Untouched Read online

  True, Alexa might go and come back none the wiser. But the other potential result?

  She could go and learn things that would shatter the eggshell wall that Tracy had so carefully reinforced.

  Should she warn her?

  But Alexa still wasn’t fully recovered, no matter her daughter’s thoughts on the matter. Though she was so much better than when Tracy had first seen her, white and broken in that narrow hospital bed, she was under no illusions that her daughter was fully healed.

  Tracy wasn’t at all certain that Alexa could handle the full truth, at least not yet.

  So she decided to remain silent.

  For now.

  Chapter Two

  It was only a sixty mile drive from Phoenix to Florence. Alexa had expected to feel some kind of dread, or at least mild trepidation, when she’d turned the sturdy SUV onto the freeway. The vehicle itself was a reminder of her accident, if one could have reminders of things that they didn’t remember.

  She’d once driven a small, sporty little car. But Tracy had purchased the larger vehicle when Alexa had first announced her intentions to try driving again—she’d insisted that her daughter would feel safer in it.

  Though she resented her mother’s overprotectiveness, secretly Alexa had agreed with her. She’d thought that a more solid vehicle surrounding her would feel good.

  But she’d never felt any hesitation over getting behind the wheel again. Not even a whisper of the expected fear.

  Those feelings held as she pulled out of the city and onto the freeway—further than she’d driven herself in a year. Nope, instead of fear, she’d felt freedom—an invisible yoke lifting off of her shoulders, setting her free.

  The miles passed quickly, but instead of being a blur, the scenery was in glorious high definition—sepia and carmine, turquoise and olive. The colors settled in Alexa’s mind’s eye like paint on a canvas, the almost forgotten sensation of inspiration a surprise as light and effervescent as champagne bubbles.

  Instead of weighing heavily on her mind, the knowledge that her case of paints and brushes was in the trunk felt good, felt right. Gave her some control. Despite what was taking her to Florence—and despite her mother’s assurances that she’d find nothing worthwhile there—Alexa was sure that if nothing else, she’d break through the mental block that had held her talent captive since the accident.

  Not being able to paint had been like losing a limb. When she was finally able to express herself again in the way that suited her best—then, she would feel complete. Though the pictures in her mind’s eyes were decidedly more... grey... than they had been before her accident.

  Alexa refused to allow that to depress her, to ruin the sparkly feeling that freedom and creativity had started inside of her. There was no pressure on her talent here.

  She didn’t have to paint. In fact, she didn’t have to do anything.

  Except, perhaps, get to know the sister that she’d never known existed.

  * * *

  Two days earlier...

  Polyester was not a material suited to physical exertion or heat. Which made Alexa wonder why the uniforms at the Boxtree were made of the stuff.

  She was wiping perspiration from her forehead with a clean bar towel when Lyndsey rounded the corner by the ice dispenser. Her pretty blonde friend looked as warm as she felt, her normally immaculate makeup wilting a bit in the heat.

  “There’s someone at table seven asking for you.” Grabbing an empty glass, Lyndsey scooped a cup full of ice, then pressed it to her cheeks. “God. It might be worth losing the tips, just to work someplace with AC.”

  Alexa felt the familiar pang of guilt as she nodded in agreement. Lyndsey was a single mom who needed every dollar she could get, and ugly, hot uniforms or not, the fact that Boxtree was a chain meant they were busy, which in turn meant steady tips.

  Alexa? She was here because she’d needed something to do to keep her hands busy, and because she knew that her mother would never set foot in a place that sold nachos and cheese fries. This gave her some much needed freedom.

  But she certainly didn’t need the money. But though Lyndsey was the closest thing she had to a friend, she wasn’t about to tell her that. She hadn’t even told her about the car accident that had landed her in the hospital.

  What could she tell, after all? She didn’t remember it.

  “Is it a regular?” Alexa asked absently as she followed Lyndsey’s example and scooped up some ice. The chill of the glass was heavenly against her fevered skin.

  “It’s a woman. Our age, red hair.” Sighing heavily, Lyndsey tossed the remainder of her ice in the large metal sink and placed her glass in the dirty dish bin, then picked up her tray again. “Never seen her in here before.”

  “All right.” Faintly puzzled, Alexa reluctantly emptied out her own cup of ice. Tucking her notepad into the pocket of her half apron, she left the ice dispenser area and crossed the room to table seven.

  She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she’d been expecting after Lyndsey’s comments. Maybe someone she’d known in high school. Or... something.

  She was slightly unnerved to find a woman maybe a few years older than herself, waiting with a slightly hostile expression on her face. The woman had red hair and creamy pale skin, but when she looked up as Alexa approached, it was her eyes that got to Alexa.

  They were familiar. In fact, they kind of looked like her own. Which was just weird.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Pasting a smile on her face, Alexa shook her head slightly, trying to dislodge the strange sensation creeping down her spine. It wasn’t a bad feeling, exactly... just a sense that something here wasn’t quite what it seemed.

  “I’ll order two drinks if you can sit down and talk to me for a minute.” The other woman might have looked cranky, but her tone was cautious, careful. As though what she wanted to talk about was something that Alexa might not want to hear.

  “I...” It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse, an instinct bred into her by her mother. Nice women just didn’t have random discussions with strangers.

  “I’m due for a coffee break.” Something had her catching her manager’s eye and pointing at her watch, signaling that she was taking her break. She was unsettled, wondering what this woman was, but curious too.

  As she slid onto the vinyl seat on the other side of the booth, Alexa felt her stomach do a slow roll. Looking at the other woman, she found the redhead scanning her face, as though looking for a reaction.

  Apart from the curiosity, Alexa didn’t have one to give her. At least, not until the other woman’s next words.

  “My name is Eleanor Kendrick … Ellie.”

  Alexa felt her spine stiffen, like she was a puppet and her strings had just drawn her up tight.

  “My father was Joseph Kendrick.” Ellie continued, and Alexa’s gut clenched tight.

  “Joseph Kendrick is dead,” she said carefully, scanning the other woman’s expression.

  Ellie flinched. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I don’t remember him. But he was my father.”

  Alexa’s mouth opened, then closed. What could she say? Her first reaction was disbelief, because the notion that she had a sister was absolutely absurd.

  But Ellie’s eyes. They were familiar because, while the color was different, the shape, the fan of long lashes, the heavy lids... they were just like her own.

  But her train of thought must have shown on her face, because Ellie placed her hands palm down on the table and leaned in, earnestness replacing the scowl on her pretty face.

  “Look. I know this probably sounds like a big crock of shit.” Huffing out a breath that made her auburn bangs dance, Ellie worried her lower lip with her teeth. “And I don’t have much more information than that to give you. I was cleaning out my—our—my grandmother’s attic last summer and I found a box that she’d packed up pretty carefully. It had baby booties, a family picture, and a birth certificate. Your birth certificate.”

&nbs
p; “How did you find me?” Alexa spoke slowly. She’d always believed in Occam’s razor—the notion that the most simple of answers was most likely to be the true one.

  In this case, that meant that her father, whom she barely remembered, had another child before Alexa. And that her mother either didn’t know about said child, or had deliberately not told Alexa about her.

  “My husband is the Sheriff in Florence. Do you know Florence? It’s about sixty miles from here.” Ellie gestured with her hands. “Anyway, that’s where we live. Where our grandmother lived. I had him do some digging.”

  There was an unmistakeable flash of pride on Ellie’s face when she spoke about her husband, and Alexa felt a pang in her heart. What must it be like, she wondered, to feel that way about someone? She certainly never had.

  “He didn’t want me to. Dig, I mean. Said I was asking for trouble.” Ellie’s eyes met hers then, held, as if asking if her husband had been right.

  “What... what do you want?” Alexa formed the words slowly. She wasn’t feeling numb, not exactly, but rather as though she was moving in slow motion.

  Did this woman want money? Did she know that Alexa’s mother came from one of the wealthiest families in the state?

  Ellie glared, as if sensing her thoughts, then held out her hands, palms out in a defensive gesture. “I don’t want anything from you. We don’t need anything. But I thought that we both should know.”

  Seemingly satisfied with that, Ellie stood, sliding out of the booth.

  Alexa, however, was not satisfied. She had slid out of the booth too, hurrying after Ellie—after her supposed sister.

  * * *

  That was how she came to be taking the exit that led into the small town of Florence, Arizona, a place famous—or infamous—for having almost as many inmates as citizens.

  Almost as soon as she exited the freeway, Alexa found herself passing one of the massive buildings that housed some of these inmates. Giving in to instinct, she pulled over and looked at the concrete monstrosity.

  It was large, several long, interconnected buildings, surrounded by barren yards and a high fence with posted guards. The fence was edged with barbed wire that Alexa would have bet money was also electric, and something about it tickled her memory.

  Reaching for the memory, she stared and let her mind whirl. But it was like trying to catch smoke, and finally she let it pass, shrugging and driving on.

  Even if she hadn’t had GPS, it would have been hard to get lost. The town was small, twenty-five-thousand inhabitants, and Main Street was well marked, full of preserved historic buildings. As she pulled up in front of the motel, one of those wonderfully historic places, she noted that her hands were trembling, a bit.

  The barbed wire. It was something to do with that memory that she couldn’t quite grasp. Or from the fact that she was about to find answers to questions that she once hadn’t even known she’d had.

  The motel was constructed of sand colored stucco, and was long and low with an arched entryway. A flag waved in the breeze, the bright red, white and blue, a perfect complement to the pale building.

  As Alexa slowly parked, then climbed out of the SUV, she noted that most of the buildings on the street were of a similar construction, and all were clearly very old. It added to the slight sense of disorientation, like she’d entered a different dimension.

  Her skin prickled a bit as though someone was watching her, but she quickly shrugged it off. No one in this town knew her. No one was watching her, wondering if she was feeling okay. No one was curious about the accident.

  She was just Alexa. She was free.

  The air inside the lodgings was surprisingly dry and cool, though heavy with the musty air that came with age. Securing her purse strap over her shoulder, Alexa made her way to the front desk and did her best not to gawk.

  Living in Arizona, she’d encountered her fair share of historic places—every elementary school class had done at least one field trip to an old Spanish mission, she was sure of it. But it fascinated her because it was imperfectly perfect in its age, a million years away from the museum like home that she shared with her mother.

  It made her feel at home in a way that she rarely had in her life.

  “I have a reservation,” she said finally, when she stopped staring and arrived at the front desk. Pushing her driver’s license across the counter, she blew a wayward strand of hair out of her face. “Under Alexa Kendrick.”

  The clerk tapped a few keys on an ancient computer, which clunked loudly as it processed.

  “Ms. Kendrick has left a message here for you,” the clerk said, and Alexa blinked, not sure what he meant until she realized that he was referring to Ellie. “She asked that you go to her work as soon as you can. It’s just down the street. I can draw you a map if you’d like to get settled in first.”

  “No, that’s fine, thanks.” Alexa wondered why Ellie wanted her there so quickly. She’d planned on taking a bit of time to maybe have a bath and shore up her courage before going to see the woman who just might be her sister.

  She still could—no one was making her. But hiding in her room wasn’t doing anyone any good either.

  “If you’ll just point me the right way I’ll walk over now.” She’d bring her bags in later.

  As the clerk had promised, Estelle’s Blooms was only two blocks away from the motel, right in the middle of Florence’s Main Street. The sign above the door looked like it had once been painted in shades of coral and bright blue, but now was faded to soft pastel tones, a watercolor that helped it blend in with its elderly neighbors. The sign itself might have given an air of neglect to the shop, were it not for the bright front window displays.

  Panes of glass so clear it sparkled, framed a stunning riot of blossoms. Since none of them were the orchids her mother cultivated, Alexa had no idea what any of them were—she had most certainly not inherited her mother’s green thumb. But the way that they had been arranged, pale pink, stoplight red and crimson on one side and running through a full spectrum…

  The sheer visual impact, the beauty, made Alexa’s fingers flex, reaching for the paintbrush that wasn’t there.

  She didn’t usually do still life paintings, and rarely painted flowers, but right now she was overwhelmed with the urge to run back to her car and grab her paints.

  When had Ellie bought it, she wondered? The age of the sign told her that the shop was not new.

  “Oh, you’re here!” The bells hanging above the front door jangled as a redheaded tornado whirled through it. “Why are you just standing outside? Come on.”

  “I just—” Alexa found her arm grasped in slender and surprisingly strong fingers. Momentarily startled out of her ability to speak, she allowed herself to be pulled inside the shop by tugboat Ellie.

  She got a brief glimpse at laminate counters, dark green shelves filled with glass vases, and then a ring of keys was being pressed into her hand. Her fingers clenched around it before she frowned and opened her mouth to ask what they were for.

  “Here are the keys. The brass one opens the front door here—sometimes it sticks, so make sure to double check it when you close up. And this silver one is for the door that goes upstairs—I haven’t been up there in a while so it’s probably dusty, but besides that everything should be fine. Make yourself at home.” Ellie gathered her hair back with both hands, securing it in a ponytail, as Alexa gaped at her, open mouthed.

  “Ellie. Could you maybe explain a bit?” Alexa jangled the keys that she held. “Like maybe you could tell me why I need these?”

  Ellie’s forehead wrinkled with exasperation, the same look she’d had when Alexa had first seen her, back at the Boxtree. She was beginning to think that it might be the other woman’s perpetual expression.

  “What do you mean? I told you in the message I left at the hotel.” Looking around distractedly, Ellie reached behind the counter and grabbed a large purse.

  “All the message said was to come here as soon as I could,” Al
exa said slowly, alarm bells starting to shriek in her head. She was all too well acquainted with the signs of being maneuvered into something that she didn’t necessarily want. But knowing that still didn’t give her much defense against Ellie, who reminded her nothing so much as a steamroller.

  “Oh. Well.” Ellie slung the purse over her shoulder and, turning to face Alexa, arched an eyebrow.

  “My in-laws are snow-birding in Florida. If you can snowbird when you don’t have any snow.” Ellie snorted with derision. “Anyway, Gabe’s dad had a stroke. Nothing too serious, but his mom’s a mess, so we have to go retrieve them. I need someone I can trust to run the shop while we’re gone.”

  Oh, hell no. Alexa had just escaped one trap. She was not about to be led right into another.

  “I really don’t think—” Alexa started to speak but Ellie was in constant motion, checking the thermostat on the wall, the cash register, something behind the back counter. Alexa exhaled with frustration, finally catching the other woman by the arm, the same way Ellie had her. “Can’t you just close the shop?”

  Ellie huffed out a laugh, then gestured to the cooler door. Through the glass panes, Alexa could see buckets upon buckets of rainbow blooms.

  “I pay a lot of money for my weekly shipment, and it’s not like it is inventory that can hold. If I don’t sell them, they die, and I take a big loss.” Nodding to emphasize her point, she smiled in what Alexa imagined Ellie thought of as an encouraging smile, though it had more than a hint of grimace. “I need someone I trust to run it.”

  “Surely you have a friend. Someone else,” Alexa blurted out. This—this was not what she’d come here for. For a single heart-wrenching moment, Alexa wondered if Ellie had only contacted her because she needed help, but she quickly dismissed the notion.

  That would be a lot of trouble to go to, an elaborate story, just to get someone to watch her shop for a few days.

  Ellie’s face fell in the wake of Alexa’s question, just for a single moment before she was again smiling, though the expression was a cold one. “No. No, I really don’t have anyone else.”