Finding Hope (Nugget Romance 2)

by Stacy Finz

  “I figure since we’re both new here, we ought to be friends,” he said.

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you do owe me a dinner, which I plan to collect. Soon.” He got up and leaned against the door jamb.

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said, getting to her feet and staggering after him. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Okay. I left your stuff on the table in the hall.”

  They walked to the door together, Griffin slowing to take in the great room. “Pretty damn nice for a barn,” he said, stopping at the fireplace. “Who’s this?” He took a picture of Hope off the mantel. “She looks like you.”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  “Pretty girl. Does she live with her father?”

  “No,” she said.

  He looked at the photo again and then back at Emily, and she saw a light bulb go off in his head.

  “Oh God,” he said. “She’s Hope, the girl who went missing a few years back. I remember seeing a 48 Hours episode about it. That’s your daughter?”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “We took that picture on her sixth birthday.”

  They’d had a party, of course. An hour before the guests were due to arrive, Emily and Hope had scuffled over her daughter’s wardrobe. Hope had wanted to wear her favorite yellow dress with the chocolate stain and tear in the hem.

  “It’s my birthday. I should get to wear what I want,” Hope had whined.

  She’d had a point, but the dress had been ready for the rag pile. “Can’t we find anything else in your closet?”

  Hope had pursed her lips and thrust out her chin. She’d begun the phase of wanting to assert her independence, including picking out her own clothes for school. Emily laughed to herself, remembering Hope’s inappropriate choices. Shorts in winter, princess dress-up costumes and a pair of fringed moccasin boots a half size too small.

  “Hope, the dress looks shabby.” The two had stood in Hope’s bedroom playing tug-of-war with the garment. “You don’t want to look shabby on your big day, do you?”

  Finally, her stubborn girl had relented and chosen a denim jumper. Emily would have preferred something lacy or frilly, but she’d learned to pick her battles.

  “That’s the photo we released to the press when she went missing,” Emily told Griffin, the portrait evoking a multitude of memories, both good and bad.

  The picture, shown over and over again in the media, no longer just represented a momentous day in her daughter’s life; it had become the symbol of a four-year, earth-shattering ordeal.

  But the scruffy yellow dress, which she’d stored in a keepsake box in her closet, was Emily’s, and Emily’s alone.

  Chapter 13

  Clay spent Wednesday morning riding the ranch’s lower pastures, checking on the status of his calves. In a few months he would wean and sell whatever ones he didn’t keep for breeding and move the rest of the herd off the mountains, to warmer climes.

  He’d let the boys sleep in. They’d gotten in late the night before and Justin and Cody had been exhausted from the trip. New York had been great. A little muggy for his taste, but the boys had loved it. Especially getting room service.

  They’d had a whole city at their disposal, but had opted for hotel food. Go figure. Since it was their first vacation without Jen, Clay had wanted to spoil them.

  Justin started the trip being his typical pain-in-the-ass self, texting on his phone or burying himself in one of those graphic novels he liked, pretending that Clay and Cody didn’t exist. But when they’d gone to the National September 11 Memorial and Museum he’d gotten really into it, asking Clay a lot of questions about the attack and what it was like to invade Afghanistan—if he’d been afraid of dying.

  “Not so much of dying, but of never seeing you boys again,” he’d told Justin. “I missed you guys like crazy.”

  For the rest of the trip, Justin put away the electronics and the books and let himself enjoy the vacation. To appease Cody’s phobia of cabs, they did a lot of walking and taking the subway.

  He rode the lower pasture, near the road, counting his last head. Tomorrow he’d fly over the rugged territory, up in the hills, to look for strays. If need be, he and a couple of hands could go back up with their bedrolls on horseback to take care of any calves that had become separated from their mamas. Clay looked at his watch and reined Big Red toward the stable, giving the horse his head. It was only eleven and he’d already put in a six-hour day.

  Ramon was waiting for him when he got to the corral and took the horse off his hands. If the boys were awake, he’d take them to town for lunch. Walking to the house, he ran into Emily.

  “Hey,” she greeted, coming toward him on the trail from the barn. “How was New York?”

  “Great.” He’d thought about her on the trip. Wondered how that victims meeting had gone. “How were things here?”

  “Good.” She looked around, and in a low voice asked, “Did you talk to the boys?”

  “No.” He swung her off the road, motioning for her to take a seat against the mammoth oak tree his great-grandfather had planted when the McCreedys first settled in Nugget.

  “Why didn’t you tell them?” she asked, sitting cross-legged.

  He joined her, impressed that she didn’t blink twice about plopping that pretty little ass of hers down on the dirt. “We were having such a good time, I didn’t want to ruin it.”

  “You were right about Russ Johnson. He’s selling Sierra Heights and came to town to talk business with a prospective buyer.”

  Clay assumed she’d been talking to Maddy or the Baker’s Dozen ladies. “Do you know who the buyer is?”

  She plucked a dandelion from the ground. “A guy named Griffin Parks.”

  “That kid buying the Gas and Go? The one with the Ducati?”

  “That would be him.” A smile flickered across her face and just as quickly faded.

  Clay wondered what that was about, but didn’t ask. “He must be going in with investors.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not the impression I got.”

  “From whom?”

  “Him. But we didn’t get into those kinds of details, so you could be right. I just assumed it was Griffin alone.”

  “The kid’s got major bucks, then. How did you meet him?” There were no degrees of separation in Nugget. Everyone knew everyone. Still, he was interested.

  “It’s a long story. I don’t think Russ is here anymore, but I wanted you to know. In case people start talking.”

  “Thanks for having my back,” he said, charmed that she was looking out for him. “I’ll deal with whatever fallout comes. In the meantime, I just wanted the boys to have fun—for us to spend quality time together.”

  “Did they love New York?”

  “Yeah. I think they were pretty dazzled.” Nudging his chin at her, he teased, “Did you miss us? Were you coming over to welcome us home?”

  “Actually,” she said a little sheepishly, “I was hoping you could give me a ride to town.”

  “Where’s your van?”

  “I left it parked at the Ponderosa Friday night and haven’t had a chance to get it.”

  “I thought you had that meeting in Reno Friday night.”

  “I did,” she said. “Afterward, I stopped in at the bowling alley for a drink. Had one too many and got a ride home.”

  “I’m glad you did.” He thought about that March night, when a California Highway Patrol officer knocked on the door to notify him of Jen’s death, and shuddered. “You’ve been holed up on the ranch without wheels all this time?”

  “I have,” she said. “Griffin offered to give me a ride to get my car. But—”

  “Why is this Griffin fellow offering to give you rides?” That’s what he wanted to know.

  “He’s the one who took me home when I got too drunk to drive.”

  Clay leaned his back against the tree trunk and kicked his legs out. “Nice of the kid,” he said, even though it stuck in his craw
. She shouldn’t be taking rides from men she didn’t know.

  “I got too busy to go. The deadlines on both books are killing me, especially Della James’s. She wants hers to come out in time for Christmas, which is the fastest turnaround I’ve ever heard of.” She sighed. “So would it be too much trouble to give me a lift into town? I need ingredients and supplies in Reno.”

  “No problem. I was about to take the boys over to the Bun Boy for lunch, anyway.” Because he couldn’t let the news about Sierra Heights go, he asked, “How do you think this Griffin fellow came by all his money?”

  “I have no idea, Clay. Owen says Griffin told him it was an inheritance. But there’s also a nasty rumor going around that he’s a drug dealer. It’s awful. People said that about me . . . when Hope vanished. The police found a vial of oxycodone in my medicine cabinet—a leftover prescription from a root canal. Somehow it got leaked to the media. Next thing I know, they’re reporting that I have a severe drug addiction to painkillers.”

  Emily had always been tight-lipped about what had transpired during the kidnapping; Clay took her hand in support. “First off, why were the cops rooting around in your medicine cabinet? Second off, what did pain pills have to do with your daughter getting kidnapped?”

  “I was their key suspect,” she said, and hurriedly got to her feet. “You ready to go?”

  He brushed some leaves off her back and pulled her in for a hug. Her lithe body felt good up against him and Clay held her tighter than he probably should have. For a minute they just stood there under that old oak tree, the August sun filtering through the branches, making shadow stripes on the ground. And something squeezed inside him. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was compassion for one parent from another. Whatever it was, he’d never felt a connection like it before.

  She squirmed, and he loosened his hold but kept her encircled in his arms. “How the hell could they ever think you would take your own daughter?” he asked.

  “Because I failed the polygraph test,” she said, tugging out of his embrace and walking the rest of the way to Clay’s house in silence.

  Two days had passed since Clay had given Emily a ride to town to fetch her van, and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her. He figured she was buried in work, although he’d seen her drive out a few times. Once to meet with some of the ladies in town for their cooking klatch. He knew, because Rhys had mentioned it.

  Lauren had come up to her place for the weekend and Clay was trying to muster the energy to pay her a call. She’d mentioned making him dinner. And, if he could find a sitter for the boys, Lauren had invited him to stay the night. Clay supposed he could ship Justin and Cody off to Rhys and Maddy’s but was more inclined to take her to a restaurant in Reno and call it an early night. Although he wouldn’t mind a couple of hours in her bed. He just didn’t want to go too fast, too soon.

  The boys wouldn’t like it, and frankly he enjoyed the flexibility of being single. Enjoyed being able to hang out with any woman he wanted. Jennifer had barely tolerated him having friends, let alone women friends. Even during the worst times, when he’d wanted so badly to end their farce of a marriage, Clay had never strayed on her. He just wasn’t built that way.

  If he ever decided to be serious with a woman again, his next mate would have to pass the rigorous I’m-not-cuckoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs test. But seriously, he’d think long and hard before he took that step.

  Clay pulled into the square and parked his truck in front of the barbershop. He needed a trim. The boys could use one too, but they’d begged to go tubing at the Hot Spot instead. Hell, they could always get haircuts. Clay would sooner see them enjoy the last days of summer.

  When he walked into Owen’s, the kid—Griffin—sat at a table with Dink, playing a game of cards. He nodded a greeting and took a seat while Owen worked his magic on Tater, the Ponderosa cook. The man had more hair than a bear.

  “You got time for me, Owen?”

  “Always do. I hear that girl of yours, Lauren, is up from the city for the weekend.”

  “She’s not my girl,” Clay corrected. “We see each other occasionally.”

  “That the same as a booty call?” Owen wanted to know.

  Clay saw Griffin shaking his head. “No, it’s not,” Clay said, and wasn’t going to dignify the quip with any more of a response than that.

  “You hear Griffin here is buying the Gas and Go?” Owen turned Tater away from the mirror so he could even up his sideburns with the clippers.

  “Yup.” Clay looked over at Griffin. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and reshuffled the deck of cards.

  Dink told Clay, “He wants to put in a car wash.”

  “Good idea. We could use one of those around here.”

  Dink dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Bait and tackle. That’s what we need.”

  Griffin rolled his eyes heavenward, and Clay said, “The Steelhead carries fishing supplies.”

  “His prices over there are outrageous. The man ought to be hanged, drawn, and quartered for gouging us locals like that.” Owen finished with Tater and motioned for Clay to get in the chair.

  “The punishment seems a little excessive,” Clay said. Then again, the men were hardcore about their fishing. “So you want Griffin to undercut Steelhead?”

  “Damn straight,” Dink said.

  Griffin didn’t look up, just continued to deal the cards. Clay wanted to ask him about Sierra Heights, but didn’t know if he had discussed it with Emily in confidence. He was surprised to find the James Dean wannabe hanging out with the Nugget Mafia. Even when the fellows were on their best behavior, they were hard to take. And Griffin just seemed a little too cool for school to be playing pinochle with a bunch of coots.

  “It would be nice if you just kept the station open regular hours.” For years, Denny, the business’s elderly owner, opened the Gas and Go whenever the hell he pleased. As a result, no one could rely on the place.

  “I’m thinking twenty-four hours,” Griffin said.

  In Nugget? Clay gave him an Are you insane? look.

  “It would be the only all-night gas station between Truckee and Reno. It’ll bring the semitrucks off the interstate.”

  Clay noted that the kid had obviously given it some serious thought. Maybe not a dilettante after all.

  “Just what we need,” Dink piped in. “A bunch of truckers causing backups on the main artery in and out of town.”

  Griffin laughed. “Yeah, that’ll pose a big problem at two in the morning. But selling night crawlers, now there’s the idea of the century.”

  “Just a little off on the sides and trim up the back,” Clay told Owen, amused. Griffin gave as good as he got.

  “So Emily’s writing Della James’s cookbook, huh?” Owen said. “Heard the little tart’s trying to polish up her public image after getting caught doing the nasty with a married man. Too bad. She’s no Loretta Lynn, but I like her music.” He hummed a bar of her hit, “Lonesome Me.”

  Clay nodded his head and Owen chastised him for moving. “How do you expect me to make it even? Anyway, Donna says the girl’s driving poor Emily crazy.”

  “She can hold her own,” Clay said.

  “You know her daughter was kidnapped?” Owen announced, and the room went still. Dead silent. Dink put down his cards and Stu, owner of the Nugget Market, stopped drinking his coffee mid-swallow. The only one who didn’t seem surprised was Griffin.

  “How do you know that, Owen?” Clay asked.

  “I thought I recognized her, so I Googled her name. She came right up. Four years ago, her kid was snatched right out of the backyard. She was only six. Police thought Emily paid someone to do it, but they could never prove it. Far as I can tell they were trying to railroad her, like they did with that Patsy Ramsey.”

  “Owen,” Clay said, and turned his gaze on the rest of the men in the room, “does everyone in town know about this?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Well, don’t spread it
around.” Clay raised his voice. “The woman’s been through hell. I can’t imagine a worse nightmare for a parent. She came here for privacy and to try to heal. So leave her be.”

  “You trust her around your boys?” Stu asked, and when Clay fixed him with a glare, he put his hands up in the air. “Just saying.”

  “No, don’t say anything. That’s what I’m telling you people. I don’t want to hear you gossiping about this. And if I do, there will be hell to pay.” He pulled off the cape, left a twenty on the counter, and slammed out.

  Owen yelled, “I wasn’t done yet.”

  Clay walked next door to the police station, hoping to find Rhys there on a Saturday. As luck would have it, the police chief was sitting at his desk, throwing a Nerf ball through a hoop on the back of his door.

  “Hey.” He waved Clay into his office. “What brings you here this fine afternoon?”

  “I was over at Owen’s getting my hair cut,” he said. “I’m seeing Lauren later.”

  Rhys perked up. “You want us to take the boys for the night?”

  “Nah. You pull a weekend shift?” Clay picked the ball off the floor and threw it back at Rhys.

  “No rest for the weary,” Rhys said.

  “Yeah, you look swamped. Where’s Maddy?”

  “She had some paperwork to do at the Lumber Baron. Then we’re headed to Reno to buy maternity clothes. Good times.”

  Clay took the seat across from Rhys’s desk. “Did you know about Emily?” he asked.

  “Know what?”

  “Don’t mess with me, Rhys. We’ve been friends our whole lives.”

  Rhys put the ball down and took his feet off the desk. “What do you want me to say? The woman is entitled to her privacy. No one should be subjected to the horror she’s lived through.”

  “Why did she fail her polygraph test?”

  “Clay,” Rhys said, letting out a puff of air. “I’m not at liberty to talk about her case. But use your head; you think I would let anyone dangerous near Justin and Cody? They’re like my own flesh and blood.”

  “For God’s sake, I don’t think she’s dangerous. I’m trying to prepare her for the possible onslaught. Owen’s shooting off his goddamn mouth. In no time, the entire town will know. I don’t want this lie-detector deal biting her on the ass.”