by Rita Herron
He had heard rumors that she set the table for her son at every meal, as if he was coming home for dinner. Hell, was that crazy, or was she simply trying to keep hope alive?
“I don’t blame you for not giving up,” Dugan said gruffly. “At least not without the facts or proof that your son is really gone.”
He let the words linger between them, well aware she understood the meaning underscoring his comment. If he found proof Benji was dead, she’d have to accept that.
But if there was a chance the boy was out there somewhere, he’d find him and bring him back to her where he belonged.
* * *
SAGE UNLOADED THE GROCERIES, grateful the couple staying at the inn had taken a day trip and wouldn’t be back until bedtime. Breakfast came with the room rental, but lunch and dinner were optional. In addition, she provided coffee and tea and snacks midmorning and afternoon, including fruit, cookies and an assortment of freshly baked pastries and desserts. She usually conferred with the guests on check-in and planned accordingly.
The doorbell rang; then the front bell tinkled that someone had entered. She rushed to the entryway and found Dugan standing beneath the chandelier, studying the rustic farm tools and pictures of horses on the wall.
People who visited Texas wanted rustic charm, and she tried to give it to them.
“I came for that picture.” Dugan tipped his Stetson out of politeness, his rugged features stark in the evening light.
“Come this way.” She led him through the swinging double doors to the kitchen. His gaze caught on the tabletop Christmas tree, and she bit back a comment, refusing to explain herself.
Maybe Benji would never come back.
But if he did, his present would be waiting. And they would celebrate all the days and holidays they’d missed spending together the past two years.
Chapter Three
Sage opened a photo album on the breakfast bar and began to flip through it. Dugan watched pain etch itself on her face as she stared at the pictures chronicling Benji’s young life.
A baby picture of him swaddled in a blue blanket while he lay nestled in Sage’s arms. A photo of the little boy sleeping in a crib, another of him as an infant in the bathtub playing with a rubber ducky, pictures of him learning to crawl, then walk.
Photos of Benji tearing open presents at his first birthday party, riding a rocking horse at Christmas, playing in the sprinkler out back, cuddled on the couch in monster pajamas and cradling his blanket.
Sage paused to trace her finger over a small envelope. “I kept a lock of Benji’s hair from his first haircut.”
Dugan offered a smile, tolerating her trip down memory lane because he understood her emotions played into this case and he couldn’t ignore them.
He shifted uncomfortably. He had a hard time relating to family; he had never been part of one and didn’t know how families worked. At least, not normal, loving ones. If they existed.
He’d grown up between foster care and the rez, never really wanted in either place.
She brushed at a tear, then removed a picture of Benji posed by the Christmas tree. “I took that the day before he went missing.”
Dugan glanced at the tabletop tree and realized the same present still lay beneath the tree’s base. Dammit. She’d kept the tree up all this time waiting on her son to return to open it.
“Can I get the photograph back?” Sage asked. “As you can see, this is all I have left....”
The crack in her voice tore at him. “Of course. I’ll take good care of it, Sage.” And maybe he’d bring back the real thing instead of just a picture.
But he refrained from making that promise.
“Sage, before I get started, we need to talk. There are some questions I need you to answer.”
Sage closed the photo album and laid a hand on top of it. He noticed her nails were short, slightly jagged, as if she’d been biting them.
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you have any idea why Ron Lewis had Benji in the car with him that day?”
“No.” Sage threaded her fingers through the long, tangled tresses of her hair, hair that was streaked with red, brown and gold. “Sheriff Gandt suggested that he was taking Benji Christmas shopping to buy me a present.”
A possibility. “What do you think?”
“Ron knew how protective I was of my son. I don’t understand why he would have left without telling me or leaving me a note. He knew that Benji was all I had, and that I would panic when I woke up and discovered they were gone.”
“What about other family?” Dugan asked.
Sage sighed wearily. “I never knew my father. My mother died the year before I had Benji. A car accident.”
He knew this could get touchy. “And Benji’s father?”
Resignation settled in her eyes. “Trace Lanier. I met him right after my mother died.” She traced a finger along the edge of the photo album. “I was grieving and vulnerable. Not that that’s an excuse, but we dated a few times. When I discovered the pregnancy, he bailed.”
“Where is he now?”
“I have no clue. He worked the rodeos, traveling town to town.”
“Did he express any interest in seeing his son?”
Sage laughed, a bitter sound. “No. He didn’t even want to acknowledge that Benji was his. In fact, he accused me of lying, of coming after him for money.”
Dugan waited, his pulse hammering. Sage didn’t strike him as that type at all.
“I was furious,” Sage said. “I told him that my mother was a single mother and that she’d raised me on her own, and that I would do the same. I didn’t want his money. And I didn’t care if I ever saw him again or if he ever met his son.”
“And that was that?”
Sage brushed her hands together. “That was that. I never heard from him again.”
Dugan contemplated her story. “Do you think that he might have changed his mind and decided he wanted to see Benji?”
Sage shook her head. “No. I think he’s doing pretty well in the rodeo circuit now. Making a name bronco riding. That brings the rodeo groupies. The last thing he’d want is to have a child get in the way of that.”
Dugan had never met the bastard, but he didn’t like him.
Still, he’d verify that information. Perhaps Lanier’s manager had suggested that having a little boy could improve his popularity. It was a long shot, but Dugan didn’t intend to ignore any possibility.
SAGE HATED ADMITTING that she had fallen for Trace Lanier’s sexy rodeo looks, but she had. Even worse, she’d believed Ron Lewis was different.
Could he have simply been taking Benji Christmas shopping and gotten killed before he could bring her son back?
And why would someone kill Ron?
Or had Ron taken Benji for another reason?
But why? She didn’t have money to pay a ransom....
“Do you want coffee?” Sage asked.
Dugan nodded, and she poured them both a mug, then placed a slice of homemade pound cake on a plate in front of him. “It’s fresh. I baked it last night.”
A small smile curved his mouth. “I’ve heard you’re a good cook.”
“Really?” Sage blushed. What else had he heard?
“Yes, I’m sure it helps with your business.”
“I suppose so,” Sage said. “I used to stay with my grandma when I was little, and she taught me everything she knew.”
He sipped his coffee. “Tell me about Ron Lewis. How did you two meet?”
“Actually he stayed here when he came to town on business,” Sage said. “He was a real estate developer. He wanted to convince the town council to go forward on a new development that would enrich the town, create jobs and tourism and bring us out of the Dark Ages.”
“I remember hearing something about that project,” Dugan said, although he hadn’t exactly been for the development. The group handling it wanted to buy up ranches and farms in the neighboring area, and turn Cobra Creek into a
tourist trap with outlet malls, fast-food chains and a dude ranch.
“So you struck up a friendship?”
Sage nodded. “I was reluctant at first, but he was persistent. And he took an interest in Benji.”
“Benji liked him?”
“Yes.”
“He would have gone with him, without being afraid?”
“Yes,” Sage said, her voice cracking. “Ron stayed in Cobra Creek most of that summer, so we went on several family outings together.” She’d thought she’d finally found a man who loved her and her son.
Fool.
Dugan broke off a chunk of cake and put it in his mouth. Sage watched a smile flicker in his eyes, one that pleased her more than it should.
“Did the town council approve his plans?”
Sage gave a noncommittal shrug. “They were going back and forth on things, discussing it.” She frowned at Dugan. “Do you think his murder had something to do with the development?”
“I don’t know,” Dugan said. “But it’s worth looking into.”
Sage contemplated his suggestion. She should have asked more questions about Ron’s business, about the investors he said he had lined up, about him.
And now it was too late. If something had gone wrong with his business, something that had gotten him killed, he might have taken that secret with him to the grave.
* * *
DUGAN NEEDED TO ask around, find out more about how the locals felt about Lewis’s proposal. What had happened to the development after his death? Had anyone profited?
But Sage’s comment about Ron’s interest in Benji made him pause. “You said he showed an interest in Benji?”
Sage stirred sweetener in her coffee. “Yes, some men don’t like kids. Others don’t know how to talk to them, but Ron seemed...comfortable with Benji.”
“Hmm,” Dugan mumbled. “Did he come from a big family?”
Sage frowned. “No, I asked him that. And he actually looked kind of sad. He said he was an only child and lost his parents when he was young.”
“Was he married before? Maybe he had a child.”
“No, at least he said he’d never married,” Sage said. “But at this point, I don’t know what to believe. Everything he told me could have been a lie.”
True. In fact, he could have planned to kidnap Benji all along. He’d warmed up to the boy so he’d go with him willingly.
But why?
For money? Maybe someone had paid him to take Benji, then killed Ron Lewis to get rid of any witnesses.
But why would anyone want to kidnap Benji?
Sage wasn’t wealthy, and she had no family that could offer a big reward. Kidnappers had been known to abduct a child to force a parent into doing something for them, but if swaying the town council to vote for the development had been the issue, it wouldn’t have worked. Sage had no power or influence in the town.
Then again, Dugan had no proof that Ron Lewis had done anything wrong. That the man hadn’t been sincerely in love with Sage, that he hadn’t come to the town to help it prosper, that he was an innocent who had been shot to death for some reason.
And that he might have died trying to save Sage’s son.
* * *
“DID LEWIS LEAVE anything of his here at the inn? A calendar? Computer?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Sage said.
“I know it’s been two years, but what room did he stay in?”
“The Cross-ties Room.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“I named each room based on a theme. People who come to Cobra Creek want the atmosphere, the feel of the quaint western town.”
“Can I see that room, or is someone staying in it?”
“You can see it,” Sage said. “I have only one couple staying here now. They’re in the Water Tower Room.”
Sage led Dugan up the stairs to the second floor. She unlocked the room, then stood back and watched as he studied the room.
“Have you rented this room since he was here?”
“Yes, a couple of times,” she said. “I was full capacity during the art festival both years.”
He walked over and looked inside the dresser, checking each drawer, but they were empty. Next he searched the drawers in the oak desk in the corner. Again, nothing.
“What are you looking for?” Sage asked.
Dugan shrugged. “If Lewis was killed because he was into something illegal, there might be evidence he left behind.” He opened the closet door and looked inside. “Did he take everything with him that day when he left?”
Sage nodded. “His suitcase and computer were gone. That was what freaked me out.”
“If he’d simply been taking Benji shopping, he wouldn’t have taken those things with him.”
“Exactly.” Sage’s heart stuttered as she remembered the blind panic that had assaulted her.
“Did he mention that he was leaving town to you?” Dugan asked.
“The day before, he said he might have to go away for a business meeting, but that he’d be back before Christmas.”
“Did he say where the meeting was?”
Sage pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “No...but then, I didn’t bother to ask.” Guilt hit her again. “I was so distracted, so caught up in the holidays, in making a stupid grocery list for Christmas dinner and finishing my shopping, that I didn’t pay much attention.” Her voice broke. “If I had, maybe I would have picked up on something.”
Dugan’s boots clicked on the floor as he strode over to the doorway, where she stood. “Sage, this is not your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” Sage said, her heart breaking all over again. “I was Benji’s mother. I was supposed to protect him.”
“You did everything you could.”
“Then, why is he missing?” Sage asked. “Why isn’t he here with me this year, wrapping presents and making sugar cookies?”
“I don’t know,” Dugan said in a low voice. “But I promise you that I’ll find out.”
Sage latched on to the hope Dugan offered. But the same terrifying images that haunted her at night flashed behind her eyes now.
If the person who’d shot Ron had abducted Benji, what had he done with him? Where was he? And what had happened to him over the past two years?
Was he taken care of or had he been abused? Was he hungry? Alone?
Would he remember her when they found him?
* * *
“THEY FOUND LEWIS’S BODY.”
“Dammit. How did that happen?”
“Floods washed the body up. That Indian uncovered his bones in the bushes when he was looking for those hikers that got lost.”
“After two years, they identified Lewis?”
“Yes. Damn dental records. I should have extracted all his teeth.”
A tense second passed. “Hell, you should have burned the bastard’s body in that car.”
“I thought it was taken care of.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t. And Sage Freeport is asking questions again. Knowing her, she’ll be pushing to get the case reopened. She’s like a bloodhound.”
“If she doesn’t settle down, I’ll take care of her.”
“This time make sure nothing can come back to haunt us.”
“No problem. When she disappears, it’ll be for good.”
Chapter Four
“Did Lewis always stay in this same room?” Dugan asked.
“Yes.”
“How long was he here?”
Sage rubbed her temple. “The first time he came, he stayed a couple of weeks. Then he left for a month. When he returned, he stayed about six months.”
“Where did he go when he left?”
“He was traveling around Texas. Said he worked with this company that looked for property across the state, small towns that were in need of rebuilding. Part of his job was to scout out the country and make suggestions to them.”
“Where was his home?”
Sage straightened a pillow on top
of the homemade quilt, which had imprints of horses on the squares. “He said he was from South Texas, I think. That he grew up in a little town not too far from Laredo.”
Dugan made a mental note to check out his story. Maybe someone in that town knew more about Lewis.
He walked through the room again, the boards creaking beneath his boots as he stepped inside the closet. His toe caught on something and when he looked down, he realized a plank was loose.
He knelt and ran his finger along the wooden slat, his senses prickling. Was something beneath the board?
He yanked at it several times, and it finally gave way. He pulled it free, laid it to the side and felt the one next to it. It was loose, too, so he tugged it free, as well.
His curiosity spiking, he peered beneath the flooring. Something yellow caught his eye. He slid his hand below and felt inside the hole. His fingers connected with a small manila envelope.
“What are you doing?” Sage asked over his shoulder.
“Something’s under here.” He wiggled his fingers until he snagged the envelope, then removed it from the hole.
“What is that?” Sage asked.
“I don’t know, but we’ll find out.” Dugan felt again just to make sure there wasn’t anything else lodged beneath the floor, but the space was empty. Standing, he walked back to the corner desk, opened the envelope and dumped it upside down.
Sage gasped as the contents spilled out. “What in the world?”
Dugan picked up a driver’s license and flipped it open. A picture of Ron Lewis stared back at him.
But the name on the license read Mike Martin.
“That’s a fake driver’s license,” Sage said.
Dugan raked his hand over the lot of them, spreading a half dozen different licenses across the bed. “Each one of these has a different name.”
“My God, Dugan,” Sage whispered. “Ron Lewis wasn’t his real name.”
“No.” Dugan met her gaze. Aliases indicated the man might have been a professional con man. “And if he lied about who he was, no telling what else he lied about.”
* * *
SAGE SANK ONTO the bed, in shock. “I can’t believe he lied to me, that he had all these other identities.” She felt like such a fool. “Why would he do that, Dugan? Why come here and make me think he was someone else? Just to make me fall for him?”
