Welcome to Last Chance (A Place to Call Home Book #1)

Cathleen Armstrong

Description

The red warning light on her car dashboard drove Lainie Davis to seek help in the tiny town of Last Chance, New Mexico. But as she encounters the people who make Last Chance their home, it's her heart that is flashing bright red warning lights. These people are entirely too nice, too accommodating, and too interested in her personal life for Lainie's comfort--especially since she's on the run and hoping to slip away unnoticed.Yet in spite of herself, Lainie finds that she is increasingly drawn in to the dramas of small town life. An old church lady who always has room for a stranger. A handsome bartender with a secret life. A single mom running her diner and worrying over her teenage son. Could Lainie actually make a life in this little hick town? Or will the past catch up to her even here in the middle of nowhere?Cathleen Armstrong pens a debut novel filled with complex, lovable characters making their way through life and relationships the best they can. Her evocative descriptions, observational humor, and talent at rendering romantic scenes will earn her many fans.

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 août 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441242570
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

© 2013 by Cathleen Armstrong
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2013
Ebook corrections 12.10.2015, 08.08.2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-4257-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
“Cathleen Armstrong packs a lot into her debut novel: the suspense of danger lurking on the edges of Lainie Davis’s life, a touch of can-this-really-go-anywhere romance, small-town friendships becomin g like family, and the disappointment of family being less than ideal. With an eclectic cast of characters and well-developed plot, Welcome to Last Chance pulls the reader in from the first blink of the warning light on the dashboard of Lainie’s car to the happily-ever-after waiting at the end of her last chance to get her life right.”
— Beth K. Vogt , author of Catch a Falling Star and Wish You Were Here
“An outstanding debut novel! Welcome to Last Chance gives us a warm but never sentimental view of small-town life, sprinkled with characters full of quirks and faults—all seen through the eyes of a tough but fragile heroine. Cathleen Armstrong has crafted a story to cherish.”
— Sarah Sundin , award-winning author of With Every Letter
“With equal parts hope, charm, and tender faith, Cathleen Armstrong spins a tale as warm and welcoming as a roadside café on a dusty highway. Exit from the fast lane and visit Last Chance. It’s a place you won’t soon forget.”
— Lisa Wingate , bestselling and award-winning author of Firefly Island and Blue Moon Bay
For Ed, who never doubted for a moment
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Endorsements
Dedication
Acknowledgments
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Epilogue
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Acknowledgments
W riting, it is said, is a solitary pursuit. If that were the whole truth, you wouldn’t be holding this book in your hand, because it never would have been written.
My never-ending thanks to my first critique group, nonfiction writers all, who would settle in to hear my story like kids at bedtime. Loving thanks to dear friend Pat Sikora who applied prayer, encouragement, and outright nagging in equal parts when my feet would drag. The brainstorming with Lauraine Snelling and the reunioners helped me through the hard parts, and the accountability of the BIC coffee shop crowd—Dineen Miller, Shelley Adina, Kristin Billerbeck, and Camy Tang—kept me writing when I wanted to wander. Massive hugs to Katie Vorreiter and Kathi Lipp, who walked with me every step of this journey. I am absolutely indebted to Marcy Wedeymuller, who went over the manuscript with a fine-toothed comb before I ever submitted it, saying, “Drop this,” “Beef this up,” and “This made me cry.” And if it hadn’t been for my agent, Karen Solem, who took a chance on me and my manuscript, and the team at Revell who believed in my story, there would be no book. My deepest gratitude to each and all.
1

T he warning light, some sort of car part with a circle around it, flashed on sometime after midnight. At least, Lainie Davis guessed it was that late. The clock on the dashboard had read 5:11 since she drove the car off the Long Beach lot three days earlier and headed east. Each mile driven was one mile farther away from Nick and the shadowy world of drugs and dealers that was turning him into a frightening stranger. Now, as she was daring to breathe again, that red light mocked her. “Really thought you were going to make it this time, didn’t you? Nice try.”
“Nope, you’re not doing this.” Lainie swallowed fear with a practiced gulp and kept her voice light. “It’s just a little electrical short, that’s all.” She gave the glass a sharp rap with her knuckle. The light flickered and went out.
“That’s more like it. I knew you were fine.”
Long ago Lainie had learned the value of a little sweet talk, and about the time the air conditioner gave out, forty-five miles east of Palm Springs, she had begun crooning to her ancient Mustang. And until now, less than two hundred miles from her destination, her cajoling had kept things running smoothly.
“Hang on till we get to El Paso, baby, and I promise you’ll never have to go anywhere again. But you’ve got to get me there by morning, no discussion.”
She caught her long hair with one hand and twisted it up, letting the hot wind rushing through her open windows blow across her damp neck. “Sheesh, it’s got to be nearly a hundred out here. Does it ever cool off?”
The light flickered and came right back on. “C’mon. Off.” She slapped the instrument panel with the flat of her hand.
This time it didn’t even flicker.
“Don’t do this to me.” Lainie’s voice rose above the roar of the wind. “You can’t break down and leave me stranded out here a hundred miles from nowhere.”
The light stayed on, but the old car seemed to show no other changes.
“Okay. Deep breath. We’re going to be just fine. You’re as likely to have something wrong with your light-turner-onner as with your engine, right? We’ll just take it easy.”
She slowed a bit and patted the dash.
“You know, if anyone could hear me, they’d say I was nuts. And if the radio worked, we could both listen to somebody else’s voice.” She peered into the darkness rushing past. “Man, it’s empty out here.”
She glanced at the instrument panel with its glowing red light. The needle was to the hot side of center, but not all that much. Maybe it had always been there? She dropped her speed by another five miles per hour and pulled into the slow lane. Just ahead, on the other side of a barbed wire fence, a small sign read “L AST C HANCE FOR F OOD —22 M ILES .”
“Well, that’s scary.” Lainie smiled in spite of herself. “Last chance till when? Doomsday?”
She checked the temperature gauge again and her smile faded. It was definitely showing hotter than it had been. She lowered her speed five more miles per hour and drove another fifteen minutes before looking down. She began to regret tossing her cheap cell phone in a trash can on the way out of town. At the time it made her feel bold and free; she was cutting all ties with her old life. But now she would give anything to have a phone at her fingertips.
The lights of an approaching semi loomed up behind her until her car was filled with their glare. At the last possible moment, the truck swerved around, the long, angry blast of its horn fading into the night with the taillights. Lainie stuck her fist out the window. “Jerk.”
To her right, another small sign read “L AST C HANCE FOR G AS —10 M ILES .”
“Just ten more miles, baby. There’ll be someone there who can help us, even if we have to wait till morning to talk to him. Just don’t quit on me out here.”
The engine had never been quiet, and driving with the windows open made the interior yet noisier, but even with the sound of the wind and the roar of the passing eighteen-wheelers, Lainie heard the knocking when it began under the hood.
She blinked back tears. “Please, please, please.”
She didn’t know if she was begging the car for a few more miles, imploring the gas station to appear on the horizon, or beseeching whatever god looked after exhausted women driving broken-down cars through the hot desert night, but she repeated the word like a mantra. “Please, please, please.”
The small sign said “L AST C HANCE FOR R EST —E XIT N OW .” Lainie changed her “pleases” to “thank-yous” and pulled off the interstate onto a two-lane road that disappeared into the darkness ahead.
“Now what? Where’s the gas station?” Lainie looked around in growing panic, but she could see nothing, not even a way back onto the interstate. She could only drive forward, and the needle in the temperature gauge was nosing its way into the red zone.
Without the noise of the interstate traffic to muffle it, the knocking in the engine sounded as if it would pound its way through the hood, and the headlights seemed to be fading as well.
“Keep going, keep going, keep going.” Lainie couldn’t hear her own whisper over the noise.
Out of the night, barely illuminated by the last glow of the fading headlights, a small square sign appeared. “W ELCOME TO L AST C HANCE , P OP . 743, Y OUR L AST C HANCE FOR THE G OOD L IFE .” On cue, the engine sputtered, wheezed, and died, and the car coasted silently to a stop on the empty road.
“No.” Lainie began with a whisper and rapidly rose to full volume. “No, no, no! ”
So much for sweet talk. She bounded from the car and heaved the door shut with all her strength. The resounding slam was satisfying, but Lainie was just getting started.
“You did it, didn’t you?” She kicked the already dented door, then kicked it again.
Lainie slammed both palms down on the hood and jerked her hands away from the searing metal with a cry of pain. She sank to the ground in the dim glimmer of the dying headlights. “Stupid car. Stupid, stupid car. Stupid.” She threw her head back and howled her anguish to the silent sky.
Finally, frenzy of wretchedness spent, she pulled herself to her feet and slumped against the bumper. “Now what?” She was weary, almost as if she had walked all the way from Long Beach to this deserted corner of desolation. “Wait till morning, I guess. Someone’s got to come by here sometime.”
Lainie slid behind the whe