by Terry Odell
"Okay, Frankie. Let's not touch anything else in here." She was shaking. "How about some coffee? Tea?" Anything to distract her. "Let's see what we can do about finding Brenda." He slipped his arm around her waist and guided her to the kitchen.
Once he'd put the kettle on, he sat across from her at the table and took her hands in his. They were icicles. "Have you called the police?"
She shook her head. "I don't have any proof."
"Honey, finding proof is their job, not yours. And they have ways of tracking things, getting the bank to release information they won't give you. Is anything missing from Brenda's room? Something that wasn't hers?"
She chewed her lip and gazed at the ceiling. "I don't think so. Why?"
Ignoring her question, he pressed on. "Is your name on the bank account with the missing money?"
Her face sagged as the implications must have sunk in. "The cops won't do much, will they?"
"I don't know. This is a small town. They might start investigating on your say-so. It's still a good idea to get the call on record. Meanwhile, maybe I can dig a little."
With a shake of her head, she got up and fussed with mugs, tea bags, milk, and honey, setting everything on the table. "I feel like an idiot. We treated Brenda like family."
Anger rose in her voice. The kettle whistled. She crossed to the stove and turned off the burner.
While she poured water into their mugs, Ryan saw her shoulders straighten and her chin lift. Her hands no longer trembled. He took the kettle and set it back on the stove, then wrapped his arms around her.
He lowered his face into her golden hair, inhaling its fresh floral scent. How he longed to make everything right. Kissing her wouldn't make it better, but damn, he wanted to try. Frankie had already proven she had the strength to handle whatever life threw at her. Hadn't raising Molly been enough? Molly. The interruption princess. He pulled back.
"Where's Molly?"
"Upstairs playing Barbie with Susie. I figured she needed someone more upbeat than me, and I owed Susie's mom for all the times she took Molly last week."
He turned her around and framed her face with his hands. "Do I dare kiss you without them wandering in?"
"How's kissing me going to help?" Her tone was serious, but her eyes twinkled.
"I have no clue. Why don't we try it and see."
With an ear cocked for the sounds of little feet on the stairs, he brought her lips to his. His fingers tunneled in her hair, and he lost himself in the softness of her mouth.
She was the one to break it off. "Your tea is getting cold."
"But other parts of me are getting hot."
"Cool them. I thought you were going to help me."
"I will. But first, call the cops."
"I guess you're right. What do I tell them?"
"Exactly what happened. Money's missing from your mother's bank account, and Brenda is missing."
"Okay. While I do, would you go upstairs and check on the girls? They've been quiet a long time."
Even he knew kids being quiet wasn't a good thing. Did she want him out of the room while she called the cops? Or out of the room, period? "All right, but I draw the line at playing Barbie."
She gave him a devilish grin. "I’m sure they'd let you be Ken."
*****
Sitting at her mother's desk, Frankie hung up the phone. About the only thing that had gone right with the call was that she hadn't cried or gone hysterical when she'd been politely dismissed and told to call back if she had better evidence a crime had been committed. Maybe she should have gone hysterical. Maybe they'd have come out then. No, they'd probably have sent the paramedics to sedate her.
She lowered her head to her hands and began a slow count to one hundred, hoping to stave off a growing headache. Before she'd reached fifty, footsteps clattered on the stairs.
"Mommy!" Molly's voice rang through the house.
"In the den, Peanut. Please don't shout." She rubbed her eyes and looked up to see Molly and Susie, grinning like the Cheshire cat, holding up their dolls.
"Mr. Ryan knows how to braid hair," Molly said. She twirled around, revealing her now-braided ponytail, neatly adorned with a blue ribbon. "He did our ponytails, and our Barbies', too."
Frankie peered above their heads where Ryan stood behind them, his face marked by a grin more sheepish than Cheshire.
"He gave mine two braids," Susie said, handing her doll to Frankie.
Frankie made a show of scrutinizing all four coiffures. "Everyone looks beautiful." To Ryan, she said, "Where did you pick that up?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
Molly chimed in. "On real horses. He used to braid their hair. For shows."
Frankie smiled at Ryan, then got up and hugged the girls. "Well, that makes sense. Horses have real ponytails, don't they?" She flipped their braids. "How about I fix you some sandwiches, and then Ryan and I need to talk."
"Peanut butter?" asked Susie.
Frankie sighed. "Of course."
"If you can handle the sandwiches, I can get started on your computer."
Grateful he hadn't said anything about Brenda or the police in front of the girls, she nodded and shooed them into the kitchen.
Once the two were settled, already debating strawberry jam versus grape jelly, she loaded a tray with milk and sandwiches, and carried it to the den. "Will you eat a peanut butter sandwich? Grape jelly or strawberry jam. There's milk, but I can make coffee. Or do you want me to reheat your tea?"
"With peanut butter? Milk. No question." He didn't take his eyes from the screen.
She set the tray on the edge of the desk and picked up half a sandwich. "What are you doing?"
After a moment, he turned and looked at her, a guarded expression in his eyes. "I'm searching the University's student list."
"That's right." She stopped, the sandwich halfway to her mouth. "You can probably find out her home address, or some sort of contact information, can't you?"
"Maybe." He cracked his knuckles and scanned the sandwiches, selecting a strawberry jam one. "What did the police say?"
"You were right. It's not a top priority, since Mom's not available to prove she didn't authorize those checks, and one missing piece of jewelry didn't seem to make much of an impression. They told me to go look behind the cushions or under the bed. They said to have Mom call. Maybe they'll come by tomorrow, but they didn't seem too concerned. I got the feeling they thought I was some poor overreacting female."
"If you want, we could go to the station. That might speed things up. But the bank's probably a better bet."
"And the bank's not open until Monday." She stood behind him and looked at the monitor over his shoulder. The University logo filled the top of the screen, but other than that, there was nothing but the hourglass icon and a message that said, "Searching."
She frowned. "Are you doing that not-quite-aboveboard stuff again?"
"Do you care?"
She shook her head. "Not if you can find her."
"Right now, I'm a private citizen looking at what the University says I can. If she doesn't show, I'll see if I can boost the creativity."
"I take it she's not popping right up, is she?"
"Not so far. But their database doesn't show a master list of students, so I'm checking each department. Plus there are a couple of ways to spell her last name. If it is her real last name."
Frustration boiled over. "You know what? If she was legit, she'd have popped up right away. The fact that you're not finding her says enough for me." She lifted the hair from the back of her neck and let it float down. "And besides. None of this was my fault. Mom either sent the money, or someone else did. She's the one who left her password on the computer, and she's the one who ran off with Bob and hasn't bothered to call. Mom wasn't the one who asked me to move out here. Claire did. I like it, but if things fall apart, it's not the end of the world. I intend to enjoy what's left of my weekend. School starts Monday, and I'll have to deal with that, plus arr
ange for sitters, and try to figure out what the hell I'm going to do with my life."
Ryan twisted his head around and raised his eyebrows. "Quarter or dollar for 'hell'? Or should I ask Molly to bring in the timer?"
When he looked at her like that, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement, but with an underlying concern, everything inside uncoiled. Still standing behind him, she leaned over and put her cheek against his. Sandpaper stubble from his unshaved jaw rasped her cheek. "Can I run a tab?"
"Honey, your credit's good with me any time."
No results matching your search parameters popped onto the screen. Frankie put her hand over Ryan's on the mouse and closed the window. "Last night was special. Can we forget all our troubles for the rest of today, too, or does that seem selfish?"
"What did you have in mind?" His voice, rumbling from deep in his throat, resonated through her. He put his other hand over hers. Large and warm, it spoke of protection as hers disappeared beneath it. Memories of the previous night shifted her thoughts to regions well below her brain.
She nibbled his earlobe. He laughed and jerked away.
"You're ticklish," she said, remembering last night. "Any places I haven't found yet?"
He swiveled the chair and pulled her to his lap. "If there are, I'm not telling."
She dug her fingers into his ribs. His laughter brought the girls on the run, and within moments, he was on the floor, gasping for breath, begging for mercy.
The telephone rang, and Frankie went to answer it, leaving Ryan to fend for himself.
"Susie, that was your mom," she said when she came back. "It's time to go home."
Reluctantly, Susie peeled herself from the tangle of arms and legs. She gathered her dolls and shuffled toward the door. Frankie watched from the porch until she saw Susie enter her own house.
When Frankie turned to go inside, Ryan stood in the entry, tucking his shirt back into his jeans and displaying a questioning look.
"Reality beckons," she said.
"Can we postpone it a few hours? Come back to my place. We can ride, or hike, or sit on the porch and look at the stars." His hooded eyes said he expected more than stargazing.
*****
Ryan checked the rearview mirror for the umpteenth time to make sure Frankie's Cavalier hadn't disappeared. Part of him wanted to race to the cabin and clean up anything embarrassing he might have left lying about. Another part feared she'd change her mind and vanish—or worse, that he'd wake up and find her willing to spend the rest of the day with him had been a figment of his imagination.
Glancing up yet again, he saw Frankie's lights flash twice and her right turn indicator go on. Reflexively, his foot tapped the brakes, and he maneuvered the pickup to fall in behind her. Her tires looked okay, and there were no unusual emissions from her car. The next exit was a good five miles away. Curious, he accelerated and drew up on her left, tapping his horn to get her attention. She seemed focused on Molly, not the road, and he had a quick panic surge. Was something wrong?
In the next instant, Frankie accelerated, leaving him stuck in his lane behind a semi, with two SUVs filling the gap behind the Cavalier. Trying to keep Frankie in sight, he almost missed the blue sign for the upcoming rest stop. In all the times he'd driven this stretch of highway, he'd never paid it any mind. He flipped his own indicator up and moved to the right, finally seeing Frankie's Cavalier heading into the rest area. By the time he found a parking place, half a dozen slots away from Frankie's, he saw her riding herd on Molly, who was rushing into the Ladies room. Kids. Leave it to Molly to delay a simple one-hour drive. But instead of irritation, he felt a sensation he'd never felt before. Warm, yet jittery.
He ambled to the bank of vending machines and selected a cup of coffee he knew would taste like cardboard, not because he needed a caffeine jolt, but to avoid dealing with the thoughts bobbing to the forefront of his brain like a punching bag clown. Unable to erase the grin that was as persistent as the inflatable clown, he wandered back to Frankie's car. Leaning against the front fender, he watched the path from the restroom building. When a cluster of women headed toward the parking lot, it was as if everyone except Frankie vanished. Molly tugged her arm, and he watched as mother and daughter exchanged some words, followed by a quick hug. Molly skipped down the sidewalk, an exuberant grin on her face. Warmth swelled in his chest, his eyes tingled and a lump filled his throat.
Damn it all to hell, he'd fallen in love with Frankie.
Chapter 20
Ryan sipped the sludge in his cup, trying to come to grips with the implications of his newfound awareness. He was in love with a Pollyanna with a five-year-old kid. What was he going to do about it?
Before he could get any farther along that mental train wreck, Molly picked up speed and barreled at him. He got the coffee cup onto the car's roof in time to avoid scalding both of them when she screeched to a halt at his side and wrapped her arms around his leg.
"Can I try to ride Sparky all by myself?" Her blue eyes sparkled in anticipation. "Mommy said you had to decide. I'm full of braves today." She looked to her mother, who flashed him an apologetic grin as she joined them. He stood there, afraid to meet her eyes in case his reflected too much of his desire to embrace her, to kiss her. To lose himself in her.
"Sorry about the stop," Frankie said. "Apparently all the fluids she and Susie drank filled her with something beside braves." She gave Molly a pointed look.
Molly tossed her head and rolled her eyes, a gesture that clearly said she'd dealt with this before.
"Let's get moving," he said. "Don't want to lose any of those braves, do we?"
Molly mimed locking her tummy. "Nope. They're all in there tight."
Frankie unlocked the car, and he helped Molly into the backseat. She buckled her seatbelt, gave it a tug and beamed at him. "All ready."
Frankie's expression was a little less bright as she adjusted her own belt.
He leaned into the car. "Are you all right?"
She tossed her head and tugged her ponytail tighter. "Fine. A little tired."
"Afraid you're running away from things you should be fixing?"
After a deep breath, she said, "I guess so."
"Nothing wrong with taking time for yourself. An afternoon in the fresh air can work wonders—give your brain a chance to regroup."
She chewed on her lip for a moment, then one corner of her mouth turned up. "You're probably right. Let's go."
"See you at the ranch, then."
He shut the car door and headed toward the pickup.
"Ryan. Wait!"
He pivoted, a split-second image of her racing to throw her arms around him disintegrating when he saw her standing by her car, holding his cup aloft.
"Your coffee."
"Right." He jogged back, letting his fingers slide over hers as he took the cup. Could she read his thoughts? She released the cup with barely a glance at him, and got back in the car. He guessed not.
Half an hour later, they were in the barn. Molly sat on a hay bale with Mr. Snuggles, telling Wolf about her upcoming ride. Corky and Sparky were saddled and hitched outside. He heaved Hot Rod's saddle over the gelding's back. Frankie kept her distance.
"I figure we should ride around the corral for a few minutes. Let Molly get the feel for Sparky. There's an easy trail that will bring us right by Josh's cabin."
"How long a ride?" Frankie asked.
He searched her face for any signs of reluctance. Damn, maybe he shouldn't have brought up a ride in Molly's earshot. He knew this part of the day was geared toward her.
"An hour, tops. But if you don't want to go, I can take Molly, and you can drive up and meet us."
"No, I'm fine." She scuffed her boots into the straw. "A little sore after yesterday's ride—and last night. It's been a long time on both counts."
"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I should have thought—"
"No, no." She smiled. "It's a good kind of sore. Nice memories." She glanced over her shoulder towa
rd Molly, who still seemed engrossed in her discussion with Wolf. When Frankie turned back to him, the invitation from her half-parted lips was obvious. He accepted, and met her more than halfway.
Hot Rod shattered the moment with a snort and a brisk shake of his head. Molly's, "Are we ready yet?" didn't help much, either.
Frankie placed her palms on his chest, over his pounding heart. With her eyes barely open, she murmured, "Would it really be all right if I skipped the ride? I have my camera, and I'd love a little time to take pictures."
Leaving him alone with Molly. When he realized how different his reaction would have been only days ago, and what it meant that Frankie trusted him, his heart kicked up again. "Sure. Molly and I will have a great time, and we'll meet you at the cabin. On one condition."
"Which is?" Her eyes popped open and she cocked her head.
"No falling in streams."
She laughed. "You got it."
She turned away, and he grabbed her hand. "Wait. One more."
"Pushing it, aren't you? Two conditions?"
He nodded. "The big one. You make no judgments about me based on the state of the cabin. I hit the ground running when I got your call this morning."
"Deal."
"I can't remember if I locked the door." He fished in his pocket for his keys and handed them to her. "In case I did. Make yourself at home."
He watched her walk away, enjoying every swaying step. When she bent over to speak to Molly, he watched even harder. Hot Rod nudged him with his nose.
"Hey, a man can look, can't he?" He hoisted the saddle off Hot Rod's back. "Looks like you're not getting any action today, boy." Giving the horse's neck a pat, he said, "I don't think I will, either. But it's still going to be a glorious day."
*****
After cranking off two rolls of film, Frankie parked her Cavalier behind Ryan's cabin. The burned-out remains of his car brought back the memories of their encounter in the ER. When she looked closely and realized the car was—or had been—a Mustang, she smiled. That's why Ryan said Brent had good taste in cars.
