He stepped to her so quickly she didn’t have a chance to react.

His arm encircled her waist. He pulled her to him, his mouth dropping to hers.

The kiss took her even more by surprise. It was filled with passion and yearning and possession.

And when it ended, he pulled back to look in her eyes. “Please give me a second chance.”

She could do nothing more than nod, her heart a thunder in her chest as he slipped her hand into his large one and they walked across the street like that. She knew the others would be watching from the store-front window, speculating, but she didn’t care. His kiss had warmed her all over and his hand felt so good, warm, lightly calloused, strong.

He drove her out to his ranch, touching her cheek or her hand or her arm occasionally on the way as if afraid she might bolt.

BJ Daniels wrote her first book after a career as an award-winning newspaper journalist and author of thirty-seven published short stories. That first book, Odd Man Out, received a 4½ star review from Romantic Times BOOKreviews and went on to be nominated for Best Intrigue for that year. Since then she has won numerous awards, including a career achievement award for romantic suspense and numerous nominations and awards for best book.

Daniels lives in Montana with her husband, Parker, and two springer spaniels, Spot and Jem. When she isn’t writing, she snowboards, camps, boats and plays tennis. Daniels is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Thriller Writers, Kiss of Death and Romance Writers of America.

To contact her, write to: BJ Daniels, PO Box 1173, Malta, MT 59538, USA or e-mail her at bjdaniels@mtintouch. net. Check out her web page at www.bjdaniels.com.

Second Chance
Cowboy

by

BJ Daniels

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Many thanks to my good friend Lynn Kinnaman for not

only encouraging me to write this book, but for giving

me the ending and making us both cry.

Chapter One

Friday, 2:43 p.m.

Charlotte Evans was already late for her doctor’s appointment when she looked up and saw a silver SUV blocking the narrow road into town.

The hood of the SUV was up. No sign of the driver.

“Great,” Charlotte muttered as she braked to a stop. She should have taken the main road. But, as was her habit, she preferred taking the shortcut into town even though it was more rugged. Normally it was faster. Less chance of getting behind a tractor or a doddering old farmer in a beatup pickup or cowboys moving a herd of cattle.

She considered turning around. But the barrow pits on both sides of the road were deep and muddy from last night’s rain, the road too narrow and steep here above the creek—and, in her condition, an insane idea. There were enough crazy people in her family as it was.

She waited for a moment, motor running. It was one of those hot July days, the Montana sky wide and blue, only a few clouds dotting the horizon. She had her window down, since her old car didn’t have air-conditioning. The hot summer air was making her sweat. She hated to sweat.

Still no sign of the driver. She beeped her horn.

A hand waved a hello from under the hood.

“Terrific,” Charlotte said under her breath and shut off her engine. How long was this going to take?

It was hard enough living so far from town, let alone getting herself behind the wheel eight months pregnant.

She really didn’t need this. To make matters worse, on the way to Whitehorse she’d started having contractions.

It would be just her luck to have this baby beside the road. Somehow that might be fitting, she thought. She just hoped the driver of the SUV knew how to deliver a baby.

Opening her car door, she maneuvered her ungainly belly from behind the steering wheel and got out. She told herself she would never have gotten pregnant if she’d known even half of the things that were going to happen to her body. If only.

Slamming her car door, she waddled toward the SUV, cursing under her breath.

A head appeared as the driver leaned out from the front of the car. “Sorry, didn’t hear you drive up,” the female driver called. “Had my head stuck under the hood.” The head disappeared again.

Charlotte wondered how things could get worse. She just hoped this woman knew what she was doing under there.

At least if the driver had been a man, there might be a chance he could get the car moved out of the way so she could get to town.

She stopped for a moment as another contraction took her breath away. She remembered her doctor saying something about false labor. She hoped that was what this was. Maybe she should have read even one of the books her mother kept buying her about labor and delivery, Lamaze, breast feeding and child rearing.

The last book really was a kick, since her mother had done such a bang-up job with her three, Charlotte thought uncharitably. Actually, being pregnant had made her wonder how her mother had gone through it three times much less raised three kids alone.

As Charlotte waddled the rest of the way up to the front of the SUV, she saw that the woman was teetering on the bumper as she leaned under the hood to work on the engine—wearing a pair of latex gloves, of all things.

“It just quit running,” the woman said, looking up. She was at least fifteen years older than Charlotte, with brown hair and eyes and a look of privilege about her. Charlotte would have hated her on sight except that the woman had a smudge of grease on her cheek and she was almost as pregnant as Charlotte herself.

The woman smiled. “Know anything about cars?”

She’d taken an auto mechanics course last year in high school, but she hadn’t paid any attention. She shook her head with a silent groan. Apparently this could get worse. “Did you call AAA or one of the local garages in town?”

“No cell phone coverage out here.”

“I really need to get to my doctor’s appointment,” Charlotte said. “If we could just move your car over a little, I think I can squeeze mine past. I can drive you into town and you can get someone to come back out with you to work on it.”

“I think I’ve got it fixed. Would you mind getting in and trying to start it while I jiggle this cable?”

Charlotte sighed. Just the thought of trying to climb into the huge SUV—She bent over a little, grimacing as she was hit with another contraction.

The woman was giving her a worried look. “Tell me you aren’t in labor.”

Charlotte held up her hand and breathed through the contraction. It felt so good when it stopped. “False labor.” She hoped.

“How far along are you?” the woman asked, studying her.

“Eight months.” The lie came so naturally. “You?”

“Seven. So how close are your contractions?”

Charlotte shrugged. “Not that close.”

“Your first baby?”

Charlotte nodded and felt the woman looking at her ring finger. “I’m separated from the father.” That was actually kind of true. “I’m older than I look.” Another lie.

“Must be difficult. Having a baby all by yourself.”

She had her mother and her worthless brother, but she didn’t mention that. She knew how pathetic it would sound. Even more pathetic if the woman knew the half of it.

“You can understand why I need to get into town to the doctor,” Charlotte said.

“Yes. We definitely need to see to you. But I don’t think it’s going to be a problem. Just pop behind the wheel and try to start the engine. This should at least allow us to get the car out of the way if nothing else. Neither of us is up to pushing it.”

The woman had a point. Although arguing was second nature to Charlotte, who’d been arguing for years. With her older sister. With her mother. With her brother. With herself.

But she wasn’t up to it right now, and the woman was right. She didn’t want to have to push the SUV out of the way and she doubted she could get past it anyway, as steep and unstable as the edge of the road was.

She opened the door of the pricey SUV and, with great effort, pulled herself up to slide behind the wheel. Her feet were a mile from the gas pedal.

“I need to move the seat forward,” she called as she bent over as best she could to look for a handle.

She felt the cool metal the moment it was jammed against her throat.

The pregnant thirtysomething driver of the SUV held a gun in her hand. It was so incongruous: this obviously wealthy pregnant woman with the expensive clothes, salon haircut and freshly manicured nails beneath latex gloves holding a gun on her.

It made no sense. That was probably why it didn’t register that she was in serious trouble until it was too late.

Chapter Two

Friday, 3:15 p.m.

At the Whitehorse Sewing Circle, the women gathered around the quilting frame were unusually quiet on this hot summer afternoon.

Normally they would have been abuzz with chatter. Instead they were sipping lemonade, eating the dainty little cookies Laci Cavanaugh had sent over, and smiling a lot—while busting at the seams to share the latest gossip the moment Pearl Cavanaugh left.

Pearl, whose mother had started the group too many years ago for most to remember, had a strict rule about gossip.

But Pearl hadn’t been coming for months since her stroke, and the group had taken to gossiping and quilting with a relish. Pearl had been living at the nursing home until recently. Now that she was better and mobile in her wheelchair, Titus had brought her home to stay.

She hadn’t quite gotten the knack of sewing with her left hand, but she tried hard. And there wasn’t anyone in the group who was going to say she couldn’t sew if she wanted to.

To a lot of people Pearl and Titus Cavanaugh were Old Town Whitehorse royalty. Both were feared—if not respected.

“Well, isn’t Pearl looking well,” said Alice Miller the moment Titus had wheeled his wife out the door.

It wasn’t until they heard the crunch of gravel as Titus left with his wife that Helene Merchant gave out a relieved sigh accompanied by a laugh and said, “I thought we were never going to get to visit.”

A few of the women laughed with her. Alice Miller, who always sided against gossip, pursed her lips but said nothing. She had tried since Pearl left to keep the women in line, but she was ninety and had given up, saving her energy for quilting.

The problem was, in Old Town Whitehorse there was always something to talk about. Even on a slow day there was always the Evans family.

Old Town was the site of the original Whitehorse. But when the railroad came through five miles to the north, by the Milk River, the town had moved and taken the name with it.

Some of the more hearty homesteaders had stayed in what was now called Old Town. They’d kept the original Whitehorse Cemetery—the name forged in a wrought-iron arch over the entrance—where many of their kin rested for eternity.

The Whitehorse Community Center, the one-room schoolhouse and a few houses were all that was left of the town. Titus Cavanaugh, Pearl’s husband, still performed church services at the center on Sundays and took care of hiring a schoolteacher for the school. He was as close to a mayor as Old Town had.

“Have you heard any more about Violet Evans?” Pamela Chambers asked in a whisper, as if the walls had ears.

“That crazy place she’s in gave her a job,” Helene said. “She’s working at a nurses’ station. The word is they’re going to let her out of the nuthouse and back on the streets. Doctors.”

“It scares me,” Muriel Brown said. “We all know how dangerous she is. Remember the summer all the cats disappeared? Violet always had that look in her eye from the time she was little.”

Even Alice Miller couldn’t argue the point.

“The other daughter—Charlotte? She’s about to have a baby any day,” Corky Mathews said. “How old is she anyway?”

“Eighteen, nineteen at the oldest,” Helene said. “Anyone heard who was responsible for fathering the baby?”

There was a general shake of heads. This had been a popular topic for months. “Could be anyone,” Helene said. “But you know what I heard at the Cut and Curl?”

The women all leaned in. Except for Alice Miller, who sometimes wished her hearing wasn’t as good as it was.

“It was some older man from out of town.” Helene nodded and went back to her stitching.

“Poor Arlene. You have to feel for her,” Muriel said. “Look how her children have turned out. Violet crazy, Charlotte in the family way and Bo, well, is he the most worthless young man you’ve ever seen? I wonder if Arlene will ever come back to the group.”

Looks were exchanged around the table, along with shrugs. Arlene did always have the latest gossip, but with Pearl returning now…

“Eve Bailey’s marrying the sheriff,” Alice Miller threw in, hoping to give the poor Evans family a break.

The conversation turned to weddings and the possibility of more babies. The Whitehorse Sewing Circle was famous for its quilts. For years the circle had made a quilt for every newborn.

“I saw the cutest pattern,” Pamela said, and the afternoon passed in a blur of talk of quilt patterns, material and—always a good standby—food and the latest recipe one of them had tried, as the group stitched away just as it had done for years.

Friday, 6:38 p.m.

ARLENE EVANS STARED at the image in the mirror and felt like crying. She’d changed clothes four times already. If she didn’t make up her mind and quickly, she was going to be late. Why had she accepted a date in the first place? She was too old to date.

When Hank Monroe had asked her out, she’d been so excited and surprised she hadn’t thought about the actual date part. But the reality set in the moment she went to buy something to wear.

For years she hadn’t given a thought to the way she looked. No one else had, either. Floyd, her former husband of too many years to count, had hardly given her a sideways glance. So she’d worn what any working ranch woman wore: an oversize long-sleeved Western shirt, jeans and boots. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress—and she’d bet neither could anyone else in the county.

Her brown hair was long, thick and straight as a stick—the same haircut she’d had in high school, which she trimmed herself when she remembered. Usually her hair was either swept up in a ponytail or thrust under a hat, so she paid little attention to it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn her hair down, let alone curled it.

“Stop acting foolish,” she snapped at her image in the mirror as she snatched up an elastic band and pulled her drooping curls up into a ponytail.

She took off the dress she’d spent too much money on, tears welling in her eyes as she recalled how cute it had looked on the hanger.

“What did you expect?” she asked herself, sounding just like her mother. Her mother, even dead for years, was right. “Can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

Arlene hurriedly washed the makeup she’d experimented with from her face and changed into a shirt, jeans and boots. She was what she was, and this date with Hank Monroe was a one-time shot.

She thought about the first time she’d seen him and couldn’t help but smile. He’d called about signing up for her rural Internet dating service. His voice had been deep and soft and had a strange thrilling effect on her.

They’d agreed to meet at a local café so she could get him signed up. She’d been nervous about meeting him because he wasn’t like most of her clients—twenty- to thirtysomething. He was forty-eight—mature, like herself.

The minute she’d walked into the café, she’d spotted him. He’d looked up and their eyes had met.

It sounded ridiculous, she knew, but her heart had begun to pound wildly. Hank Monroe wasn’t handsome, but there was a masculine strength in his features and in the broad shoulders, slim hips and long legs cased in denim. He looked like a man who could wrestle grizzly bears if he had a mind to.

And, her smile growing as she remembered the first time he’d laughed, he’d made her laugh, surprising them both since hers resembled a donkey’s bray.

Hank Monroe had made her feel young and beautiful—all the things she wasn’t.

Which should be a clue.

Her mother again. But it was true. Hank had signed up for her dating service to meet women, not date the owner of the service. Who knows why he’d asked her out? Just being polite, she could only assume, suddenly glad she hadn’t dressed up. No reason to act like this was a real date after all.

As she came out of her bedroom, she found her son Bo sitting on the couch, watching television, a huge bag of potato chips in his lap, his bare feet up on her coffee table.

With a frown, she brushed his feet off the table and took the bag of chips from him even as he protested.

“Hey! What am I supposed to eat for dinner?” he groused.

“There are leftovers in the fridge,” she said, putting a clip on the chips and taking a cloth back to the living room to wipe the smudges from the coffee table.

“Leftovers?” he demanded indignantly.

She turned down the television volume and straightened to look at her twenty-three-year-old son. He’d been her pride and joy. In her eyes he could do no wrong. She shuddered as she recalled when that had changed.

“Where is your sister?” she asked, determined not to get into an argument with him. Not before her date, anyway.

He shrugged.

Arlene realized she hadn’t seen Charlotte since her almost-nineteen-year-old had left for her doctor’s appointment earlier that afternoon. Charlotte’s old blue sedan wasn’t parked out front, and Arlene realized she hadn’t heard Bo and Charlotte arguing for hours.

“She should be back from her doctor’s appointment by now. Did she call?”

Bo’s attention was back on the television. “Nope.”

Arlene frowned, hoping the appointment had gone well. Charlotte had been more irritable than usual before she’d left. Arlene remembered how uncomfortable it was being pregnant the last few months. She wondered if Charlotte wasn’t having second thoughts about keeping the baby. She could only hope.

“Well, when your sister gets home. make sure she eats something besides potato chips and candy bars. Remind her she’s feeding a baby who needs something nutritious to eat.”

For a moment Arlene thought about canceling her date. If she didn’t cook something, she was afraid neither Bo nor Charlotte would eat properly.

“Promise me you’ll eat and make sure Charlotte does.”

Bo rolled his eyes. He’d heard this enough times. For months she’d harped on Charlotte to take care of herself for the baby’s sake. Not that Charlotte had any business being pregnant, Arlene thought as she headed for her car—and her date.

Her date. What had she been thinking? Dating was for people half her age who still had the stamina—and the optimism. She had neither.

She’d made a point of insisting she would meet Hank Monroe at the restaurant. He’d wanted to pick her up at her house, but the last thing she wanted was for him to meet her family. She knew that once he did, it would be the kiss of death, and she just wanted to enjoy this moment in time knowing it couldn’t last anyway.

Why shoot herself in the foot before she even got out of the starting gate?

HANK MONROE LOOKED up as his date came through the restaurant door. He smiled, recalling the first time he’d laid eyes on her. What was it about Arlene that had resonated with his own life? He couldn’t be sure. Something in her soft brown eyes. In the determined set of her shoulders. In her hesitant, shy smile.

And that laugh…

Now, as he watched her tug her shirt down over her slim jeans and saw how uncomfortable she looked as she glanced around the restaurant, he felt his heart go out to her again.

Arlene was tall and rangy like a lot of Montana ranch women. Nothing like his petite, classically pretty ex-wife Bitsy. He tried not to see Arlene through Bitsy’s eyes. Bitsy took everything at face value. She would never have understood what he saw in this woman. But then, Bitsy had never understood him, had she?

Nor would Bitsy appreciate a woman like Arlene Evans. Few people would, he realized. Bitsy had always been comfortable in her skin. Arlene, he suspected, never had.

He rose quickly, his smile broadening, hoping to reassure her. “You look wonderful.” It was true, although he saw she didn’t believe it.

Her cheeks flared. “I didn’t know what to wear.”

“Your choice was perfect.” He pulled out the chair for her and mentally kicked himself. He shouldn’t have picked a fancy restaurant for their first date.

As he took the chair across from her, he watched her try to relax. Something else that didn’t come easy for Arlene. The woman had an energy that was like being close to a live electrical wire.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while,” she said.

He smiled. “Me either. Feels odd, huh?”

“Yes. But…nice.”

It did feel nice. “So tell me how the matchmaking business is going,” he said, leaning toward her.

She brightened and told him she had a half dozen new clients just this week alone. “I still can’t believe it.”

“You had a great idea and you’ve made it happen. You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Knock on wood,” she said, lightly tapping the table.

She didn’t seem the superstitious type. He wondered what had her worried. Or if, like him, she was leery when things seemed to be going too well.

LATER THAT NIGHT, after their date, Hank had that exact feeling as he checked the perimeter of the ranch house, as he always did before he entered the house. Old habits died hard. Other people would have thought it paranoid. For him it was merely prudent and part of his life. The life he’d once chosen and had only recently escaped from.

He’d had a great time tonight. That alone worried him. He’d signed up for the dating service on a whim. Once he’d met Arlene, he hadn’t wanted to meet any other women. He wasn’t even sure he was ready to date. It felt too dangerous. But he’d asked Arlene out. And he couldn’t say he was sorry. Just worried.

There were some things that were inescapable. Guilt. Regret. And his old life. It dwarfed the other two in comparison.

That was the reason he never bothered to lock his house. He knew from experience how easy it was to get into any house, even those with expensive security systems. He had bought the ranch from a corporation that had used the house for conferences.

Because of that, the place was way too large for him. But he’d fallen in love with the view of the Little Rockies and he’d told himself that with all the land surrounding the place he would be as safe here as anywhere.

As he stepped into the house, he found himself whistling. He couldn’t remember a night he’d enjoyed more. Arlene was a fun date—once she relaxed.

They’d had dinner, then gone to the movie—the only one in Whitehorse. A comedy had been showing. That was something else he had in common with Arlene—the way they laughed.

“You bray like a donkey,” Bitsy had told him when they’d first gotten together. “You really need to do something about that.”

He’d quit laughing around her.

During the movie, he’d found himself simply enjoying the sound of Arlene’s laugh. It had felt so good, so natural.

Later, he’d thought about kissing her good-night but had chickened out. Coward. The desire had been there. He’d told himself he was just afraid of scaring her off. Clearly this dating thing was as alien to her as it was to him.

But he knew that he was the one who wanted to take it slow. That was another thing they shared—the feeling that when things were going too well, something was bound to happen to jinx it.

As he passed his office, he saw that the message light on his answering machine was flashing. He preferred an answering machine with small disposable tapes over voice mail. Just as he’d always periodically checked his house and car for listening devices. Even here on the ranch in Montana.

He would have liked to believe he’d dropped off his former associates’ radar. But he’d worked for the agency too long to pretend that was even possible.

Still, as he pushed the play button, he was startled to hear a familiar voice.

“Hank, it’s Cameron. Call me. We need to catch up. It’s been too long.”

He stared down at the machine, shaken. By the unexpected sound of his old friend and former boss’s voice as much as by the calmness of the words—and the underlying threat. Code words. They brought it all back, and for a moment it was as if he’d never left the agency.

He didn’t need to replay the message. He quickly deleted it, knowing it was futile to think that would be the end of it. The words echoed in his head. Code words that informed him there’s been a breach in security. He was in danger.

ARLENE EVANS WOKE smiling. That alone shocked her. Normally the blare of Bo’s music down the hall or the sound of Charlotte clamoring around in the kitchen started her day off wrong.

But this morning, after her date with Hank Monroe, nothing could ruin her good mood. They’d had a nice dinner. He’d been easy to talk to. The movie had been enjoyable. They’d stood out in the moonlight and talked afterward.

She been afraid he’d kiss her. And afraid he wouldn’t. He didn’t. But he’d asked her out again. She felt like a schoolgirl.

Just the thought seemed…foolish. She was too old to be having these feelings. Especially the ones Hank Monroe had sparked with just the brush of his fingers when they’d both reached for the popcorn at the same time. Or when he’d put his arm around her. Or touched her back with the palm of his hand as they’d left the theater. Desire after all these years of feeling nothing?

She rose and dressed, wrapped in the memory of the night before and the prospect of another date tonight. He’d also invited her to the county fair this coming weekend—his first county fair, he’d said.

She hadn’t told him, but she planned to enter in the baking division and almost always took blue ribbons. It was the one thing she excelled in, and normally she would be a nervous wreck worrying that she might not win this year. That she’d lost her touch.

But Hank Monroe had taken her mind off the fair this year.

Which, she reminded herself sternly, wasn’t good. Baking lasted. Men didn’t. “Stick to what you’re good at,” her mother had always said. “It’s little enough.”

Arlene felt her smile slip. She was making too much of one date with the man. Getting her hopes up was always a mistake.

She’d learned that the hard way, she thought, remembering high school dates that never showed while she waited by the window and her mother berated her for opening herself up to that kind of humiliation.

By the time Arlene reached the kitchen, she was no longer smiling. She yelled down the hall for Bo to turn down the music. He didn’t. She started to tell Charlotte to go down the hall and tell him when she noticed her daughter wasn’t lying on the couch, where she usually was this time of the morning. Nor was the television on or the kitchen counter a mess from where Charlotte had made herself a snack before breakfast.

More puzzled than worried, Arlene walked down the hall to her daughter’s bedroom and pushed open the door. The bed was just as it had been when Arlene made it the previous morning.

Charlotte hadn’t come home last night.

Stepping across the hall, she opened her son’s bedroom door. The room was bedlam—just the way he apparently liked it. He’d barred her from cleaning it, which she should have been grateful for. Instead the room was an embarrassment, a reflection on her.

“What if someone comes by and sees this mess?” she’d demanded time after time.

“No one comes by,” he’d said.

“Well, if anyone did, they’d think I was a terrible mother.”

Bo had laughed at that.

“Have you seen your sister?” she mouthed now over the horrible music blasting from his stereo.

He was sprawled on his bed, frowning at her and motioning for her to go away and close the door.

She reached over and grabbed the cord on the stereo and pulled hard. The music stopped, filling the room with an abrupt deafening silence.

“What?” he demanded.

“Your sister. She didn’t come home last night.”

“So?”

“She’s eight months pregnant.”

“I noticed. But I’m not my sister’s keeper.” He reached to plug the stereo back in, but she still held the cord and jerked it back out of his grasp.

“I want you to clean your room.”

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“I’m serious, Bo.”

He mugged a face at her.

“I also want you to get a job.”

He let out a surprised laugh. “I have a job. I help you with your Internet dating service.”

“No, you don’t.” She tossed him the end of the cord and closed the door behind her, telling herself she shouldn’t be worried about Charlotte.

Actually, this was just like her daughter. Charlotte had been cranky yesterday and late for her doctor’s appointment. Arlene had tried to talk to her again about putting the baby up for adoption. Charlotte hadn’t come home just to punish her.

Arlene told herself she wasn’t going to rise to Charlotte’s bait. Not this time. But she worried about the baby. That poor, innocent baby was going to need a mother—and soon.

The phone rang. “Hello.” She just assumed it would be Charlotte making ultimatums before she came home.

“Arlene?”

Just the sound of Hank Monroe’s deep voice buoyed her spirits instantly. “Hank,” she said a little breathlessly.

“Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” she said too cheerfully, hoping he didn’t hear the slight catch in her throat.

“Arlene, you can be honest with me. What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was going to find out sooner or later anyway. Wouldn’t it be better if it came from her? “It’s my daughter. My youngest daughter. She’s pregnant. Not married. And she didn’t come home last night.”

“Maybe she’s with her boyfriend.”

“I don’t think there is a boyfriend. At least not one who’s free.”

“I see,” he said. “How about her friends? Have you tried them?”

“She doesn’t have a lot in common with her old friends anymore.” Arlene felt her throat close and fought back the tears. Most of the time she could stand what her life had become. But revealing the truth to Hank made it more real, more sad and tragic.

“I was just getting ready to call the doctor’s office and see if anything unusual happened during her visit yesterday.”

“All right. Let me know what you find out.”

She promised she would and called the doctor’s office, only to get a recording. It was too early. She’d have to wait. And the one thing she really wasn’t good at was waiting. Grabbing her purse, she headed for the door.

THE MOMENT SHE walked into the sheriff’s office Arlene knew it was a mistake.

“Arlene,” Sheriff Carter Jackson said as he got to his feet. He didn’t look happy to see her. But then, who could blame him given the other times she’d come in raging in defense of her children over whatever trouble they’d gotten into?

“It’s Charlotte,” she said, hating that her voice broke. She always tried so hard to be strong, believing a woman alone had to be strong or the world would crush her in an instant. “She’s missing.”

“Missing,” he repeated, then motioned to the chair opposite his desk as he dropped back into his. “When was the last time you saw her?”

Arlene took the chair but teetered on the edge, too nervous to relax. She hated being forced to come here.

“Yesterday afternoon, when she left for her doctor’s appointment. She didn’t come home last night and she never made her doctor’s appointment. I just stopped by the doctor’s house. No one has seen her.”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his jaw as he studied her. “Is it possible she’s run away?”

“No. I mean, I can’t imagine. She’s eight months pregnant.”

He nodded. “Maybe she left with the baby’s father.”

Arlene felt sick. “I think he’s married.”

The sheriff picked up his pen and tapped it on a stack of papers on his desk. “You realize I can’t file a missing-persons report until she’s been gone for at least twenty-four hours, but I’ll tell the deputies to keep an eye out for her.”

“I’m afraid something has happened to her.”

“I can understand your concern.”

“Can you?” She hated the edge to her voice.

“I’ll admit, Arlene, that I can’t help but be skeptical. It isn’t like we haven’t been here before.”

She rose. “Well, thank you for your time,” she said, turning and stiffening her back, head high, as she headed for the door.

“Keep me apprised of the situation,” he called after her. “I’m sure you’ll hear from her soon.”

As she left, fighting tears of frustration, she passed Eve Bailey coming in. She hadn’t seen her neighbor for a while and was surprised how happy Eve looked, then recalled that Eve and the sheriff were to be married in the coming week.

Arlene nodded at Eve as they passed, not trusting her voice. She’d always wanted that for her daughters. A handsome, eligible man. A wedding where everyone in the county came to celebrate. A white wedding dress and the mother-daughter talk.

She’d wanted that desperately because she’d never had it.

She fought the tears all the way to her pickup. What had she done wrong? At the rate things were going, she’d never have to worry about buying a mother-of-the-bride dress or fussing over last-minute details with the caterer.

EVE BAILEY WASN’T getting cold feet. She was marrying the man she loved—had loved since she was a girl.

But now that the Fourth of July was coming up so quickly, she was anxious. She wanted this wedding to be perfect.

Her mother, with her new husband Loren Jackson, would be flying in. Her father, Chester Bailey, would be giving her away. He would be attending the wedding with his girlfriend Susie.

How did other families handle all this extended-family stuff? She just hoped there wouldn’t be any trouble. But that wasn’t what bothered her. Here she was with all this extra family and she wasn’t related by blood to any of them except for her twin, Bridger Duvall.

She had hoped by the time she married Sheriff Carter Jackson that she would know who she was. For years she’d yearned for someone who looked like her. Bridger had her coloring, but it wasn’t like being able to look at your mother and father and see yourself.

She had tried to accept that she would never have that because of the circumstances of her adoption. But still she wondered what her birth mother was like. Was she even still alive? On her wedding day, Eve would have loved to have her “other” family in the pews as well as her adopted family.

Unfortunately she and her adoptive mother had never been close. Eve blamed herself. She knew she had been a difficult child. From early on she’d known Lila wasn’t her “real” mother even though Lila had sworn differently. It didn’t seem to matter that Lila loved her and considered Eve her own.

Eve hoped to make up for that somehow. But looking for her birth mother had only made the chasm between her and Lila grow wider—and brought light to the illegal adoption ring.

“Is everything all right?” Carter asked as she stopped in his office doorway, hands on her slim hips, dressed in Western attire with a straw hat pulled low over her long dark hair.

“Yes. No. I think so.”

He laughed and came around his desk to take her in his arms. “Just a little longer,” he whispered against her ear.

She nodded, sick of thinking about nothing but the wedding. “Was that Arlene Evans I just saw leaving? She looked different somehow.”

“Charlotte seems to be missing,” he said as he motioned Eve into a chair and took one opposite her.

“The girl is about to have a baby any day, isn’t she?”

He nodded.

“Poor Arlene, those kids have put her through hell,” Eve said. “What if our kids turn out like that?”

“I’ll lock them up down here in the cells until they straighten up.”

Her eyes widened even though she knew he was kidding. “Seriously, there could be some bad gene in Bridger’s and my blood that we don’t know about.”

Carter’s face softened. “There is no bad gene. Look how well both of you turned out.”

“Right.” But Eve couldn’t help but worry. Soon they would be having children. The sooner, the better, since she was now thirty-four. At least their kids would be able to look at their parents and know who they were, even though their mother still probably wouldn’t have a clue who she was or where she’d come from.

“I’m okay,” she said, seeing the worry in her soon-to-be husband’s face. “Really. It’s just the wedding and everything.” She reached across to squeeze his hand.

She had one constant she could hang on to: she knew she belonged with Sheriff Carter Jackson. Now, if they could just get through the wedding without anything like sheriff business keeping him from the altar…

AS ARLENE CLIMBED behind the wheel of her pickup, she didn’t blame Sheriff Carter Jackson for being skeptical about Charlotte’s disappearing act. Arlene herself couldn’t help but believe he might be right.

She blamed herself. She’d failed miserably as a mother. It was the only explanation for the way her three had turned out. And even now she had no idea what she’d done wrong. Floyd had always been too busy farming—until recently, when he’d bailed out completely.

Drying her tears, she pulled herself together as she drove home. She had to believe that Charlotte would come back and that that innocent little baby was all right.

“Arlene?” Hank’s voice sounded like heaven when he answered the phone. “Any news on your daughter?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned her back to Bo, who was sprawled on the couch, watching television. “She never went to her doctor’s appointment yesterday, and I still haven’t heard a word. I’m worried sick.”

“I’ll come right out and help you look for her.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Bo. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Arlene, I want to help.”

She’d hoped to put this off. She took the phone outside to the porch and closed the door firmly behind her.

“The truth is, I haven’t been honest with you about my family.” The tears that burned her eyes surprised her. She hadn’t cried for years, and now all of a sudden she was a waterworks. “I’ve made a horrible mess of my life. Of my children’s lives. I have one daughter in a mental institution, another one pregnant and a son—” Her voice broke and she couldn’t continue.

“I haven’t told you about my family either,” Hank said. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, as well, Arlene. You know I told you I was widowed? It’s true. My wife and I never divorced but we hadn’t lived together for years. I’m walking out the door now. I can be at your place in fifteen minutes. Just give me the directions. We’ll find your daughter.”

Arlene cupped her hand over her mouth for a moment to keep from sobbing, her relief overwhelming her. She’d been handling things on her own for so many years, just the thought of someone wanting to help her…When there were problems, Floyd had always left it up to her to take care of them, blaming her no matter what the trouble was or the outcome.

“You need to drive south toward Old Town,” she finally managed to say.

“I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Three

Hank drove down the narrow dirt road, flying over the small rises, dropping down to creek bottoms and cattle crossings.

He hadn’t seen another vehicle since he’d left Whitehorse. Nor was there a house or fence in sight. The land rolled in waves of green grasses toward the badlands of the Missouri Breaks.

Of all the places he’d been in the world, none seemed as desolate as this right now. He’d heard this called one of the loneliest places in America. One hundred and fifty miles of country with only a few roads, none of them passable when wet, scores of townships without a town or even a house and, ripping a deep, twisted canyon through it all was the Missouri River, where the badlands rose up from the canyon floor in pre-glacial cliffs.

This country of purple-shadowed coulees filled with stands of scrub pine, spruce and cedar was what had brought him here. The river bottom was cloaked in thick stands of cottonwoods that reached for the big sky, and the prairie let him see for miles.

Montana was said to have a population density of six people per square mile. Out here that number dropped to zero-point-three people.

He had yearned for isolation. For open spaces. For freedom. Here in this part of Montana, one of the last lawless places, he had found it.

Had he blinked, he would have missed Old Town Whitehorse. A weathered sign was barely visible in the tall weeds beside the road. Whitehorse. Someone had added Old Town above the faded lettering in black paint.

Hank slowed as he passed a one-room schoolhouse, the Whitehorse Community Center, a few more old houses, the cemetery with its wrought-iron arch.

The railroad might have lured the first residents to the north, but a lot of Whitehorse apparently had remained right here.

He turned down the road as Arlene had instructed. Not far along he spotted the farmhouse. It was big and white with a wide screened-in porch. Behind it, a faded red barn with a horse weather vane that moved restlessly in the breeze.

He pulled in, parked. As he got out of his SUV, he saw Arlene waiting for him, on the front porch. Her face lit at the sight of him and he felt that pull inside him, his heart beating a little faster, the sky a little bluer.

What was it about this woman? She was far from beautiful. But there was a strength to her. An inner beauty that seemed to radiate from her face when he looked at her.

His grandmother would have said she came from good stock. A woman who’d never been pampered. A woman who he suspected had never been loved—at least not enough. And that, he thought, explained the vulnerability that she tried so hard to hide.

After the phone call from Cameron last night, he knew he shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to bring his old life anywhere near this woman, who he suspected had enough problems without him becoming one of them.

But as he walked toward her and saw the determined set of her shoulders under the oversize shirt, the way she stood in boots and slim jeans that emphasized her height, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he could turn his back on her.

He’d help her find her daughter, then he’d make some excuse not to see her anymore until he knew what the hell Cameron wanted. A breach in security? That had nothing to do with him any longer. Even if his former enemies had learned who he was, he’d suspected long before he’d quit that all the bad guys knew the other bad guys. That’s why he hadn’t returned the call. He didn’t want any more to do with that spook stuff.

“I shouldn’t have called you,” Arlene said, coming down the porch steps toward him. “I’m sure this is just Charlotte being Charlotte. I don’t want you bothered with it. She likes to worry me.”

He smiled ruefully, thinking of his own daughter. “Kids do that.”

“Really, I shouldn’t have involved you in this,” she said nervously.

“Arlene, I want to help. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She made a swipe at them. “I made some lemonade.”

He didn’t need any lemonade, but he had a feeling she needed to keep busy. “Lemonade sounds wonderful.”

She glanced toward the house. “My son is home.”

“I look forward to meeting him.”

Her skeptical glance almost made him laugh as she angled back up onto the porch to open the front door.

He followed her inside. The place was immaculate right down to the plastic covers on the couch and chairs. The floors looked freshly scrubbed, and there wasn’t even a dust mote in the air.

The only thing out of place was the young man sprawled on the couch watching TV. He frowned when he saw Hank but didn’t move.

“Bo, this is Hank Monroe,” she said, biting off each word as she gave a jerk of her head that indicated her son should stand.

Bo ignored the gesture. “So you’re dating my mom?” he asked, his tone incredulous as he gave Hank the once-over.

“Bo,” Arlene snapped as she stepped into the living room to shut off the television.

Hank said nothing, his gaze locking with Bo’s. Bo looked away first, and Hank followed Arlene into the kitchen. He heard the television come back on, but Bo turned it down, obviously not wanting to miss what was going on in the adjacent room.

“I did teach him manners. He just refuses to use them. I’m sorry,” Arlene said as she poured Hank a glass of lemonade from a sweating glass pitcher.

“Don’t be.” He took a sip. The lemonade was wonderful and he said as much.

She beamed and offered him some ginger-snaps she’d made. “They take first place at the fair every year.” She glanced toward the living room, clearly anxious.

Hank motioned to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you tell me when you last saw Charlotte.”

Arlene pulled out the chair, brushing at nonexistent crumbs on the seat, and sat down. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I saw her just before she left for her doctor’s appointment. Her appointment was for three, but as usual she was running late. I was worried about her driving too fast on the road into Whitehorse. I offered to take her, but…” Her voice broke.

“You said you talked to the doctor and she didn’t make her appointment?”

Arlene nodded.

“Had she missed an appointment before?” he asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

“Yes, but she was getting so close to her due date I can’t imagine her just blowing this one off.”

“Okay. There is only one road into Whitehorse, right?”

Arlene’s eyes widened as she shifted her gaze to the living room. Bo was caught watching them and instantly got a don’t-look-at-me expression.

“Charlotte wouldn’t have taken the shortcut would she?” Arlene asked her son.

“Why do you keep asking me what Charlotte would do?” Bo demanded, raising his voice. “I have no idea. It’s not like we ever talk. You should know that.”

“I should know a lot of things,” Arlene snapped.

Bo shot to his feet, angrily snapped off the television and stalked down the hallway. A door slammed, and a few moments later Hank heard a stereo come on.

“Can you show me this shortcut?” Hank said, getting to his feet.

She glanced down the hallway for a moment, and he could see how badly she wanted to go down there and yell at her son. Slowly her gaze came back to him and she rose from her chair as if she was an old woman. Her children were killing her, he thought as they went outside to his vehicle.

“What was Charlotte driving?” he asked.

“A small, dark blue Chevy. I can’t remember what year. It’s an older-model sedan.”

He nodded. “And what was she wearing?”

Arlene shook her head. “I don’t remember exactly. She’s so big and she refuses to wear maternity clothes, so whatever she had on was stretched over her stomach.”

“I think that’s the style now.”

Arlene looked mystified by that.

“What about the baby’s father?” he asked. “Is it possible she’s with him?”

“I doubt it. She wouldn’t tell me who the man is, but from what I could gather he’s involved with someone else. I’m not even sure he knows about the baby.”

Hank took that in, wondering how the man couldn’t know in a town the size of Whitehorse. From what little time he’d lived in the county he’d discovered there were no secrets. Everyone seemed to know his name even though he spent little time in town and had met only a few people.

“I tried her cell phone,” Arlene was saying. “It goes straight to voice mail. I left a message…”

“Maybe you should call the sheriff,” he suggested as they drove out of town.

“No.” She softened her expression and her words as she continued. “I already spoke to the sheriff. He can’t file a missing-persons report yet. The thing is, Charlotte has had some problems with the law. The sheriff thinks this is just one of her stunts—and, you know, he’s probably right.”

THE SHORTCUT WAS narrow, with deep barrow pits on each side—much like the main road to Old Town Whitehorse.

But the road was closer to the Evans’ farmhouse, and since Hank hadn’t seen Charlotte’s car on his way to Arlene’s, this would be the next place to check.

He found himself taking in the land that ran toward the Missouri Breaks, fascinated this untamed country was right out Arlene’s back door. Who couldn’t get lost in this?

“I’m sure Charlotte probably just stayed in town,” Arlene said, drumming her fingers on the armrest. “It’s just that I can’t imagine who she might have stayed with.” When she looked at him, he saw the pain.

He realized he had never known the names of his daughter’s friends. There’d been a stream of them in and out of the house over the years, but he’d never been home enough to keep track of them.

His daughter had grown up without him being around. He’d told himself that she was fine, Bitsy was doing a great job raising her. That he wasn’t needed. His job was to provide for his family. Only now could he admit what bull that had been.

“What was your husband like?” he asked.

“Absent,” she said and craned her neck to look out as the road dipped down to a creek crowded with thick stands of chokecherries and dogwood. “Wait. Back up. I think I saw something.”

He stopped the SUV and reversed back up the hill.

“There!” she cried.

He pulled over to the edge of the road as best he could although it wasn’t wide enough for another car to pass and put on the emergency flashers even though he doubted any other cars would be coming along. Arlene was already out of the car and running to the edge of the road.

He joined her as she pointed down the slope and saw the patch of blue through the dense, tall brush along the creek.

Closer, he could see the tracks in the soft earth where a car had gone off, some of the sagebrush limbs broken or uprooted.

“Oh, God,” Arlene said beside him. She took a step toward the ravine, but he stopped her.

“Stay here. I’ll go check.”

Arlene looked stricken. “If she went off the road…The baby—”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions before we know if that’s even her car down there, okay?”

She nodded, although they both knew it had to be.

He walked down the road to a spot where the slope wasn’t so steep and worked his way down to where he’d seen the patch of blue from above.

The chokecherries and dogwood were thick and hard to navigate, but he hadn’t gone far when he caught the glint of a chrome bumper.

Forcing his way closer, he glanced into the rear window. The car was covered in dust but he could see that there was no one in the backseat.

Working his way along the passenger side of the car, he covered his hand with the tail of his shirt to open the door. If this was a crime scene, he didn’t want to destroy any more evidence than necessary.

The door opened and he peered in. No eight-months-pregnant woman inside. The keys were in the ignition, he noted. The car appeared to be in Neutral.

He glanced around. No sign of a struggle. No blood. No indication anything had been taken, since there were a couple dollars in change in the drink holder and the glove box was still closed.

He glanced at the driver-side door. It was closed, a dense wall of brush against it—just as there had been against the passenger-side door. Just to be sure the car was Charlotte’s, he checked the registration in the glove box.

Then, reaching across, he pulled on the trunk lever. The lid groaned open.

Closing the door, he straightened and moved to the rear of the car. He was relieved to find the trunk empty except for the usual junk most people carried there.

He closed the lid, careful not to leave his prints.

“Hank?” Arlene called down, sounding scared.

“She’s not here,” he called back. “I’ll be right up.” He climbed out of the ravine to find her standing on the road where he’d left her. She’d worn a path in the dirt, though, where she had paced.

“It’s her car, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “But she wasn’t in it when the car went off the road.”

She didn’t seem to hear him. “Oh, my God, she could be out there anywhere, wandering around, maybe having her baby.”

“Arlene.” He touched her arm. “She wasn’t in the car when it went off the road.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Come here.” He walked her over to the spot where the car tracks left the road. “See. Someone walked around here, then walked to the edge of the road. See how deep the footprints are?”

“What are you saying?”

“The car was pushed off the road. The keys were in it and the car was in Neutral.”

“Why would Charlotte do that?”

“The prints would indicate the size and shape of a woman’s shoe.”

Arlene met his gaze. “How do you know so much about this kind of stuff?”

“I like murder mysteries,” he said truthfully.

She looked sickened as she glanced back down into the ravine. “She’s run off, hasn’t she?”

“It would appear that way. Her purse isn’t in the car. There was no sign of a struggle. Did she take a suitcase or an overnight bag when she left for her doctor’s appointment?”

Arlene shook her head. “I don’t know. She could have put one in the car the night before.”

“We’ll know more once we get the car out of the ravine. Who should I call?” He pulled out his cell phone but quickly realized he couldn’t get any coverage out here. “I’ll call from town.”

She nodded and gave him a name of a tow truck operator. “Thank you.”

He wished there was something he could say to relieve her worry. “She isn’t alone. Someone met her here.” He pointed to another set of tire tracks on the opposite side of the road.

“I can’t imagine who it could have been.” She frowned as if she remembered something.

“What?”

“Just that I’ve seen a car I didn’t recognize drive by the house numerous times over the past few months,” she said. “A silver SUV.”

“Did you happen to notice the license plate?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t pay much attention to it. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all except that we get so little traffic out our way.”

“You didn’t see the driver?”

“No. I can’t be sure if it was a man or a woman.”

“You don’t know of anyone who drives a car like it?” he asked.

She shook her head again. “I wish I was of more help.”

“Don’t worry. She’ll turn up.”

“Only if she wants to be found. You don’t know Charlotte.”

Hank smiled and put his arm around Arlene as he walked her back to his car. “Charlotte doesn’t know me.”

HANK WAITED UNTIL the tow truck operator unhooked Charlotte’s car in the front yard of the farmhouse before opening the car.

Arlene came out of the house and stood on the porch, watching.

Hank slid behind the wheel, careful not to touch anything. He heard Arlene come up to the side of the car.

“You still aren’t convinced she ran away,” Arlene said.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” he said as he tilted his head to study the steering wheel. “How tall did you say your daughter was?”

“Five-four.”

“Someone taller drove her car last,” he said. “She work on her own car?”

Arlene’s laugh had an edge to it. “And ruin her nails?”

He sniffed the steering wheel, then got out and checked the hood latch.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Engine grease on the steering wheel. Whoever drove the car had it on their hands, but it apparently didn’t come from this car.”

“So it came from the other car,” Bo said, coming out of the house to join them. “You already suspected she met someone out there and rode with them. So what’s the big deal about the engine grease?”

“Nothing maybe,” Hank said. “I guess it would depend on who picked her up out there.”

“Seems pretty clear to me,” Bo said. “No one uses that shortcut, so it couldn’t have been just someone passing by. Charlotte had obviously set it up. No one would see her get into the other car. Seems to me she was buying time by ditching hers.” He looked at his mother as if she was the reason Charlotte had run away.

“That’s one theory,” Hank admitted. “So who did pick her up?”

“Don’t look at me,” Bo said. “I don’t know anything about it.” He turned to head back into the house.

“But you know who fathered her baby,” Hank said to the young man’s retreating back.

It was only a slight movement of the shoulders, a telltale sign. “What does it matter anyway? The guy obviously doesn’t want anything to do with her.”

Arlene looked as if she wanted to trail after her son. “Bo doesn’t know anything. He’s just talking.”

Bo knew something. And if he knew, then Hank figured it wouldn’t be that hard to find out. There was nothing Hank loved more than a challenge. “I’ll see if I can find anything out.”

“I’ve tried for months without any luck.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “I have a way with people.”

ARLENE RETURNED his smile, thinking he certainly did. She’d tried for months to find out who the father of the baby was without any luck at all. “I’m not sure it’s going to do any good, though. If she’s run off with him…”

“Then at least you’ll know who she’s with.”

“Why are you doing this?” she had to ask.

Hank moved to her and took both of her hands in his. “Because I like you and you need help.”

She tried to pull away, hating the fact that she needed anyone’s help but maybe especially Hank’s. That wasn’t the relationship she wanted with him. “I don’t want you dragged into my problems.”

“Arlene, this doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

How could it not? And how did he feel about her? “I’m a terrible mother.”

He laughed. “No, you’re not.”

“Oh, you have no idea. The mistakes I’ve made…”

“Believe me, my mistakes are legendary.”

“I wish I could do it over,” she said with heat. “I would do things so differently.”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t we all.” He let go of her hands to step to the car. She watched him lock it. “For the time being, don’t drive the car. Let me see what I can find out.”

She nodded numbly. She couldn’t help being worried about Charlotte and the baby. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be there when my first grandbaby was born. I had wanted Charlotte to put the baby up for adoption. But still I thought I could be there for my daughter and at least see the baby…”

She turned away, not wanting him to see her cry. Hank’s kindness had turned her into a fountain.

This wasn’t the way she’d wanted things to be between them. She didn’t want him to know this side of her. Not the woman with all this baggage. How could he even stand to look at her?

“Arlene,” he said.

She turned to find him directly behind her.

He cupped her cheek. His thumb pad brushed the corner of her mouth. “Try not to worry,” he said softly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She looked into his eyes. He still wanted to go out with her tonight? She nodded numbly.

He smiled. “Leave it to me.”

She watched him walk to his vehicle, still stunned not only that he’d come into her life, but also that he was still there.

Won’t be for long.

Her mother’s voice. But Arlene didn’t argue with the sentiment. Wait until Hank learned about her daughter Violet.

VIOLET EVANS PEERED out the hospital window, past the pathetic array of patients, to the fence that had become her prison.

Just a few more weeks.

It had been her mantra for months, and lately it hadn’t been working—and that worried her more than she wanted to admit.

She’d been doing so well, pretending for months to be catatonic before miraculously coming out of it with no apparent memory of the bad things she’d done in the past. How many people could pull something like that off? Very few if any, she would wager.

She’d always known she was smart, but lately she’d come to realize she might be a genius.

Of course, she had to hide that fact from the doctors. Clearly they weren’t half as intelligent as she was, since they had no idea what she was up to.

Just a few more weeks.

And she would be free.

So why couldn’t she relax and just do what they were asking of her? Why did she feel as if her insides were starting to show through her skin?

The doctors had insisted she do an in-patient work program to prepare her for when she got out. Which meant she filed for hours at the nurses’ station. She thought she would go crazy for sure if she had to do it much longer.

And then there were the nightmares. She’d never told anyone about them. These doctors would have a field day with even one of her dreams. She shuddered to think of what they would make of them. What she herself made of them if she let herself delve too deeply.

Just a few more weeks.

But it was getting harder and harder to remember that, and just the thought of never getting out of here—

She shoved that thought away and concentrated on revenge. But even the revenge she’d planned against her mother had lost some of its power.

Maybe worse than the nightmares was the voice she kept hearing in her head. She’d thought it was her mother’s but lately she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t her grandmother’s.

It was distracting and confusing, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up. The place was literally driving her crazy, making her question things.

Like her mother’s culpability in all this.

She shook her head, trying to banish the confusion. Of course it was her mother’s fault. Everything was always the mother’s fault.

Chapter Four

Bo Evans disliked Hank Monroe even before he’d met the man. He would have disliked any man his mother dated. Not that he felt any loyalty to his father. Floyd Evans was a spineless bastard who’d abandoned them the moment there was trouble. Hell, Floyd Evans had abandoned them long before that.

“What did I tell you?”

He looked up to find his mother standing in front of him. She had the remote in her hand. He swore as she muted his show. “Tell me about what?”

“Getting a job.”

He shook his head. It had just been a threat. At least he hoped that’s all it had been. “If I got a job, I’d have to be in town all day. Maybe even have to work nights. You’d be here by yourself. You don’t want that. You need me around.”

His mother laughed and he realized this was a new reaction. “Nice try. I want you to find a job. And then I want you to find a place to live.”

He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. He suspected he hadn’t. This was Hank Monroe’s doing, the bastard. He’d put this into her head.

“This is about Hank, isn’t it? You think he’s going to always be around?” Bo scoffed at that. “Once he gets what he’s after, he’ll be gone. The guy’s playing you. He’s going to break your heart.”

“Well, I’ve been played before and certainly had my heart broken by those closest to me, haven’t I?” she said, shutting off the television. “You have until the end of the week.”

“And then what?” he demanded. “You’re not going to put me out on the street. Not your favorite son.”

To his surprise, she said nothing. Instead she walked over to the garbage can and dropped the remote into it.

Bo told himself she was bluffing, that she was just upset about Charlotte. Once Charlotte was back here and the baby was born, things would get back to normal. Well, as normal as life here had ever been.

“What’s the point of throwing away the remote?” he called after her as she headed for her bedroom down the hall.

“Don’t worry, you won’t need it,” she said, stopping to look back at him. “You’ll be at work. Anyway, I’ve had the cable service canceled. Out here we might be able to get one of the local stations clear enough for you to watch. So you won’t need the remote, because what would be the point of changing the station?” Without another word, she turned and continued to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Bo swore and kicked the coffee table over. The one thing he didn’t want was anything to change. He was happy with his life. He slept till noon most days, hung out either watching television or listening to music until it was time to go out with his friends.

He’d had jobs before, but his mother had always been all right when he’d quit them and offered to help her. The only thing that had changed that he could see was Hank. Who was this guy anyway?

The good news was that Hank wouldn’t be around long, Bo told himself. Not once he got to know Arlene. But Bo feared he couldn’t wait that long. He was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

Either he had to find Charlotte and get her butt back here, or he was going to have to sabotage this little romance between his mother and Hank Monroe.

He called his friend Cody, since his car was in the shop and his mother had refused to let him drive hers. “Pick me up tonight. My mom has a date and there’s something we need to do. Bring a crowbar. And if you have a ski mask, bring that, too.”

ARLENE WAS GETTING ready for her date with Hank when the phone rang. She hurriedly reached for it, praying it was Charlotte.

The voice on the other end of the line was authoritative, and she knew from experience whoever was calling was going to give her bad news.

“Is it Charlotte?” she cried, just wanting to get the worst over with.

“I beg your pardon? This is Dr. Ray Hamilton calling from the state hospital in regard to your daughter Violet.”

Violet? Had she been released? Was she on her way here? Arlene glanced toward the dark windows and thought Bo was right. She didn’t want to be here alone.

“Is she…?” Arlene couldn’t form the words.

“We are required by law to let you know that Violet will be leaving our facility in a few weeks.”

“Leaving for where?”

“She is being released on her own since she is an adult, Mrs. Evans. I’m sure you were told about your daughter’s medical breakthrough.”

“No. You’re wrong. You don’t know Violet. If you let her out—”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m afraid the evaluation of her mental health isn’t up to you. We are just required to let you know. Good day, Mrs. Evans.”

“No,” Arlene said into the phone even though she knew the doctor had hung up.

Violet was getting out.

She stood in her bedroom too stunned to move. Hadn’t she known that her life had been going too well? The business? And Hank?

Hank. She felt her heart sink. For just a few hours she’d let herself believe she could be happy.

Not that she’d ever thought she deserved it.

She reached for the phone and dialed Hank’s number, telling herself it was for the best. Better to end it before it was started. Better to end it before he did.

She glanced toward the chair where her mother had sat for years.

You’re right, Mother. It’s all my fault. You told me I would end up alone. You were right. That must make you very happy.

She made a swipe at her tears. Hank’s line was busy. She’d have to try again in a few minutes.

Facing the mirror, she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. She would face this alone. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been here before.

“WHO IS THIS GUY anyway?” Cody asked as he and Bo drove into Hank Monroe’s ranch.

“We’re about to find out.” Bo had waited until he’d seen Hank drive out before he’d instructed Cody to drive down the hill to the huge ranch house. No one should live in such a large house. Especially some dude living by himself, Bo thought angrily.

“You sure he doesn’t have someone working for him?” Cody asked, sounding nervous.

“I asked around,” Bo said. “Hank has a bunch of land, but the only animals on the place are a couple of horses. He has Claudia Nicholson come out twice a week and clean. There’s no security system.”

Cody pulled up in front of the house, cut the engine and sat for a moment, staring at the house. “Is the guy crazy?”

“Apparently so, since he’s dating my mother,” Bo quipped. “Come on.” He opened his door and climbed out.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Cody asked.

“Whatever we can find.” Something incriminating. So he could tell his mother what he suspected she already suspected: Hank Monroe was too good to be true. Bo was counting on it as he picked up a rock to bust a window.

“This guy is a fool,” Cody said as he tried the front door and it swung open. “The door wasn’t even locked.” His friend made a face as Bo dropped the rock. “I don’t like this. Seems a little too easy, you know?”

Bo knew. “The guy is clueless. Don’t worry about it.” He shoved past Cody and entered the cool, dim, massive living room. Hank Monroe apparently had money. But how had he made it?

“Where do we start?” Cody asked as they took in the place. “Nice. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he married your mother.”

“He’s not going to marry her,” Bo snapped. “No one marries someone like her unless he has to.” He’d heard how she’d come to marry Floyd Evans; he’d overheard his grandmother Evans talking about it. Floyd Evans wouldn’t have married her except that she’d been pregnant with Violet.

“Still, what does it hurt having a guy like this dating your mother?”

Bo ignored the question. He didn’t like talking about his mother’s love life. He couldn’t imagine what Hank saw in her. The guy had to be up to something.

Cody followed him down the hallway.

“You check the bedroom,” Bo ordered. “Look for drugs or anything weird.” He stepped into what was obviously a home office and went straight to the file cabinet first. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he didn’t find anything interesting and turned to the computer.

The computer appeared to be brand-new, state-of-the-art, and it didn’t have anything on it except the software it had come with.

Discouraged, he glanced around the room, his gaze falling on the answering machine—and the flashing red light.

He reached over and hit the play button.

HANK FELT HIS CELL phone vibrate when he was not two miles from the ranch. While he didn’t lock the doors at the ranch, he did have a security system of sorts: when a door was opened, he got a call on his cell. And since this wasn’t the day that Claudia Nicholson cleaned, he turned around and sped back toward the ranch.

He took the back way in and, as he came over a hill, met with a road full of cattle and two cowboys on horses herding the slow-moving cows to another pasture.

That cost him valuable time.

He parked just over the hill from the house and took out the gun he kept taped on the underside of the SUV seat.

Crickets chirped in the tall green grass as he made his way toward the house. The evening breeze stirred the stand of ponderosas, sending the scent of pine wafting through the warm air. In the distance, the Little Rockies range slowly turned from violet to black against the midnight-blue sky.

Hank could feel the air grow heavy around him, the heft of the gun too familiar in his hand. He’d been here before, too many times, and had thought he’d put this part of his life behind him.

Right. That’s why you keep guns stashed in places easy to get to should you need them.

The back door was unlocked. He turned the knob without making a sound and stepped in. The air inside felt cool and smelled of the orange-scented cleaner Claudia used.

The back door opened into the laundry room. He stepped from it to the doorway to the kitchen. Empty.

He moved quickly through the large commercial kitchen, into the open living area with its huge fireplace and assorted leather furniture. The ranch house had come furnished. He had yet to sit in every chair.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.