Finding Hope (Nugget Romance 2)

by Stacy Finz

  Clay had known Rhys since grade school. The man had a poker face that could put card hustlers to shame. But not today. Today, his expression had nothing but bad news written all over it.

  A couple of guys who worked at the airport pushed the Cub back into the hangar, while Rhys ushered Emily and Clay to his SUV for privacy. Emily pulled her jacket tighter, her hands too shaky to manage the zipper. Clay crouched down and closed it for her. Although the sky was clear and sunny, the temperature had dropped into the low fifties. Clay smelled a cold front moving in.

  Rhys didn’t stand on ceremony. He took Emily’s hand and said, “I’ve got bad news. They’ve already found human bones, thirty-five feet down.”

  Emily nodded stoically, but Clay could feel her start to crumble and knew if he didn’t hold her up, she’d collapse.

  “It’s still way too soon to know anything about Hope,” Rhys continued. “They’re waiting for an archeological team. Until that happens, we’re pretty much in the dark on whose bones those are. With so little information, I deliberated over whether to tell you, Emily. But it’s going to hit the press, probably get blown up, and I didn’t want you to hear it that way.”

  She gave him an appreciative hug. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “We’ll be at the barn if you hear any more,” Clay said, silently praying that this would soon be over. No fault of Rhys’s, but parsed information like this was plain torture.

  “You want me to take the boys?” Rhys asked.

  “No. We’ll stand together on this.”

  Three days went by with no word other than investigators had found dozens and dozens of human remains and were continuing to excavate.

  The weather dipped into the forties and Clay built the first fall fire in the barn’s giant hearth. They’d been sleeping at his house, Clay sneaking into the guest room after the boys went to bed and loving Emily until she found temporary respite in their consuming passion.

  In the mornings, after Justin and Cody had been dropped at school or at a neighbor’s, they’d return to Emily’s, where they spent the days holding vigil. More reporters had flocked into town, but so far none had dared to approach Emily in person. Her landline and cell phone, however, rang off the hook.

  They couldn’t turn off either, fearing that they would be cut off from any official word that came down the pike. So Donna and Maddy took turns handling the calls.

  On the fourth day they heard Rhys’s police SUV pull up in the driveway. Emily put on a pot of coffee as Clay watched her mentally prepare herself for the news. Over the days, she’d become almost numb, losing all the light and life that she’d regained since he’d come to know her. At least during their nights together, when he was deep inside her, she’d let herself go, reveling in their desire for one another.

  He’d never felt closer to a woman, or more helpless. His biggest fear was that this ordeal would send her back down that desolate road she’d come from when he’d first met her. Back when her eyes were dead and she seemed almost soulless.

  Rhys gathered them in the great room and Clay could tell that he did not relish what he’d come to say.

  “I’ve got more bad news.” Rhys sucked in a breath. “Out of two hundred bones, investigators have found a femur they feel is consistent with a six-year-old female. Due to media pressure, they’re making it a top priority and have rushed the femur to the FBI lab in Quantico. Palo Alto police have already supplied the feds with Hope’s DNA.”

  Rhys reached across the coffee table to Emily. “We should know soon.”

  She shut her eyes and slowly nodded. Rhys must’ve sensed her desperate need to be alone, because he quickly rose and let himself out. Emily went into the bedroom. Clay found her a few minutes later curled up in a ball, sobbing into her pillow.

  “I know I can’t make this better,” he said. “But what can I do to help?” Anything, he thought, because he’d never felt so damn useless.

  “Let me tell you something so awful you won’t want anything to do with me.” The words came out stuttered as she continued to weep.

  “What do you want to tell me, Emily?”

  “I left Hope alone.”

  He realized that this was what she hadn’t been able to talk about, and joined her on the bed. “Start at the beginning.”

  Emily sat up and stared out the window, her eyes vacant. “I was baking a cake for Drew,” she said. “German chocolate. He was coming home from his trip and it was his favorite. But Hope wanted to play outside. The weather had been beautiful—sunny, but not too hot. So I put the cake in the oven and we went out to the backyard.”

  She turned to face him. “The year before we’d had it landscaped, put in a big swing set and a playhouse for Hope.” For a second, a slight smile touched Emily’s lips. “She loved climbing the rope ladder and taking the slide down on her belly. She’d do it over and over again.

  “Drew and I had an unspoken rule that we never, ever, left her outside alone,” she continued, her lips now tightening into a grim line. “On that day, however, I ran inside to take the cakes out of the oven. It should’ve just taken a few seconds. But the phone rang and I rushed into the living room to pick it up. It was a friend calling. I can’t even remember the conversation, but I got so absorbed that minutes went by before I returned to the yard. By then it was too late. Hope had already vanished and the gate swung wide open. I thought maybe she’d come looking for me. I don’t even recall whether I’d told her that I was going inside. It all happened so fast.”

  Emily shut her eyes as if she were reliving the event all over again. “To this day, I’m haunted by the question of whether she was grabbed in the yard while I was in the living room, or off the street because she’d run out of the yard, panicked that she couldn’t find me. I combed through the neighborhood, searching and praying that she’d just wandered off and had gotten lost. A neighbor finally called 9-1-1, but if I’d called sooner, they could’ve blocked the roads, kept anyone from going in or out.”

  “Emily,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle as a surge of anger went through him. All these years to carry that kind of guilt, when she’d done nothing wrong. “You went inside for few minutes and it’s your fault? What does that say about parents all over America? Kids play in their backyards all the time without constant supervision, Emily. Kids have been snatched from their beds with their parents in the next room. Are they to blame too?”

  He pulled her close. “Listen to me. You were a good mother. You loved your daughter. What happened to her was out of your control. Blame the person who took her, not yourself.”

  Lifting her off the bed, he enfolded her in his arms. “I’m going to say it again: You were a good mother. You are a good person. Unfortunately, bad things happen to even the best of people.”

  She clung to him, weeping uncontrollably. “I keep thinking that if only I’d done this, or if only I’d done that, I’d have Hope.”

  “I know,” he said. “It’s human nature. Is this why you failed the polygraph? Because you felt responsible for her disappearance?”

  “Yes.” She slumped back down onto the bed and cried until Clay thought there were no tears left.

  The next time Rhys came to the house, Emily wasn’t sure if he brought news or casseroles. He, Maddy, Griffin, Donna, and the other members of Baker’s Dozen had become permanent fixtures at the barn, regularly appearing with food and sympathy.

  “Where’s Clay?” he asked as he joined Emily on the porch.

  It was cold, maybe forty-eight degrees, but she’d needed fresh air. She’d been cooped up for days, waiting, and had decided to sit outside on her rocker. “He’s doing chores. I’m afraid I’ve kept him from the ranch lately. The boys are helping.”

  “Emily, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you’ve been good for each other.” He looked out over the trail to the big house and pointed. “Here he comes.”

  Emily watched him approach, his field jacket zipped to his chin and his black cowboy h
at pulled down over his forehead. Handsome man. Just the sight of him made her heart skip.

  “Let’s go in the house,” Rhys said, and she knew this was it. Emily had told herself that no matter the outcome, she’d make her peace with it.

  But now that it was staring her in the face, she wasn’t so sure. She could already feel her body slowly starting to shut down. Her skin grew clammy and she was finding it difficult to breathe.

  Clay took off his hat and jacket but left his boots on, obviously anxious. They’d done this so many times that it had become rote. Clay went inside the kitchen to get Emily a glass of water and everyone took their regular seats.

  “I won’t beat around the bush,” Rhys said. “It’s not her. Hope wasn’t in that well. Lots of other people were, but not her.”

  “Oh God,” Emily whimpered, and clutched Clay’s sleeve. “Oh, thank God.”

  Clay put his arm around her, pulling her against his side. For a moment everything went dull and out of focus. She could hear her heart beating, like one of those loud clocks. Thump. Thump. And the room seemed to be tipping.

  “Emily?” Clay was trying to get her attention. “Emily, are you okay?”

  She flattened her hands on top of the couch cushions to stabilize herself and gulped in a couple of breaths of air. “I’m just so relieved.”

  Clay passed her the glass of water and watched her drink. “Does this mean Fairbanks was lying?”

  “The FBI, Palo Alto detectives, and the Shasta County Sheriff’s Office have all pressed him on it. But he’s suddenly become very confused.” Rhys shrugged. “It turns out that the femur belongs to a petite young runaway who went missing about the time the Interstate Killers committed their crimes. There is nothing to indicate that Fairbanks or Manski kidnapped small children.”

  “That poor young woman,” Emily said, realizing that somewhere another family was receiving the devastating news that Emily had feared would be hers.

  “The reporters would like a statement,” Rhys said. “It’s up to you how you want to handle that . . . If you want to make one, though, I promised the reporter from the Times-Tribune first crack.”

  Emily nodded. “I’ll write out something and you can distribute it however you like. I need to go for a walk now.”

  Clay stood up to follow her, but she held up her hand to stop him. She needed to be alone. Bundled up in a down jacket, she didn’t go far. She found the oak tree where she and Clay had sat the day she’d told him about failing the polygraph. In a bed of leaves, Emily sat against the trunk and cried. Despite the news, she still didn’t know where Hope was. Whether she was safe. Or even alive.

  Always this state of limbo. It was like being stuck in the middle of a nightmare and not being able to wake up. She loved Clay. Oh God, did she love him. But how could she drag him and his family into the constant uncertainty of her life?

  “Emily!” Justin and Cody came running from the distance, calling her name over and over again. When they got to the oak tree, they were both out of breath.

  “Dad said it wasn’t Hope,” Justin said.

  “No.” She wiped away her tears. “It wasn’t Hope.”

  Cody plopped down next to her, completely oblivious that she’d come here to be alone. “Then why are you crying?” He snuggled closer and Justin crouched down in front of her.

  “It’s just been very stressful,” she said, and tried to smile. “Everything just sort of built up inside of me.”

  “It’s okay,” Cody said, resting his head against her shoulder. “You can cry.”

  Justin moved to the other side of her. He seemed less comfortable with her blubbering, but wasn’t likely to abandon her in her time of need. They were so much like their father. Strong and kind. Committed and caring.

  “Emily,” Cody said, his voice sounding very grown-up and just a little bit bossy, “I think it would be best if you stayed with us tonight.”

  Chapter 25

  “Sold!” Marge gleefully shouted into the phone. “They especially love the part about Nugget and the rancher and how they helped you heal.”

  For weeks after the Fairbanks ordeal, Emily had buried herself in working up a proposal for her Sierra Mountains Cookbook. It had actually been the idea of her victims group to turn the book into a memoir about Hope and include recipes. Just writing the outline had been wonderfully cathartic. And experimenting with various regional recipes—the familiarity of mixing and folding, baking and frying—had been particularly soothing.

  Not since Hope had vanished, had Emily been this resilient. No longer did she feel so much like a victim as she did a survivor. And knowing that the proceeds of the book would help the families of missing children was the biggest bonus of all.

  “You rock, Marge,” Emily said. “Of course, I’ll continue to need the ghostwriting jobs to keep me afloat.”

  “I’ve got boatloads of ’em. Look, I’ve gotta run. The contract’s in the mail.”

  As soon as Emily hung up, the phone rang again. Maybe Clay and the boys were finally back from the roundup. God, she’d missed them. But it turned out to be Donna.

  “We’re meeting at the Lumber Baron tonight, about seven, to plan Sophie’s baby shower,” she said. “Large quantities of alcohol will be involved. And Pam’s coming. She and her husband are back from Italy. You’ll love her, although she’ll try to rope you into signing up for one of her yoga classes. You can come, right?”

  “I’ll be there with bells on.” Emily grinned. She’d come here alone and now had a whole town full of friends.

  And she’d met Clay. Wonderful, life-changing Clay.

  After getting off the phone, Emily decided that she needed to get outside and take advantage of the mild October weather. She quickly showered, put on a sweater and a pair of jeans, and wrapped a pretty scarf around her neck. Her cowboy boots sat at the foot of the bed, so she slipped those on too. She’d take a walk and pass by the farmhouse, because according to Clay’s schedule, he should’ve been home yesterday.

  So much had happened since she’d found out that it wasn’t Hope’s bones in that well that she and Clay hadn’t really had time to talk. By the time the reporters had packed up and left, and Emily had found her footing, Clay had to make ready for the annual roundup. He’d said cell phone reception was sketchy up in the nooks and crannies of the Sierra, that he’d call her as soon as he got home. Then he’d kissed her goodbye and she hadn’t heard a word since.

  But by the time she’d reached the door, Justin and Cody were standing there as if she’d conjured them out of thin air. Their faces red, like they’d been running.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked, fearing that something bad had happened to Clay.

  “Yeah,” Cody said, a little out of breath. “We got back yesterday. Dad sent us. He wants you to meet him at Great-grandpa’s oak tree. We get to come too.”

  She looked at Justin and he nodded. Unable to help herself, she wiped a smudge of dirt off his face. “How was it? I’ve missed you guys.”

  “It was great,” Cody said. “I wanted to come as soon as we got back, but Dad said we needed to give you space.”

  “He’s gotten all new age-y.” Justin rolled his eyes. “And he still can’t cook. We had to have Eggos this morning.”

  “No!” She feigned shock and grabbed her heart. “Frozen waffles?”

  Justin laughed and Cody grabbed her arm. “Are you coming?”

  “So what’s at the oak tree?” she asked as she quickly shrugged into her jacket so Cody could drag her down the trail.

  “We don’t have a clue. Ever since we got back, Dad’s been all weird and mysterious,” Justin said.

  A gust of cool air hit her and she knew it was just a matter of time before another cold front moved in. Perhaps even snow. But for now, you could still go outside with a medium-weight jacket. Soon, Clay would sell his calves and truck his breeding herd south. She’d miss seeing them grazing along the hillsides but looked forward to Nugget’s change of season. Win
ter would be different here than it had been in sunny Palo Alto. But change was good.

  When they stepped off the trail and into the clearing, she gasped in awe. “Goodness, you planted another tree. It’s a big one.”

  Clay’s blue eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Yup. Biggest one I could find. Put Della James’s check to good use.”

  He steered her toward a bench placed between the old tree and the new one. Emily could see that someday, when the younger oak filled in, the bench would sit under a canopy of leaves and branches. And on a hot summer afternoon, it would be the shadiest spot on the ranch.

  On the back of the bench someone had mounted a plaque that said “HOPE.”

  “Oh my God.” Emily covered her mouth.

  Clay tugged her in front of him, wrapping her in his arms. “I had planned on doing this before we left for the roundup, but I thought maybe you needed a little more time. This is Hope’s tree, Emily. No matter where she is, her spirit lives here. That’s her bench. No matter where she is, we’ll sit here and always think of her.”

  “Clay . . .” Emily’s voice cracked with emotion. She had so many things she wanted to tell him. Like how he couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful spot. How Hope would’ve loved it here. How Emily had forever lost her heart to him. But at the moment words escaped her.

  Clay handed each person a champagne flute. He filled the boys’ glasses with sparkling apple cider and Emily’s and his with bubbly. “To Hope and her tree,” he said, raising his glass.

  “To Hope and her tree,” the boys shouted.

  “To Hope and her tree,” Emily said, tears pouring down her face.

  He spread out a blanket so they could sit and drink by the new oak and watch day turn to dusk. Eventually, Justin and Cody, most likely sensing that the adults needed some alone time, excused themselves to catch up on their schoolwork.