by Karen Rose
Except Dillon winced a little. ‘Even Joseph came.’
Worried at Dillon’s tone, Taylor shoved away the tingle of awareness she’d felt at the sound of Ford’s name. And the sheer terror at Clay’s. ‘You . . . you don’t like Joseph?’
Dillon shrugged. ‘I like him fine, but . . . Well, once he caught Holly and me . . . well, you know. We were on the couch at her parents’ house and . . .’
It was Taylor’s turn to wince. ‘Ouch. Awkward.’
‘Yeah.’ Dillon exhaled heavily. ‘Joseph still frowns at me sometimes.’
‘Holly’s his little sister. I guess that’s to be expected. But he’s good to you?’ FBI Special Agent Joseph Carter was Daphne Montgomery’s husband, and the only time Taylor had met him was during her interview. He’d gone over her background check with a fine-toothed comb, his eyes like lasers. She’d honestly wondered if the man had X-ray vision or something. But he hadn’t seemed mean. Just terribly cautious. He reminded her of her dad in that respect. Given the vulnerability of the kids in the program, she’d appreciated Joseph’s caution.
She’d also appreciated the care her father had put into building her identity so that even a determined federal agent hadn’t been able to find a single hole. Thanks, Daddy. She’d tell him when she called home to check in tonight. She’d promised him she’d check in with him twice a day to let him know she was okay. It was the least she could do for making him worry.
‘Oh, Joseph’s good to me,’ Dillon said blithely. ‘He and Daphne gave me this job. I make good money here.’
‘You should,’ she said, relieved that he wasn’t really afraid of Joseph Carter. ‘You work hard. You’re amazing with the horses. You earn every penny.’
His smile was pleased. ‘Like I said – you’re nice. Not everybody talks to me like you do.’
‘Or gives you a heart attack?’ she teased, but she understood what he meant. It made her insane when people babbled in baby talk to her sister Julie. Julie hated it too. Focus, Taylor. Ask the questions you came for. But in a way that didn’t make Dillon either suspicious or uncomfortable. ‘I met Ford today, and Joseph when he interviewed me, but who are the others?’
Of course she knew who they were. She’d researched everyone associated with the farm, reading every article that popped up. Some of the names had more background information than others. Of course, the person she was most interested in had the least information.
‘Well, Cole is Daphne’s stepson and he lives with her in her other house.’
‘Mercy. How many houses does Daphne have?’ she asked, knowing that answer as well.
‘Only two. She lives in the house close to Baltimore, because she works there. Maggie lives here. Maggie told me once that Daphne bought this farm because she wanted to start the therapy program, even though she didn’t know it yet.’
‘Daphne told me that too. When I interviewed.’ Taylor had sensed within Daphne a kindred spirit, a woman who understood what it was like to be a scared little girl. Of course Daphne’s trauma had been quite real. Taylor had always considered her own trauma real, too. Until she found out that her whole life had been built on a single colossal lie. ‘I didn’t know that Cole was her stepson, though. She called him her son.’
‘She and Joseph adopted him, so he’s Cole Carter now. Cole is Ford’s half-brother.’ Dillon frowned. ‘They have the same dad. The dad’s not nice. But Ford and Cole are.’
Ford’s dad was Travis Elkhart, a wealthy judge who lived in Virginia. Elkhart and Daphne had divorced when Ford was younger. There was no record of any animosity within the family, but those things often didn’t make it into newspaper articles.
‘Ford taught me how to ride,’ Dillon went on, ‘and Cole and I work out at the gym. I used to not be able to even lift a hay bale. Now I can throw ’em. Not as far as Cole, though.’
‘Maybe I need to work out too,’ Taylor said ruefully. ‘I can carry bales, but I can’t throw them.’
Dillon frowned again, this time in puzzlement. ‘But it’s not your job to throw bales. It’s my job.’
‘Then I’ll gladly let you do all the heavy lifting,’ she said with a smile. She hesitated, feeling guilty about pressing Dillon for information. But it was necessary. At least she wasn’t putting on an act with him. That would have been cruel and Taylor liked to believe she wasn’t capable of such a thing. ‘What about the other people who went on your camping trip?’
‘Oh, right. Well, Grayson is my friend. He works out with us sometimes.’ Dillon’s eyes grew round. ‘He can bench more weight than all of us. It’s crazy. He’s a lawyer like Daphne. He’s her boss. He and Joseph are like brothers, so Grayson is Holly’s brother, too. He’s also married to Paige, who teaches karate to Holly. So we’re friends.’
‘And the other two? JD?’
‘Well, JD is a cop. Detective Fitzpatrick. He works with Daphne and Grayson sometimes. He’s married to Lucy.’ Dillon grimaced. ‘She used to cut up dead people.’
‘You mean she was a medical examiner?’
Another grimace. ‘Yeah. Ick.’ Then he brightened. ‘They have a little boy, Jeremiah, and a new baby girl named Bronwynne. Holly and I babysit them sometimes. They’re sure cute.’
‘I saw Detective Fitzpatrick’s name in Janie and Jazzie’s file. He was the detective investigating their mother’s murder.’
‘I know.’ Dillon sighed. ‘JD has to see dead people all the time. I couldn’t do that. I’d be too scared.’
‘So would I.’ And the last man in your camping party? she wanted to ask. But she held her tongue while Dillon tilted his head, concentrating.
‘Oh, yeah,’ he said. ‘Then there’s Clay.’
Finally. This would be the information she’d come all the way from California to hear. Clay Maynard. ‘I’ve heard his name. He’s Daphne’s security manager, right?’
‘Right. Clay is a good guy. He does all the cameras and alarms.’
‘To keep the children safe,’ she murmured.
‘Yes. That’s important. The kids have to feel safe,’ Dillon said forcefully. ‘That’s our most important thing here.’
‘Is Clay good to the children?’
Dillon looked at her like she’d asked if the Pope was Catholic. ‘Well, yeah. He loves kids. Cordelia is his little girl.’
Taylor kept the frown from her face, a habit born of hours of practice. ‘He has a little girl?’ That hadn’t been in any of the articles she’d turned up. Because Taylor had looked. Because she’d always wondered.
Breathing through her stunned surprise, she admitted to herself that the knowledge hurt. He had another daughter. Cordelia.
She made herself think rationally. Of course he has a family. She didn’t truly think he’d spent all these years alone. Cordelia. She’d seen that name recently. Oh, right. ‘She must ride here,’ she said, hearing the weakness in her voice. She shored it up, so that the next words came out without a quiver. ‘I saw her name on one of the saddles.’
‘Cordy’s part of the program.’ Sadness flickered in Dillon’s eyes. ‘She got scared once by a man with a gun. She has nightmares still.’ He sucked in a breath, his expression abruptly stricken. ‘Nobody’s supposed to know about the nightmares. Don’t tell anyone I told, please.’
‘I won’t, of course. But why is it a secret? I thought she came here for help with the nightmares.’
‘She does, but she doesn’t want her mom to know.’
Taylor didn’t even try to control her frown, because despite being dismayed that Clay had a daughter, she was angry on the child’s behalf. No child should be afraid to seek comfort from her nightmares. ‘Why not? Did her mother threaten her?’
‘Oh no. No.’ Dillon wagged his head. ‘Stevie – that’s Cordy’s mom – she didn’t threaten Cordy. Not ever. See, Stevie used to be a cop. It was h
er fault that Cordy got taken by the man with the gun. He really wanted Stevie.’
‘Oh.’ Taylor exhaled quietly. ‘He used Cordelia as a pawn. A tool,’ she clarified when Dillon looked uncertain. ‘A tool to hurt her mother. So her mother feels guilty.’ Taylor wondered if her own mother had ever felt a speck of guilt when she’d been the frightened child. ‘And Cordelia doesn’t want her mother to feel even worse.’
‘Yeah. That’s it exactly. Cordy loves her mom,’ he added with a shrug. ‘So she doesn’t talk to her mom about the nightmares because it makes her mom sad. Only Maggie knows. And me. And Clay, too.’
‘Cordelia trusts Clay?’
‘Of course! He’s her dad. Well, not her real dad. Her real dad died before she was born. Clay married her mom – you know, Stevie – about a year ago, and now he has a family. Which is good, because Clay deserves a family,’ he added, adamant.
‘Why?’ Taylor asked, and tried not to hold her breath for Dillon’s answer.
‘Because he lost his little girl. He can’t find her. Her mama hid her away.’
‘Why?’ she asked again, her voice cracking.
Dillon didn’t seem to notice. ‘I don’t know. All I know is that he goes looking for her, every chance he gets. He was there looking for her right before our camping trip. He gets so sad when he comes back because he still can’t find her.’
Taylor’s throat grew tight. ‘Where?’ she managed to ask.
‘On the Eastern Shore. Camping’s fun there. Bugs are bad, though.’
She shook her head. ‘No, not camping. Where did he go searching?’
‘Oh. In California. I don’t know exactly where. He probably told me, but I’m not too good with maps. Maggie would probably know and— Oh crap.’ He smacked his forehead. ‘I was supposed to tell you that Maggie wanted to see you in the office. Gotta get home myself, though.’ He threw a wave over his shoulder. ‘See you around, Taylor.’
‘Good night, Dillon.’
She stared after him, shaken by his words. Clay had been looking for his daughter. All this time. She swallowed hard. But he wasn’t going to find her in California. Not right now anyway. ‘Dillon? Thank you.’
He turned around, brows hiked high. ‘For what?’
For helping me know that coming all the way out here wasn’t stupid or foolish. But she couldn’t say that. ‘For making me feel so welcome and for inviting me to your wedding. I was scared to come here, but you’ve helped me with that.’
His eyes widened. ‘You were scared? Of us? And I helped? How?’
‘Sure I was scared. It’s my first time so far from home. Away from my family.’ She wasn’t lying to him. Those had been true fears. Just not the biggest ones. ‘You made me not be so scared. So thank you.’
Chest puffed with pride, Dillon walked back to where Taylor stood, leaned up on his toes, and wrapped his arms around her neck in a warm hug. ‘You’re welcome. You have friends here.’ He pulled away, his smile delighted. ‘Like me.’
‘Like I said – Holly’s lucky. Go home, cowboy. Kiss your girl.’
She watched him go, then closed her eyes, leaning wearily against the post. Phase one was complete. She’d heard what she’d come three thousand miles to hear from a reliable source. Dillon knew right from wrong and good from bad. He’d said Clay was a good man.
Everyone else associated with the farm who she’d met so far had been friends of Clay. They’d say he was a good man out of loyalty if nothing else. Dillon, on the other hand, seemed more concerned with Cordelia’s welfare than with her stepfather’s.
Taylor had detected no deceit in Dillon. Not like my deceit radar is foolproof, though. Her own mother had lied to her for years – years – creating an emotionally damaged adult who’d been terrified to go anywhere alone. Who’d always been watching for the boogeyman hiding behind a rock, under the bed, in the closet. Who’d jumped at shadows. But that’s not me. Not anymore. Taylor knew that it was well past time she took her life back.
Now for phase two – meeting Clay face to face. That would take a little more courage. He’d been her nightmare for so many years, his face the one she’d learned to fear. To hate. And even though her mind was slowly accepting the truth, it didn’t mean the fear and hate magically disappeared.
She only hoped it didn’t take too much time. Her internship was only for six weeks, and two weeks were already gone.
Speaking of which, she still had a job to do for the length of time she remained. And if Maggie had heard that she’d struck Ford Elkhart, that time might be very short.
Pushing away from the post, she straightened her spine and made her way to the office. ‘Hey, Maggie. Dillon said you wanted to see me.’
The older woman sat behind an ancient scarred wooden desk, her booted feet propped up on the corner. ‘Come in.’ She gestured to the fridge. ‘Get a drink and have a seat. We need to talk.’
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Saturday 22 August, 3.55 P.M.
Ford came out of the shadows of the corner of the barn nearest the office door. He hadn’t intended to spy on Taylor again, yet he had. He’d actually been looking for her so that he could tell her to go and see Maggie when he heard Dillon’s alarmed yelp and Taylor’s sincere apology.
Ford had almost revealed himself, but changed his mind at the last minute, not wanting her to think that he thought Dillon needed to be protected from her. Instead he’d stayed and listened, and now he couldn’t be sorry that he had. He’d learned more about Taylor Dawson in a few minutes of eavesdropping than he could have in hours of searching online.
Taylor had never left home before, for one. She’d been frightened to come here, which could partially explain her response when he’d startled her earlier.
He’d also heard her ask Dillon more questions about Clay than all the rest of them put together. With the exception of making sure that Joseph was good to Dillon, she’d focused on Clay, and that didn’t sit well with Ford. Clay was his friend, and Ford protected his own.
They’d had reporters sniff around the farm a time or two, but mostly they were looking for news leads on the kids, not the staff. If Taylor Dawson was a reporter looking for some kind of an angle, she could take herself back to California. As fast as possible.
Except . . . Joseph had vetted her, and the man did not make mistakes. Anyone coming through the farm’s gates underwent thorough background checks, and Taylor would have been no exception. Joseph protected the kids, but he also protected Ford’s mom, and Ford appreciated that. He hadn’t exactly liked the broody FBI guy at first sight, but he’d warmed to him pretty quickly because Joseph loved his mother and would lay down his own life to protect her. That was a helluva lot more than Ford could say for his biological dad, who was, as Dillon so understatedly described, not nice.
Travis Elkhart was a selfish sonofabitch who’d cheated on Daphne, divorcing her without a dime – or health insurance – when she’d discovered him with his secretary. Travis Elkhart had used Ford as the bargaining chip, agreeing to non-disputed custody only if Daphne didn’t fight for alimony – or health insurance.
Which would have been a death sentence, because her breast cancer had been serious.
Luckily Ford had perfected the art of eavesdropping at a young age and knew things about his father that Travis did not want anyone to know – specifically about the woman dressed in black leather wielding a whip over his father who’d been licking her boots.
The memory made Ford shudder. Some pictures you couldn’t erase from your mind.
Luckily Ford had had his camera phone on him when he’d stumbled on the scene, unbeknownst to the participants. And luckily Ford’s grandmother Elkhart had been blackmailable. Instead of getting nothing, Daphne had gotten a generous settlement, had retained her health insurance and had gone on to do amazing things with her life – including
the founding of Healing Hearts, which had helped so many kids already.
Ford would allow no one to threaten his mom or the program. Which pulled his thoughts back on track. Taylor Dawson. Asking questions. Potential wolf in the henhouse.
Except . . . she’d sounded so lost. And her voice had broken when she’d asked Dillon where Clay had searched for his daughter. In California.
In California. Holy shit.
His gasp echoed in the quiet of the barn. Oh. My. God.
Ford froze as the possibility struck him squarely in the face. Her eyes. Taylor’s familiar dark eyes. Now he knew where he’d seen them.
In Clay’s face.
It could be a coincidence, he told himself rationally.
Except . . . Ford didn’t believe in coincidences anymore, and there were too damn many of them anyway. Clay’s daughter Sienna would be about twenty-three years old, and so was Taylor. Taylor’s mother had died recently, as had Clay’s ex-wife – of cancer, both of them. And she had Clay’s eyes.
Except . . . Joseph had done her background check. A link to Clay would have surfaced. Joseph Carter did not make mistakes. Not when it came to Daphne’s safety, and Taylor was someone who could get close enough to Daphne to touch her.
Shit. What if Taylor wasn’t Clay’s daughter? Why was she asking so many questions? What if she was up to something? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good. That, he’d learned from personal experience. Why is she here? Why was she pumping Dillon for information? What’s her agenda? The questions spiraled in his mind, growing faster and louder until one popped free that brought the runaway train in his brain to a screeching halt.
What if she came here to hurt someone?
Once – not even two years ago – he would have laughed at his own paranoia. He wouldn’t even have thought to ask the question. But then he’d met Kimberly, who’d done exactly that. Had insinuated herself into his life for the sole purpose of betraying him. Kimberly had pretended to be good. Had pretended to be his. All while intending to use him as a pawn in a plan aimed at hurting his mother.
