Sloan turned in a slow circle, then faced the woods. If he headed due east, he would eventually come to the Kincaid ranch. Southwest would lead him to Homer’s place. In any other direction was just woods, hills, some canyons. Rumor had it there were some mines in there, too—sapphire, as he recalled—but he’d been all over this area when he was a kid, and he’d never found anything remotely resembling a mine or a sapphire.
If Christina had headed off that way, where in hell had she been going?
And what had happened to her baby?
Another chill passed through him. It wasn’t far from here that Rafe’s mother had abandoned him. Fortunately, he’d been found little the worse for wear. But no one in the county had shown up in recent months with a new baby whose parents couldn’t be accounted for.
God help him, the last thing he wanted to find in these woods was a tiny grave or a pile of rocks protecting a shrouded infant’s corpse from predators.
It looked as if the last thing he was going to find was answers, while he had no shortage of questions. With a sigh, he set off through the trees, his gaze scanning from side to side. It would be nice to find a conveniently dropped letter from Christina, saying she couldn’t take another Montana winter. “I’ve gone to sunny L.A. with my healthy baby boy. You can reach me at this number.”
Oh, yeah. And as long as he was fantasizing, this evening Crystal would greet him wearing something thin, sexy and easily removed and with the news that she trusted him completely and Winona was gone for the night.
But he found no note. Seven hours of hiking through the woods—or, at least, a small part of them—and he’d found nothing at all. He returned to his truck tired, hungry and empty-handed.
He drove into town, traded the Jeep for his truck and went home. After a shower, he stretched out on the bed just for a minute. He wouldn’t fall asleep, he promised himself. He was just going to rest briefly before dinner. Fifteen minutes, thirty tops.
And then he fell asleep.
Nine
Crystal slept in late Tuesday morning after a restless night. By the time she opened her eyes and was willing to keep them open, the sun was high in the sky and Winona had long since gone to the shop.
She shoved her feet into a pair of house shoes and belted her robe over her shorts and tank before shuffling down the hall. The kitchen still smelled faintly of last night’s dinner—fried chicken with a buttermilk crust, potato salad, deviled eggs and frosted walnut brownies. Picnic food, Southern style. She’d cooked it all herself—so there, Mrs. Ravencrest—and she’d packed away all the leftovers by herself.
There had been a lot of leftovers, since Winona had had dinner with friends.
And Sloan hadn’t showed up.
This morning she just might eat them all by herself.
He hadn’t come, hadn’t called. She’d tried to call him and discovered that his phone number was unlisted. Worried that something had happened, she’d finally called the sheriff’s department, where a disinterested young woman informed her that he’d gone off duty at five o’clock and, no, she couldn’t give out his home number and, no, she couldn’t call him at home with a message.
Crystal had been stood up, by the last man in the world she ever would have expected it from.
Did he regret that he’d told her he loved her? Was this his way of punishing her because she hadn’t said the words back to him? Or had a better offer come along?
Mentally, she kicked herself. Sloan wasn’t the sort to punish people for not living up to his expectations, and he certainly wasn’t the sort who’d accept a better offer, no matter how much he wanted to. Something unavoidable had come up. It was as simple as that. In James’s line of work, he had often had unavoidable conflicts. She was familiar with them.
Bypassing the half-filled coffeepot Winona had left for her, she opened the refrigerator and took a cold drumstick from the platter on the second shelf. She munched it while standing at the sink, then got a brownie. Once it was gone, she returned to the chicken for another drumstick. She was halfway through it when the phone beside her broke the silence and made her jump.
She grabbed it before the second ring. “Hello?”
“Can you come over to the shop, dear?”
“Aunt Winona? What—”
Her aunt had hung up on her. First, Sloan stood her up, and then Winona hung up on her. Sheesh, what was it? Make Crystal Feel Insignificant Week?
On her way past the door, she raised the curtain to look out. Besides Winona’s truck and a couple of cars, there were two four-wheel-drives in the lot. Both bore light bars on the roof, and the one closest to her was identified on the side as belonging to the Whitehorn Police Department.
She tossed the chicken away and got dressed and over to the shop in record time. The first person she saw when she walked in was an agitated Homer Gilmore. The second was Sloan, who cast an apologetic look her way. Also gathered around were Winona, every customer in the place, and two men in suits, both strangers to her.
One of the men scowled at her. “Who are you?”
Winona answered before Crystal had a chance. “She’s my employee. She’s going to watch the shop while we take this into the back room, where we’ll have some privacy.”
Employee, Crystal thought with surprise. Yep, it was definitely Insignificant Crystal Week.
The two men—Whitehorn detectives, she assumed—headed for the store room. Winona, leading Homer by the arm, followed, and Sloan brought up the rear. He didn’t delay even a moment to speak to her.
A shiver of uneasiness ricocheted through her as she watched the door close, but she shrugged it off as she walked around the counter.
All but one of the customers returned to their shopping. That one remained at the counter. “What’s going on here?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Jefferson. Obviously, you saw more than I did.”
“That Indian boy—”
“Deputy Ravencrest,” she interrupted.
“Yeah, him. He brought ol’ Homer in here, and him and Winona was talkin’ to him, and then them detectives come in and told the boy to mind his own business, that they was here to talk to Homer and it was none of his concern ‘bout what. They got Homer all upset and confused, and the Indian boy—”
Crystal gritted her teeth and repeated, “Deputy Ravencrest.”
The old man fixed a narrow gaze on her. “I know his name. But he’s an Indian, and he’s a boy.” He shrugged to show the logic.
“And you’re an old—” Biting off the insult, she silently counted to ten, then did it again in French and Italian. Then she took a deep breath and gave the man a chilly smile. “I’m busy, Mr. Jefferson. If you’ll excuse me…”
He walked off down one aisle, muttering to himself about ill-mannered youngsters and their sass.
She watched the clock and checked out a customer’s selection of Roseville pottery. After another ten minutes crawled by, she rang up half a dozen pieces of Depression glass for a dealer in Wyoming who made regular stops at the Stop-n-Swap.
Finally the two detectives left. So did the few other customers. Crystal was debating whether it was appropriate for her to go back to the store room since she clearly hadn’t been invited when the door opened then closed behind Sloan.
He came to the counter and rested his hands on the glass. When he didn’t speak right away, she asked, “What’s going on?”
“I think I just pissed off two of Whitehorn’s finest.”
“Finest what?”
He smiled faintly, then said, “I’m sorry about last night.”
She shrugged. “It’s no big deal. James used to—”
His eyes turned dark and cold so swiftly that she forgot the rest of her sentence. “I’m not James.” His tone was sharp, warning. “It is a big deal. You were expecting me for dinner and I didn’t show. I spent most of the day out in the woods, looking for something. When I got home, I just meant to close my eyes for a minute, but the next thing I knew, it was morning
and I was late for work. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve never done that before in my life.”
She debated whether to nurse her hurt feelings or let it slide. She chose to let it slide. “You’ve never fallen asleep? Gee, no wonder you were tired.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried. You’re unlisted.”
“Your aunt’s got my number.”
“She wasn’t home. It was going to be just you and me.”
Grimacing, he reached into his pocket for a business card, then grabbed a pen from the counter. She watched him write two numbers in bold, black figures—one his home number, the other, his cell phone. When he finished, he slid the card across the counter. “Now you’ve got my number, in more ways than one.”
His grin didn’t have half the charm he was aiming for, and after one wobbly moment, it disappeared entirely. “Crystal, I made you a promise a few weeks back. Remember?”
Her uneasiness increased tenfold. I won’t ask you to go back to that clearing, he’d said, or to have anything further to do with the Montgomery case. He’d promised. He’d sworn.
He took one look at her face and quietly said, “You remember. I would rather do damn near anything else in the world than this, but—”
“No.” Her breath caught in her chest. “You gave me your word.”
“Those two men were the detectives in charge of the police department’s investigation into Christina’s disappearance. They’re being pressured to make an arrest—we all are—but none of us has a likely suspect. So they’ve decided to create one. Homer.”
She shook her head frantically from side to side. “You said you were an honorable man. You said you don’t betray people.”
“Crystal, you know Homer didn’t do anything to Christina. But they don’t even have to make a case against him. All they have to do is investigate him and bring it to the D.A.’s attention that Homer’s out where the buses don’t run. Even without bringing charges against him, the D.A. would be justified in asking that Homer be sent to the state mental hospital for evaluation. Trust me on this, darlin’—if they get hold of him, they’re not likely to let him go.”
Crystal hugged her arms to her middle. She was suddenly so cold. But getting warm wasn’t a simple matter of putting on a sweater or wrapping up in a blanket, because this cold came from the inside out. This cold came from the sick, hard lump of betrayal centered low in her stomach, from the knowledge that once again someone who’d claimed to love her had let her down.
And the hell of it was, she couldn’t even blame him. He was just doing his job. Protecting an innocent man. And breaking his promise to her.
“When did you find out that they were trying to arrest Homer?” Her voice sounded strangled, strange to her own ears.
“Yesterday morning. Rafe told me as soon as I got to work. Why?”
Before he’d come to see her.
Before he’d told her he loved her.
Numbness spread through her, bringing welcome relief from the all-too-familiar hurt. She breathed and discovered she still could, moved and discovered she could do that, too. She wasn’t going to fall apart right there before his eyes, wasn’t going to burst into tears or get hysterical. She wasn’t going to keep repeating “You promised, you gave me your word, and you lied.” At least, not to him. But the anguished little voice inside her couldn’t seem to say anything else.
“Crystal…I wouldn’t ask this of you if there were any other way. Please, for Homer’s sake, you’ve got to help me.”
“Sure,” she said softly, distantly. “For Homer.”
“I’ll be right there beside you, I swear. I’ll—”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t swear.” Because she might be tempted to believe him again, and then when he broke his word again, she would be hurt again, and she would have no one to blame but herself.
She had no one else to blame now. James and her parents had taught her a hard lesson, and in a matter of days, she’d let Sloan sweet-talk her into forgetting it. It was all her fault. Just as her mother had warned her. It’ll all be your fault, Crystal.
“Crystal—”
She turned away from the counter, away from him. Lacing her fingers together, she stared hard into the display case there, willing her mother’s echoes out of her head, willing the hurtful, disappointed thoughts—broken promises, letdowns, lies—out of her head.
He came around the counter to stand beside her. “Here. Put this up somewhere.”
Her gaze dropped to his hand and the business card he held between two fingers. She returned to staring at a tiny blown-glass figure that was as delicate as she felt. “I don’t need it.”
“The hell you don’t.” Catching hold of her wrist, he lifted her limp hand, pressed the card into it and folded her fingers over it. The instant he let go, she very methodically curled her fingers into a fist, crumpling the card, then opened her hand, palm down, and let it fall to the floor.
“Damn it, Crystal!” Grabbing both her arms, he gave her a shake. “Stop it! I’m sorry about this. I hate it more than you can imagine. But I can’t stand by and do nothing while Homer gets railroaded off to the mental hospital when he’s done nothing wrong. If you can, then you’re not the woman I thought you were.”
It’ll all be your fault, Crystal. Her mother wasn’t the only one adept at casting blame.
When she didn’t respond, he hauled her close and kissed her. She prepared herself for a hard, angry kiss—another betrayal—but his mouth was gentle. It fueled her ever-present desire, turned her blood hot and her knees weak, offered her hope that everything could be made right.
When he ended the kiss, she was breathless. He was tender. Resting his forehead against hers, he whispered, “I love you, Crystal.”
She wished desperately she could take him at his word. She wished he hadn’t just presented her with proof that he wasn’t to be trusted. Taking a deep breath that smelled enticingly of him, she lifted her head, met his dark gaze and numbly asked, “Do you? Or do you think I’ll be more likely to cooperate with you if you tell me that? Because you have to admit, your timing is curious. If you were me, wouldn’t it strike you as odd that, of all the times you could have said ‘I love you, Crystal,’ you chose to say it after finding out that you needed my help again—the very same help you swore to me you would never ask for?”
He took a step back, then another. He looked offended, insulted, hurt, and she felt a twinge of guilt. Ruthlessly she quashed it. She was the one who’d been lied to. She had nothing to feel guilty for.
“You can’t believe…” Letting the words trail away, he gave a disgusted shake of his head. “What am I saying? Of course you can believe it. Because you haven’t learned a damned thing about me. Because you haven’t even begun to get over what James and your parents did to you. They hurt you, Crystal, and they betrayed you. And you know why? Because they didn’t love you. But I’m not them, and I do love you, more than I can say. If you’ve ever believed anything, believe that.”
He was waiting for some response from her, for some sign that she did believe him. She wanted to, wanted it intensely, but how could she? How could she know he wasn’t playing her for a fool? It had happened before.
When she said nothing, a look of grim acceptance crept into his eyes. His mouth formed a thin line and his jaw was taut as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Crystal. I made you a promise I can’t keep. But when I made that promise, I had no clue anyone would try to frame an innocent man. Would you respect me more if I stood back and let it happen? Would it make you think more of me as a deputy, as a man, if I kept my promise to you, and said to hell with Homer?”
“Of course not,” she murmured.
He stared at her for a moment, then his mouth quirked into a bitter smile. “With you I can’t win for losing, can I? I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.” He uttered an obscenity that made her cringe, then impatiently gestured. “Get your coat and gloves. We’re heading out to the woods—yo
u, me and Homer. Wear sturdy boots, and grab a hat, too. It’s damned cold out there.”
It couldn’t be any colder outside than she was inside, Crystal thought numbly as she obeyed. She felt as if she might never get warm again.
When she returned from the trailer five minutes later, Sloan and Homer were standing beside the Jeep, and Winona was locking the shop door. “Miz Winona,” Sloan was saying, “it’s rugged terrain, and it’s awfully cold. It would be better if you’d wait here.”
Winona pulled herself to her full height. “My niece and my friend need me. I won’t slow you down too much, young man.”
Sloan shot an angry, exasperated look at Crystal, and she stepped forward. “Aunt Winona, I appreciate your concern, but he’s right. Those woods are no place for you to be traipsing around for hours. It would do us all more good if you’d stay here and fix a big pot of your famous beef stew so we can warm up when we get back.”
“With fresh cornbread and something sweet and warm for dessert, like blackberry cobbler.” Winona bobbed her head. “All right. I’ll stay. But, child, what if something happens?”
The look in her eyes made it clear what kind of “something” she was referring to. Crystal was worried about that, too. The first time she’d gone into those woods, to that clearing, she’d been overwhelmed. She’d run away, desperate to escape, and when he’d caught her, Sloan had held her, comforted her, made her feel normal again.
He wouldn’t be so willing to hold her this time, and even if he was, under the circumstances, she didn’t think she would find much comfort in his arms.
But that didn’t stop her from smiling reassuringly at her aunt. “Don’t worry, Aunt Winona. Sloan will be there. If anything happens, he’ll take care of it.” She heard the mocking in her voice with each reference to him, and saw with a sidelong glance that he did, too. But Winona didn’t. She was too worried.
Crystal climbed into the back seat, leaving the front seat—and the proximity to Sloan—to Homer. She stared out the side window, where Sloan wasn’t even a shadow in her peripheral vision, and clasped her gloved hands between her knees.
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