by Stacy Finz
“How would you know? You’re not a parent.”
“No”—she stood up—“I’m not. But your father is and he’s a good one. I think you know that and you’re disappointed in yourself for disappointing him.” Charlotte walked as far as the door. “When you get hungry come into the kitchen. I made beef stew.” Travis might not like her right now, but he loved her beef stew.
Grady was sniffing the slow cooker when she went to set the table. “When are we eating? I’m starved.”
“I was waiting for your dad.” She glanced at the clock. It was seven. “But it’s getting late. Come on, I’ll fix you a bowl.”
“What about Travis?”
“He said he wasn’t hungry.”
“He’s in big trouble, isn’t he?”
“That’s between him and your dad. Now come sit down.” Grady had a habit of taking a few bites, running around the kitchen, and returning for a few more bites. All that pent-up energy was exhausting, but she adored the boy.
“When’s Dad coming home?”
“I don’t know. Soon, I hope.”
Travis came in and got a drink of water, trying to pretend the stew hadn’t lured him to the kitchen. Charlotte went to the cupboard, got another bowl, and ladled him a serving.
“Bread’s on the way,” she said, and motioned for Travis to sit next to Grady.
He acted put out but dug into his stew.
She got the bread out of the oven. It was just a supermarket loaf but she’d brushed it with an egg wash. Warmed, the bread tasted as delicious as the ones she used to buy from the artisan bakeries in San Francisco. She cut off a good-sized piece and wrapped it in tin foil for Jace and sliced the rest for the table.
Grady shoved a hunk in his mouth and burned his tongue. Travis was still pretending not to be hungry, though he filched a slice of the bread when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“Did you get restriction?” Grady asked his brother.
“None of your business, loser.”
“Knock it off,” Charlotte warned. “I want a peaceful dinner.”
“You’re the loser,” Grady said. “I bet Dad won’t let you go fishing with us at the lake this weekend.”
“What did I say?” She passed Travis the butter and asked Grady, “How was school today?” She hoped he’d talk about something other than how Travis was “a loser.”
“Good. I got an A on my spelling test.” Grady’s chest puffed out.
“That’s great.” Charlotte beamed. “Was it the one we did flash cards for?”
“Yep,” he said in that laconic drawl that reminded her so much of his father. “Can I have more stew?”
“Of course you can.”
While he got up for seconds, Travis leaned across the table. “I’m sorry about what I said before. Are you going to tell my dad?”
“Are you sorry that you might’ve hurt my feelings or are you sorry because you don’t want your dad to know what you said to me?” She held up her hand. “Before you answer, you should know that my conversations with you are private, meaning I have no intention of telling him anything we talked about.”
Travis’s eyes dropped to his plate. He was deciding how to play this.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings…well, I guess I did,” he said. “You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”
“Do I look like I’m leaving?” She hadn’t really answered his question because she didn’t know what the future held. She loved Dry Creek Ranch and there was no question she was besotted with its owner. But under no circumstances would she shake up their lives if Corbin became a threat, no matter how much Jace protested. And right now, she couldn’t see a life without the specter of Corbin hanging over her.
She didn’t need to share those thoughts with a fourteen-year-old, but at the same time she didn’t want to lie to him either.
She suspected one of the reasons the boys had run off so many babysitters was to keep themselves from getting attached. Like Jace, they’d had a lot of loss in their lives.
Travis shrugged in response and went back to eating his stew. Grady carried his bowl to the table one-handed, sloshing sauce all over his placemat.
“I should’ve done that for you.” Charlotte grabbed a towel and blotted the mess up. “Only a week until the cast comes off. Are you excited?”
“First thing I’m gonna do is scratch it.” Grady held up his cast. It was covered in writing and stickers and was so soiled she wanted to scrub it with steel wool. “Then I’m gonna wash my arm.”
One corner of her mouth slid up. It had to be pretty bad if Grady was talking about bathing. The kid couldn’t sit still long enough to get in the tub and showers were too confining. He typically got more water on the bathroom floor than he did on himself.
The dogs started barking and the kids jumped up to see what was going on outside. A few minutes later, Jace’s sheriff’s vehicle came up the driveway.
“Dad’s home,” Grady hollered and bounced up and down at the window.
Travis quickly washed out his bowl, stuck it in the dishwasher, and took off to his room like the hounds of hell were chasing his heels. If Charlotte didn’t know how gentle Jace was with his sons, she’d think the boy feared for his life. Travis simply didn’t want to own up to his mistake.
Jace came in the door, looking exhausted, and Grady tackled him with a hug. For a house full of males—cowboys, no less—there was plenty of affection to go around. Grady was the most demonstrative, especially with his cousin Ellie and his Uncle Sawyer, who despite being a prominent writer was like a big kid.
“You guys eat already?” Jace got out of his jacket and hung his hat on the hook by the door.
“The boys did. I waited for you.”
He let his eyes wander over her and for a second it was like they were the only ones in the room. Then Jace switched into Dad gear. “You do your homework?”
“I still have math.”
“Then you better get to it, don’t you think?” He scanned the kitchen. “Where’s Travis?”
“He ate and went to his room,” Charlotte said.
“Is he grounded, Dad?”
“Why? Are you taking after Uncle Sawyer and writing a book?” Jace squeezed Grady’s head in the crook of his arm. “Go finish your homework.”
The second Jace’s study door clicked closed, he backed her against the center island, boxed her in, and kissed her. She returned the kiss with such fervor she even surprised herself. They’d only been apart six hours since Travis went temporarily missing, and she was starved for him. Her hands greedily slipped underneath his shirt and explored the hard planes of his muscles.
“Can I come to your room tonight?” he whispered in her ear.
Oh, she wanted that. Her body pulsed and she wasn’t sure if she could even wait that long. “What about Travis and Grady?”
“We’ll have to be discreet.” He pushed away from the counter. “I should look in on Travis.”
“He’s worried about Tina’s parents. Did you talk to them?”
“Oh yeah. Despite my pitch that kids will be kids, Tina’s mom isn’t taking it too well. I get the feeling they’re pretty strict.”
“That’s what Travis said. Oh boy.”
“They’re fourteen years old. Call me an old man, but that’s too young to be doing what they were doing.”
Charlotte’s mouth fell open. “I had no idea. Uh, I thought they were just having a ditch day.”
“A ditch day with benefits. I’m holding out hope they didn’t go all the way, but Travis doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Go see if he’ll open up.” She gave him a little push and he grinned.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter 16
Sawyer stared at the picture. If it was Angie, she’d changed so much he barely recognized her. It di
dn’t help that the photo was grainy and the shot only caught her profile. But there were enough similarities—her small, turned-up nose, the structure of her cheekbones, a tiny beauty mark at the corner of her lip—to make him think it was her.
Granted, it was two years old. But this was the best lead he’d had since she’d disappeared. An actual location where she’d lived and a time frame.
A former member of the so-called co-op had returned his call and sent the picture. Unfortunately, the woman had been cagy about answering his questions. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was trying to protect Angie’s privacy or something else.
All he knew was that she’d become extremely guarded when he’d broached anything having to do with the co-op. Almost as if she was spooked about giving too much away. It reminded him of his military deep-throats, high-ranking brass in the Pentagon who would only share so much before they thought they were crossing the line.
He knew from experience that he’d have a better shot with her in person, but when he’d tried to pin her down on meeting with him she wouldn’t commit. Sawyer had her address and was considering showing up on her doorstep. It wasn’t always the best tactic, especially with someone who was already flighty.
But she knew more than she was saying, Sawyer had no doubt about that.
The buzzer rang and Sawyer called down that Jace could let himself up. After Grandpa Dalton died last spring and left them the ranch, he’d taken one of the rundown horse barns and converted it into a loft apartment. He’d gotten a San Francisco architect to draw up the plans to juxtapose rustic with sleek modern design.
The bottom half, where the horse stalls used to be, was now a garage and mudroom with a staircase and elevator that ascended to the hayloft, where he had two thousand square feet of living space.
Except for his en suite and office, the rest of the rooms were open concept with cathedral ceilings that still had the original barn trusses.
It wasn’t a huge apartment, but it had everything he needed.
In Los Angeles, he had his own wing in his parents’ house. But since moving to the ranch, his LA quarters remained mostly vacant. Even while growing up in Southern California, Dry Creek Ranch had always felt like his real home.
Jace came up the stairs, took off his hat, and tossed his vest on the couch. “All right, let me see this picture.”
Sawyer made room for him at the breakfast bar. “You want coffee?”
“Nah, Charlie’s waiting for me for breakfast.”
Sawyer tried to share Cash’s butt-out policy. Jace was indeed entitled to a private life. But Sawyer would be damned before he let his cousin get hurt again. Mary Ann had done a real number on Jace—and the kids. He could count on one hand how many times she’d remembered to send a goddamn birthday card to Travis or Grady.
“You and Charlie seemed to have gotten pretty cozy lately.”
Jace got up and poured himself a cup of coffee after all. “You got something to say, just spit it out.”
“You want me to spit it out? Fine. Don’t let your dick do your thinking for you. There are a lot of nice, single women around here without crazy ex-boyfriends whose fathers have tremendous political clout.”
“Yeah, I’m not even going to dignify that by responding.”
“Just saying.” Sawyer threw his hands up in the air. “It’s your job, your election.”
“That’s right. Let me see the fucking photo.”
Sawyer slid the gritty black-and-white across the concrete countertop. Jace stared down at it for a long time.
“She looks different but I think it’s her. Here”—Jace pointed—“around the mouth. And the mole. I wish the photo was color…the Dalton blue eyes. You show Cash yet?”
“Not yet. He’s working a big cattle rustling case in Plumas County. As soon as he gets back.”
“It’s two years old, Sawyer.” Jace huffed out a breath. “By now we would’ve heard from her, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what to think. But this woman I talked to, the one who sent me the photo…she’s hiding something.”
“What makes you think that?”
Sawyer could see Jace’s skepticism. Both his cousins thought he was looking for clues that didn’t exist. But Sawyer wasn’t a rookie when it came to reading people; his observation skills were top-notch. That’s why magazines like The Atlantic, GQ, Vanity Fair, Esquire and National Geographic kept calling.
“She seemed frightened to say too much. Either that or she was covering for Angela.”
But why? Despite Angela’s quirky—and often high risk—lifestyle, she’d never been at odds with her family. While his parents disapproved of a lot of her choices and often voiced their disapproval loudly, they’d always been a tight-knit family.
“Did you get the impression she knows where Angie is now…or if she’s even still with us?”
“No. I got the sense that after their time in the co-op they lost track of each other. It’s the co-op she doesn’t want to talk about or what Angie was doing there in the first place.”
“Is this co-op a euphemism for a cult?”
“That was my thought,” Sawyer said. “I did an internet search for cults in the Taos area in the last ten years, and nothing matched what the investigator or this woman described. They both made it out to sound like an organic farm, sort of like a kibbutz.”
“What’s that?”
“A self-sufficient community, usually based around agriculture.” Sawyer had done a story years ago when he’d been based in Tel Aviv for the New York Times about how the old model for egalitarian communes was moving away from socialism and becoming popular with a new generation.
“It sounds like something Angie would go for, that’s for sure,” Jace said.
Sawyer agreed. His sister had never met an alternative living situation she didn’t like.
“Hell, if she wanted to live on a farm she could’ve moved here and raised cattle,” Jace continued.
“Too conventional, which isn’t Angie’s style. I’m considering going to New Mexico and pressing this woman for more info.”
“Does she still live in Taos?”
“Santa Fe, according to what I found on the internet.”
“You want me to come with you? I could probably spare a day or two.”
“Cash made the same offer.” Neither of Sawyer’s cousins had the time, but they were like the Three Musketeers in that way. All for one, and one for all. “You two will scare the shit out of her.” He gave Jace a playful punch in the arm. “But seriously, I can probably handle it on my own. If not, I’ll call in reinforcements. I won’t go before your barbecue anyway.”
He had to hand it to Charlie. She’d taken his idea and had run with it. A couple of times she’d consulted with Sawyer to backstop the Tiffster, who didn’t know jack about running campaigns but sure thought she did. From what Sawyer could tell, Charlie’s heart was in the right place and she really did care for Jace and the boys.
But when the shit went down, which it ultimately would, where would it leave Jace? That was the bazillion-dollar question.
“I gotta get home.” Jace put his cup in the sink. “Good work with that photo. It looks promising, but, Sawyer—”
Sawyer stuck his palm in front of Jace’s face. “Don’t say it. There’s nothing you can say I haven’t already thought of.”
Jace nodded. “Whatever you need, you know we’re here for you. Angie’s the closest thing I ever had to a sister. I want her home too.”
“I’ll walk you down and hike down to the back forty, see how the cattle are faring.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’m running low on time and have to get the kids to school today.”
“Why’s that?” Usually Charlie shuttled them to town and Sawyer wondered if the good senator’s son had raised his ugly head in Dry Creek yet.
>
“Have to make a detour to the Klines’ house. Travis has some apologizing to do.”
Sawyer hitched a brow. “What’s that about?”
“He and Miss Kline decided to ditch school and spend yesterday at the swimming hole over at the park.”
“Oh yeah?” Sawyer laughed.
“It’s not funny, asshole.”
“Okay, but it kind of is. Tell me you didn’t do shit like that in high school. I know I did. And Cash…on second thought, he probably never broke a rule in his life. I bet he used to stand at the corners of intersections and help old ladies cross the road.”
“You finished?” Jace rubbed his hands together and stuck them in the pockets of his down vest.
It was March and still cold enough that Sawyer could see his breath.
“Why? You want to talk about something else?” They had a silent agreement not to discuss the taxes. Why beat a dead horse? Between the three of them, they’d figure out something. Hopefully.
Jace started across the field to the ranch house and waved his Stetson in the air. Sawyer went in the opposite direction. He had decisions to make about whether to pursue this newest lead on Angie or to accept the cold, hard evidence that his sister was never coming home.
* * * *
“The boys are getting dressed,” Charlie told Jace as he came in the door.
He caught her around the waist and wrapped her in his arms. “Does that mean we have time for a quickie?”
“Didn’t you get enough last night? And no, there’s no time for a quickie.” She pulled free and snapped him with a dish towel.
That vacant look she had in her eyes when he first found her was gone. So was her meek demeanor and penchant for constantly apologizing. Charlotte Holcomb had blossomed into a bossy little tiger. Best of all, she looked happy.
“Hey, I forgot to give this to you yesterday.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out five thousand dollars in crisp bills. “There’s a safe in my study you can stash it in. But if I were you I’d open a checking account.”