Leftover Love Read Free Page A

faint laugh of relief, Layne realized they were talking about two different Martha Turners. “The woman I’m looking for is much younger than that.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t know her.”
    “Thank you very much.” There was a faint tremor in her hand when she hung up the phone.
    For one sheer instant she had thought the search was over. The reality of it left her shaken. It took some mental sorting to come to grips with the problem. Over the last eight years that she had been looking for her natural mother, the expectation of finding her had not been there. Each time Layne searched, it had always been for a clue that might lead her somewhere else. Even on this trip, she had not come to Valentine to find her mother, although that had been her professed intent. She hadn’t really believed she would succeed. At this rate she’d findonly what she believed she would find—another dead end. This trip might only be the first leg of a longer one, but Layne was determined that it would not end as the others had.
    When Layne ventured out of the motel, she was bundled in her winter parka. There was a small café across the street. She waited until the traffic had cleared, then darted across. The café was filled with a noon crowd. Layne managed to shoulder her way through the throng of cowboy hats and boots and sheepskin-lined or quilted jackets to an empty counter stool.
    An aproned woman in her fifties slid a water glass in front of Layne, along with some napkin-wrapped silverware. “What’ll you have?”
    “Just a hamburger and some coffee.” Layne took off her mittens and shoved them inside the large pockets of her coat. She unbuttoned her parka but didn’t take it off, since she was sitting in a direct line with the front door. Each time it opened and closed, it sent a draft of frigid air over her.
    All around her there was talk of cattle and the outlook for the spring calf crop, along with frequent mention of the weather. An empty cup was set in front of her and filled with coffee from a glass pot. A cowboy-clad man beside Layne pushed his cup forward for a refill, and the waitress obliged.
    “It’s busy,” Layne observed.
    “Always is at noon,” the waitress said with a nod. “But the rush is over. The noise will start quieting down once their food’s set in front of them.”
    Twenty minutes later the waitress’s prediction proved accurate as the loud hum of voices was reduced. The clatter of silverware became dominant, punctuated by the odd, continuing conversation.
    “See what I mean?” The waitress smiled faintly as she stopped to refill Layne’s coffee cup.
    “I do.” Layne returned the smile. “Are you from here?” It was her nature to be inquisitive, so the purpose of her visit to Valentine only added importance to the answers.
    “Born and raised right here in these Sand Hills,” the older woman admitted with an air of pride.
    “You wouldn’t happen to know a woman named Martha Turner, would you? She moved here about twenty years ago, and we’ve lost touch with her since then.” Even though it was a relatively small community, Layne knew it would be blind luck if she stumbled across someone who knew or had known her natural mother. Still, she had to ask.
    “Twenty years ago?” An eyebrow was lifted in a skeptical arch. “That’s a long time.” But the waitress paused to think. “Martha, you say her name was.” She shook her head, as if the name was meaningless. “Who was she married to?”
    “She wasn’t married.”
    “Well, if she was here very long, that all changed. A woman doesn’t stay single in this town for long. I oughta know. I’ve been married twice.” She paused again. “Now if that’s the case, let’s see … there is Martha Atherton, but she was a Pitts girl before she got married. And Martha Hoverson, but she’s too young. Marge Blyson, but her given name is Margaret, not Martha. I just can’t think of anybody,” she said to Layne. “It could be she got