Lonestar Angel (3 page)

“I’m afraid too. But I know she’s there. Still, let’s say you’re right—that someone’s playing with us. This is the only shot we’ve got at finding out the truth. How can we ignore it?”

Eden’s lips flattened. She took the picture again. “Where is this place?” She tapped a finger on the Bluebird sign.

“The ranch is near Big Bend National Park.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s in West Texas.” He shrugged.

She turned back to pour cream into their coffee. “Why do you need me?”

“The ranch is looking for a married couple to serve as counselors. We’d be working directly with these girls.”

She whirled back around to face him. “We’d be spending all our time with them?”

He nodded. “You’ll come? I can’t do it without you. They want a married couple.”

He read the indecision in her eyes. Conflicting emotions of hope and fear flashed through them. “Eden?”

“All right. I’ll come.”

He closed his hand over her elbow and turned her toward the bedroom. “You need to pack. We’ll be gone for several weeks at least. Maybe all summer.”

She stopped and tugged her arm from his grasp. “What about my job?”

“Quit. Or take a leave of absence.” If he had his way, she’d never come back here again.

She chewed on her lip. “I’ll have to quit. They won’t be able to get along without me for the summer. Do you have the job description?”

He nodded and dug the ad for the position out of his pocket, then handed it to her. “It’s our perfect opportunity to slip in and find out the truth.”

“Why can’t we just go talk to these people—tell them what is going on?”

“If we waltz in there as strangers, the people who run the camp aren’t going to give us the time of day. Their main goal is to protect the children. For all they know, we could be some nutso couple looking to make off with a child or two.”

She read the ad, then handed it back. “But what about the police? Won’t they help us find the truth?”

“They believe she’s dead. The fellow in charge of the case blew me off when I showed him the picture. Once we get down there and assess the law enforcement, we can see if the sheriff is likely to listen.”

“I still have a million questions,” she said.

He took her arm and propelled her toward her bedroom to pack. “Ask me on the way.”

2

C
LAY
’
S
“
COWBOY
C
ADILLAC
”
ATE UP THE MILES BETWEEN
W
ABASH
, I
NDIANA
,
AND
B
LUEBIRD
Crossing, Texas. The last time Eden had been in a truck was the day she left Clay. The odors of horse, grease, and man took her back five years to a place and time she’d worked hard to forget.

She shifted as the memories tried to surface, staring out the window at the orange rocks and shimmering desert that went on for miles. They’d been on Interstate 10 for hours and had seen only one other vehicle. Sage and creosote bushes grew as far as the eye could see. “How far to Bluebird Crossing?”

“Almost there.” Clay’s voice was gravelly.

He hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours. Eden had offered to drive several times, but he’d kept his size-12 boot to the accelerator, stopping only for gas, grabbing food and bathroom breaks when they did. She’d hoped to find out more about his search for Brianna, but his first explanation had been the most complete.

“Why would the kidnapper’s partner—if that’s who’s really behind this—contact you after all these years?” she asked. “I wish we knew that part.”

“If we knew that, we might know who they were. And why they’d done it. The police always believed they were illegal immigrants.”

“None of it makes any sense.”

“No,” he said, turning the wheel into a wide curve. “I always thought her kidnappers wanted revenge for that mission I’d been involved in down in Colombia. The money they demanded was the same amount that they claimed was stolen by the officers we got out of the compound.”

As a photojournalist in the military, Clay sometimes got involved in dangerous things. During her pregnancy, after they’d been married only two weeks, he was sucked into the rescue operation of two Americans held captive by drug lords. Eden suspected his part was much more intensive than he’d ever told her.

“You’ve always said that, but the police found no evidence of it. And why would drug lords care about only ten grand?”

“They found no evidence of much of anything,” he pointed out. “And I think wanting the money back was an honor thing. At least that’s my theory. Besides, the money vanished from our SUV. Someone must have stolen it.”

“There were kids hanging around watching.”

He shrugged. “I still think an accessory took the money while we were occupied. And now I don’t even believe Brianna was in that car that went under the water.”

Without warning, images of the day they’d lost Brianna came flooding back. She’d been in her SUV that day, not Clay’s truck.

T
HE
SUV
SURGED FORWARD WHEN SHE PRESSED HARD ON THE ACCELERATOR
. S
HE STRAINED
to see through the rain sluicing down the windshield. Where was the river? Moisture gathered in her eyes and she blinked it away. Tears would solve nothing.

“Not so fast!” Clay leaned forward in the passenger seat, peering through the downpour. “I think the road turns any second. The pull-off by the riverbank is on the left.”

Eden eased up on the pedal. “Do you really think they’ll be here with Brianna?” Just saying her baby’s name made her throat close and her breasts ache. Twenty-four terrible hours had passed since she last held her six-week-old daughter. Her empty arms twitched with the need to cuddle Brianna, who had given up her first smile the day before she was taken.

“They’d better be there.” Her husband’s voice was grim. His gun, a big, scary black one, was on his lap as well as the briefcase holding the ransom money. He pointed. “There’s the turnoff.”

She steered the vehicle onto the gravel path that led to the river. Her vision wavered again. Dratted rain. Opening her mouth to tell Clay she saw the rushing water, she shut it when she saw the other vehicle ahead. Her foot tromped the accelerator to catch the speeding car before she realized she was doing it. The tires spun on the gravel, then caught purchase and propelled the big vehicle toward the Taurus.

“Look out!” Clay yelled.

Too late she realized she was going to ram the Taurus. Her SUV slammed into the car’s bumper, and it spun around as it slid down the embankment to the water. The sound of screeching metal filled her ears. The man behind the steering wheel had his mouth open in a scream she couldn’t hear as her vehicle shoved the car into the swollen river. The Taurus hit the churning brown water and listed onto its side.

Shoving open her door, she staggered to the edge of the river. “Brianna!” she shrieked into the wind.

The driver pounded on the glass, his panicked face barely visible behind the window. His boot hit the pane and shattered it, and the man clambered through the opening. His head disappeared in the dirty foam. Eden started toward the water, but Clay dragged her back, then dived into the muddy river. She could barely see through the rain. Wading into the water, she tried to paddle after him, but she wasn’t a strong swimmer, and the filthy water filled her throat and mouth. Her knees scraped gravel, and she came up gagging. She flung her wet hair out of her eyes. Where was Clay?

She caught a glimpse of his dark head. He’d reached the car, but the current had it as well, and the door handle rolled away from him. He kicked after it, and her heart rose as she saw him wrench open the back door. Water gushed in. He disappeared inside, and she watched with her heart pounding until he exited the rolling car.

He was empty-handed.

S
OMETHING TOUCHED HER AND SHE JERKED BACK TO THE PRESENT
. S
TUPIDLY
,
SHE STARED
at Clay’s big hand covering hers. The scar on his wrist was another stark reminder. He’d gotten it in the rescue attempt. She became aware that tears coursed down her cheeks, and she swiped her palm across her wet face.

The truck was stopped in a dirt drive. His steady gaze held hers. “She didn’t die in that water, Eden. Don’t go there.” He leaned over and thumbed away a tear.

She told herself not to react to the warmth of his hand or the gentleness of his touch. How did he know that’s what she was thinking about? She could have been crying about anything. “It was my fault,” she said.

“It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. It could have happened even if I’d been driving. But I wanted to be ready to play hero.”

Her eyes burned and her vision blurred. The next thing she knew, she was sobbing against his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. His arms held her close, and he pressed a kiss against the top of her head. She’d forgotten how safe he always made her feel.

She drew away. Her shiver had nothing to do with his touch. The air conditioner was just too cold, she told herself, until a long-forgotten passion swelled in her. She pressed against him, and his embrace tightened. Would losing her pain in his arms be so terrible? His blue eyes darkened when she lifted her face toward him.

He lowered his head, and she realized what was happening. She couldn’t go there again, where passion instead of careful thought ruled. Shoving against his chest with both hands, she tore herself from his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a choked voice. “I’m all right. It’s all a little overwhelming.”

He gulped in a breath, then nodded and put the truck in drive. A few moments later he said, “We’re here.”

She leaned forward and drank in the two-story ranch house flanked by a big white barn. It had a hipped roof, and white paddocks stretched as far as she could see. She was surprised to notice a hangar that held a small plane.

A stucco bunkhouse was behind the main building and a newer similar building beside it. She smiled as a child shrieked with laughter, and children were playing jump rope in the grass. Her heart rebounded against her ribs.

Brianna was one of them. But which one?

His gaze on the children, Clay slammed the truck door and stretched out his muscles. He checked his impulse to go directly to the kids.

Eden came around the other side of the truck. She chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the children. She looked out of place in her high heels and short skirt. But very cute. He tore his gaze from her shapely legs.

Eden started toward them, and he caught her arm. “Not yet,” he warned. “We’re just here about the job, remember? Smile, be professional. We have to get hired first.”

“I wish we could just tell them about the situation.”

“There’s no way they’d let us have access to the girls. Not without a court order. And the police aren’t cooperating.”

He turned her toward the wide porch attached to the front of the storybook farmhouse. The white stone gleamed in the sunshine. The red door stood partly open past the screen. He could hear a woman’s voice on the other side but couldn’t make out what she was saying. He put on a smile and rapped on the door.

A pretty brunette came to the door with a welcoming tilt to her lips. “Good afternoon! You must be the Larsons. I’m Allie Bailey.” She opened the screen. “Come on in and don’t mind the mess. We’re still unpacking stuff. A group of older kids arrived this morning.”

She led them down the hall, past suitcases disgorging their contents of brightly colored shorts and T-shirts onto the gleaming wood floor. In the living room, a small boy of about three sat in the middle of the chaos, and a girl of about nine with dark curls handed him a cookie.

“These are my two. Betsy and Matthew.” Allie lifted the little boy from the middle of the clothes. “Sit here if you’re eating a cookie,” she said, placing him at the coffee table. She smiled at Clay and Eden. “Have a seat.”

Clay glanced around the space and found a chair by the window. The wind blew the scent of hay and manure through the screen. He wiped his brow. “Please excuse our appearance. We drove all night to get here.”

Allie’s eyes widened. “You came straight from Indiana?”