Detour

by Kurtz, Sylvie

  “It’s all done on the computer, Ma.” He took the folder his mother handed him and glanced inside.

  “How do you think I took care of Mr. Landry’s concerns? Fired up that machine of yours and followed the arrows. Any two-year-old could do the same.” Pride shone in her eyes and a satisfied smile graced her lips.

  “You knew how to turn on the computer?” Wyatt asked.

  “Don’t look so stunned.”

  He frowned. “Accounting’s a little more complicated than—”

  “Don’t you dare say ‘in your days,’” she warned, shaking a finger at him. “I’ll have you know this brainless mother of yours has been treasurer of more clubs than you can count for longer than you’ve been alive. I have kept up with the times.”

  He held up his hands in surrender and laughed. “I give.”

  “You’re just like your father.” Mrs. James shook her head. “Women are a lot stronger than they look. We are not simple pretties to be put under glass.” She turned to me, curiosity barely contained. “I’m sure your guest would agree. Most modern girls have jobs now. What do you do, honey?”

  “I’m a private investigator.” I bit back my amusement. Seeing six-foot, Mr. Hear-Me-and-Obey, brought down a notch by his five-foot dynamo of a mother was just what I needed to unwind the knot in my chest. In spite of my reservations about being in Sofia’s territory, I had to admit, I liked Wyatt’s mother. She had an energy my own mother devoted only to her paintings.

  “A private investigator!” Mrs. James clapped her hands in delight. “Now that sounds wonderfully challenging.”

  “Actually, it mostly falls under the hurry-up and wait category. Although, I’m not anchored to a desk, so that’s a plus.”

  Mrs. James tucked her hand under my elbow and guided me out of Wyatt’s office. I wasn’t surrendering; I was just being polite. “You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you, uh, what is your name, honey?”

  “Sierra Martindale.”

  “Sierra, how unusual! Call me Lorraine. When Wyatt gets caught up with the horses, he tends to forget his manners. I’ll bet you haven’t seen hide nor hair of a dining room since your plane landed this morning.”

  Lorraine slanted her son a disapproving look.

  “We’ve been otherwise engaged,” Wyatt said. “Which reminds me, I’ve invited Sierra to stay with you for a few days.”

  “I told him I didn’t want to impose,” I said.

  Her eyes shone. “It’s most definitely not an imposition. I love company. And Wyatt’s friends are always welcome.”

  Lorraine led me into the kitchen. At the rich scent of simmering stew, my stomach growled.

  She smiled widely. “Food first, then we’ll see to a room.”

  She pointed to a solid oak table surrounded by six chairs with sunflowered cushions. “You look like you’ve had a long day, so we’ll keep it casual tonight.”

  I sat, feeling as if I was caught in some sort of warp. Not time. I knew I was still in the present. But it seemed as if I’d stepped into someone else’s skin. Sofia’s skin? She’d liked it here. Felt comfortable. But for me, it was something that didn’t quite fit, as if the suit was too tight.

  The front door burst open. “Hey! Anyone home?” a female voice called.

  “Tracy! In the kitchen,” Lorraine called, a smile brightening her face. “Set another place for your sister, Wyatt.”

  Sofia’s energy spiked shards of hostility into me. Why didn’t she like her sister-in-law?

  A tall woman bounded into the kitchen. Her jeans and T-shirt showed off a lanky wiriness brimming with energy. Her sandy hair was cut in a chin-length, carefree but feminine style, and her fresh-faced rosiness didn’t require any makeup. As Lorraine squeezed Tracy into a hug, Tracy’s green eyes flicked to Wyatt and a serious look passed between them.

  “What are you doing home, Tracy?” Lorraine asked. “I thought training went on for another week. You should’ve called ahead. I could’ve made those brownies you like.”

  “And what, ruin the surprise?” Tracy reached to the counter and swiped a chunk of crusty bread from the cutting board. “I’m on a two-day leave, so I thought I’d pop in and snag a homemade meal.”

  “I’m so glad you’re home.” When Lorraine hugged her daughter again, a thorn of envy stabbed my heart. Because my own mother wasn’t the hugging, stay-at-home, cookie-baking type? I’d made peace with that years ago.

  As Lorraine served heaping bowls of stew, the phone rang. “Get that, Wyatt.” She handed a bowl to Tracy. “Tracy, this is Sierra, Wyatt’s new friend. She’s a private investigator.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Like her mother, her curiosity was open. “So where did you two meet?”

  “He’s helping me with a case,” I said.

  Wyatt handed his mother the phone. “That girl Carly from the Boys & Girls Club.”

  Lorraine took the phone and Tracy plopped at the table next to her brother. She leaned toward him and whispered, “Has Ma seen the news yet?”

  Wyatt hiked a brow in question. “No, she’s been busy.”

  “Good. I was afraid she’d freak.”

  “Freak about what?”

  Tracy bit into the bread and chewed. “The crash in New Jersey.”

  Lorraine dropped the phone back onto its cradle. “Crash? What crash?”

  “Everything’s fine, Ma,” Tracy said, affecting a bored tone.

  Wyatt turned on the small television mounted under the counter. He flashed through channels until he landed on a news segment featuring crackling flames, billowing black smoke and the debris of an airplane on what looked like a marina. My stomach turned queasy.

  Sofia’s agitation beat like frantic wings inside me.

  I stared in horror at the TV screen, remembering that the first time Sofia had told me about a fault there’d been a burning jet glowing behind her. She’d worked for a defense contractor that built avionics and countermeasures for the military. Was that the connection?

  Pilots were dying. My pulse thumped with the intuition. Keeping a polite expression plastered on my face for Wyatt and his family took all of my control. Was that how this related to Sofia? One of her company’s products?

  Sofia’s anxious energy twisted inside me, telling me I was on the right track.

  A reporter stood at the edge of a field, keeping a Coast Guard cutter framed behind her. “Two Air Force fighter jets collided last night off the coast of New Jersey. The Coast Guard has recovered the bodies of the two pilots.” The reporter tipped her microphone toward a uniformed man. “We have with us Major Davis of the Fighter Group at Atlantic City International Airport. Major Davis, can you tell us what happened?”

  “Two F-22s collided about sixty miles southeast of Atlantic City over the Atlantic Ocean,” Major Davis said. “At this time, it’s too early to comment on the cause of the accident.”

  “Turn that off, Wyatt.” Lorraine took a seat and reached for Tracy’s hand. “That’s not the type of airplane you fly, is it, honey?”

  “They’re safe, Ma,” Tracy assured her. “I knew this would upset you.”

  Lorraine passed the salad bowl. “I’m not upset.”

  My fingers itched to check out my hunch that this crash and Sofia’s fears were connected.

  “You’re a pilot?” I asked Tracy. Taking a cue from everyone else, I dug into the hot food.

  Tracy nodded, her smile a bright beacon. “Air Force.”

  “Ma thought Tracy’s career choice was a grand adventure until planes started falling out of the sky last week,” Wyatt said.

  Lorraine’s fears would grow exponentially if she knew Sofia’s suspicions—that an error was causing these planes to drop out of the sky. “Are the two crashes related?”

  “Two different planes, so I don’t see how. It’s just unfortunate they went down so close together.” Tracy turned to her mother. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  My watch beeped, and Wyatt cocked an eyebrow in question.

 
“Could I trouble you for a glass of milk?”

  Wyatt nodded, and I followed him to the fridge.

  At the counter, back to everyone, I palmed a handful of pills I’d retrieved from my tote and swallowed them down with the milk, aware of Wyatt’s watchful gaze.

  The touch of his fingers was light on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Maintenance.”

  “Did you let Carly do your hair again?” Tracy teased her mother as Wyatt and I sat down again.

  Lorraine patted her curls. “She’s getting better, don’t you think? Someone has to encourage the poor girl.”

  Their conversation buzzed around me as I watched the genuine care and concern weave with the laughter. This was the kind of family I’d dreamed of when I was little, eating a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich by myself in front of the television.

  As much as I’d prefer to work alone, I needed Wyatt. I was caught between the rock of ticking time and the hard place of access he could open because Sofia was his wife. I speared a piece of potato, suddenly aware of a growing hollowness smack in the middle of my body.

  I looked up and caught Wyatt staring at me. I wrestled up a small smile. His skin paled beneath his tan. He pushed himself away from the table and said, “I need to go check on the stock.”

  Something had spooked him, and I had this odd need for him to stay. “Wyatt—”

  He cut me off. “We’ll talk after you’re settled in.”

  “Soon,” I insisted. Now that the crashing jets had given me a potential direction, I wanted to explore it. The faster I solved Sofia’s problem, the sooner I could go home.

  He nodded and left.

  “Your son’s very old-fashioned,” I said.

  Tracy roared. “That’s Wyatt, all right. You should’ve seen the fit he pitched when I signed up for the Air Force.”

  “He gets that from his father.” Lorraine shook her head. “After Waylon—that’s my husband—died, Wyatt felt he had to take over the ranch and become the man of the house.”

  Why didn’t that surprise me? “Wyatt was married…”

  “Yes, such a tragedy.” Lorraine clucked. “Sofia died in a car accident last year. Losing her nearly broke him.”

  “What was she like, Sofia?”

  Sofia drew in a breath, her fear at the answer sliding through my gut.

  Lorraine eyed me as if she wondered what my intentions toward her son were. “She was a lovely woman, and she loved Wyatt. Adored him, really.”

  Sofia’s sigh of relief rattled through me.

  Tracy stood up and refilled her bowl. “Sofia was a dead weight.”

  “Tracy!”

  “You don’t think they were suited?” I asked.

  “What Wyatt needed was a Quarter Horse—sturdy, self-reliant, with enough horse sense to set him straight when he got too bossy,” Tracy said. “What he got was a colicky thoroughbred. High maintenance, time consuming and clingy. For crying out loud, the woman jumped at her own shadow. And when was the last time you saw Wyatt laugh? I mean really laugh.”

  Sofia growled in outrage.

  Lorraine stared at her bowl and finished the last bite of stew. “Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

  “She practically choked the life out of him,” Tracy said with no trace of apology.

  Lorraine gave a small smile. “Sofia was a lovely woman. It’s just that Wyatt had already given up too many dreams for responsibilities that weren’t his.”

  The stab of Sofia’s sense of betrayal pierced my chest, and I rubbed at the pain with the heel of my hand.

  Tracy slathered butter on a slice of bread. “Sofia was one more albatross he didn’t need.”

  “I wish…” Lorraine shrugged. “His father raised him with a steady diet of tradition and responsibility. And although Wyatt loves horses, he doesn’t care much for cows.”

  “That’s because he got gored by a longhorn when he was fifteen,” Tracy added with a chuckle. “That’s why he’s working on that mechanical cow. He wants as little to do with the real thing as he can.”

  I couldn’t help the smile. Wyatt could shoulder responsibility he didn’t want, bury his ambition and face a ghost, but he avoided cows. That little quirk somehow made him more endearing.

  Lorraine got up to clear the table. “Why does Wyatt need a private investigator?”

  “It’s more that I need some information from him to close a case.”

  “Oh.” She clearly wanted to ask more.

  Tracy skipped right over politeness. “What kind of case?”

  I shrugged. “Client-investigator privilege.”

  “I can’t imagine what kind of information Wyatt could have that you’d need. He hasn’t done a lick of work he’s cared for in three years.” Tracy shook her head and took her bowl to the sink.

  The force of Sofia’s anger snapped the fork out of my hand and it clattered on the tile. Get out of my body, Sofia. I won’t let you use me like that.

  “Dessert anyone?” Lorraine asked, no doubt seeking to put an end to the thick conflict choking the kitchen.

  After dinner, Lorraine led me up the stairs to a cozy guest room with dark furniture and light, lacy coverings. I listened halfheartedly to instructions about towels and extra blankets. I thanked Lorraine and closed the door, welcoming the silence and solitude.

  My phone rattled in my tote. Van. Again. I sighed. Better to get this over with. I sat cross-legged on the bed and answered.

  “Where the hell are you?” Van barked. I could definitely hear the steam coming out of his ears.

  “I’m safe. I’m fine.”

  “That’s not what I asked. You didn’t even tell Noelle where you were going. How can I protect you if I don’t know where you are?”

  Honestly, I hadn’t thought anyone would miss me that soon. “I’m working. That’s what you wanted. I’m following a lead on a case. I don’t need your protection.”

  “Which case?”

  “Van, you’re going to have to trust me.”

  “I’m responsible for—”

  “No, I’m an adult now. You have to give me room. You promised me a month. Let me have it.”

  The silence thrummed with his frustration. “Check in, okay. Not for you. For me.”

  Cutting the cord was hard. He’d felt responsible for me since our father died when I was twelve. My mother was a decent parent—when she was on planet Earth. Otherwise, chaos reigned around her. Artistic inspiration could strike at any time, spiriting her to her own little world of oils and canvas, stranding me at school or leaving dinner on the stove. “I promise I’ll check in every day. Quit worrying, will you?”

  “You’re a bad habit, Sierra,” Van muttered. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

  “A couple of days.”

  “Do you have enough medicine?”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, Van. And I was fed a home-cooked dinner tonight. Beef stew with real vegetables. The way my hostess cooks, I’ll probably gain a few pounds.”

  For once the pause wasn’t filled with tension. “It’s nice to hear life back in your voice.”

  I drew in a long breath. “Van?”

  “What?”

  “Thanks for caring,” I said, suddenly feeling maudlin. “If you gave up on me…I wouldn’t have a compass.”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, you make sure you come back in one piece.”

  We hung up, and I shook away the sticky web of useless sentimentality. What had gotten into me? Maybe Tracy was right. Sofia was too soft, and this close to her essence, her weakness was infecting me.

  I fired up my computer, searched for the two aircraft crashes involving military jets, then got down to work. The more I read, the more vital it became for me to find out what Sofia was working on and if her company was involved in these crashes. I wanted to have a solid argument ready before I told Wyatt of my suspicions.

  A knock thumped against the door. “Come in.”

  The door opened, and
Wyatt stood there filling the frame like some sort of advertisement for cowboy virility. The diffuse light of the room softened the hard planes of his face. Crazy the way I wanted to run my fingers over his jaw.

  I rubbed at my heart that suddenly felt too full.

  “I talked to Paul Farr,” Wyatt said.

  I cleared my throat. “Who’s that?”

  “Sofia’s old boss. He’s agreed to meet with me tomorrow after work.”

  Thursday, April 20

  The Watering Hole was a dump. A hitching-post rail separated the dance floor from the rest of the bar. The main floor was crammed with small wooden tables on which a decade of patrons had carved their initials. Peanut shells cracked under cowboy boots, and the air reeked of stale beer and sour sweat.

  The bartender’s face glowed red and blue from the glare of the neon beer sign behind the horseshoe-shaped bar. Barmaids in black skirts that were too short served drinks to raucous cowboys unwinding from a long day of riding desks at the nearby Allied Defense plant.

  The smoky light brought out the green in Wyatt’s hazel eyes and gave his sharp face a bad-boy edge that invited bedroom fantasies I had no right to entertain. I forced myself to focus on the crowd, playing Leo’s what’s-his-story? game.

  “Can you drink?” Wyatt perused me in a way that knifed heat to parts that hadn’t felt any warmth in a long time. “I mean with the pills and all…”

  “I could probably drink you under the table. But since I’m working, I’ll stick to soda.” Actually, I’d never done much drinking. Adrenaline had been my drug of choice but Wyatt didn’t have to know that.

  I focused on the task. “Now, remember, take your time. Ease into the subject. Do the good-old-boy network thing, and I’ll be the meek arm-candy.”

  “Meek? You?” Half a smile teased his lips, reviving those improper fantasies.

  “What? I can do meek. You just play your part.”

  “Here he is.” Wyatt’s body tensed as he spotted our contact entering the bar and raised a hand in welcome.