And no sign of Kacey’s silver Escape.
The van pulled up and the kids piled out, running toward their worried parents.
Ben unfolded himself, climbed out, and then headed toward his father for some answers.
He was intercepted by one of his rescuees wanting a selfie and managed to tamp down his frustration for a photo op that might earn him some favor in Twitterland.
It started a rush, and he spent the next ten minutes smiling, meeting parents, and giving autographs.
No sign of Kacey or Audrey.
He finally disentangled himself and headed for the house.
Chet sat on the porch, watching the parents drive away. He looked up at Ben. “Kacey left an hour ago.”
Of course she did. He leaned against the post. Considered his father. The man wore grizzle on his face, bags under his eyes. “Were you up all night?”
“I caught a few winks on the office bed, but . . . I woke up early, saw Kacey outside loading the seats back into the chopper, and never got back to sleep.”
Probably anxious to get on with her escape from his life.
“How was your night?” Chet asked. “By the way, Nate is going to be okay. He had surgery on his foot, but they were able to set it, and he hadn’t lost circulation, thank God.”
Ben nodded, because for the first time, he agreed.
“How did you and Kacey get along?”
Ben looked away, not sure where to start. Or how to wrestle his voice under control. He finally swallowed and turned back to his dad. “How did you know Kacey was a soldier?”
“I saw an article the Register did about her. I called her dad—tracked her down. Why? She asked me the same thing.”
Huh.
“Did she mention why she moved to Whitefish?”
Chet shook his head. “I thought maybe she wanted a fresh start. You know—so much between you two—”
“She had a baby, Dad.”
Chet nodded, something slow. “I know, son. I do remember that part.”
“Did you know she kept the baby?”
He couldn’t help but test his father’s expression. But by the frown . . . “What are you saying?”
Yep, the old man didn’t know. Which only eased the band of betrayal just a fraction. At least his dad hadn’t kept the truth from him.
“Did Kacey by any chance leave with one of the teens?”
“Yeah, I think so . . . oh. Are you saying . . . ?”
Ben’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. That girl with the pretty brown hair has my eyes. She’s your granddaughter, Dad. Audrey.” His throat tightened. “And she doesn’t know that I’m her dad.”
“What do you mean, she doesn’t know you’re her dad?”
His dad, catching up. Ben looked at him, and he imagined that Chet’s expression matched his own twenty-four hours ago.
“Kacey thought I walked away from her, so she told our daughter that I . . . um”—he could hardly say it—“abandoned them.”
Chet frowned.
“I didn’t abandon them, Dad. I didn’t know.”
“But you did leave. And not too long after the baby was born.”
“Because she wouldn’t see me! She wouldn’t take my calls—and I thought that she was giving up the baby for adoption. That’s what her dad said. He told me I’d just destroy her life.”
Chet still hadn’t met his eyes.
“What?”
“I remember when you told me about the adoption, son. And I remember thinking that I thought I knew Kacey better than that.” He looked at Ben. “And so did you.”
He’d hoped his father, of all people, might be his ally, just this once.
“She lied to me.”
“She didn’t lie—she thought you had abandoned her.”
“You should be on my side.”
“I am, but Ben, you’ve always been, well, impulsive—”
“I’m not impulsive, Dad.”
Chet said nothing as he looked out over the land, maybe letting the fact he was a grandfather sink in.
“Fine,” Ben finally said, the silence tugging it out of him. “But I was hurt.”
“And you had a dream calling you. And you’ve never been good at taking things slowly. Or waiting.” His dad raised an eyebrow, and the old judgment, the shame pricked Ben’s heart.
“I know we made mistakes, Dad. I made mistakes. But I was willing to stay here and work, build a life for us.”
More silence.
“She took that from me. And now, she wants to keep Audrey from knowing me—”
“Now that makes sense,” Chet said. “She asked me how long you were sticking around.”
Ben stilled, nonplussed. “What did you tell her?”
“That you were probably headed back to Nashville as soon as possible.”
Perfect. He leaned against the railing, scrubbed his hands over his face.
“Isn’t that what you want?” Chet said. “To rally, fight for your career? You’ve been prowling around the ranch for nearly two weeks, your cell phone plastered to your ear, fighting with your manager.”
As if on cue, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Probably another text from Goldie.
“I guess I want it all. I want to get to know my daughter. I want my career. I want . . .” Kacey. Or at least he used to. “What I really want is for life to stop betraying me. For once, can’t things just work out? It would be a lot easier if God was actually on my side.”
He didn’t care that his words might feel like a slap to his father. Maybe he even wanted it.
Chet stared at him, frowned. “Son, God is on your side.”
“Yeah, right. If he was, then my career wouldn’t be stolen by my former partner, my daughter would know my name, you wouldn’t be in a wheelchair, and Mom would be alive.”
Chet recoiled at that, and Ben hated himself a little. But he leaned up from the porch.
“Just forget it, Dad. If I want back in my daughter’s life, I’ll have to make it happen.” He pulled out his phone.
“Son, don’t make this worse.”
“It can’t get worse.”
He glared at his dad, who stared back, unflinching.
“You might consider that if you want to be in your daughter’s life without ripping it to shreds, you should slow down. Stop fighting your way through life and start trusting God.”
“Yeah, right.” But he pocketed his cell. “Kacey doesn’t want Audrey knowing about me. Not until she’s ready.”
“That seems fair,” Chet said, and Ben tightened his jaw.
“Listen, there’s grub inside. Get yourself put together, take a shower, and then take my truck and go see Kacey. And Judge Fairing.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t end up in jail this time.
Ian could admit to having a bit of a struggle sorting out the events of the past twenty-four hours. From the charity gala, to his limo, to a private hospital room, to flying home in his private jet. He still felt wrung out and not a little bruised from his mushroom-allergy ordeal.
But despite the crazy twenty-four hours, he clearly understood that something was not right in Sierraville.
His assistant, dressed in her jeans, a yellow T-shirt, her hair now back to its normal straight-and-behind-the-ears style, sat opposite him, fiddling with her empty coffee cup and staring out the window.
Not talking to him.
Not laughing, teasing, ordering, or berating him for being so stupid as to not check his food before he popped that last mushroom-cheese puff into his mouth.
Which only meant . . . “Am I trouble? Because last I checked, I was the one in the hospital, the one in need of sympathy and kindness here.”
They flew above the clouds, at fifteen thousand feet. He could feel the plane start its initial descent as the Rocky Mountains came into view.
He tried a smile as a chaser, and she responded with a quick flash of light.
“No. Sorry. Thinking. Can I get you anything?” She was already rising from her s
eat, and he put up his hand.
“No, I’m fine. Freshly hayed and watered. But you look . . . what’s going on? You’re acting very . . . was it about what happened?”
He didn’t want to bring it up, but maybe one of them should. “About our conversation? Because I know I was a little medicated, but I had the distinct impression you were, well—you’re not quitting on me, are you?”
“It was a long night, boss.” She offered a quick smile. “I was tired and maybe a little freaked out. It’s all good. We just need to get you back into your own bed is all.”
“I’m fine, Sierra. And hardly going back to bed when we land. But we should talk.”
In fact, if she was going to say what he thought . . .
“I don’t want you to leave. I . . . don’t know what you were going to say, but . . .”
She looked up at him with those enormous hazel-blue eyes, and his voice just caught, right there.
For a second, he was back in the limo, watching her unravel. And he could still feel her mouth on his as she tried to keep him alive.
Beautiful, amazing Sierra, always beside him, holding him together. The feelings now took him with a rush.
He was still in love with her.
Had been long before that night when he’d let grief take him to the edge, found solace in a bottle of bourbon.
And yeah, he’d toed the line since then, but none of those feelings had really died. He’d just tucked them away, hoping he could keep them hidden.
But not if she was going to leave him.
Ian studied her as she sat in the seat across from him, drumming her fingers on her lap, her eyes luminous, her mouth tight, as if holding in—what? Frustration? Fear?
“Sierra, I know that it’s been a rough three years, but things are different now. I realize I’m not going to find Esme. And I can’t keep living my life trapped there. I’m ready to move on.”
She had sat up. “Mr. Shaw—”
“What? Since when do you call me . . . what’s going on?”
“Nothing. It’s just that, I know you need to move on. And I understand—”
“No, you don’t, Sierra. See, it’s more than just moving on emotionally. I want to sell the ranch and actually move.”
“You can’t move!”
He stopped.
And then, with a rush, it came back to him.
“I think I’m in love with him.”
Did he hear that or dream it?
Did she think he was going to move without her?
“Sierra, that’s the thing. I am going to move, but I want to . . .” He softened his voice. “I’d like to take you with me, if you’ll have—”
“What—no! No.”
Oh. He closed his mouth, cleared his throat. “I see.”
“No, Ian, you don’t see.” She considered him an eternal moment, and he felt like a sixteen-year-old asking the girl he had a crush on to prom. Then, “I have to tell you something.”
Ah, what an insensitive clod he was.
“No, that’s okay, Sierra. I understand. You have your sister, and your mother—”
“That’s not it.”
Oh.
She had someone else. And now he was an idiot.
He held up his hand to stop her right there.
He wasn’t a desperate man, but yeah, he’d blame the antihistamines. He wanted to slide out of his leather seat, slink down the hallway, and lock himself in his back cabin office.
“I get it. We made a deal, long ago, and I—”
“Ian, I’m not leaving you.”
Huh?
“But I have been keeping something from you.” She reached into her bag and pulled out his phone. “I answered all your messages. And responded to your voicemails.” She sighed. “There’s something you need to know.”
“What, did someone get a shot of me dying on the sidewalk?”
He meant it as a joke, but it fell flat, given her expression.
“Check your voicemail.”
He frowned, then opened the app. “I have one from Sam.”
“Yeah, you do. Which is why we’re heading home so soon. It’s pretty important, but I wanted you to be, well, fully cognizant when you heard it.”
And now she had him worried. He pressed the voicemail, listened to Sam’s strained, tired voice asking him to call him back.
Which he would, if he weren’t in a jet at fifteen thousand feet.
“What does he want?” Ian said, deleting the message.
“He should probably tell you,” she said quietly.
“I want you to tell me.”
And that’s when her face started to crumple, when her hands shook. She pressed her hand over her mouth as tears filled her eyes.
“Sierra, what in the world?”
“I’m sorry . . . I’m so . . . sorry.” Her voice trembled, and then she turned away from him, covering her face with her hands.
Sierra. He couldn’t help it—he moved off his chair and pulled her against himself.
And although he’d been feeling hollow and wrung out, something about holding her, her body melting against his, roused some latent protective instinct. He smoothed her soft hair. “I don’t know what it is, but I’ll fix it. I promise, I’ll fix it.”
She leaned back from him, shaking her head, her hand in his jacket lapels. “You can’t fix this, Ian. Because . . .” Her face crumpled again. “This is my fault.”
He stilled. “I don’t understand.”
She wiped her cheeks with her hands, smearing whatever makeup had remained from the night before. “I . . . oh, Ian. They’ve found Dante James’s body.”
“What?” He sat back, feeling punched.
“It was in the flood—I don’t know all the details, but that’s why Sam called. He thinks—”
“That Esme didn’t run away. Instead, she died.”
She nodded, then pressed her hands to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry—”
“Sierra, shh. Okay, yeah.” His breath caught. “Okay, I thought I had prepared myself for this . . .”
“I’m sorry, Ian.” Her voice shook. “If we’d kept looking . . . we stopped because I told you to.”
He frowned, nodded. “Yeah . . .”
“I told you I thought she’d run away. But I didn’t tell you everything. She was in love with Dante. They were going to elope.”
He frowned.
“She told me she was going to run away with him.”
He blinked at her, trying to catch up. “Wait—what? When?”
“A couple days before she ran away. She didn’t want to tell you that she didn’t want to go to Yale.”
He backed away. “You knew she was going to elope and you didn’t tell me?”
She looked stricken, nodded. “I know. I didn’t think she’d really do it—I tried to talk her out of it. And then . . . then she went missing, and I didn’t know what happened.”
He stared at her. “You knew she was going to leave. And you didn’t tell me. If you’d told me, I could have stopped them.”
“I know. And yes, I should have told you, right away. But when she first went missing, I didn’t know what had happened. And then, when we didn’t find her, I thought maybe she did run away to elope.”
“And still you didn’t tell me!”
She opened her mouth, not sure what to say.
“We’ve searched the entire world for them, Sierra—you helped me.”
“I didn’t know where she went—and I really wanted to help . . .”
“You just wanted to make yourself feel better.”
Tears coursed down her cheeks. He looked away.
“Ian, I’m so sorry. I’ve been sorry for three years—and wanting to find her too. I know I should have told you—”
“You were an adult, she was a kid. And you worked for me. Yes, you should have told me. And now, she’s probably dead. What if she was out there all that time, hoping we’d find her, and I gave up because of you?”
/>
She opened her mouth, closed it, not wanting to point out that if Esme had been in the park, she might have died of exposure long before Ian quit the search. “I know. You’re right, I should have told you. And that’s why I told Sam that we’d come home and reopen the case. We’ll figure it out, Ian, I promise.”
He couldn’t look at her. I gave up because of you.
His words emerged almost as a reflex, the hurt biting at his tone.
“No, actually, we won’t.” He sat back in his chair, picked up his phone.
She stilled, caught her lower lip in her teeth.
He ignored the tightness in his chest, kept his tone even, despite the vitriol that rose inside him. “As soon as we land, you’re fired.”
If Kacey had to spend one more minute listening to her daughter wax on about Benjamin King, she just might drive right off the road screaming.
“Then he sat down and played ‘Mountain Song.’ And he let me sing along—even harmonized with me during the chorus. It was so cool, Mom. Mr. King is totally boss.”
Audrey sat sideways on her seat, grubby, tired, but alight with excitement, her Benjamin-blue eyes shining. She was talking with her hands—that, too, like Ben.
Shoot. Until now, Kacey hadn’t exactly seen the resemblance.
Or hadn’t wanted to.
“And then later, he showed me how to play the guitar. He taught me how to strum, and the G chord, and then he said he’d even teach me how to play!”
Kacey’s hands whitened on the steering wheel, her jaw tight.
“He’s so nice, Mom. A whole bunch of us played charades, and then he taught us the game of spoons. I really like him.”
Oh boy. “Yes, well, I’m sure he thought you were nice too. But let’s remember, he’s a big star—”
“He said he might be staying the entire summer!”
She let out her breath. “Okay. Well, we’ll see about the guitar thing. He’s a busy guy.”
“He said you were friends. In high school or maybe middle school. I can’t remember, but were you, Mom? Friends with Mr. King?”
Yep, she would slowly dismantle him next time she saw him. “We knew each other.” She measured her words. “His father was the pastor of our youth group and we would sometimes hang out. In a group.”
The western side of the Mercy River seemed less damaged, although downed branches and other litter lined the ditches. Her stomach growled and she guessed she probably should have grabbed lunch.
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