My Name Is Grace: Weber, Texas, #1

By Carol Braswell

It’s dark, rainy, and cold. A hard rail pushes into her cheek, leaving an indentation. A loud whistle penetrates the night, startling her awake. Shifting rocks puncture her elbow and knees when she tries to sit up.
A light flashes in the distance as the whistle sounds again and the light moves closer. Her eyes widen. She’s laying on a railroad track and there is a train barreling toward her. She must move.
The young woman rolled away from the tracks just in time and set out to learn her identity. She has no knowledge of how she got on the tracks, who beat her up, or her own name until she finds the necklace hanging around her neck.
Grace follows the tracks to the small town of Weber, Texas where she encounters the small town sheriff, Chris Wallace. The sheriff sets out to learn not only her identity but who had abused her. What he learned not only surprises him but it devastates Grace. The truth is so hard to bare she has to see for herself and find the missing pieces of her life. A move she should have let Sheriff Wallace assist her with instead of confronting her attackers herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol Braswell
• Release date: Feb 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9780989889476

Book preview

Chapter 1

Her fingers ran along the cold steel her cheek was stuck to. Her head pounded. A slow tremble penetrated through her skin and vibrated down to her toes. A sharp object pressed into her hip. When she tried to move, the object moved, and was replaced with another. She struggled to open her eyes that seemed to be glued shut.

A loud whistle pierced her ears. She pressed an elbow into the loose rock and tried to get up. Sharp stones punctured her skin. She winced. A long iron rail stretched as far as she could see. The sky seeped a slow drizzle as the loud whistle sounded again. A bright light appeared in the distance. A fast moving train was about to run her over. She had to move.

The train grew closer. She made an effort to get up, but every muscle in her body resisted. She rolled over the unyielding iron and tumbled down a steep hill. Her body splashed into water running through a ditch just as the train flew by. Her clothes soaked up the water, sending chills through her.

The woman rolled to one side and sat up. The dim light of dawn revealed torn jeans with dark stains surrounding the frayed areas. Her exposed skin had scratches, and tiny specks of blood had dried on the numerous wounds.

Where was she and how did she get here? She shivered, struggled to her feet, and wrapped her arms around her middle. Her boots were filled with water. The steep hill was a challenge. Red lights on the tail-end of the train disappeared around a curve into the dense forest. There were no houses, no roads, and no sign of life other than the red light of the fleeting train. She ran a hand across her face and wiped the rain out of her eyes. She needed to find help. Her stomach churned at the thought of interacting with people. Why? Her soggy clothes weighed her down. She collapsed onto the rail, took off her boots, and dumped the water out.

She pressed her fingers to her temples and tried to sooth her aching head. Her hands hung in her tangled hair and she cringed when her fingers came in contact with a large bump. Blood covered her fingers. What happened? Nothing made sense. How did she get here in the first place? Where had she come from? How did she get the bruises and cuts?

She pulled her legs up and laid her head on her knees. Something bumped against her leg. She curled cold fingers around a delicate chain hanging around her neck. The word Grace hung at the bottom. It didn’t sound familiar. Could that be her name? She covered her face. Why couldn’t she remember?

She pressed her palms to her thighs to get up and felt a bulge in the right pocket of her jeans. Reaching inside, she pulled out a roll of bills secured with a bank band. There wasn’t anything else that might help her figure out this situation. Where did the money come from? Something she had saved, maybe. So, her name might be Grace and she had money. It didn’t help calm the fear surging through her. A sudden movement in the dense brush startled her. She ran down the tracks, after the train. There must be a town along this track and she had to find it.

Her breath came in pants. She had to stop. Her lungs screamed for air as her heart pounded against her chest. The clouds opened up and the rain stung exposed skin. It plastered her hair to her head. She had to find shelter from this storm. She ducked her head, shivered, hugged her middle, and continued to follow the tracks.

Who should she go to for help? Police? Chills ran over her. No, not the authorities. She didn’t trust the law? How could she figure out whom to go to for help if she didn’t trust anyone?

The tracks went on forever. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She needed shelter, water, and food. Her stomach growled. The rain started coming down in buckets. She saw an image up ahead next to the tracks. When she drew closer, she realized it was an old house. The roof had been patched, a cracked window was held together with Duct tape, and the small porch would surely fall with the next big wind. Grace crossed the tracks and rushed toward the building. She prayed it was empty so she could take shelter until the rain stopped. There were no lights on inside. The steps squeaked when she stepped up. A long black coat hung next to a screen that had come loose from its hinge at the top and hung at a precarious angle. She glanced to the side yard and spotted men’s overalls thrown over a fence. A dog barked. Grace grabbed the coat and hopped off the porch. A light appeared in a front window. Her heart accelerated and guilt overcame her. She didn’t steal. Rushing back up the steps, she dug in her pocket and released two of the bills she had found earlier. After pushing them onto the nail that had held the coat, she jumped off the porch and ran.

She reached the tracks, climbed over the rails, and dropped to the ground on the other side. From her hiding spot, she peeked over the top. The door of the house opened and light flooded the front yard. She ducked her head and listened. A few seconds later the light went out and the door slammed. She climbed back on the track and ran as fast as she could, leaving the house behind.

Her body ached and her head wanted to explode. She topped a hill and saw a cluster of lights in the distance. Her hopes surged. Thank God. Civilization.

Behind her, the sun’s reflection tried to peek through the dark clouds. It would be daylight soon. That thought gave her energy and she hurried toward the lights. Her eyes focused on a small sign beside the tracks. Weber City Limits, population 2,046. Everyone knew their neighbors in small towns. Maybe someone would recognize her and this mystery could be solved. She didn’t know if that was good or bad.

She tripped on the cracked sidewalk while reading the different business signs along the narrow street and caught herself before falling. Nothing looked familiar. All the mom and pop stores were closed. She had no idea what day of the week it was. A clock on the door of the small diner read five-thirty. It was one of those towns where the sidewalks roll up at dark. The town would be waking up soon.

Grace stopped at a gas station and found the bathroom door unlocked. Her stomach rolled as she stepped inside the nasty room. It hadn’t seen a cleaning in months. She gagged as the musty odor assaulted her nose. She turned the faucet on, half expecting no water. Clear liquid ran into the dirty sink. She splashed water on her face and caught a glimpse of herself in the cloudy mirror above the sink and gasped.

Purple bruises circled both eyes; her nose had bled, and dried blood appeared on her upper lip. Her dark blonde hair clung to her scalp and stuck to a small scratch on the side of her face. She slipped out of the jacket she had taken and found more bruises on her arms. How they got there didn’t jar her memory.

She cupped her hand under the faucet and drank her fill. She cleaned up as best she could and slipped the jacket back on, covering the bruises. After leaving the bathroom, Grace continued down the street to the diner. They wouldn’t open for another thirty minutes. She walked farther, passing the sheriff’s office, a hardware store, and a drug store. On the opposite side of the street a sign flashed open in a convenience store window.

She crossed the street and entered the store. The old man behind the counter looked up when the bell rang.

‘Mornin’, he greeted her. His eyes narrowed. New in town?

She didn’t answer but went to the back, grabbed a cola from the cooler, and picked up a package of peanut butter crackers. She set the items on the counter and handed him one of the bills from her pocket.

Do you have a newspaper I can purchase?

He rang up her purchases, bagged them, and counted her change. There’s a box outside, by the door.

Grace took the change and stuffed it in her front pocket with the other bills. Thank you. She picked up the plastic bag and left, stopping to buy a paper. She went back to the diner and sat on the bench outside the front door. She popped one of the crackers in her mouth and opened the paper. She was totally engrossed in locating anything about a missing girl and failed to hear the footsteps approaching. They stopped next to her.

Beth doesn’t open for another twenty minutes if that’s what you’re waiting on.

She lowered the newspaper, and her eyes settled on the black boots. Her gaze followed the khaki pants up the long legs to a man with one hand on his hip and a Stetson shading is eyes. He grinned as he waited for an answer. He had a kind face and when he tipped his hat back with one finger, she saw the smiling honey gold eyes. His shirt had Wallace written over one pocket and a badge attached to the other. Her heart stopped, and her hands shook. She looked both ways to find an escape. She had nowhere to go. He represented the law. She didn’t want to have a conversation with the law. She had to come up with something, but having no memory made it difficult. She pressed her back against the bench and waited.

When she didn’t answer, he shifted his weight to the other boot and asked, Are you passing through or visiting someone?

Passing, she managed.

How long do you plan to stay? The old bench voiced its objection when he sat in the empty spot next to her.

I don’t know. I’m waiting for someone. She knew instantly that it hadn’t been the right thing to say.

Maybe if you tell me who you’re waiting for I might be able to help you out.

I don’t need help. She popped another cracker in her mouth and swigged on her cola.

One eyebrow rose. Does this person have a name?

The cracker dried out her mouth and the cola didn’t help. Sort of.

What does that mean?

Why all the questions?

He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked up and down the street. This is a small town, and everyone knows everyone else. I’m Sheriff Wallace, but everyone calls me Chris, and it’s my business to ask questions. I’ll try to help you find your friend if I can. He looked sideways at her.

Like I said, I don’t need any help. I just want to read my paper and get something to eat as soon as the diner opens. She turned a page of the newspaper, pretending to read. Why didn’t he just go away?

The handsome sheriff wasn’t giving up that easily. What’s your name?

She dropped the paper to her lap and glared at him. Are you curious or suspicious?

His lips curled up on one side into a half smile. Both.

Her hand found the necklace around her neck, and she wrapped her fingers around it. Grace.

Does Grace have a last name?

She laid the paper on the bench and went to rise. Her legs didn’t hold and she fell to her knees.

He grabbed her arm and helped her back on the bench. I think I need to take you over to see Doc Carter. You have an awful lot of bruises and it looks like a nasty cut on your head. It might need stitches. How did you get the two black eyes, anyway?

I ran into a door.

He fingered the lapel of the black coat she wore. That coat looks just like one that Odis Flannery wears all the time.

Grace glanced down at the coat. She hadn’t paid that much attention to it until now. It had dirt and oil stains all over and it smelled like a gas station. She remained silent.

Maybe we should go to the office and discuss your injuries and the blood on your clothes. He stood and rested one hand on the gun on his hip.

She cocked her head and looked up at him. Before I eat?

He chuckled. Don’t worry. I’ll have you back before the diner opens.

Grace stood on shaky legs. Are you arresting me?

He motioned for her to walk in the direction of the sheriff’s office. No. Just want to ask you a few questions, and it will be more private in my office. Besides, the doc lives next door and we can get him to check you out.

The fresh, spicy scent of Axe body wash wafted to her. Somehow, that made him less threatening. The scent was familiar. They reached the office, and he held the door open. The cool air rushed over her damp clothes. She shivered and pulled the black coat tighter. He stopped at the coffee pot, poured two cups, and handed one to her. She wrapped her cold fingers around the warm cup and followed him into an office in the back.

Have a seat. He disappeared into another room and returned with a first-aid kit. He reached for her head, and she leaned away.

What are you doing?

I want to check that cut on your head. I still think you need stitches.

No doctor, she blurted and tried to stand, but he rested his hand on her shoulder.

He propped against the edge of the desk and stared at her. What are you afraid of, Grace? Why don’t you tell me what happened to you? I can help.

Tears sprang into her eyes. She swiped at them. Why was she crying? There was no reason, or was there? She held her head up. Nothing happened. I’m just tired and hungry.

Can I at least check your head?

She nodded. He took a bottle of peroxide and cotton from the kit and swabbed her head. She winced.

Sorry. It’s not as bad as I thought. You don’t need stitches. I’ve got it clean, and it should heal on its own. Take your coat off so I can see your arms.

Why?

One eyebrow rose. So I can doctor any other cuts you may have. There’s way too much blood on your shirt for the head wound to have made.

Grace slipped out of the duster and laid it across her jeans. Chill bumps ran down her arms.

You’re cold. This won’t take but a minute, and you can put the coat back on. He cleaned several cuts and scratches. You have a lot of bruises. How’d you get them?

I fell.

He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. Grace, you have all the signs of a woman who has been abused. Two black eyes, blow to the head, cuts and other bruises. If someone has hurt you, all you have to do is press charges and I’ll lock them up. You can trust me. I’m trying to help. All you need to do is tell me what happened, and I’ll take it from there.

Grace hung her head. She couldn’t tell him what she didn’t know. Her head hurt and the soreness in her body hindered her movement. I don’t know. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The room was so quiet she didn’t know if he was still there. She ventured a glance, and he watched her. His honey gold eyes bore into her. She believed he could help. He wasn’t the enemy. But who was? She looked at him and repeated, I don’t know.

Chapter 2

How could anyone abuse women like this? It turned his stomach to think what she must have gone through. Even though her clothes were not in the best of shape, they were high quality, but she was in dire need of a shower. Dried grass and leaves clung to her long sandy blonde hair and even the bruises didn’t take away from her natural beauty. Her tattered clothes couldn’t hide the slim waist and taut breasts. She must be a tough cookie in order to survive an attacker or walk away from a car wreck. Her face was void of makeup and flawless. There were no rings or jewelry other than the necklace around her neck. A small tan line circled the third finger of her left hand. Who was she?

Are you telling me you don’t know who you are or where you came from?

She hesitated before nodding.

Why don’t you start by telling me what you remember, and we’ll work from there. He took a yellow tablet from his drawer and sat behind the desk. Where did you wake up? What was around you? Any person, houses, vehicles, lights?

Grace spent the next twenty minutes telling him what little she remembered. A faraway look reflected in her pale blue eyes.

Chris laid down his pen when she stopped talking and opened a drawer. He retrieved a camera. I want to take your picture and put it on the computer to see if anyone has reported you missing.

It surprised him that she agreed. He took the picture and inserted the memory card into his computer. He typed a note, uploaded the picture, and printed a copy.

Who will get it?

Surrounding law offices and the FBI. I’ve sent it to the Dallas and Houston sheriff’s offices. He removed the picture and put it in his desk. Now, let’s go get some breakfast. I’m famished.

He took her arm and led her to the front door. She stopped, lowered her head, and grabbed the door jam. I don’t think— She collapsed.

Chris knelt beside her. He turned to Deputy Hamilton, who managed the front desk until Sherry, his other deputy, arrived. Call Doctor Carter and tell him I’m bringing a sick girl to him. He slipped one arm around her back, and the other under her legs. He lifted her and rushed out the door. Doctor Carter’s receptionist opened the front door and Chris carried her to the back, laying her on an examination table.

What’s wrong with her? Doctor Carter asked.

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