* * *
“OH, HERE ARE some extra copies of your printout.” As they prepared to leave, Cord handed her the two pages.
“Thanks. I know I could’ve emailed it, and I will email it to the PI. But I thought it’d be easier to do it this way for tonight, so I can make notes on our discussion.”
They drove to Bailey’s in silence, watching as the sun began its descent in the western sky. As always, Cord was struck by its generous beauty and felt pleased that Shallie seemed just as touched. When they arrived, Brynne greeted them with, “Your...friend is waiting. At the table over there.”
Eli raised his glass of beer as they approached. “Don’t worry, this is my only one. Have to set an example, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. Shallie, what would you like?”
Remembering his grandfather-inspired manners, Cord waited for Shallie to sit down before he did.
“A glass of white wine.” She selected a West Coast Chardonnay from the brief list Brynne recited. “Good choice,” Brynne said.
“She’d call anything you’ve got here a good choice,” Cord muttered.
“Hey! I heard that,” Brynne said. “And by the way, anything you get here is a good choice.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll have a Corona. We’ll order food once J.P. shows up.”
* * *
“LET’S MOVE ON to business,” Eli said in what Shallie thought of as his sheriff voice.
She gave him the printout. “Here’s everything I know. The Chicago information came from my cousin Russell at the Painted Pony Motel. We’re planning to talk again. Or should I put the investigator in touch with him?”
Eli read over the pages and said, “Maybe later. Best if you talk to Russell by yourself first. Get him comfortable with all of this. Now, let me tell you about the guy I’m recommending. I’ve already run everything past him, and he’s available and interested.”
But before Eli could start discussing the case, Brynne returned with their drinks and a complimentary plate of sweet potato fries, accompanied by chipotle sauce.
Cord gave her a thumbs-up. After they’d had a few sips, eaten a few fries, Eli began. “This guy’s a private investigator in Tucson. Name of Eddie—Eduardo—Gonzalez. Like I said, he’s willing to get involved. I’ve known him since we were both at the police academy in Phoenix.” He paused. “After the criminal justice program in Seattle, I spent a year there doing some extra training.”
“So what kind of experience does he have with cases like this?” Cord asked.
“Lots—and he has a really terrific assistant, Melanie, who’s great at online research. Between them, they’ve tracked down missing persons the cops didn’t even know were missing. Guaranteed they’ll see this as a challenge.”
“Your recommendation means a lot to me,” Shallie said. “Now, what do I have to do?”
“I’ll tell him you’re ready to go with this. Can I give him your phone number?”
She recited it, and Eli tapped it into his phone. “I’ll ask him to get in touch with you, and you can email him this info.” He paused. “Eddie will probably want to come here. Start from scratch as it were. You okay with that?”
“Where will he stay?” Cord asked.
Eli immediately said, “Don’t worry. He can stay at my place. It’ll be good to see him again, catch up on things. He’ll be one of the gang.”
“And speaking of the gang, guess who just arrived? Right on cue!”
J.P. and Trooper ambled toward them and took their usual places, with the dog lying half under the table. Brynne appeared a moment later, carrying a dog treat and a glass of draft.
While Cord quickly filled him in, Shallie said, “Thank you, Eli. I appreciate this so much.”
“I’m willing to do whatever I can to help.”
“Me, too,” Cord said.
“And me—or rather, us, as well,” J.P. told them, pointing at Trooper.
“Are we ready to order?” When everyone nodded, Cord waved Brynne over. “It’s on me,” he said. They all objected, but to no avail. “Hey,” he reminded Shallie. “You paid for our group last night.”
They spent the next couple of hours enjoying their food and drinks, and discussing how things had changed in Painted Pony Creek. J.P. contributed a few ideas to the search plan—like tracking down Christine Fletcher’s car, if possible. Maybe there’d be some information about her license plate hidden in some messy drawer in the motel office. And he suggested finding out if Russ remembered anything at all prior to the overheard phone call. He acknowledged that as an experienced investigator, Eddie would naturally pursue those options. “Can’t resist trying to do my part,” he said.
Shallie wrote down, “License number in office? Russ: any memory of what happened before phone call?”
At around ten they left, with Brynne giving Shallie an unexpected hug. “Bye, sweetie. It’s so good to see you again.” She took Cord’s credit card, and as soon as the transaction was complete, they were off.
* * *
ONCE IN HIS TRUCK, Shallie turned to him and said, “I know I keep saying thank you—but thank you, Cord. I’m so grateful for your help.”
“I owe you this. And more...”
“Why?”
“You’re a reminder of the past.” Before she could disagree, he said, “That was poorly phrased. I meant it in a positive way, because we go back as friends. And I’m attracted to you.” He knew she was aware of this—how could she not be? But he certainly hadn’t recognized it eighteen years ago, with Reba complicating his emotions. This feeling had crept up on him in the past week. But what he’d said was true. He also realized that what he felt now was more than simply attraction.
“I’m not sure I buy that,” she said. “Anyway, the past is past, if you’ll forgive the cliché.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I can forgive the occasional cliché. And can you forgive me for being such an idiot...that night?” He paused. “That night and a few others,” he acknowledged, thinking of Reba singing “Piece of My Heart.”
“You were in love with her.”
“That was, what? Almost two decades ago? What I realize now is that I missed an opportunity with you.”
He could hear her intake of breath. “Oh, Cord, if you only knew.”
“If you only knew...” He put his key in the ignition.
“Wait. Don’t start driving yet.”
She released her seat belt and leaned toward him. Her arms went around his neck. And that was when they kissed. And kissed again.
* * *
ON HIS WAY back to the station, Eli considered the evening and what he’d learned. Interesting situation with Christine Fletcher. Who knew if she was still alive? And if so, where? His own law experience told him she’d probably been living under an assumed name; fake ID was more readily available these days—and had been for years, much longer than a lot of people realized.
What he couldn’t grasp was how she could’ve left two-year-old Shallie behind.
And if he remembered correctly, poor Della had been related to her and been kind enough to give Christine and Shallie a place to stay. Yeah, it was a wreck even then, but still... Christine had abandoned all of them, her child and her family, without a word.
There was certainly something desperate about her disappearance. He snorted at his own conclusion. Obvious or what? His first guess was something related to a man—a partner, either business or, more likely, personal. Could be money. Or both. A man and money.
One thing he knew, having looked through old records at the office, was that no one had called the sheriff at the time of her disappearance.
J.P. had made a good point about pursuing the license plate number, if at all possible. The phone number was probably a hopeless cause. According to Shallie, all this new information came from Russell. So he’d kept his mouth shut all these years.
That sly old slob was certainly harboring some secrets.
And when it came to secrets, what about Carly? Definitely more there than met the eye, his or anyone else’s, but he supposed they should leave the next move to her.
And then...Cord and Shallie. After tonight, he could hardly miss what was going on. He couldn’t say he was surprised but pleased and...a little envious. He hoped their connection went somewhere, that it had a place to go.
No denying that Shallie was attractive. Beautiful, actually. Eli remembered her as shy and self-conscious, lacking confidence in her teens. She’d presented what he’d describe as a detached persona—one of those psychology terms he’d picked up from Investigator Eddie. But detached or not, he’d always liked her and had sympathized with her situation. What a terrible life, and having the popular, self-assured Reba as her best friend must’ve made her feel even less sure of herself. And he, Cord and J.P. hadn’t helped, obsessed with Reba as they’d all been. Then Reba had abandoned her, too.
Good to know where Reba had ended up—except for the sadness of her too-early death. And her husband, Carly’s stepfather, was an asshole as Carly had no compunction in calling him.
He turned into the station parking lot to catch up on bulletins and messages, chat with Amos Edwards, the deputy sheriff on duty, and get in touch with Eddie to confirm. Then he did a bit of preliminary research on the Fletcher case, but came up with nothing new. He was committed to this now, determined to find out what had happened. He couldn’t resist considering the possibilities. A new life lived under a new name? Kidnapping? Murder?
* * *
AFTER THAT KISS—the kiss she’d started—Shallie felt as if her life had changed. It was like one of those defining moments in the romance novels she sometimes read. As if this was what she’d been waiting for all these years. And the truth? It was, she admitted. Despite a whole, and in many ways gratifying, other life with a man she’d loved, Cord was still the one she longed for.
When Cord drove the rest of the way home, they talked, but their conversation was admittedly a little awkward.
She felt as if life had led her back to him. But she didn’t want to pressure Cord or make any demands. So their comments were limited to the evening’s events until they reached a stoplight on the edge of town and he reached over to stroke her leg. Gratified, excited, she leaned toward him and they kissed again. Their kiss was cut short by the changing light. But as soon as he’d parked at the house, he turned to her.
So much all at once, and yet every moment, every kiss, was memorable. There was nothing casual about any of them.
“I think we should wait before we go on with this,” she said. “Let me get used to the idea. I want to feel ready. Is that all right?”
The look on his face told Shallie he accepted her caution, and the gentleness in his eyes felt loving. “I feel ready,” he said, “but I understand what you mean. And I respect it.”
“Thank you. We’ll continue where we left off. I promise.”
After a quick good-night kiss and a moment with the dogs, she hurried up her set of stairs and prepared for bed. What did those extraordinary kisses mean? Besides attraction and desire. Was there more? Was there as much as she wanted, as much as she hoped?
Lying there in the dark, she relived their kisses over and over, waiting to dream about their time together.
* * *
CORD LET THE dogs out and sat on the porch without turning on the lights, staring up at a star-bright sky. What happened tonight had stunned him. Not that he hadn’t hoped for this very thing. Or in a sense expected it. But the fact that Shallie had taken matters into her own hands—he grinned, remembering those hands on his face, stroking his hair, clasping his neck—changed everything. Did it mean he should start their next encounter? Their next embrace?
He’d take his cues from her, although he didn’t care who set it in motion. He just knew he wanted it to go further. All the way, as they used to say in high school. To continue where they’d left off, as she’d put it.
His teenage feelings for Reba and his marriage to Jenna didn’t even compare to what he felt now, and that was after only a few kisses. Until recently, he’d still believed Reba had been the love of his life. But he knew better now. Carly’s arrival had awakened a lot of memories, and he’d come to recognize that his emotions, especially the ones he associated with Reba, were adolescent. He was ready for something new, something truly lasting. For bigger emotions. For Shallie.
It had to be getting close to midnight, and he’d scheduled a long day tomorrow. First a meeting with Mitch to discuss expanding the stables and enlarging the paddock. Then a phone call with his PR firm to hear about their latest ideas. After that, his next session with Shallie.
He got to his feet, stretching, and called the dogs, both hovering in the vicinity of the porch. “Okay, guys. Time to crash—and I don’t mean that literally.”
They dashed up the steps and he let them in, following close behind.
Cord knew he’d be dreaming tonight and he knew who’d be in his dreams...
CHAPTER TEN
SHALLIE HAD BEEN at Cord’s place for almost two weeks now. Monday morning she called Emma for one of their regular “catch-up conversations” and told her about the PI’s coming arrival, plus the likelihood that she’d be working with the Lewises who’d be joining them that day, and about making an arrangement to see Russ. Then she mentioned Carly’s confession a week ago and their plan to talk to Cord and Tina. Soon... “Put it off for now,” Emma advised. “You’ve got enough going on.” Shallie also suggested her friend visit Painted Pony Creek and Hollister Ranch when she could manage it, and Emma agreed. “And,” Emma said, “it’s your birthday on Friday!”
Not something Shallie really cared about at this point and hadn’t cared about since her divorce. Other than Rob, who probably wouldn’t acknowledge it, she knew Emma was the only person who’d remember, and that was fine with her.
Eddie called just afterward; he told her he’d received her notes and finally had a chance to study them. They’d start doing some research at their end. He’d see them on Friday night. (Oh, yeah, the twenty-first. Her birthday.)
Busy morning. And when she called Russ, he suggested coming by sometime midweek. She made a point of explaining she’d hired a detective to investigate Christine’s disappearance. She described Eddie’s background and skills. Russ said, “Sounds like a good guy, a good plan.” Adding, “I’d definitely be willing to talk to him.”
Shallie spent her remaining free hour reading a new horse book on Kindle—actually an old one. She’d started rereading Walter Farley’s classic, The Black Stallion, which she’d loved as a kid. It had given her so much pleasure at the age of twelve and even more now.
Then it was time to meet Cord for a quick lunch. He told her he’d introduce her to Len and Mary Jean Lewis when they arrived at two, but that he couldn’t be there afterward; he had to attend a meeting Eli had organized with the local ranchers and farmers. “You might’ve heard that someone’s been harassing them. Hasn’t happened here yet, but this jerk or jerks—well, they’ve been letting animals out of their pens, paddocks, even barns,” he said, “leaving them to wander around loose, risking death. They could be struck by a car, attacked by coyotes, abused or stolen by human predators.” He explained that fortunately most had been recovered, although a couple were still missing. And, sadly, one sheep, a female who had “young’uns,” as the farmer Perry Roberts put it, had wandered into the road and been hit by some kind of vehicle; at least the driver had stopped and immediately called Eli’s office.
“I didn’t know!” she said in horror. “How could someone possibly do this? Why?”
Nobody knew. It seemed to be out of sheer mischief or malice. Whoever was doing it hadn’t, to Eli’s knowledge, directly hurt any animals, but was interfering with their safety and with the livelihood of ran
chers and farmers.
Cord was furious and determined to do whatever he could to help Eli resolve this.
After lunch, they met the Lewises—and Shallie was immediately captivated by their warmth, their easygoing charm and ready smiles. Len was a large man, with abundant gray hair, in good shape; Mary Jean was of medium height, had lovely bobbed blond hair and noticeably elegant hands. They both wore new-looking jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts with the logo of a women’s curling club on the front. Mary Jean explained that she was a part-time coach, and that Len had always supported the team, attending most of their games. That impressed Shallie and so did their affection for the dogs, who responded with their usual enthusiasm. She asked why, since they were so natural and loving with animals, they didn’t have any of their own, as they’d readily admitted.
“Soon,” Len said. “Our lives are changing big-time now that we’re both retired. I was in financial management and I’m thankful to be leaving it behind. From this point on, the only finances I’m dealing with are the family’s.” Mary Jean agreed, grinning down at Bandit, who seemed unwilling to leave her side.
“Her job—” he gestured at his wife “—was, if anything, more demanding than mine. She’s a social worker and she mostly dealt with troubled and disabled kids.”
Cord left for his meeting soon after, and the three of them spent the next two hours with the horses, making contact, bonding with the rescues in particular. Mary Jean said she was “head over heels” in love with little Annie. Just like Shallie...
At various points throughout their session, the three of them talked, exchanging personal stories. Shallie told them she’d been abandoned in this town as a very young child and had lived here until her late teens and that she’d recently returned, after a failed marriage. She kept her summary brief, but predictably Mary Jean asked why she’d come back.
Shallie felt foolish, worried that she’d said too much, but in the end merely replied that she lived in Seattle, was on a “break,” had known Cord years ago and wanted to do some horse sessions with him. She finished by saying she’d had some relevant experience thanks to a friend, loved animals and was fascinated by the work.
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