He stared at the silent phone for two beats before laying it on the counter and connecting it the charger.
Pacing to the door, Holt looked outside and heard the young bulls bawling for breakfast. They could wait. This couldn’t.
He had to find her and apologize. He shut the door and went to the phone again.
An hour later, his elbow asleep from leaning on the bar top, he’d called every one of AnnaLeigh’s friends. At least those he knew about.
The only other person he could think of was Dakota Lockhart. She and AnnaLeigh had connected somewhat because of their daughters. It was a long shot, but he was out of ideas.
After a search for Dakota’s number, he got her on the line. To cover his humiliation, he simply said, “Have you, by any chance, talked to AnnaLeigh today?”
“No. Why?”
He was afraid she’d ask that.
With an embarrassed sigh, he said, “She’s not picking up when I call, and I’m getting worried. We had…plans today.” They did. Plans to talk.
“Isn’t she at work?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Holt, I haven’t talked to her since yesterday when I was in the gift shop.” A pause. “Wait. I just remembered something. It probably doesn’t mean a thing, but I told her about it. I overheard a stranger asking about her at the Sinclair station on Main yesterday. She didn’t seem concerned, so I didn’t think any more about it.”
Holt frowned. That was weird. “Someone from around here?”
“I’d never seen the man, but AnnaLeigh is fairly new in town, so maybe an old friend was looking for her.”
“Probably. Thanks, Dakota. You take care.”
He hung up and banged his palm against his forehead. Of course, she had friends from the past. Friends she could call on in a time of need.
And he didn’t know any of them.
What a loser he was not to have inquired about his wife’s friendships beyond Refuge. Their entire relationship had been based on his needs, his wants, his life.
His self focus had driven away the woman he loved.
The sound of a car engine penetrated his consciousness. Heart leaping, he rushed to the porch, hoping AnnaLeigh had gotten his message and come home.
His heart plummeted.
Zeke’s red pickup pulled into the drive. The hired hand had arrived for the day’s work. He exited the vehicle and ambled in his easy cowboy way toward Holt.
As he drew near to the porch he stopped, removed his hat and squinted. “Something wrong, boss? You look like you been pulled through a knothole backwards.”
Holt shoved a hand over his hair, something he’d done a dozen times since discovering AnnaLeigh’s room empty. “It’s AnnaLeigh.”
Zeke frowned. “She sick?”
“She’s gone.”
A sound hissed from between Zeke’s teeth. “What did you do?”
“Did you see her car on the way out here?”
“Not that I noticed.” Zeke shoved the hat on and tipped up the brim. “Maybe she went in to work early. Or shopping or something.”
“No.” Holt huffed out a rough breath. “We had a disagreement last night. When I got up this morning, she was gone. Clothes and all.”
“Oh, man. I’m sorry, dude.” Zeke propped a boot on the top porch step. “Y’all didn’t know each other long before marrying, but she always seemed crazy about you.”
“She did?” Why hadn’t he noticed?
“We males aren’t known for our sensitivity, but AnnaLeigh was as transparent as new glass. Always bringing coffee or cookies out to the barn. Touching you for no reason. Humming and smiling fit to kill. Hate to say it, boss, but if you missed the clues, your head’s harder than I thought.”
She’d loved him all this time? From the beginning?
“Yeah, well, she’s gone, and I don’t know where to find her.”
“Checked her friends, I guess.”
“Her Refuge friends. I don’t know any others.” His fault.
“What about her social media accounts?”
“Never thought about them.”
“Start there. I’ll feed those bawling cattle.” The hired cowboy clapped Holt on the shoulder. “Don’t fret. She’ll be back after a while, and you can kiss and make up.”
Holt hoped so. Without AnnaLeigh, his life was empty.
14
Holt’s hands shook above the keyboard. Should he do this? Was it even legal?
For half an hour, he’d dug into AnnaLeigh’s online presence and come up with nothing. Her only active social media was a private account through Facebook, and without her password, he couldn’t determine if she’d reached out to friends in Colorado.
They were his last, best hope.
Now, after a simple Google search, he’d discovered the shocking fact that software tools for hacking an account were free and downloadable.
Scary. But useful.
Looking at Facebook for information was a long shot, but people unintentionally put all kinds of things they shouldn’t on social media. He’d seen plenty of news stories about the dangers.
Hopefully, AnnaLeigh hadn’t seen those same reports and had given out enough information for him to track her.
Feeling like a cybercriminal but desperate enough to do it anyway, he downloaded the free software and, in minutes, logged onto his wife’s Facebook page.
Cheery posts and photos popped up of an African-American woman with multi-colored hair and huge brown eyes. Jazmine. Obviously a good friend, although AnnaLeigh hadn’t responded to any of her messages.
Maybe she didn’t use this account anymore.
Holt’s heart sunk. Another dead end.
“Where are you?” he muttered.
He would grovel, plead—whatever it took to get her to come home to him. If he could only find her.
He scrolled through AnnaLeigh’s page, which was loaded with pictures he’d never seen. His chest squeezed at the photos of her with a puppy, at the beach, and, most painfully, with a suave looking guy whose arm was slung possessively around her shoulders.
Holt squinted at the blue name tag above the photo. Alan Watts.
Was this the father of her baby? The thought stung, but Holt shrugged off the instant hurt. If AnnaLeigh cared for the man, she’d be with him, not with Holt. She certainly wouldn’t have agreed to their marriage.
Doubts crept in. They hadn’t married for love. He’d spelled out his motives, but he was still mulling hers.
Desperate, she’d said. The pregnancy had made her desperate enough to marry a stranger.
A thought niggled at the back of his brain. Why had she left this guy, especially if he was the father of her child? Had he broken off the relationship when he’d learned she was pregnant? Was he married? Abusive?
His mind stopped on the last word. At their first meeting, AnnaLeigh had strongly hinted that some guy had hit her.
Mr. Suave had hurt AnnaLeigh. Had he done more than that? Was the pregnancy a result of something more sinister than love? Was that why she’d left Colorado?
A slow boil started in Holt’s veins.
He was about to close the browser when he noticed a message alert at the top of the page. He clicked it.
All the blood drained from his head. He tightened his grip on the mouse and leaned closer to read.
Don’t make me any angrier. I will come for you, and you will come home.
Mouth agape, Holt blinked at the threat. Seriously? Some creep was threatening his wife?
His fist curled against the desktop.
Who would do this? The dude in the photo? The one with the toothy smile and slick shoes?
Holt scrolled to the top of the thread to see the person’s profile picture. It was blank. But the name was the same. Alan Watts.
He looked at the time stamp. Yesterday.
Shortly before AnnaLeigh had rushed home and fallen into his arms.
She’d been upset, shaking.
But not for the
reasons he’d thought. Not because she’d broken their contract and fallen in love with him.
Some maniac was stalking her online. The same guy, no doubt, who’d hurt her.
He scrolled down, reading more and more messages, notes that insisted AnnaLeigh belonged to the writer. Warnings that she’d better return or pay the price. Harassment, barely concealed fury, threats.
“What has she been going through?” A sharp pain seared his conscience. What kind of man was he that his wife was reluctant to come to him when she was clearly in trouble?
If the long thread was any indicator, this guy had been harassing AnnaLeigh for weeks. She’d not replied to one message, but she’d read them all.
Was this the reason she’d deactivated her other accounts and set this one to private? Because she was trying to conceal her whereabouts?
Holt grew more furious with each word he read. From the increasingly dark undertone in each message, Holt suspected the man could very well be dangerous.
And he wanted AnnaLeigh.
Alan Watts must have been the reason she’d accepted Holt’s proposal and why she hadn’t told him the whole truth from the start. She was afraid. AnnaLeigh didn’t love this guy. She was avoiding him, hiding from him. He was the reason she’d moved to Refuge.
AnnaLeigh truly was desperate, not only because she was pregnant and alone, but because her ex had threatened her and continued to threaten her.
Holt’s fists tightened.
“Bring it on, buddy,” he said through clenched teeth.
To get to AnnaLeigh, sicko would have to come through him.
Did she know that? Did she understand that he would protect her with his life?
His stomach twisted. Maybe she didn’t.
Not after the way he’d turned his back on her last night.
“Oh, AnnaLeigh. I’m sorry.”
She should have told him.
He leaned back in the rolling desk chair, pondering the flood of new information about his wife, trying to put all the clues together. The most important thing at this point was to find her and bring her home. To let her know he’d take care of her…and the baby. He’d keep them safe.
She loved him. Zeke was right. Her every action revealed her love, and he’d been a knothead not to see it.
Slowly, a new truth seeped into his thoughts.
AnnaLeigh hadn’t left the ranch because of their quarrel. She hadn’t left because of anything he’d said or done to upset her.
She’d run because of her love for him and Jacey. She’d left the ranch to draw trouble away from the family she loved.
A stranger had asked about her in town yesterday.
Her ex, perhaps?
An ex with a temper. An ex who could very well be hot on her trail.
Holt fumbled for the phone and tapped Evan Young’s contact picture. A longtime detective, if anyone could ferret out AnnaLeigh’s whereabouts and put a stop to this Alan creep’s harassment, Evan could.
When his friend answered, Holt blurted out a jumbled explanation that didn’t even make sense to him. Fortunately, Evan had known him a long time.
“Calm down, pal. Has there been an accident? Is AnnaLeigh hurt? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“I don’t know. She might be. She’s gone.” He ripped his fingers through his hair. “We had this quarrel last night—“
“Stop right there. You had a quarrel, and AnnaLeigh left. Give her some time to think things through and then call her.”
“I’ve already called, texted, Facebook messaged. She’s not responding.”
“She’s upset. Women are like that. They need time to—”
“Some guy’s threatening her on Facebook.”
Evan sucked in a breath. “Back up. This is the first you’ve mentioned someone threatening her.”
It was?
“Do you know this guy?” Evan asked. “Does she?”
“I think he’s an old boyfriend. Not sure.”
“Got a name?”
“Alan Watts. Colorado.”
“Okay, I’ll run a check on him, but Holt, you know there’s not much law enforcement can do unless a crime’s been committed.”
Holt ground his teeth in frustration.
“Evan! You know me. I don’t panic.” But he was about to. “Something bad is going to happen if we don’t find AnnaLeigh.”
A quiet beat passed. “Give me everything you know or think you know. Better yet, text it to me, along with her Facebook info. You’re pretty rattled.”
Rattled? He was insane with worry.
But he followed his friend’s advice.
Within thirty minutes, a white SUV bearing the blue county sheriff logo roared into Holt’s driveway. Holt met his friend on the porch. He didn’t care how cold the weather. All that mattered was finding AnnaLeigh before her old boyfriend did.
The undersheriff, taller and thinner than Holt, hopped out of the vehicle. “Any word from AnnaLeigh since we talked?”
In tan uniform shirt and black trousers, a cowboy hat on his head, Evan was every inch a Texas lawman, but he was a friend too, and the concern in his voice was real.
He strode across the lawn, police gear rattling, a radio strap draped across his chest.
“Not a word.” Holt gripped the back of his neck. The muscles felt as hard as oak roots. “Maybe I’m freaking out for nothing.”
“You’re not.”
The quickly spoken words splashed over Holt like ice water.
“What are you saying?”
“AnnaLeigh’s ex-boyfriend is about as dirty as they come.”
“A criminal?” The hair stood up on the back of Holt’s neck. AnnaLeigh was involved with a criminal?
Evan’s nod was short, his face grim. “CBI and the FBI have been after Watts for years, but he’s crafty. He’s the brains of what we believe to be a large-scale operation—money laundering, gambling, real estate fraud. You name the fraudulent behavior that generates money, and Watts has a finger in the pie. But the man’s like Teflon. Messes swirl around him, but nothing sticks. His funds are offshore, and he gets underlings to do his dirty work.”
“Do you think AnnaLeigh’s in danger?”
“No way of knowing yet.” Evan gazed out over the pasture, his jaw set. “People who cross Watts have a way of disappearing. But again, someone else does the dirty work, and he comes out as clean as a baby’s conscience.”
“I can’t believe AnnaLeigh would be involved in anything criminal.”
“She wasn’t. Not that feds suspect anyway. Everything about her comes out clean. She was only his arm candy for a few months. He’s had a string of women. Uses them up and tosses them aside.” Evan blanched. “Sorry. That was crude.”
The thought sickened Holt. Arm candy. A trophy. Someone to use and discard.
“Like I said, Watts is smart. Chances are AnnaLeigh was as duped as the wealthy social group Watts hangs with.”
“Except she ran from him.”
“And now he’s harassing her.”
Holt’s adrenaline jacked. At this rate, he’d have a stroke by nightfall. “So you agree that AnnaLeigh is in trouble.”
“I’m working with the feds on this. We don’t know for sure. We know she’s gone. We know she dated a bad guy who’s sent some pretty ugly messages. That doesn’t mean he’s kidnapped her or is in any way involved in her leaving. The two of you did have an argument, remember.”
“She’s not answering her phone or her texts. That has to mean something.”
Evan gave him a sidelong glance. “It means she’s mad at you.”
“Maybe. Probably. But yesterday she came home from work early, real upset. Now I understand why. A stranger asked about her in town. Add that to the harassing messages, and her leaving makes sense.”
“I’m listening.”
“She left to protect Jacey and me. She didn’t want to bring a criminal to our doorstep.”
Evan placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m with y
ou, pal, but this isn’t much to go on.”
“So, what do we do? Am I supposed to wait around here until I slowly lose my mind? Wait until something terrible happens to my wife before the cops can do anything?”
“Try calling her again.”
Holt did. The call went straight to voice mail.
A terrible thought struck him. “What if she can’t answer?”
“Text her. Ask if she’s safe.”
“Good idea.” He typed in the message.
His cell phone vibrated in his hand. He stared at the tiny box of words.
Fear froze the breath in his lungs. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think.
Evan grabbed the phone and read the message. With a grunt, he said, “Now we have something to go on.”
The peace officer made a call on his radio and then turned toward his truck.
Holt caught his arm. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“She’s pregnant.”
For a brief second, Evan’s blue eyes lit up. “Congratulations, Daddy.”
Daddy.
A feeling of wonder pushed aside the fear for one tiny moment. His wife’s baby would be his. And he wanted it to be.
A brother or sister for Jacey, just as she’d longed for.
All he had to do was find his wife and bring her safely home.
Evan roared out of the driveway with a warning for Holt to let the police handle the situation.
The advice didn’t set well with a man accustomed to action.
Holt watched the police vehicle disappear down the graveled road before reading AnnaLeigh’s text one more time.
Beacher Motel. Rm 7. Help.
Like Evan, Holt knew exactly where she was, and her final word made his insides shake with fear. And anger.
His wife and baby were in danger.
Sitting around on his thumbs accomplished nothing.
He googled the Beacher Motel in Blue Springs, a town ten miles from Refuge.
With his jaw set and his heart in overdrive, Holt didn’t give Evan’s warning a second thought.
His wife, his love, needed him.
No power on earth could stop him from racing to his truck.
Ten miles seemed like a thousand. Fence posts sailed past in a blur.
Ten Rules for Marrying a Cowboy Page 18