by Leigh Riker
“Because you’re the sheriff.”
Finn made air quotes. “And should be the model of a law-abiding citizen.” He paused. “I’ve been looking around—signed with a Realtor—but so far, no luck. There’s a cottage for rent by the creek with a yard that backs up to the water. Haven’t seen it yet. There’s another house closer to my office. Ditto. An apartment above the hardware store might be available soon, but I don’t know if there’s enough room out back for Sarge to do his business.”
“I wouldn’t expect there to be much on the market here except—you wouldn’t want to buy my house?”
He frowned. “I imagine you need your house. For Emmie.” Without a pause, he said, “She doing all right now?”
Well, at least he’d asked about her. “Off and on.” Finn seemed to be in a mood today. His manner didn’t invite idle conversation, but his features had softened at the mention of Emmie. With one foot she nudged the bag she’d brought with her then glanced out the window. “She’s with Olivia at her antiques shop. Nick’s there today, home from school with the sore throat he caught from Emmie, so Olivia was happy to provide him some company. Unfortunately, while the kids were playing, Emmie broke a milk glass bud vase. It shattered like a bomb.”
He flinched in sympathy.
“Olivia insisted the vase can easily be replaced and not to worry, but I left money for it anyway, left Emmie there a little longer so I could see you.”
His gaze flickered. “What about?”
Annabelle reached for the bag at her feet. “I’ve gone through Sierra’s belongings from the hospital. The clothes she wore the night of the accident, her purse—”
She drew out a thin sheaf of papers then held them out. “As I’d hoped these were with her clothes. They might be important.”
Finn barely glanced at them. “You know the warrant in her glove compartment no longer matters. And I didn’t find anything else in there. All you’ll need to do is send the local DA in St. Louis a copy of the death certificate and, with Sierra’s death, the charges will be dismissed.” Finn propped his chin in one hand. “What else have you got?”
“This may take more than five minutes,” Annabelle murmured.
He didn’t quite smile. “You protect yourself better than I thought. Sorry, I didn’t mean that to include from me.” He set the papers aside. “A bunch of old bills?” He picked one up again. “This is dated five years ago. A credit card statement that’s even older? And in arrears. She may have paid these off, but your cousin seems to have had quite the checkered past.”
“You don’t think these could be helpful? Why was Sierra carrying them with her? Most people don’t lug their old financial statements everywhere.”
“She was on the road. Why not?” He added, “Maybe—or even likely—she didn’t intend to go back to wherever she’d come from with Emmie. So, sure, I can see her tossing these into her carry-on bag. Maybe she didn’t want to leave any clues behind.”
“I thought following leads was part of your job. Finn, each of these bills has an address for Sierra at some point in her life.” Why was he being so dense? “Look at the bottom one. A pay stub from one of the events she managed. Maybe someone at that company would know about Emmie—and her father.”
Finn sighed. “You’ll really try to find him? Why? Seems like he hasn’t been around since Emmie was born. Maybe he likes it that way and he doesn’t want anything to do with a kid.”
“What if he doesn’t know about her? He might be thrilled to learn he’s a father, to see Emmie...”
“And take responsibility for her.” Finn shook his head. “Sounds like a simple solution—providing you can find him in the first place—”
“Simple for me, you mean.”
“But what if he doesn’t care? She’s already with you, Annabelle. You’re Emmie’s only living relative, as far as we know—other than this guy who either doesn’t know she exists or wouldn’t give a hoot about her.”
“Yes, I’m a relative. But that man is her father, her closest relative. He should be the one to raise Emmie. I’m not—”
“Qualified?” Finn held her gaze. “You’ve done okay so far. I think her best place is with you.”
“Obviously that’s your opinion. What happens, though, when the diner finally sells—and the house where I grew up? I’ll be moving on, and I’ll need a new means of making a living.”
“Look. I realize you’re disappointed that your plans for Denver got canceled. But you can do that another time—”
“That particular course—from one of the best schools—is offered once a year. Yes, I could sign up for next year, even take Emmie with me if I had to. But after that how would we manage? I’d be traveling for my job without a home base for her. The certification is only the first step, and tour directors are on call twenty-four/seven. That wouldn’t be fair to Emmie.” And I’m not cut out to be a parent. Not yet, maybe not ever. Her own mother had always said that, and Annabelle wasn’t about to ruin her cousin’s child.
“You’d find a way,” he said, his jaw set. “If you’re determined to locate Emmie’s father, I’ll help you if I can but—”
“What, Finn? Why are you so determined that I should keep Emmie?”
He shifted. For a long moment he stared past her out the window. “Because of my son,” he said at last.
Annabelle straightened. She’d thought he was an eligible bachelor, if something of a loner, and she’d tried to hide her own interest in him, but all this time... “I didn’t know you had a family.”
“I don’t. Not anymore.” He picked up a pen then put it down again. “When I worked in Chicago, my wife and our three-year-old son were murdered.”
Annabelle pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, Finn.”
“I don’t often talk about this. They were...gunned down in our driveway by members of a gang called The Brothers.” He told her about the drug raid he and his partner had made and Eduardo Sanchez’s vow of revenge. He toyed with the pen. “A few months later I quit the force. I left Chicago—left that gang still roaming the streets.” His voice broke on the next word. “Hurting people.”
Annabelle wondered if that was one reason he’d seemed so harsh about Sierra and the warrant and, according to rumor, about Shadow’s brother Derek. Was that why he was called Mr. Law-and-Order? Emmie must also remind him of that tragedy, of the evil that exists in the world. “Finn, I don’t know what to say.”
He raised one hand to cover his eyes. “I’ll spare you the details.” In a hoarse tone he said, “My ex-partner in Chicago has been hunting The Brothers for me, but he’s hit a wall and I can’t seem to process that. I can’t imagine a future in which no one pays for what happened. What Sanchez did.” He admitted, “I almost lost my job there trying to track him down. It was Cooper—my partner—who told me about the election in Barren. Being sheriff here is still The Job, as cops call it,” he said, “but far less dangerous than in Chicago.”
“You’re a good sheriff,” Annabelle said.
“I hope so. It matters.” He glanced up. “So does Emmie. I don’t mean to come down hard on you about her. I hope her father turns up, if that’s what you really want, but I still think she’d be happier with you.”
“I understand. You’re worried about her having to make another adjustment with a man who’s likely a stranger to her. I worry about that, too.”
Finn blinked. “And every time I see Emmie, I think of Alex—”
“Of course you do.”
“—and it breaks my heart all over again. I had a child. I won’t have another.”
Or another woman you could love? But Annabelle didn’t say that.
His gaze strayed from hers as he rose from his desk chair. “Obviously we’re not going to settle any of this now.”
Her heart sank. “I guess not.”
“I hope you’ll reconsider,
though. About Emmie.”
He took a few steps toward the door.
Annabelle gathered her bag, trying not to notice his broad shoulders, his lean form and long legs, knowing now why he’d all but given her the brushoff at first—knowing why he was so adamant about Emmie staying with her. She might disagree with him—Emmie was her decision to make—but his quiet words had shut Annabelle from his life too. She wasn’t his responsibility, and he didn’t owe Annabelle anything.
Her fantasy of Finn lay shattered by his grief on the floor between them. She needed to focus on her new career, on Emmie. And leaving Barren.
He walked her down the hall and past the front door. He held it open until Annabelle stopped trying to catch his eye and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “I’ll let you know if I come up with anything,” she said, her back to him. “About Emmie’s dad.”
CHAPTER TEN
“NIGHT, NIGHT, SWEETIE,” Annabelle whispered to Emmie, who lay in the center of Annabelle’s bed, thumb in her mouth and eyes drifting shut.
Annabelle tried to focus on their nighttime ritual, not the scene she’d gone through earlier with Finn. Her heart ached for him, and what had happened to his family. No wonder he hadn’t seemed eager to spend time with Emmie, or to think about a relationship. Maybe he was even right about Emmie’s father—a man who might not want to love her. Annabelle hoped the father would want to be involved, and she meant to pursue the search. With or without Finn. Reading books to Emmie had made for a more peaceful evening than sparring with him and created a warmth inside that Annabelle had never known before.
Still, Emmie’s silence about Sierra troubled her. Since her mother’s funeral, Emmie had stopped mentioning her. She’d even stopped crying. Yet Annabelle sensed her underlying grief.
Emmie had flatly refused to sleep in her bed across the hall, which meant Annabelle wasn’t getting much rest either. Emmie thrashed all night, and by morning she took up most of the bed.
“I not sleepy,” she insisted now.
Perched on the edge of the mattress, Annabelle gazed down at her. What a sweet little girl she could be when she wasn’t pitching a fit about getting dressed or going to see Sawyer for a follow-up visit—don’t want a shot—or not seeing Nick and Ava because they had school and couldn’t play—I want school too. And after her breakfast with Finn, Emmie had asked for scrambled eggs every day. Amazing.
“Not sleepy? I won’t argue with that,” Annabelle said. She wouldn’t have to. She dropped a light kiss on Emmie’s hair, but before she rose from the bed, Emmie’s eyes closed again, and this time they didn’t open.
Ha, she thought. Her brief experience caring for Emmie had taught it was better to pick her battles. She wasn’t bad now, at least with mundane tasks like giving baths, bundling Emmie into her car seat, getting her to take her medicine. Today she’d gotten a clean bill of health from Sawyer—and no shot. Emmie’s sore throat was gone.
Annabelle put the books they’d read tonight—including Ava’s longtime favorite, Janie Wants to Be a Cowgirl, which she’d lent to Emmie—back on the shelf. She tucked the little girl’s lamb close, rose from the bed and left the door a little ajar. Then she went downstairs to the living room where she opened her laptop and started her search.
She didn’t need Finn’s help, though he’d reluctantly offered, or his approval of her choice for Emmie. Google made finding anything—or anyone—easy, or at least she hoped it would. She was about to type Sierra’s name into the search box when she remembered Emmie saying she and her mother had once gone to Denver. That had to be recent. Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary to look in other places. If she got lucky...
Minutes later, she sat back and rubbed the aching tension line between her brows. She’d found no address, no listing for a Sierra Hartwell in the city or anywhere in the state of Colorado. Possibly, the trip Emmie mentioned had been only a visit with a brief hotel stay.
Maybe this wouldn’t be as simple as she’d hoped. For the next hour she entered every town and state on Sierra’s bills, most, as Finn had said, overdue. Did her cousin really move each time to avoid paying them? For the first time, Annabelle could imagine her running from the law, or at least from her responsibilities.
Annabelle had learned that wasn’t always a breeze with Emmie, just a bit easier now than at the beginning. What if Annabelle’s own mother had been wrong about her ability to care for a child?
When she reached the end of the stack of papers, she was no further along than when she’d started. Annabelle straightened. What about the state of Wyoming? The address on Sierra’s last known driver’s license. Annabelle would need Finn’s help for that. Even a quick search on a white pages site had turned up nothing. It seemed as if Sierra had vanished until her car smashed into Ned Sutherland’s pickup.
Where had Sierra been all this time? Not with family. Her parents had died long before Emmie was born, which meant there were no grandparents, no aunts or uncles because Annabelle’s family was gone too. She was the only cousin.
And who had Sierra worked for when she started driving to Kansas? Perhaps from west to east? If only Emmie was a bit older, she might be able to tell.
Annabelle had already probed gently about her father, but Emmie didn’t seem to know what she was talking about.
Her ears alert, Annabelle heard a sudden sound from upstairs. A soft moan, a feeble cry. Emmie often woke during the night. She’d give the little girl a chance to fall back to sleep. She closed her browser and sat there, listening. If Emmie began to cry in earnest, Annabelle would go to her.
But she heard nothing more, so she turned back to the computer then tapped a key to return to her home screen. An image of Las Ramblas, the pedestrian walk in Barcelona, appeared as part of her usual slide show, and a soft wave of yearning went through her. Tonight she had no more possible leads about Sierra, and at the moment Annabelle wasn’t going anywhere.
Her course in Denver, as she’d told Finn, was only offered once a year. To say she couldn’t go—and felt disappointed—didn’t cover it and, because of Emmie, Annabelle couldn’t simply pick another school. For now she brought up the website to enter the contest for the Caribbean cruise again, which she did once every day, as the contest rules allowed. Might as well dream.
But even that longtime hobby didn’t ease her mind. How could she find Sierra’s last known address or any place of business that might fit another piece into the puzzle that had been her cousin’s life? That might eventually lead to Emmie’s father?
* * *
THE NEXT NIGHT Finn wandered down the pet food aisle at the local market on Main Street. The store wasn’t far from his office, and after work he’d stopped in for basic supplies, including more kibble for Sarge. The dog was waiting for him in the car and likely, as always, not only eager to get home but hungry. He ate as if he never expected another meal.
As Finn reached for the largest bag—stocked on the top shelf—something slammed into his knees. Finn dropped the bag back onto the shelf with a thud. He’d been a high school quarterback, but he didn’t expect to be tackled in a store, and his legs buckled, almost sending him to the floor before he caught himself. Then he looked down and had to grin. The little girl gazing up at him was just too cute, no matter how he wanted to resist her.
“Hey, Emmie.”
“I see you, Finn. I say hello.” She rested her cheek against his leg. Then, like the strong woman she would become, taking him to task, she said with a scowl, “Come to A-bel’s house?”
Finn put the dog food in his cart then scooped her up. How to explain to a three-year-old that he thought it better to stay in his apartment and concentrate on packing his things for his coming move? To stay away from Annabelle. Finn wished he hadn’t told her about Caro and Alex. He should have kept that to himself, like his stubborn awareness of her. Annabelle couldn’t wait to settle Emmie with her missing father then get the heck ou
t of Dodge, or rather, Barren.
He hoisted Emmie higher in his arms. Her innocent blue eyes made his throat tighten as if someone had slipped a noose around it. Alex had always wrapped his heart up with just a smile too.
“I’m, uh, pretty busy.”
“Doing you sheriff job?”
“Yep. How’ve you been, kiddo?”
“My froat okay now.” Her frown deepened. “You buy me candy?”
Aha. His grin widened. Apparently, she’d had some disagreement with Annabelle. He looked around but didn’t see her anywhere. Then he heard a familiar, frantic voice calling, “Emmie! Emmie, where are you?”
She ducked her head. “C’mon,” he said, lifting Emmie onto his shoulders. “You shouldn’t hide. Let’s go find her.”
He turned the first corner only to meet Annabelle rushing down the cereal aisle.
“Oh. It’s you,” she said. He guessed he couldn’t blame her for that reaction. Her gaze homed in on Emmie who peeked around Finn. “Emmie. You mustn’t run off like that. I didn’t know where you were.”
Emmie’s mouth firmed. “I right here.”
“Yes, I know that—now—but I’ve been looking all over this store. You frightened me. I was afraid you’d gone outside...” She trailed off, obviously not wanting to continue with a worst-case scenario that starred Emmie wandering into traffic.
Though she hadn’t left the market, Finn understood a parent’s fears when a small child suddenly disappeared. His Alex had been like Houdini. If only he’d run off into the backyard that day, before the shooting started. If only Finn had been able to protect him. “She’s all right, Annabelle. She spied me and decided to come visit. She’s safe.”
“She might not have been.”
“Yes I am,” Emmie insisted.
Finn swung her down and set her on the floor between them. “Maybe you could say sorry, Em. You don’t want to worry your A-bel.”
“She not mine. Not my mama.”
