Something More by Janet Dailey Page A

woman’s voice. Somewhere a bird sang, its cheery trill providing another indication that day had dawned.
    Not wanting to believe it, Angie pulled the covers off her head and opened one eye a crack. All the windows in the camper were closed, but they couldn’t hold out the invasion of daylight, only dim its intensity.
    It can’t be morning yet, she thought with a protesting groan.
    A second rap-rap came from the camper door, this time tentative in its lightness. The voice echoed it.
    â€œMiss Sommers?”
    With a brief flash of recognition, Angie realized the voice belonged to Ima Jane Evans. Part of her wondered what on earth the woman was doing knocking on her door so early in the morning. As much as she longed to go back to sleep, she couldn’t bring herself to ignore the summons.
    â€œJust a minute,” she called in a sleep-slurred voice.
    Fumbling with the covers, she slid to the edge of the bed, tucked up high in the camper’s cab-over section. Careful to avoid the low ceiling, Angie swung her legs out of the bunk and, more or less, lowered her feet onto the cushioned bench, one of a pair that flanked the camper’s built-in table. From there, she stepped to the floor and gave the hem of her T-shirt nightie a tug to make sure she was decently covered.
    Still groggy with sleep, she pushed the tangle of her curly auburn mane away from her face and half staggered to the door, located at the rear of the camper. She opened it a crack and instantly recoiled from the blast of bright sunlight, throwing up a hand to shield her eyes from its harsh glare.
    â€œOh, dear, I did wake you, didn’t I?” Ima Jane guessed at once. “I’m so sorry.”
    â€œThat’s all right.” Angie continued to use her hand as a sun visor, blinking as she peered through finger slits at the woman on the ground. Belatedly she wondered, “What time is it, anyway?”
    â€œA little after nine o’clock.”
    â€œNine?!” Her mouth remained open in shock. By nature, she was an early riser, usually up with the sun. The last time she’d stayed in bed this late had been back in her college days after she’d been up most of the previous night cramming for finals. “I never sleep this late,” she finally murmured, a remnant of disbelief in her voice.
    â€œObviously you were very tired,” Ima Jane concluded.
    â€œObviously.” But Angie thought it was more likely a form of letdown after all the tension and excitement of getting here. “What was it you wanted?”
    A big smile lit the woman’s face. “I came to invite you to have breakfast with us.”
    Breakfast. She hadn’t even had that vital first cup of coffee yet. “That’s kind of you.”
    â€œGood. Griff said to tell you he’ll have it on the table in twenty minutes. The front door’s open and the coffee’s hot. Just walk right in as soon as you’re ready.” With a farewell wave, Ima Jane headed back to the bar and grill, leaving Angie staring blankly after her, trying to recall when she had accepted the invitation.
    The promise of hot coffee ultimately galvanized Angie into action. Foregoing a shower to conserve the supply of fresh water in the camper’s holding tank, she washed the sleep from her face, brushed her teeth, and threw on a pair of jeans and a soft yellow T-shirt. After combing the snarls from her hair, she pulled it back and secured it at the nape of her neck with a yellow scrunchie to match her top. Makeup she kept to a bare minimum, a touch of mascara and a hint of lipstick. In record time, even for her, Angie swung out of the camper and crossed the empty parking lot to the bar and grill.
    Silence greeted her when she walked in. After the noise and hubbub of last night’s crowd, it seemed unnatural, not a soul in sight. Feeling like an intruder, she hesitated.
    â€œHello? I’m here,” she called.
    One of the doors