by Rita Herron
Her mother had snapped photos of her playing, but for some reason, Rose had never seen them on display.
“Did they find any photo albums tonight at the house?” Rose asked.
“No. I thought it was odd that there weren’t any family pictures on the walls or the bookshelf.”
“Mother and Daddy never displayed them,” she said quietly. “But I vaguely remember that they did take pictures at holidays.”
“Maybe they had a safety deposit box where they kept them along with other important documents. I’ll ask Hoberman if his team found a key or anything referencing it or a bank. I’ll also follow up with the people your father worked with tomorrow.”
Maddox turned down a long graveled road, and she looked at the pastureland, cattle and horses in the distance. It was beautiful.
“Is this where you grew up?” Rose asked.
“Yeah. Horseshoe Creek has been in the family for generations. When Dad is gone, I’ll keep running it.”
“Didn’t you say you had brothers?”
“Yeah. Brett is two years younger than me, and Ray two years younger than him. Brett is the charmer, a rodeo star. Ray...he and my dad didn’t get along. Don’t ask me why, but they’re like oil and water.”
“Are they coming back to see him now?”
“I called,” Maddox said, his voice deep, raw with pain. “I don’t know if they’ll show up or not.”
“Tell them they should settle things before it’s too late.”
Like it was for her and her family.
That was one regret she’d have to live with for the rest of her life.
* * *
“THE WORTHINGTONS ARE DEAD.”
“Did you clean up?”
“Didn’t have to. No signs of their former life anywhere in that damn house. If I hadn’t done my research, I wouldn’t have known it was them myself.”
“What about the daughter?”
“She’s still on the loose, but so far I don’t think she has a clue as to what’s going on. That damn sheriff of Pistol Whip is attached to her hip, though.”
“Figure out a way to get rid of him.”
“Won’t killing a sheriff draw too much attention?”
“Then you think of something. And do it fast, before they find out the truth. If I’m exposed, so are you.”
Chapter Twelve
Maddox had always been proud of his ranch, but tonight his heart felt heavy, his mind torn in different directions. Although his father wasn’t gone yet, grief for his illness swelled inside him along with anger at his brothers for not being around.
“This is beautiful land,” Rose said, her eyes widening as he led her up the steps to the wraparound porch.
Pride filled him. The hundred-year-old farmhouse still stood as honorable and welcoming as ever. Over the years, it had aged, and the kitchen needed updating, but it was home.
Mama Mary met him at the door, a curious look on her round face as she spotted Rose. “Maddox, thanks for coming home tonight.”
“I can’t stay,” he said, “but I’ll visit with Dad for a while.” He gestured toward Rose and introduced her.
“You two want some supper?” Mama Mary asked.
“No thanks, Mama Mary, we already ate.” He gave the older woman a quick peck on the cheek, and she blushed. “But maybe we’ll have coffee.”
“Of course. And I’ve got pie, your favorite. Coconut cream.”
“That sounds great.” Maddox looked at Rose. “Rose, let Mama Mary show you to the kitchen. I’ll be down after I talk to Dad.”
Rose nodded and followed Mama Mary, who was already treating Rose like she was an old friend. He’d missed his own mother terribly when she’d died, but Mama Mary had held him in her big loving arms while he’d cried. She’d been there for him and his father day and night since.
Brett adored her, and Ray grumbled, but she knew how to mellow his sour moods better than anyone.
He adjusted his hat as he climbed the steps, mentally bracing himself for seeing his father’s weakened state.
It hurt every damn time he saw him.
He knocked gently, then eased open the door. His father lay against a mound of pillows, his face thin, his skin pale in the dim light. “Dad?”
“Come on in.” His father waved a hand that had once been strong and dexterous, but now looked frail and age spotted beyond his years.
Maddox shut the door behind him, and walked toward the bed. “Mama Mary said you ate some soup.”
“That woman is determined to fatten me up.” His laugh sounded weak, but he was trying to act strong. “She said you didn’t come home last night, that you were working. What’s going on?”
Maddox straddled the wood chair and faced his father. Joe McCullen had always been interested in the goings-on in Pistol Whip and had been Maddox’s biggest supporter when he’d run for sheriff.
“The woman who owns the antiques shop in town, Rose Worthington, was attacked by her fiancé.”
“A domestic dispute?”
“Not hardly.” Maddox explained about Thoreau’s phone call, the photograph of the child on the milk carton and Rose’s parents’ murder.
His father sat up straighter. “So someone wants to kill this woman, but you don’t know the reason?”
“That sums it up,” Maddox said. “Although it’s beginning to look like the Worthingtons were either in WITSEC or that they kidnapped Rose.”
His father tugged at the sheet, folding it down neatly. “Really?”
“That’s the way it’s looking. Rose said they moved around a lot, that her parents always kept a suitcase ready in case they needed to leave. There was no paper trail in the house, no bank accounts, no personal photos.”
“That does sound suspicious.”
“I also found fake identification in their luggage, which was packed in the car. And they were shot point-blank in the head at close range.”
“A professional hit?”
“It appears that way.”
His father coughed, a ragged sound that tore at Maddox’s heart. “It sounds like you need to take care of her,” his father said. “That woman needs you in her corner.”
Maddox’s voice cracked. “I want to be here for you, too, Dad.”
An awkward silence stretched between them, filled with the depressing reality of his father’s illness. “Did you talk to your brothers?”
“I called and left a message for Brett but haven’t heard back yet. I’ll try him again tonight.”
A sad look passed over his father’s face. “And Ray?”
Ray’s words echoed in Maddox’s head—Ray was going to think about it. But he didn’t want to tell his father about the conversation. “Don’t worry. He’ll come. I’ll see to it.”
His father lifted his head and studied him for a long moment. “You are an honorable man, son. I’m proud of you.”
Maddox stuffed his hands in his pockets when what he wanted to do was cry like a baby.
“Now, enough coddling your old man. Go take care of Rose. She needs you now more than I do.”
“Dad—”
“It’s all right, Maddox. It’s time you found someone special in your life, you know.”
“Dad,” Maddox said, his voice tight. “Rose is just a...case. Business.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his father’s mouth. “Damn. I was hoping there was more to it. It’d be nice to know there were more McCullens coming along to keep up the family legacy.”
* * *
ROSE STUDIED THE BIG old-fashioned kitchen with the red-checkered tablecloth and curtains, and felt like she’d stepped back in time to a place where families gathered for a big breakfast, to talk and linger over huckleberry pie and hot coffee. No texting or phones at the table, just sharing conversation.
“You look plumb worn out, child,” the chubby woman said with a sympathetic smile. “Sit down and let Mama Mary take care of you.”
Exhausted, Rose sank into the oak chair
at the table. She wanted to lay her head down, close her eyes and forget the past two days.
She wanted to cry her heart out.
But she was too numb to do anything but sit and let the older woman fill a mug with hot coffee, then slide a piece of coconut cream pie toward her.
“Milk or sugar for your coffee, hon?” Mama Mary asked.
“Sugar, please,” Rose said, tears clogging her throat at the woman’s kindness. “Thank you.”
Mama Mary waved her dishrag at Rose as if to say it was nothing. “I like taking care of this family. When poor Miss Grace died, Mr. Joe and the boys needed someone.”
She gestured toward a framed photograph of three little boys on the wall by the table. “Maddox was ten, but he grew up real fast after that. He became serious, responsible—the caretaker.”
Rose’s chest squeezed as she imagined Maddox grieving yet taking care of his little brothers at the same time. “I’m sure the boys and Mr. McCullen were grateful for you.”
“That works both ways. I was alone, too, lost my own husband to cancer a few years back. The McCullens believe in family and gave me a home.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, but it sounds like the arrangement was good for everyone.”
“It was.” Mama Mary gestured toward the pie. “Now eat up, honey.”
Rose scooped up a spoonful of the dessert and swallowed it. “This is delicious.”
“It’s not fancy by any means. But it’s Mr. Joe and Maddox’s favorite.”
“I’m sorry to hear he’s ill,” Rose said softly.
Mama Mary dabbed at her eyes. “He’s a good man. I know Maddox acts tough, but he’s hurtin’ inside. Them two is close.”
Rose nodded, her heart aching for Maddox.
“Maddox told me you got troubles of your own.” Mama Mary sighed. “But you can trust him to take care of you, Rose. He’s loyal to a fault. And when he says something, he means it.”
Worry knitted Mama Mary’s brows. “Now those other two boys, they’re good, too, but they ain’t been around much. They were all lost for a while. I guess everyone grieves in their own way.” She folded a dishcloth as she talked, as if she needed to keep her hands busy. “Brett acts like he’s fun-loving and a jokester, but that boy’s got a tender side. And Ray...that young’un let his grief turn to anger. Being the baby, he was always closer to his mama than his daddy.” She patted the cloth in her lap. “Sorry I’m rambling on about family.”
“It’s all right,” Rose said softly. “I understand. I lost my own parents.”
Mama Mary squeezed Rose’s hands. “I am truly sorry, Rose. Maybe you came into Maddox’s life for a reason. You two can understand each other.”
“Maybe.” Rose stared down into the coffee, willing herself to be strong. Maybe if she’d had brothers or sisters, she wouldn’t feel so alone. Another reason Maddox should repair his relationship with his siblings.
Footsteps sounded, and he appeared at the door, his big body filling the space with his masculine presence.
“Sit down and eat up.” Mama Mary took his arm and guided him to the table. “I’ll get you a slice of pie. You look like you’re on your last leg.”
“I’m fine, Mama Mary,” Maddox said. “But thanks for the dessert.”
“Wish I could do more,” she said, her voice warbling.
Maddox put his arm around Mama Mary. “You do more than you know,” he said in a gruff tone. “You’re family, Mama Mary.”
Tears blurred the woman’s eyes, and she batted at Maddox as if to brush off his words. But Rose recognized the affection between the two.
Even though they weren’t blood-related, they obviously loved each other as if they were.
In fact, they were more of a family than she’d ever been with the man and woman who’d raised her.
* * *
MADDOX PINCHED THE BRIDGE of his nose to stem his emotions as he released Mama Mary.
Maybe if his brothers did return, she could help convince them that they needed to make up with his father before he passed.
He took his usual seat and accepted the pie and coffee Mama Mary set in front of him. Rose wiped her mouth on a napkin, but her hand was shaky.
“That was delicious,” Rose said. “Thank you again.”
“I can pack you up some to take with you.” Without waiting on a response, Mama Mary pulled a plastic container from the cabinet and set two pieces of pie inside.
Maddox gave her a smile. “You’re the best, Mama Mary. I’m going to drive Rose home now. She’s had a long day.” And tomorrow would be long as well.
“Will you be home later, Maddox?”
He shook his head. “No, not unless you need me.”
She patted his shoulder. “Just be careful.”
Maddox heard the concern in her voice, and gave her another hug. “Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Dad and call me if his condition changes.”
She nodded, then gave Rose a hug. “Honey, take care and come back.”
Rose thanked her again, and Maddox led the way outside.
“She’s wonderful,” Rose said as they descended the porch steps and walked to his car.
“Yeah, she is.” His father’s comment about settling down struck Maddox as Rose’s soulful eyes met his. In the dim moonlight with the rugged land of Horseshoe Creek behind her, she looked so beautiful that his chest clenched.
Beautiful and vulnerable, and small, fragile, as if one of Wyoming’s gusty winds could literally blow her over.
He inhaled the fresh night air, breathing deeply of his heritage and the home his father had kept here for him and his brothers, of his grandfather, who’d passed it down to his father, and his grandfather’s father, who’d built it years ago.
He knew his lineage, where he’d come from, had the security of knowing his parents had loved him and loved each other.
Nothing could take that away from him.
But Rose’s past was a mystery to her.
Worse, when they found the answers they were looking for, she might not like them. He just hoped the truth didn’t destroy her.
* * *
ROSE COULDN’T HELP but compare Maddox’s farmhouse to her own parade of houses. His was a home. Hers had been mere places to live for short periods. As they left, she’d noted the wall of pictures of the boys growing up: the horseback rides across the ranch, the brothers fishing and wading in the creek, a cattle drive where they’d roasted hot dogs over a campfire.
Even the house she rented now seemed impersonal. She’d rented instead of bought, mentally planning not to stay too long from as early on as the day she’d moved in. Old habits...
She’d followed her mother’s example, leaving the walls bare and the decorations to a minimum. No family pictures, no homemade Afghans like the crocheted one she’d spotted over the chair in the den, no pies or cakes in the oven.
Everything was neat and orderly. Contained. Perfect. Everything in its place.
Only beneath that perfect order lay secrets that had gotten her parents killed and brought a murderer after her.
Maddox’s cell phone buzzed, and he snatched it up and answered it. “Yeah.” A long pause. “Okay. Thanks for the information.”
Rose tensed as he ended the call. “What is it?”
“That was a US Marshal named Lou Baxter. He claims he may know the identities of the remains we found at that cabin.”
Rose’s breath caught. “How did he know about them?”
“Apparently when the crime team put the information about them into the database to search for their identities, it caught the attention of the Marshals Service. Baxter is coming to Pistol Whip tomorrow and wants to meet.”
Nerves tingled along her spine.
Finding out the identity of the dead people on that land might lead them to Thad’s real identity and to her parents’ killer.
Chapter Thirteen
Rose stowed the pie Mama Mary had packed for her in the refrigerator while Maddox carried
the assortment of music boxes inside. But that phone call disturbed him. Marshal Baxter had insisted on meeting him the next morning.
Alone.
Which meant that he had bad news—or that the man might not trust Rose.
Did she know more than she was telling him?
Her shoulders slumped with fatigue as she carefully placed each music box on the mantel with the one she already owned.
“Do you remember the story behind each one of those?”
“Some of them, but not all,” Rose said. “I never quite understood why my mother loved them so much, but she never bought anything for herself so my father didn’t complain.” She ran her finger along the gold trim of a hand-painted carousel-shaped music box. “She was particularly intrigued by the years they were made.”
“Interesting.” Although he didn’t know the significance. “Did they ever mention the name Baxter to you?”
A sliver of fear darted across Rose’s face. “No, not that I remember.”
She traced a finger over the scar again, her brows furrowed.
The cuckoo clock in the hall chirped that it was midnight, drawing Rose’s gaze to it.
Tears blurred her eyes, and she turned away. “I’m going to bed. If you need to go home and stay with your father tonight, please do so, Maddox. I feel guilty taking you away from him when he’s ill.”
The fact that she was trying to be strong stirred his admiration. No woman who was selfless enough to tell him to leave when she was scared for her life could be lying.
She was in pain but she still had enough compassion to worry about him.
A seed of longing sprouted inside him. He wanted to touch her, hold her, comfort her. Assuage her pain.
Unable to help himself, he took a step toward her, but she turned away. His breath hitched at the sight of her shoulders shaking with the tears she tried to hide.
“Don’t worry about me and don’t feel guilty. I want to be here for you.”
Rose sniffed. “I’ll never see them again,” she said in a ragged whisper. “Never get to tell them I’m sorry, that I loved them.” A sob escaped her. “Never get to ask them why they lied to me.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He wanted to reach for her but fisted his hands by his side. “But we will find out who you are and what happened years ago, Rose. I swear.”