circling overhead weren’t vultures.
Forcing herself to ignore both her growing thirst and the blister her pumps had rubbed on her heel, she tried to decide what to do. Her financial nest egg was pitifully small. Although her mother had urged her to take a larger share of the profits from the sale of the nursing home, Gracie had refused because she wanted to make certain her mother had plenty to live on. Now she regretted not setting aside a little more. She would have to return to New Grundy immediately.
She winced as her ankle turned on the uneven surface but she kept moving. Her throat felt like a tube of cotton, and she was dripping with perspiration. She heard a car coming from behind her and automatically lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the dust.
The car, a silver Lexus, pulled to a stop beside her, and the passenger window slid down. “Would you like a ride?”
Gracie recognized the driver as the blonde she’d seen throwing herself at Bobby Tom several hours earlier. The woman was older than she’d realized, probably in her early forties. She looked rich and sophisticated, as if she drank bottled water between tennis games at the country club and slept with a good looking ex-wide receiver when her husband was out of town. Gracie didn’t want to face another encounter with one of Bobby Tom’s women, but she was too hot and tired to refuse.
“Thank you.” As she opened the door and settled into the cool gray interior, she was enveloped by the scent of expensive perfume and the lilting music of Vivaldi.
With the exception of a wide wedding band, the woman’s hands were free of jewelry, but pea-sized diamond studs glittered in her earlobes. She wore her frosted blond hair in the soft, side-parted pageboy favored by wealthy women, and a belt of hammered gold links loosely cinched the waist of a gracefully cut oyster white sheath. She was slender and lovely, and the faint web of lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes only seemed to make her look more sophisticated. Gracie had never felt dowdier.
The woman at the wheel touched her finger to the button that raised the window. “Are you going into Telarosa, Miss—?”
“Snow. Yes, I am. But, please, call me Gracie.”
“All right.” Her smile was friendly, but Gracie sensed a certain reserve. The wide gold cuff on her right wrist glimmered in the sunlight as she turned down the volume on the radio.
She knew the woman must be curious about why she had been walking along the highway, and she appreciated the fact that she wasn’t being pressed for explanations. On the other hand, her personal unhappiness was no excuse to be rude.
“Thank you for picking me up. The walk was a bit longer than I’d thought.”
“Where would you like me to drop you?” Her accent was distinctly Southern, but it carried more of a lilt than a twang. If she hadn’t personally witnessed her rescuer throwing herself at Bobby Tom, Gracie would have believed this woman represented everything gracious and civilized.
“I’m going to the Cattleman’s Hotel, if that’s not too far out of your way.”
“Not at all. I assume you’re with the film company.”
“I was.” She swallowed hard, but she wasn’t quite able to hold the words back. “I’ve been fired.”
Several long moments passed. “I’m sorry.”
Gracie didn’t want pity, so she spoke briskly. “So am I. I’d hoped it would work out.”
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Her rescuer managed to sound both sympathetic and respectful, and Gracie could feel herself responding. Since she was very much in need of a confidante, she decided that, if she didn’t reveal too much, it would be all right to talk about it.
“I was a production assistant for Windmill Studios,” she said carefully.
“That sounds interesting.”
“It’s not a very prestigious job, but I’d wanted to make some changes in my life, and I felt lucky to get it. I had hoped to learn the business and work my way up.” Her lips tightened. “Unfortunately, I got tangled up with a self-centered, irresponsible, egotistical, womanizing bounder, and I lost everything.”
The woman’s head whipped to the side, and she regarded Gracie with dismay. “Oh, dear. What did Bobby Tom do this time?”
Gracie stared at her across the interior of the car. She was so startled that long seconds ticked by before she found her voice.
“How did you know who I was talking about?”
The woman arched one smooth brow. “I’ve had lots of experience. Believe me, it wasn’t hard to figure out.”
Gracie regarded her curiously.
