“I do know that Frankie picked up the odd job now and again,” Mrs. Rayford put in. “Always under the table.”
Jessie filed away this bit of information, thinking it would make the man even harder to track down. If she could find some way to convince law enforcement to show more of an interest in this case than Canter had thus far.
She would need the bones for that. Or at least her source’s sworn statement they were human, stomach-turning as the thought was.
“I hope you find her somewhere safe soon,” Nancy Rayford said soothingly. “Maybe she went to a women’s shelter. Or who knows? She might be in some nice hospital getting help with all her troubles.”
As suggestions went, those were kindly meant, Jessie thought. Certainly a lot less brutal than her own suspicions about her sister’s fate.
“So when my sister and Frankie left the bunkhouse,” she asked Mrs. Rayford, “did you find anything they left behind? Belongings? Papers? Anything at all?”
“I’m told there wasn’t much left,” the older woman answered, tensing at the question. “Just trash, mostly, a few broken items or pieces of soiled clothing.”
Finally joining the conversation, Zach asked his mother, “Who was it you asked to clean it up?”
“I’m not sure who did the work, exactly.” His mother shook her head. “I just asked Virgil to see that it was taken care of.”
“Virgil Straughn’s our ranch foreman,” Zach explained to Jessie. “Been with the family for what, Mama? Maybe thirty, thirty-five years.”
His mother smiled and relaxed again, a faraway look coming into her eyes. “Do you remember how he used to let you boys ride around on his shoulders and Ian used to call him Giddy Yup?”
Grief hazed her expression, and she lifted the glasses she was wearing to wipe at her eyes.
“All that hauling us around as kids, it’s no wonder he’s so stove up,” Zach said. “I notice he’s not half as limber when he stoops to pick up Eden these days.”
“Why, he’s just a little out of practice, that’s all,” his mother defended. “He hasn’t been around a little child in years and years.”
Jessie’s pulse leaped at the woman’s slip—her clear contradiction of her earlier claim that Eden had been on the ranch for years. Before Jessie could say anything, Zach jerked to his feet abruptly. So abruptly that Jessie knew he’d heard the same thing she had. Not only heard it, but was eager to cover for his mother by creating a distraction.
“There’s Miss Althea,” he said a little too quickly and too loudly. “Could I give you a hand with that?”
Jessie followed his gaze to the sturdily built, gray-haired woman who was bringing in an old-fashioned tea cart.
“If you really mean it,” the cook said. “I have Eden in the kitchen, and she’ll be feeding those puppies tonight’s dinner if I don’t keep an eye on her.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got this. It’ll give me a chance to impress our guest here with my manly tea-pouring skills.”
When his blue eyes turned to her, Jessie thought, So that’s what he’s doing. Flirting with me just to keep me off balance.
As Althea hurried away, Jessie looked from Nancy Rayford to Zach, whose big, work-roughened hands poured and served his mother first, without a single drop spilled.
“You’re a man of unexpected talents,” Jessie told him, playing along as she sipped from a cup that felt as fragile as a moth’s wing. “I’m beginning to wonder, though, do all of them revolve around caffeine?”
As his mother added cream and sugar to her own cup, he leaned close to pass Jessie a plate of delicate cookies, murmuring, “Not by half, Miss Layton.” His hushed tones and the wicked glint in his blue eyes giving the words a razor’s edge.
An edge that knifed through grief and worry and at least ten months of sexual frustration. With a sharp indrawn breath, she looked away, warning herself not to fall for his ruse.
But when she risked glancing back at him again, he winked and said, “Tea must be agreeing with you, Miss Layton. It’s definitely put the color back in your cheeks.”
So she was blushing, she thought, narrowing her eyes at his comment. Because he was the one who ought to be embarrassed, if he thought for one moment he was going to throw her off guard.
Or keep her from ferreting out the reason he was covering for his mother’s lie.
* * *
No sooner had Jessie collected her dog and headed for Margie Hunter’s place than Zach turned on his mama.
She was ready for him, one trembling hand raised as if she might hold back the coming storm. “Please, Zach. I’ve had enough trouble and upset for one day.”
“Then why on God’s green earth did you invite her in for tea?”
“I was just trying to comfort the poor girl,” she said, turning toward the stairwell with the clear intent of fleeing to her room.
Escaping was a strategy that had worked for her all too often. But too much was at stake here to let her play on his sympathy and concern, on his guilt for taking at least a decade longer than he should have to live up to his responsibilities.
“Don’t give me that, Mama. You were fishing for information, but you ended up getting caught on your own hook.”
“I—I have no idea what you mean. You’re talking crazy.” Paling, she swayed a little, grasping the banister as if she might fall at any moment. Though he prepared himself to catch her if necessary, he resisted the temptation to steady her and guide her upstairs to rest before dinner. He’d had enough of her manipulation, even if she was his mother.
“It all goes back to your lying about Eden,” he said bluntly. “You’ve been lying all along.”
Her blue eyes welled, and she swung around, sinking down to sit on a step. Hunched over as she was, she hid her face from his view. Her shoulders shook, making her look so pitiful, so tiny, that his instinctive need to protect her nearly had him caving. For Eden’s sake, he made himself sit down on the step beside her, his strong thigh so close to her thin leg that she flinched away.
“Want to tell me all about it?” he asked more gently. “The real story, this time?”
She shook her head emphatically. “It’s all legal. Eden’s mine. You’ve seen the paperwork.”
“I’ve seen some paperwork,” he allowed. “But if the names are falsified, there’s nothing legal about the guardianship. You know that.”
She pressed her lips together, refusing to look at him.
“There’s no Lila Germaine, is there? No mystery girlfriend who Ian never mentioned to us, no child he kept hidden and didn’t bother to provide for?”
“He—he was like you. He didn’t talk to me. He blamed me for not protecting you both from—” Her voice was still defiant, but her eyes begged for understanding. “Your father was raised so hard. He didn’t know any other way to— He thought he was making men of you, and I couldn’t... I was too weak...”
Zach banked his growing anger, appreciating for the first time that his mother’s “weakness” was an excuse. A survival strategy. But at this moment it was also a method of manipulation. One he couldn’t allow to get inside his head.
“Ian and I kept in touch,” he told her. “Not as often as we would’ve liked. Whenever our assignments allowed for it, we tried to see each other. And we always touched base on birthdays and at Christmas, at least to leave messages.”
“I’m so glad,” she said. “Glad you had one another.”
Zach grimaced, wishing that he’d made more of an effort with Ian. But there would be no more chances to amend that now. “The thing is, Mama, he would’ve told me about Eden. I’m sure of it.”
Her gaze wandered as she considered. “Perhaps Lila lied to me about him knowing. What if she never told him? She did say they’d already broken up by the time she learned she was expecti
ng.”
Losing patience...and sympathy...he said, “Stop. Now. Tweaking your story to make it fit the current known facts doesn’t make it any less a lie.”
Rising, she cried, “Why are you being so mean to me? Is it to punish me because of your father? Because if it that’s the way you feel—”
He stood as well, saying, “It’s not what I feel, Mama, it’s what I see that’s the problem. And I’d have to be stone blind not to realize that Eden has the exact same green eyes as her aunt.”
“Lots of people have green eyes. And Eden doesn’t have that reddish-blond hair.”
Thinking of his niece’s golden-brown waves, he shook his head. “Could be she gets that from her father, whoever he is. Frankie McFarland, maybe? Or another one of Haley Layton’s bad-news boyfriends?”
“No, Zach. Please,” his mother cried, tears spilling down her thin face. “She’s Ian’s. Can’t you see it? In her nose, her hairline. She has the same widow’s peak—just look.”
“Ian wouldn’t have gone within ten miles of a hot mess like Haley Layton,” he said. “He liked a worthy adversary, he always told me, a woman who could hold her own with him, whether it was in terms of his athletics, his career, or—”
“Why won’t you believe me about Eden? Don’t you love us?” she sobbed, ducking past him and practically running up the stairs.
Feeling as big a bully as his old man, Zach stared after her. For a moment, he thought of pursuing her, but he sensed that he’d get nothing more from her today.
As he turned away, he saw a flash of movement, the white tip of a fluffy tail. Lionheart’s, he thought, and sure enough, he heard the clicking of two dogs’ worth of nails on the marble. But not human footsteps, which made him instantly suspicious, since the puppies followed Eden everywhere unless they were confined.
Worried she might have overheard the conversation, he called her name, loudly enough that it echoed through the entryway. But Eden didn’t answer, which had to mean...
“Damn,” he muttered, rushing into the rarely used formal dining room, where he nearly tripped over the freshly chewed corner of one of his mama’s favorite rugs.
“Eden!” he repeated, since she’d been told a hundred times not to play in either of the formals—especially when Sweetheart and Lionheart weren’t kenneled. But instead of drawing the girl, both puppies bounded in, their fuzzy round butts wagging. They looked so ridiculous, bumping off and tripping over each other, that he grinned despite his mood.
“Okay, you two. Where’s Eden? Where’d your girl go?” he asked, but instead of leading him anyplace, the puppies started jumping up and down and barking at him, staring with one set of brown eyes and one blue.
Until a faint rustling sound caught all of their attention. Before Zach could figure out where it was coming from, the pups bounded to the curtain of the nearby window. The dark curtain sporting a girl-size lump near the bottom.
In two strides, he was there, but unlike that day inside Nate’s barn, this time Eden wasn’t sleeping but sniffling and wiping at her wet face as she sat curled up in a tiny ball.
“Why’d you make Grandma so sad!” she shouted, scowling up with all the righteous fury that a four-year-old could muster. “You made her cry real hard, and anyway, I like the new name better.”
“Better than what?” he repeated. “What was your name before?” He squatted down to make himself less intimidating.
She crossed her arms and pouted, her lower lip jutting in a show of pure stubbornness. Clearly, she’d inherited more from her aunt than just eye color.
“I’ll tell Grandma I’m sorry,” he said. “I promise, if you tell me.”
“Eden Rayford’s a good cowgirl name. Eden Elibbabeth, that’s what my grandma made me practice. Only I don’t haf to write the hard part until I get in second grade.”
Elizabeth. He recognized the name of his late grandmother. And hadn’t she come from a little town in Arkansas by the name of Eden Springs?
“What was your name before?” he repeated, speaking in the soft voice of secrets. “It’s okay to tell me.”
Her breath hitched, and a flood of tears came. She wrapped her trembling arms about the two pups, who’d come over to wash her face with their tongues. “You can’t take them away!” she cried, as terrified as he had seen her after any of her nightmares. “You can’t make me leave here and go back to that bad place! I won’t tell you any secrets! I never, ever will!”
All he could bear to do was gather her up in his arms and promise her that everything would be okay.
* * *
On her way to Margie Hunter’s house, Jessie had to pass through Rusted Spur. At a little after five in the afternoon, the town’s streets were a bit more crowded than they had been the last time she had come through, with dozens, maybe scores, of vehicles clogging narrow streets. From the looks of things, most of the town’s “rush hour” consisted of what looked like cowboys and oilfield workers, nearly all of them driving mud-caked pickups.
So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she drew a lot of stares, rolling along the main drag in the pearl-white Cadillac. She’d never felt so conspicuous, coming to a four-way stop in a chromed-out vehicle that would have passed unnoticed in her mother’s Dallas neighborhood.
On second thought, maybe it wasn’t the SUV they were staring at but her, sitting high behind the wheel. Maybe because the few women she had spotted in the area tended to be older and on the plump side, still clinging to the big hair and shoulder pads of the eighties. But, she realized with a sinking feeling, it was equally possible that those double takes and long looks had more to do with the way the sun’s last rays were striking her long, reddish-blond waves—a distinctive, natural shade she shared with her missing sister. A shade that glowed when the light caught it just right.
She should’ve pulled it back at least, or worn a hat to cover up. Instead, she was left feeling naked as she wondered, was the handsome, sandy-haired man walking to his parked truck wondering if Frankie McFarland’s woman had suddenly come into money? Was the beefy red-faced man waiting at a four-way stop leering, or trying to disguise his shock at seeing a woman thought to have been dead for months? Worse yet was the suspicion that any one of them might have been the same person who’d sent her the threatening text. A message that had rattled her more than she’d let on.
The stares sent chills rippling through her, and she didn’t dare to stop at the café, now crowded with more pickups, or the tiny grocery to pick up something to eat later. But then, she didn’t have much in the way of appetite, with the cookies and tea she had managed churning in her stomach.
So instead, she left town as quickly as she could before heading straight to the Hunter place. The land soon opened up, revealing slightly rolling terrain dotted with grazing cattle, goats and horses. After passing a big barn with the Texas state flag painted on its roof, she reached her destination and slowed to take in a big white Victorian, a turreted three-story that must cost the world to maintain. With its inviting wraparound porch, twin upper balconies and miles of intricate gingerbread trim, the old house was the very picture of charm—a picture that she noticed, as she climbed out of her parked vehicle, was peeling a little in some places.
Several vehicles were parked alongside the house, indicating that at least a couple of other guests were on the premises.
As she parked and climbed out of the SUV, an older woman with sparkling blue eyes stepped down off the porch to meet her. Solidly built and pink-cheeked, the woman looked far heartier and more youthful than her snow-white hair might suggest. The thought reminded Jessie so sharply of her other mother, before she’d fallen ill, that it took away her breath for just a moment.
At Jessie’s approach, the woman tilted her head, looking at her oddly.
“I’m Jessie Layton,” Jessie told her, heeding the prickling awar
eness that this woman must have seen or spoken to her twin at one point. “Haley Layton’s twin sister? Zach Rayford said he called you about me.”
Recovering quickly, the woman said, “Zach’s friend, yes. Welcome to my home, then, Jessie. I’m Margie Hunter, but call me Margie, please. After thirty-five years in the classroom, I’ve heard enough of Mrs. Hunter! Mrs. Hunter—!” she mimed a raised hand waving for attention “—to last me a couple of lifetimes.”
“If you had Zach for a student, it’s no wonder you were eager to retire.” Jessie added her warmest smile, wanting the woman to know that she was teasing.
“Oh, that boy and his brother both could put me through my paces,” Margie said, waving off Jessie’s words, “but they were both good kids at heart. Anybody and everybody but that father of theirs could see that.” Frowning at some memory, the older woman quickly brushed it off. “Could I help you with your bags?”
Jessie shook her head. “I’ve got this. It’s not heavy. But thank you, and thanks so much for letting me come on such short notice. And for letting me bring my dog along. I can promise you my Gretel won’t be any trouble.”
She called the Rottweiler, who jumped down from the open door, her stub tail wagging, her manner friendly but polite as she was directed.
“Don’t worry. She’ll fit right in with my three,” Margie said, her expression melting into a warm smile. “I’m a sucker for fur babies. I’d drag them all home if I could.”
Jessie gave Gretel the release command, freeing her to enjoy an ear scratch and a few moments of sweet talk. Afterward, Margie showed Jessie the house, which was decorated with a homey mix of well-loved antiques and comfortable newer pieces. Three little red dachshunds shadowed their every step—after Margie shushed them for barking ferociously at Gretel, who steadfastly ignored them.
“It’s so welcoming. I love it,” Jessie told her. “If I had the time, I’d spend all day on the front porch curled up with a book. And maybe one of those cute little doxies on my lap, too, if they’d let me.” The moment the words were out, she shivered, taken aback that she’d feel so at home anywhere in this town of secrets, lies and murder.
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