Second Chance Cowboy

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Second Chance Cowboy Page 3

by B. J Daniels


  As she left, fighting tears of frustration, she passed Eve Bailey coming in. She hadn’t seen her neighbor for a while and was surprised how happy Eve looked, then recalled that Eve and the sheriff were to be married in the coming week.

  Arlene nodded at Eve as they passed, not trusting her voice. She’d always wanted that for her daughters. A handsome, eligible man. A wedding where everyone in the county came to celebrate. A white wedding dress and the mother-daughter talk.

  She’d wanted that desperately because she’d never had it.

  She fought the tears all the way to her pickup. What had she done wrong? At the rate things were going, she’d never have to worry about buying a mother-of-the-bride dress or fussing over last-minute details with the caterer.

  EVE BAILEY WASN’T getting cold feet. She was marrying the man she loved—had loved since she was a girl.

  But now that the Fourth of July was coming up so quickly, she was anxious. She wanted this wedding to be perfect.

  Her mother, with her new husband Loren Jackson, would be flying in. Her father, Chester Bailey, would be giving her away. He would be attending the wedding with his girlfriend Susie.

  How did other families handle all this extended-family stuff? She just hoped there wouldn’t be any trouble. But that wasn’t what bothered her. Here she was with all this extra family and she wasn’t related by blood to any of them except for her twin, Bridger Duvall.

  She had hoped by the time she married Sheriff Carter Jackson that she would know who she was. For years she’d yearned for someone who looked like her. Bridger had her coloring, but it wasn’t like being able to look at your mother and father and see yourself.

  She had tried to accept that she would never have that because of the circumstances of her adoption. But still she wondered what her birth mother was like. Was she even still alive? On her wedding day, Eve would have loved to have her “other” family in the pews as well as her adopted family.

  Unfortunately she and her adoptive mother had never been close. Eve blamed herself. She knew she had been a difficult child. From early on she’d known Lila wasn’t her “real” mother even though Lila had sworn differently. It didn’t seem to matter that Lila loved her and considered Eve her own.

  Eve hoped to make up for that somehow. But looking for her birth mother had only made the chasm between her and Lila grow wider—and brought light to the illegal adoption ring.

  “Is everything all right?” Carter asked as she stopped in his office doorway, hands on her slim hips, dressed in Western attire with a straw hat pulled low over her long dark hair.

  “Yes. No. I think so.”

  He laughed and came around his desk to take her in his arms. “Just a little longer,” he whispered against her ear.

  She nodded, sick of thinking about nothing but the wedding. “Was that Arlene Evans I just saw leaving? She looked different somehow.”

  “Charlotte seems to be missing,” he said as he motioned Eve into a chair and took one opposite her.

  “The girl is about to have a baby any day, isn’t she?”

  He nodded.

  “Poor Arlene, those kids have put her through hell,” Eve said. “What if our kids turn out like that?”

  “I’ll lock them up down here in the cells until they straighten up.”

  Her eyes widened even though she knew he was kidding. “Seriously, there could be some bad gene in Bridger’s and my blood that we don’t know about.”

  Carter’s face softened. “There is no bad gene. Look how well both of you turned out.”

  “Right.” But Eve couldn’t help but worry. Soon they would be having children. The sooner, the better, since she was now thirty-four. At least their kids would be able to look at their parents and know who they were, even though their mother still probably wouldn’t have a clue who she was or where she’d come from.

  “I’m okay,” she said, seeing the worry in her soon-to-be husband’s face. “Really. It’s just the wedding and everything.” She reached across to squeeze his hand.

  She had one constant she could hang on to: she knew she belonged with Sheriff Carter Jackson. Now, if they could just get through the wedding without anything like sheriff business keeping him from the altar…

  AS ARLENE CLIMBED behind the wheel of her pickup, she didn’t blame Sheriff Carter Jackson for being skeptical about Charlotte’s disappearing act. Arlene herself couldn’t help but believe he might be right.

  She blamed herself. She’d failed miserably as a mother. It was the only explanation for the way her three had turned out. And even now she had no idea what she’d done wrong. Floyd had always been too busy farming—until recently, when he’d bailed out completely.

  Drying her tears, she pulled herself together as she drove home. She had to believe that Charlotte would come back and that that innocent little baby was all right.

  “Arlene?” Hank’s voice sounded like heaven when he answered the phone. “Any news on your daughter?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned her back to Bo, who was sprawled on the couch, watching television. “She never went to her doctor’s appointment yesterday, and I still haven’t heard a word. I’m worried sick.”

  “I’ll come right out and help you look for her.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Bo. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Arlene, I want to help.”

  She’d hoped to put this off. She took the phone outside to the porch and closed the door firmly behind her.

  “The truth is, I haven’t been honest with you about my family.” The tears that burned her eyes surprised her. She hadn’t cried for years, and now all of a sudden she was a waterworks. “I’ve made a horrible mess of my life. Of my children’s lives. I have one daughter in a mental institution, another one pregnant and a son—” Her voice broke and she couldn’t continue.

  “I haven’t told you about my family either,” Hank said. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, as well, Arlene. You know I told you I was widowed? It’s true. My wife and I never divorced but we hadn’t lived together for years. I’m walking out the door now. I can be at your place in fifteen minutes. Just give me the directions. We’ll find your daughter.”

  Arlene cupped her hand over her mouth for a moment to keep from sobbing, her relief overwhelming her. She’d been handling things on her own for so many years, just the thought of someone wanting to help her…When there were problems, Floyd had always left it up to her to take care of them, blaming her no matter what the trouble was or the outcome.

  “You need to drive south toward Old Town,” she finally managed to say.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter Three

  Hank drove down the narrow dirt road, flying over the small rises, dropping down to creek bottoms and cattle crossings.

  He hadn’t seen another vehicle since he’d left Whitehorse. Nor was there a house or fence in sight. The land rolled in waves of green grasses toward the badlands of the Missouri Breaks.

  Of all the places he’d been in the world, none seemed as desolate as this right now. He’d heard this called one of the loneliest places in America. One hundred and fifty miles of country with only a few roads, none of them passable when wet, scores of townships without a town or even a house and, ripping a deep, twisted canyon through it all was the Missouri River, where the badlands rose up from the canyon floor in pre-glacial cliffs.

  This country of purple-shadowed coulees filled with stands of scrub pine, spruce and cedar was what had brought him here. The river bottom was cloaked in thick stands of cottonwoods that reached for the big sky, and the prairie let him see for miles.

  Montana was said to have a population density of six people per square mile. Out here that number dropped to zero-point-three people.

  He had yearned for isolation. For open spaces. For freedom. Here in this part of Montana, one of the last lawless places, he had found it.

  Had he blinked, he would have miss
ed Old Town Whitehorse. A weathered sign was barely visible in the tall weeds beside the road. Whitehorse. Someone had added Old Town above the faded lettering in black paint.

  Hank slowed as he passed a one-room schoolhouse, the Whitehorse Community Center, a few more old houses, the cemetery with its wrought-iron arch.

  The railroad might have lured the first residents to the north, but a lot of Whitehorse apparently had remained right here.

  He turned down the road as Arlene had instructed. Not far along he spotted the farmhouse. It was big and white with a wide screened-in porch. Behind it, a faded red barn with a horse weather vane that moved restlessly in the breeze.

  He pulled in, parked. As he got out of his SUV, he saw Arlene waiting for him, on the front porch. Her face lit at the sight of him and he felt that pull inside him, his heart beating a little faster, the sky a little bluer.

  What was it about this woman? She was far from beautiful. But there was a strength to her. An inner beauty that seemed to radiate from her face when he looked at her.

  His grandmother would have said she came from good stock. A woman who’d never been pampered. A woman who he suspected had never been loved—at least not enough. And that, he thought, explained the vulnerability that she tried so hard to hide.

  After the phone call from Cameron last night, he knew he shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to bring his old life anywhere near this woman, who he suspected had enough problems without him becoming one of them.

  But as he walked toward her and saw the determined set of her shoulders under the oversize shirt, the way she stood in boots and slim jeans that emphasized her height, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he could turn his back on her.

  He’d help her find her daughter, then he’d make some excuse not to see her anymore until he knew what the hell Cameron wanted. A breach in security? That had nothing to do with him any longer. Even if his former enemies had learned who he was, he’d suspected long before he’d quit that all the bad guys knew the other bad guys. That’s why he hadn’t returned the call. He didn’t want any more to do with that spook stuff.

  “I shouldn’t have called you,” Arlene said, coming down the porch steps toward him.

  “I’m sure this is just Charlotte being Charlotte. I don’t want you bothered with it. She likes to worry me.”

  He smiled ruefully, thinking of his own daughter. “Kids do that.”

  “Really, I shouldn’t have involved you in this,” she said nervously.

  “Arlene, I want to help. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She made a swipe at them. “I made some lemonade.”

  He didn’t need any lemonade, but he had a feeling she needed to keep busy. “Lemonade sounds wonderful.”

  She glanced toward the house. “My son is home.”

  “I look forward to meeting him.”

  Her skeptical glance almost made him laugh as she angled back up onto the porch to open the front door.

  He followed her inside. The place was immaculate right down to the plastic covers on the couch and chairs. The floors looked freshly scrubbed, and there wasn’t even a dust mote in the air.

  The only thing out of place was the young man sprawled on the couch watching TV. He frowned when he saw Hank but didn’t move.

  “Bo, this is Hank Monroe,” she said, biting off each word as she gave a jerk of her head that indicated her son should stand.

  Bo ignored the gesture. “So you’re dating my mom?” he asked, his tone incredulous as he gave Hank the once-over.

  “Bo,” Arlene snapped as she stepped into the living room to shut off the television.

  Hank said nothing, his gaze locking with Bo’s. Bo looked away first, and Hank followed Arlene into the kitchen. He heard the television come back on, but Bo turned it down, obviously not wanting to miss what was going on in the adjacent room.

  “I did teach him manners. He just refuses to use them. I’m sorry,” Arlene said as she poured Hank a glass of lemonade from a sweating glass pitcher.

  “Don’t be.” He took a sip. The lemonade was wonderful and he said as much.

  She beamed and offered him some gingersnaps she’d made. “They take first place at the fair every year.” She glanced toward the living room, clearly anxious.

  Hank motioned to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you tell me when you last saw Charlotte.”

  Arlene pulled out the chair, brushing at nonexistent crumbs on the seat, and sat down. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I saw her just before she left for her doctor’s appointment. Her appointment was for three, but as usual she was running late. I was worried about her driving too fast on the road into Whitehorse. I offered to take her, but…” Her voice broke.

  “You said you talked to the doctor and she didn’t make her appointment?”

  Arlene nodded.

  “Had she missed an appointment before?” he asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer.

  “Yes, but she was getting so close to her due date I can’t imagine her just blowing this one off.”

  “Okay. There is only one road into Whitehorse, right?”

  Arlene’s eyes widened as she shifted her gaze to the living room. Bo was caught watching them and instantly got a don’t-look-at-me expression.

  “Charlotte wouldn’t have taken the shortcut would she?” Arlene asked her son.

  “Why do you keep asking me what Charlotte would do?” Bo demanded, raising his voice. “I have no idea. It’s not like we ever talk. You should know that.”

  “I should know a lot of things,” Arlene snapped.

  Bo shot to his feet, angrily snapped off the television and stalked down the hallway. A door slammed, and a few moments later Hank heard a stereo come on.

  “Can you show me this shortcut?” Hank said, getting to his feet.

  She glanced down the hallway for a moment, and he could see how badly she wanted to go down there and yell at her son. Slowly her gaze came back to him and she rose from her chair as if she was an old woman. Her children were killing her, he thought as they went outside to his vehicle.

  “What was Charlotte driving?” he asked.

  “A small, dark blue Chevy. I can’t remember what year. It’s an older-model sedan.”

  He nodded. “And what was she wearing?”

  Arlene shook her head. “I don’t remember exactly. She’s so big and she refuses to wear maternity clothes, so whatever she had on was stretched over her stomach.”

  “I think that’s the style now.”

  Arlene looked mystified by that.

  “What about the baby’s father?” he asked. “Is it possible she’s with him?”

  “I doubt it. She wouldn’t tell me who the man is, but from what I could gather he’s involved with someone else. I’m not even sure he knows about the baby.”

  Hank took that in, wondering how the man couldn’t know in a town the size of Whitehorse. From what little time he’d lived in the county he’d discovered there were no secrets. Everyone seemed to know his name even though he spent little time in town and had met only a few people.

  “I tried her cell phone,” Arlene was saying. “It goes straight to voice mail. I left a message….”

  “Maybe you should call the sheriff,” he suggested as they drove out of town.

  “No.” She softened her expression and her words as she continued. “I already spoke to the sheriff. He can’t file a missing-persons report yet. The thing is, Charlotte has had some problems with the law. The sheriff thinks this is just one of her stunts—and, you know, he’s probably right.”

  THE SHORTCUT WAS narrow, with deep barrow pits on each side—much like the main road to Old Town Whitehorse.

  But the road was closer to the Evans’ farmhouse, and since Hank hadn’t seen Charlotte’s car on his way to Arlene’s, this would be the next place to check.

  He found himself taking in the land that ran toward the Missouri Breaks, fascinated th
is untamed country was right out Arlene’s back door. Who couldn’t get lost in this?

  “I’m sure Charlotte probably just stayed in town,” Arlene said, drumming her fingers on the armrest. “It’s just that I can’t imagine who she might have stayed with.” When she looked at him, he saw the pain.

  He realized he had never known the names of his daughter’s friends. There’d been a stream of them in and out of the house over the years, but he’d never been home enough to keep track of them.

  His daughter had grown up without him being around. He’d told himself that she was fine, Bitsy was doing a great job raising her. That he wasn’t needed. His job was to provide for his family. Only now could he admit what bull that had been.

  “What was your husband like?” he asked.

  “Absent,” she said and craned her neck to look out as the road dipped down to a creek crowded with thick stands of chokecherries and dogwood. “Wait. Back up. I think I saw something.”

  He stopped the SUV and reversed back up the hill.

  “There!” she cried.

  He pulled over to the edge of the road as best he could although it wasn’t wide enough for another car to pass and put on the emergency flashers even though he doubted any other cars would be coming along. Arlene was already out of the car and running to the edge of the road.

  He joined her as she pointed down the slope and saw the patch of blue through the dense, tall brush along the creek.

  Closer, he could see the tracks in the soft earth where a car had gone off, some of the sagebrush limbs broken or uprooted.

  “Oh, God,” Arlene said beside him. She took a step toward the ravine, but he stopped her.

  “Stay here. I’ll go check.”

  Arlene looked stricken. “If she went off the road…The baby—”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions before we know if that’s even her car down there, okay?”

  She nodded, although they both knew it had to be.

  He walked down the road to a spot where the slope wasn’t so steep and worked his way down to where he’d seen the patch of blue from above.

 

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