Second Chance Cowboy

by B. J Daniels

  “It isn’t just Violet,” Arlene had said after a few moments. “It’s Charlotte. She sounded so…matter-of-fact on the phone. So distant.”

  That, Hank realized now, was what had his instincts telling him that something was wrong. If the girl really had run off with the father of her baby, wouldn’t she be triumphant? Especially if the man was married. It would mean she’d won him. And she’d be gloating, knowing all of this would hurt her mother. Relieving her mother’s mind was the last thing Charlotte Evans would do, from what he could gather.

  He hesitated before getting out of the SUV. What he was about to do was more than illegal, impersonating an FBI agent.

  And, possibly worse, he would call attention to himself. Enough people in town wondered who he was, what he did for a living and why he’d picked Whitehorse, Montana. He didn’t need any more rumors circulating.

  Once he went into the beauty shop and impersonated an FBI agent, word would get out. Word might even get back to the agency where he’d really worked, and that was the last thing he needed, since Cameron was already trying to get in touch with him. He hadn’t returned the calls, telling himself Cam would do anything to draw him back in.

  But wasn’t what he was doing right now just as bad?

  He could just imagine what Bitsy would have to say. You just can’t help yourself, can you?

  He thought of the times he’d promised her he was going to get out of the business, spend more time at home.

  While he doubted Bitsy had really believed it, he told himself he’d meant it at the time. Maybe he’d been lying to himself about that—just as he had everything else.

  He’d been good at what he did. So was it any surprise a part of him missed it? Maybe just a little?

  The bell over the door jangled as he stepped inside. All heads turned. A middle-aged stylist was giving an elderly woman a perm. A twentysomething was bent over another twentysomething’s hand, giving her a manicure. All except the elderly woman getting her hair done wore pale pink shop smocks indicating they worked there, including the teenager sitting behind a small desk, doodling on a scratch pad. Business was obviously slow.

  He saw at once that everyone except the elderly woman knew who he was. Having always lived in a big city, this small-town lack of anonymity continued to amaze him. How could there ever be any secrets?

  “Hello,” he said as he entered the room. The smell of perm solution was strong, but not as strong as the nail products.

  “If you’re looking for a haircut—” the middle-aged woman began.

  “Just information,” he said, garnering everyone’s attention again as he pulled what could have been law-enforcement credentials from his wallet. What he flashed them, was, in fact a medical insurance card.

  He’d discovered a long time ago that attitude was the key. “I’m trying to find Charlotte Evans.”

  “What’s she done?” the teenager asked, no longer doodling.

  “Can you tell me the last time you saw her?” he asked, ignoring the teen and directing his questions to the older of the bunch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Tamara Lawson. I own the place. But Charlotte doesn’t work here anymore. She hasn’t for months.”

  “But she worked here when she became pregnant,” he said.

  “That wasn’t our fault,” the teen said with a giggle.

  Tamara shot her a look. He saw the resemblance between the two and guessed the teen must be her daughter.

  “What’s going on?” the elderly woman demanded loudly. He saw that her hearing aid was sitting on the counter.

  “It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Mabel,” Tamara shouted back at the woman.

  The dark-haired twentysomething getting her nails done laughed at what the teen had said.

  Hank smiled. “But you knew about the pregnancy. And you are…?”

  “Jana. Charlotte was barfing all the time. How could we not know about it?”

  “She tell you who the father was?” Hank asked.

  They all shared a look, and the manicurist went back to work on Jana’s nails.

  “She tell you something, miss?” he asked the young woman doing her coworker’s nails.

  “Linsey,” she said.

  “Charlotte got knocked up on purpose,” the teen said, obviously hating being ignored. “At least that’s what she told us.”

  “Sahara,” her mother chastised.

  “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important,” Hank said. “Charlotte seems to have disappeared.”

  Jana made a disbelieving sound.

  “Anything you tell me will be held in the strictest of confidence,” he added.

  “What does he want?” the elderly woman shouted.

  “A haircut,” Tamara shouted back as she finished Mabel’s last curl and stuck her under the dryer.

  “Do you know Charlotte?” Tamara asked him as she walked away from the client and the noisy dryer.

  He shook his head. “She could be in trouble.”

  “She’s always in trouble,” Tamara said with a shake of her head.

  It felt like old times. He waited a beat, then said quietly, “Tell me about the father of the baby.”

  “All we know is what she told us. It was some man she met one night at the café. She worked here and at the Northern Lights restaurant for a while. I got the impression he was a lot older and married.”

  “She said she put something in his drink,” the teen interjected.

  “She drugged him?” Hank asked, no surprise in his voice.

  “She wanted a baby,” the teen said.

  “At least at that moment,” Tamara said, seeming to have given up on shutting up the teen.

  “Does the father know about the baby?” he asked.

  Tamara shook her head. “I’m not even sure she knew his name.”

  “Do you know where he was staying?”

  Silence. Then Sahara said, “She took him to the Shady Rest Motel.” The teen looked indignant. “I know because Charlotte said he was so out of it she charged the room to his credit card.”

  Hank nodded. A credit card. Perfect. “And you say he was married?” he asked Linsey.

  Clearly she didn’t want to be the one to tell him anything. Had she and Charlotte been friends?

  “He told Charlotte he was separated and getting a divorce, but I think that was just a line,” Linsey finally confided.

  Smart girl.

  “She doesn’t want the baby, you know,” the teen said. “But she won’t give it up for adoption because her mother wants her to.”

  Everyone shot the girl a look.

  “Well, it’s true,” the teen said.

  ARLENE HAD NEVER missed entering her baked goods in a county fair since the age of eleven. She loved to bake and prided herself on her pie crusts, her moist yet light-as-air cakes and her cookies, especially her gingersnaps.

  For years she’d used baking as a way to relax. It was something she could do well—one of the few things.

  That’s why it surprised her the morning after her date with Hank that she didn’t feel like baking.

  “So how was your date?” Bo asked as he came into the kitchen.

  “Fine. How is your job hunt going?” she asked.

  “I thought you’d be baking by now. Where’s your rejects?”

  Her “rejects” were cookies that weren’t quite perfect. She’d never realized before that Bo paid any attention to fair time. Apparently he did. For a while she’d had all her blue ribbons displayed in the living room. Since she met Hank, she’d moved them into her sewing room. Funny how she didn’t feel the need to validate herself with blue ribbons with him.

  “I don’t think I’m going to enter after all this year,” she said. “With Charlotte gone and—”

  “I don’t believe this,” Bo snapped. “You’re changing your whole life over a man.”

  “That’s not true. Maybe it’s just that I have enough blue ribbons. I don’t need any more.
I know I’m a good cook.”

  He stared at her. “You’re going to let one of the Cavanaughs take your blue ribbons?”

  Bo knew exactly what to say to get her worked up. She’d always been envious of the Cavanaughs. Pearl and her husband Titus were like royalty in Old Town Whitehorse. And their granddaughters, Laci and Laney, were princesses. Same with the Baileys. Eve, Faith and McKenna Bailey were beauties.

  Since Arlene married Floyd Evans, she’d felt she’d needed to prove something to the elite families of Old Town.

  Bo’s words brought back that familiar insecurity. Maybe she should enter. She didn’t want the whole county speculating on why she hadn’t.

  But as quickly as the feeling came, it passed. Was she tired of trying to prove herself to people who had never accepted her anyway?

  “Laci Cavanaugh is a great cook,” she said.

  “I’ll be interested to see what she enters. I’m sure she’ll do well.”

  “You’re starting to scare me,” Bo mumbled as he left the room.

  Arlene didn’t even hear the blare of his stereo down the hall. She was thinking about last night at the play. And Hank.

  HANK COULDN’T HELP worrying as he left the beauty shop. It had almost been too easy. Charlotte was young, indiscreet and, he suspected, liked to shock people. Her blatant disregard for social mores had apparently disavowed any loyalty her coworkers might have had for her.

  Except Linsey, who had made an effort not to talk about Charlotte. She had one friend, anyway.

  The ease of getting the information wasn’t what bothered him. It was Charlotte sharing it with everyone. Being a suspicious person, Hank felt as if the girl had tried to sell her story a little too hard.

  Had she just been trying to cover up the identity of the man who had really fathered her baby? A local man she’d now run off with?

  Whoever he was, the man didn’t live in Whitehorse or Hank suspected it would be all over town that he’d left. Unless no one knew yet that he’d left with Charlotte.

  Still, Hank couldn’t shed the feeling that something wasn’t right. Charlotte wasn’t the kind of young woman who felt the need to come up with an elaborate plan just so she could run away.

  The car stashed in the ravine worried him. Why hide the car? She had no reason to think anyone would come after her, so she didn’t need to buy time. She could have left the car parked in town somewhere. Or even left it beside the road. Why go to the trouble, eight months pregnant, of ditching her car that way?

  The engine grease on the steering wheel also bothered him. He wondered if he could get a clear print. It was worth a try. He’d love to narrow down who’d been with Charlotte that day on the road.

  But it meant calling on a few old friends. It wasn’t like they didn’t know where he was, he thought, reminded of Cam’s calls. So why not see if he could track down this mystery man of Charlotte’s?

  By late afternoon, Hank had the name of the man Charlotte Evans had checked into the Shady Rest Motel with eight months before. But, Hank reminded himself, this might not even be the father of Charlotte’s baby. There was more than a good chance the girl had lied to the women she’d worked with, for whatever reason.

  He called Arlene. “I have a possible lead. According to her coworkers, Charlotte told them the man was from out of town.”

  “Her coworkers told you that? They wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  “I was very persuasive and they don’t know me,” he said. It also helped that he’d let them believe he was a lawman of some sort.

  “The man lives in Billings, was just in town for a couple of nights and apparently met Charlotte at the restaurant where she was working,” Hank said. “It seems Charlotte was determined to get pregnant and may have picked him because he was from out of town.”

  “Oh, my God,” Arlene said. “Do you think Charlotte is with him?”

  “Maybe, although I doubt it. He told her he was separated from his wife and getting a divorce, but more than likely he lied about that. But he could have heard from her.” Hank wondered, though, what the man would have done if Charlotte had gone to him for help. Especially if he had later realized that she’d drugged him and set him up. Most men wouldn’t have taken that well.

  “The man’s name is John Foster,” Hank said.

  “I thought we might take a road trip and have a little talk with him.”

  THE FOSTERS LIVED in a house on the rims—a unique geological feature of Montana’s largest city, Billings.

  The house was large and expensive, the landscaping extensive with a picturesque view of the Yellowstone River valley.

  Hank rang the bell and glanced over at Arlene. “You all right?”

  She nodded.

  “Keep in mind, he might not be the father of Charlotte’s baby.”

  “I know.”

  “Would you rather wait in the car?”

  She smiled. “Are you worried I’m going to make a scene?”

  “I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “No,” she said and touched his cheek. “You wouldn’t.”

  The door opened. A Hispanic woman of indeterminate age asked in broken English, “May I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Mr. Foster. John Foster,” Hank said.

  Before the woman could answer, a tall, thin, thirtysomething man appeared behind her. “I’ll take care of this, Delores.”

  Delores quickly disappeared down a hallway.

  John Foster frowned as he came forward. “What is this about?”

  “We need to speak to you about a missing person,” Hank said.

  “Are you…police?” he asked, shifting his gaze to Arlene.

  “Do you mind if we step inside, Mr. Foster? I’m sure we can clear this up quickly if you’ll just answer a few questions about your stay in Whitehorse, Montana.”

  John Foster’s already pale face blanched bone-white. He looked as if he might pass out.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “Maybe your wife can help us,” Hank suggested.

  “She isn’t here.” His voice broke. “Please. My wife doesn’t know. She’s shopping, but she could come home at any moment.”

  “Then I suggest you answer our questions before she gets back,” Hank said, surprised Arlene was letting him handle this. He knew that wasn’t her nature. She’d had to handle everything for years without any help. Maybe that’s why she was being so quiet now.

  “Come in, then,” John Foster said and quickly led them down the hallway to what appeared to the den and home office. He closed the door behind them, but didn’t offer them a chair.

  Hank produced the photograph Arlene had given him of Charlotte and watched the man’s expression. He knew now where the phrase guilty as sin came from.

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Hank asked.

  “I only saw her that one time. In Whitehorse. I swear.” His eyes were wide with fear. “She told me she was twenty-one.”

  “And you believed her?” Arlene asked sarcastically.

  “Oh, God, don’t tell me she’s—”

  “No, she’s not a minor,” Hank said. “She’s eighteen. And pregnant.”

  They had been standing in a large den furnished in lush carpet and deep leather chairs around a massive cherrywood desk.

  John Foster dropped into one of the chairs like a puppet whose strings had just been severed. “Pregnant? No.”

  “You didn’t think to use protection?” Arlene asked.

  “Look, I don’t even remember what happened. I swear to you I didn’t think I had that much to drink. I woke up the next morning and she was gone. I thought I’d dreamed it.”

  “Sure you did,” Arlene said.

  “The girl hasn’t contacted you since?” Hank asked, although from John Foster’s reaction, Hank would have sworn the man hadn’t known about the pregnancy. If Charlotte had contacted him, it would probably have been for money. The baby would have been the leverage.


  “I swear I never saw or heard from her again. You have to believe me. Please, my wife hasn’t been well. I don’t want her—”

  Following a soft tap, the office door swung open and a women in her early thirties peered in. “Oh, I’m sorry. I heard voices. I didn’t realize we had company.”

  Between her dress and her composure, Hank guessed she was Mrs. Foster. What took him by surprise was the fact that the woman was very pregnant.

  John was on his feet and practically wringing his hands. “Meredith, this is—”

  “We’re here as part of an investigation involving a missing young woman from Whitehorse, Montana,” Hank said, interrupting him. Her hand was cool to the touch as cool as the lady herself.

  Meredith Foster lifted one perfect eyebrow. “Whitehorse?”

  “Your husband spent a couple of nights in Whitehorse about eight months ago,” Hank said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that John Foster looked about to hyperventilate.

  “I don’t understand,” Meredith said.

  “The young woman in question waited on your husband at a restaurant called Northern Lights,” Hank said.

  Meredith Foster laughed. “You’re questioning everyone who this woman waited on eight months ago?”

  “Just those individuals who might have felt sorry for her and offered to help her,” Hank said.

  Meredith finally looked at her husband. “My husband is a kind man. If the woman was in some sort of trouble…”

  “Your husband was seen consoling her after she dropped one of the patron’s meals,” Hank said.

  “Well, that explains it, doesn’t it?” she said.

  “I’m willing to bet he also left her a large tip. John is very generous.”

  “Yes, he did leave a very large tip,” Hank said.

  Meredith’s laugh reminded him of wind chimes as she stepped to her husband. She wrapped long, manicured fingers around his forearm as if to hug him. Or steady him.

  “I’m sorry this young woman ran away,” she said as she placed her other hand on her protruding belly. “Her mother must be worried sick.” Her gaze flicked to Arlene.

  Hank took a notepad from the desk and a pen. “This is my cell phone number. If you think of anything else or happen to see or hear from her—”