Too late now. She was here. Felicity parked and hurried to the front door before she could change her mind. She at least had to try. Ascending the front steps, she crossed the wide veranda and knocked on the door briskly, polished wood bruising against her knuckles. Taking a deep breath, she waited. The door opened and an elderly woman smiled. Mrs. Foster’s housekeeper, Thelma. Felicity remembered her from the other night.
Like in the movies, she wore a starched white uniform, her aging skin creasing as she smiled genially. “Good evening, Miss Felicity.”
“Good evening,” she replied. “I’m here to see Mrs. Foster.”
The round, elderly woman knit her brow in concern. “Do you have an appointment?”
Felicity shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I was in the neighborhood and wanted to drop in and say hi. Is she here?”
“She is,” the housekeeper replied as she opened the door wide without question. “I’ll run upstairs and fetch her.”
“Thank you.” Felicity entered, hit by a cool shaft of air-conditioning, the house as she remembered it. Not a stem out of place in the floral display, floors gleamed, pillows and frames sat perfectly situated. The warm ambiance of wood and leather beckoned her indoors.
“Why don’t you go on into the living room and have a seat.” The woman paused. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“You sure you wouldn’t like a spot of water? It sure is hot out there today.”
Felicity smiled, working to loosen the knot in her chest. “I’m fine, thank you.”
The woman shook he head as though Felicity were crazy not to accept, then padded up an elegant spiral staircase, disappearing somewhere above. Felicity’s breathing grew shallow as she looked around the empty house. Was Mr. Foster here? Was her father?
Her pulse jumped. She hadn’t considered the possibility of running into him. But Cal said he’d left, didn’t he? Moved out? Sliding a hand down her ponytail braid, Felicity pulled it forward as she walked into the living room, searching adjacent rooms for sight of movement. No one. She didn’t hear anyone in the kitchen, didn’t smell any food cooking. It was as though the house had been vacated. Didn’t they have to eat? She ventured farther inside. Had they gone out to dinner?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Annie spotted a blue car on the side of the road and pointed. “Oh my gosh—Cal, look! Is that Casey’s car?”
“It sure looks like it.”
“Pull over!”
Cal slowed, veering off to where the blue car sat parked. Annie didn’t wait until his truck stopped before leaping out. “Annie!” Cal called out.
Visions of her daughter slumped over the wheel propelled her forward, ripped through her imagination. “Casey!” Racing over, she slammed into the car, hands hitting windshield and roof as she peered into the interior. Empty. Panic battered her heart. Empty!
Cal appeared by her side. He placed a hand to the hood. “Car’s still warm. She couldn’t have gotten far.”
“Where is she?” Annie cried. “Where would she have gone?”
Cal glanced back in the direction of the hotel. “Looks like she was headed our way.”
“Cal—what are we going to do?” Dread filled her. “We didn’t see her.”
“She might have called for a ride.”
Annie yanked out her phone. She dialed Casey’s cell number, each unanswered ring compounding her fear. Thoughts of an abductor swirled in her mind. Casey’s voice message played and Annie snapped, “Casey, its Mom. Call me when you get this message.”
What if it was too late?
Cal placed arms on her shoulders and drew her near. Holding her securely, he zeroed in and held tight. “She’s all right, Annie. She probably called for a ride. Troy most likely. Why don’t you try his phone?”
“I don’t have his number.”
“Try Delaney. She’s bound to have it.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Annie immediately called Delaney. “Delaney, do you have Troy’s cell phone number? I need to call him. Casey’s car is broken down on the side of the road, and I need to see if she’s with him.” Shooting a worried look toward Cal, she responded into the phone, “Yes, she was on her way to the hotel. Okay, thank you.” Clutching the phone to her breast, she said, “Delaney said Troy was at the stables earlier. Told me to let her know if I can’t reach him and she’ll call down for me.”
“Good. Don’t worry, sweetheart. Casey’s fine.”
Turning to Nick, Delaney set her phone on the kitchen counter of her small cabin. “Casey’s car is on the side of the road. Annie says she was on her way here.”
“She abandoned her car?”
Delaney nodded. A disquiet slinked in, rivaling the sudden unease in her husband’s gaze. “Annie’s calling Troy. She thinks maybe he went and picked her up.”
“He probably did.”
Delaney couldn’t eject her concern so easily. “Should we call him?”
“Didn’t you say Annie was calling him?”
“Yes.”
“You both don’t need to call. Why don’t you check with the stable manager, see if Troy has left?”
Delaney picked up the phone and dialed the stables. After speaking with her assistant manager, she finished the conversation more worried than when she began. “He said Troy left an hour ago.”
“So we don’t know when Casey left her car, do we? He could have grabbed her and gone.”
Delaney shook her head, unsettled by Nick’s choice of words. “I don’t like it. Casey’s seven months pregnant. Something could have happened to her.”
Nick reached for her. Taking the phone from her vise-like grip he set it on the butcher-block island and took her in his arms. The beginnings of dinner prep on the counter beside them were discarded, their evening of relaxation marred. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Why don’t we get in the car and go take a look for ourselves?”
“Good idea.”
Walking past the hotel lobby, Troy cursed his brother again. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes before he could get someone to follow him to the hotel where he would drop Troy’s truck. Twenty minutes that were supposed to happen an hour ago. Inwardly, Troy fumed.
“Troy!”
He turned, surprised to see Malcolm Ward waving him over to the hotel. His heart leapt to his throat. Now what?
Troy hurried over to the lobby entrance. Tipping back his hat, he asked, “Yes, sir?”
“Annie’s on the phone for you.”
“Mrs. Foster?”
Malcolm nodded. Troy jogged up the steps and headed through the door Mr. Ward held for him. “You can take the call over there.”
“Thanks.” Troy went to a phone located on a small table situated between two over-stuffed chairs. He didn’t sit, just picked up the receiver and asked, “Mrs. Foster?”
“Yes. Is Casey with you?”
“No, ma’am. She said she was coming to see me but I called and told her to meet me at Fran’s Diner.”
“You did? What time was that?”
Alarm bells went off in his brain as he checked his watch. “About a half-hour or so. Why? What’s the matter?”
There was a long pause. Troy turned from nearby eyes and ears. Staring at a border of ferns visible through floor-to-ceiling glass windows, he asked, “Mrs. Foster, is something wrong?”
“We found her car abandoned on the side of road about three miles from the hotel. It looks like she was headed in that direction.”
Troy’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean abandoned?”
“It’s on the side of the road. I think she was having car trouble.”
“Well, where the heck is she now?” he demanded, controlling his tone the best he could.
“I don’t know,” came her mother’s shaky reply.
Troy’s entire world nose-dived. Indecision gripped him. Should he go to Casey’s car? Should he go to Fran’s Diner? Back to the stables?
He didn’t have a ve
hicle—how was we gonna do a thing? Horrible thoughts assaulted him as he imagined a pregnant Casey hitchhiking. Dad gummit! Why didn’t she call him?
Casey pulled a crooked twig from her hair and tossed it to the ground. Brushing wayward strands of hair behind her ears—hair damp with sweat—she bent over and recovered her breath. Hands to knees, she inhaled deeply against the pound of her heart. That last trek had been tough, most of it uphill. Lungs heaving, she hoped the baby was okay. The doctor said exercise was good for the baby. Did that include mountain climbing?
Her impromptu hike had been more than she expected.
But she was here. Almost. The level of sunlight was growing, open land visible through the trees ahead. Swiping the back of her hand across her brow, she stood, gently stretched and massaged her lower back. Her legs were wired and tired. She was hot, dehydrated. The muscles around her stomach were tight, cramps occurring at more regular intervals. Stepping over a downed log, she kept her footfall light as possible. Jarring steps aggravated her stomach. She already felt an odd pressure. She didn’t want to worsen it.
For the first time Casey was afraid. She had a bad feeling about her baby. She’d read about counting the minutes between contractions was what a woman did when she was determining whether or not to go to the hospital. But she was only seven months pregnant. Her cramps weren’t technically contractions. What did it mean if they were happening more frequently? Was it because she’d overdone it?
A brush of light-headedness swept through her skull. Pausing, she waited for it to pass. Yes, it had to be. Too much exertion wasn’t good for her. She needed to sit. Relax. Take it easy and let her body recover. But she couldn’t. Not yet. After a few minutes, she picked up the pace and continued. The trail widened, opened to a field. In the distance, she spotted a metal rooftop. Her heart sang. Yes! The stables were in sight!
Breathing in, she calmed the rapid beat of her heart. The rest of the trip would be easy. Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket—she’d ditched her purse a while back—Casey checked for signal. One bar. It was worth a try, she thought and dialed Troy’s number. The phone went straight to voicemail. “Dang it,” she muttered, her throat dry and scratchy. Dropping the phone back in her pocket she supported her underbelly of her stomach with both hands and kicked into motion. It would be okay. She could do this. She’d be there in five, ten minutes, tops. “C’mon, baby. We’re going to see your daddy!”
“Felicity.”
“Mrs. Foster!” she exclaimed breathlessly, startled by the sound of her name, despite the fact she’d been waiting for the woman. Dressed elegantly, as though she were on her way out for the evening, Felicity suddenly wondered, Was she?
“When Thelma told me it was you, I didn’t know whether to believe her or not.” Victoria Foster neared, concern and curiosity mingling in her light brown gaze. “It’s so lovely to see you again. How are you feeling?”
Felicity gulped. She was referring to her hasty departure last week, her unexpected dash from the dinner party. “Fine,” she replied. “It must have been a twenty-four hour bug.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.” Extending a hand toward the sofa, Mrs. Foster asked, “Would you like to sit?”
“Sure.” Thankful the lie had been easily accepted, Felicity hurriedly took a seat on a leather sofa. There was no doubt Mrs. Foster didn’t believe her but she was being polite, and for that Felicity was grateful.
Mrs. Foster opted for an upholstered wing chair. Rather than relaxing into the cushions she sat perched on the edge, her posture erect. Imperious. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?”
Setting hands to her knees, Felicity glanced about her surroundings, uncertain how to begin. “I’m sorry to barge in on you without calling first.”
“Please, you’re not barging in at all. We’re family.” Mrs. Foster smiled, emanating warmth, camaraderie. “I’d ask you to stay for dinner, but with no one else home, Thelma’s taking the night off from the kitchen.”
“Oh, no problem. I’m not really hungry,” Felicity replied, growing uncomfortable beneath Mrs. Foster’s expectant gaze. With the niceties covered, she was clearly waiting for Felicity to explain the nature of her visit more thoroughly. Clearing her throat, Felicity pushed up a little on a her cushion and said, “I wanted to come by and talk, apologize for the other night and—”
“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Foster interrupted, pleasure lighting up her gaze, “you have nothing to apologize for. Please, we all have moments we’d rather forget. It’s forgotten. Don’t give it another thought.”
Felicity settled in on the older woman’s face, the pleasant smile, determined eyes framed by fine lines, accentuated to perfection in a shimmery cream shadow and sable liner. Mrs. Foster was a woman of purpose. She wasn’t frivolous or stupid. There was no sense in playing games. She’d see right through them, anyway. Felicity took a deep breath and dove in, “I’m here to talk about my father.”
Mrs. Foster’s expression grew concerned. “Yes, dear, I’m sorry to hear about the trouble between him and your mother. It’s quite unfortunate when a child becomes entangled in their parents’ problems.”
Felicity thought that was putting it mildly. Terms that came to her mind were “punching bag”, “tug-of-war”, “good guy-bad guy.” Her grandmother acted sincere, while at the same time, oblivious to the facts. “I understand you’re supporting him,” Felicity put forth, “taking his side against my mom.”
Victoria raised a manicured brow and glanced askance. “There is always more than one side to any story, my dear. You should be old enough to understand that.”
“Yes, but there’s only one right and wrong. My father is pressing charges against Troy for things he didn’t do. He went to jail because of it.”
She frowned. “Yes, Jack mentioned something about the boy.”
“Mentioned something about him? He’s in jail because of him.”
“Sweetheart, you weren’t there, nor was I. Can we really profess to know what happened?”
Felicity struggled to keep her cool. The woman was maddeningly calm, talking as though they were discussing a news story from halfway across the globe involving complete strangers. They weren’t. They were discussing her father—Victoria’s son—and Troy, one of Felicity’s best friends. Did Mrs. Foster not understand what was at stake? Did she not know the truth?
“Do you know he tried to rape my mother? That he beat her all those years ago and that’s why she divorced him?”
Victoria stiffened, pursing her lips. “Once again, there are two sides to every story. You are only hearing one side, which is most undoubtedly skewed.”
The breath escaped Felicity. Was she serious?
“He’s never laid a hand on you, has he?” her grandmother pressed.
“No... But he hit my mother. Isn’t that enough?”
Victoria cast a withering look. “So she claims.”
Felicity gaped. “Claims?”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry to be the one to break it to you. I know how hard it is for a child to hear ill words spoken against their parent, an adult they love and adore, but your mother isn’t the most reliable source. She’s been known to tell half-truths.”
Angered by the woman’s patronizing tone, Felicity demanded, “What are you talking about? My mother has never told a lie in her entire life!”
“Really?” Victoria raised her chin. “Perhaps you should speak with Officer Gavin. He might tell you a different story.”
“I don’t believe you,” Felicity snapped. “You’re just saying these things so I’ll think my father is the good guy here.”
“Isn’t he?”
At her grandmother’s intransigence, all Felicity’s hopes for reason and compassion squashed flat. “No. He’s an alcoholic. He needs help. I would have thought you’d be interested in helping him.”
Setting her mouth in a hard line, Victoria rose from the chair. She stared down her nose at Felicity and said, “I think we’re fi
nished here.”
Felicity shot up from her seat. She was failing, losing her last chance to save Troy from a horrible injustice being done by her family, and she couldn’t let it happen. “Don’t you care about him? Don’t you want to see him get the help he needs? You’re his mother. You of all people should want what’s best for him.”
Victoria linked arms across her chest and replied contemptuously, “What I care about is wasting time listening to a child who thinks she’s entitled to insult her father.”
“I’m only speaking the truth.”
“You’re mindlessly spewing the venom of your mother. It’s predictable but unfortunate.” Flicking an insulting glance, Victoria added, “And just like your mother, you don’t know half of what you think you know, yet you insist on throwing your opinion around as though it were the gospel. How stupid of me to think we could actually have a relationship despite her.”
Emotions crashed and pitched in Felicity’s heart. Optimism popped like a balloon. Victoria Foster was denying her son had any trouble with alcohol. It was as if she had built walls around her, walls between her and the truth. Anyone could see Jack Foster had an issue with drinking. Her own husband didn’t permit it anywhere near his home or ranch. Why was Mrs. Foster acting this way?
“Shall I escort you to the door?” she asked.
Felicity shook her head, wracked by despair. “No. I can find my way out.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Annie sat rigid in her seat as Cal drove. Hands clenched in her lap, she scanned the roadway for signs of her daughter. With each passing mile, her heart sank deeper into the pit of her stomach. Casey was seven months pregnant. She should not be walking this far. She should not be alone. Who could she have called? Ashley and Fran hadn’t heard from her. Troy didn’t know where she was. Delaney, Malcolm—no one. Maybe someone she knew drove by and picked her up. It was possible. Maybe she called Jimmy. Fran said he wasn’t at the diner. Maybe he was with Casey.
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