Leftover Love Read Free

curious about you as you are about her.”
    With an early start the following morning, Layne made good time on the drive to Valentine. The roads and the weather cooperated. The only slick patches were the early morning frost on the bridges, and there wasn’t a cloud in the diamond-blue sky. Her only complaint was the unrelenting glare of the sun off the ice-crusted snow covering the countryside, and a pair of dark glasses had alleviated that.
    After the highway had left most of the towns behind to thread into the Sand Hills, she seemed lost in a glittering world of blue and white—the unrelieved blue of the sky and the white of the snow-coated hills. Except for the gray ribbon of the road to point the way, there were few signs of civilization for long stretches of miles.
    Her few ventures into the Nebraska Sand Hills had not taken her into their northern end. When the first buildings of Valentine poked their roofs against the skyline, she released a breath of relief. Although it was lunchtime, she decided to check into a motel first and freshen up before looking for a place to eat. She pulled into a small, clean-looking motel.
    Not bothering with a jacket, Layne stepped out into the brilliant sunlight, which offered little warmth to take the chill off the brittle cold. She hurried quickly inside theheated building, her breath making smoky little vapor clouds.
    A bell rang overhead when she entered, but it was several minutes before an elderly man came shuffling out of a back room. Wispy tufts of white hair made futile attempts to refute the fact that he was nearly bald.
    “What can I do for you, miss?” His glance was bright with curiosity.
    “I’d like a room, please.” Layne stopped rubbing her sweatered arms to pick up the pen and fill out the registration card he set on the counter.
    “We don’t get many guests, especially this time of year, unless the weather’s bad and motorists find themselves stranded. Oh, I suppose we get our share of cattle buyers and grain dealers—and the salesmen,” he observed talkatively. “Are you here on business or pleasure?”
    “A bit of both.” Layne hedged away from a direct answer.
    “From Omaha, huh?” he said, looking at the address she’d listed on the card. “Did you just drive in?”
    “Yes.” She decided to be the one asking the questions. “Do you know a woman named Martha Turner? She’d be somewhere in her middle forties.”
    “Martha Turner,” he repeated thoughtfully. “There’s some Turners that live around here, but I can’t say that I remember any of ’em were named Martha. You might want to check the telephone book.”
    “I will.” Layne nodded, mentally reminding herself not to overlook the obvious.
    “She a friend of yours?” He passed her a room key.
    “In a way.” She took the key and waved to him as she headed for the door. “Thanks.”
    Only half a dozen Turners were listed in the local telephone directory. Even though it was a long shot, Layne decided that lunch could wait until she’d made the callsfrom her room. The first five all disclaimed any knowledge of a woman named Martha. As the sixth phone was ringing, Layne was suddenly frozen by the thought—what if the sixth person said yes? What would she do? What would she say?
    There was a moment of panic when a voice answered. Her heart was racing like a steam engine, almost choking off her breath. “I’m … I’m trying to locate a Miss Martha Turner,” she finally managed to get out.
    There was a small pause before the voice replied—a man’s voice. “Well, you’re a little late. The only Miss Martha Turner I knew died ten years ago.”
    “Died? But … that can’t be.” It had never occurred to Layne that her natural mother might have passed away in the intervening years. The possibility left her stunned.
    “Well, you couldn’t expect her to live forever,” the grumpy voice retorted. “As it is, that old maid lived to be ninety-three.”
    “Nin—” With a