Kidnapped at Christmas

by Barb Han

  Chapter Seven

  “Before, you said that you were worried about the possibility of Aubrey being targeted due to the Butler name,” Meg said, and there was a strained quality to her voice as she watched him. She’d witnessed his entire thought process and it must’ve played across his face, because she’d stopped feeding the baby and was studying him as she draped the little girl over her shoulder and patted her on the back.

  “It crossed my mind. It seems most want a piece of the Butlers these days.” Wyatt stood and tried to shake off the heavy thoughts. He needed air and a damn good session at the gym. Since the latter wasn’t possible he decided instead to take a few steps away from the situation. All he needed was a fresh perspective, and yet something warned nothing would ever be that easy again. “Can we talk about that later?”

  “Okay.”

  “I can run out. Pick up a bottle of ibuprofen,” he offered.

  “I’ll just get a few dollars,” Meg said with a curious glance.

  “No need.” He threw on his jacket and palmed his keys, impatience edging his tone. Fresh air would do him good. He plugged in the request to his GPS and located the closest store. “Shouldn’t take too long. You’ll be okay until I get back?”

  “We’ll be fine.” Meg’s face muscles were pulled taut, belying her words.

  Wyatt walked out the door and climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck. The two-bedroom bungalow-style house had many of Meg’s personal touches, from the oil-on-canvas painting on the wall she’d told him she was painting last year to the worn-in warm tones in the furniture. The place was just big enough to still be considered cozy, and her kitchen was functional. The place even smelled like her, a mix of lavender and clean and fresh air that was somehow all Meg. He’d never known the difference between lavender and any other herb until he’d asked.

  Thinking back to the easy way they had of relating in the past and the white-hot passion in the bedroom brought back other memories, unwanted memories. Like when he’d finally convinced her to sleep over at his place and woke with her in his arms. He’d liked waking up to having a cup of coffee on the balcony of his place overlooking the Austin skyline. And he’d wanted to show her the home that was being built.

  But then she’d slowed down and had refused to stay over again. Not long after, he’d wondered if he’d overstepped some invisible boundary with her. It had made him laugh at the time because those thoughts had never crossed his mind before her. He’d reminded himself to get a grip and done his level best to convince himself his feelings weren’t hurt when she’d said she was too busy to meet him for dinner the next day.

  Hadn’t his thoughts derailed?

  Wyatt tried to maintain focus on the problems at hand by stuffing his past down deep. He had a media mess brewing with the Butler news threatening to surface at any minute, and he might even enjoy the fireworks his presence seemed to ignite within the famed family if it weren’t for the fact that his life was careening out of control.

  The announcement of the reading of his father’s will on Christmas Eve was another in a long list of things that didn’t sit well, and Wyatt had never been a big holiday person.

  What he couldn’t figure out was...why? Why include him?

  In life, the man had never once tried to forge a relationship or help Wyatt’s mother in any way. She’d had to live day to day and do without even though she never complained. He’d seen it in the worry lines in her forehead and the way she often paced while figuring out finances. Growing up watching his mother trapped in a powerless situation built a lot of residual anger in a kid, in a man.

  He’d used it to fuel his need to be a success on his own even more. He’d developed an amazing ability to shut out the world and zero in on one thing—success.

  As his first taco restaurant reached its major success milestone, his mother was barely clinging to life. He’d been in the process of buying a proper house for her as a surprise. She’d been sick for a while but hadn’t told him about the terminal diagnosis until the very end, leaving him with tremendous guilt for not spending time with her.

  He’d built a successful food franchise on his own and had no plans now or ever to lower himself to the point of getting in line for a piece of the Butler estate. He would never give the man or his family the satisfaction of thinking that he needed them in any way.

  A fifteen-minute drive on underdeveloped roads made him appreciate his truck even more. He thought about Meg’s older model SUV. It was good enough to get by for now. She’d need something newer with recent safety features. That was an easy fix. She must like the model she owned or she wouldn’t have bought it. He’d order the latest and have it delivered.

  The convenience store was on the corner of one too many farm roads if anyone asked Wyatt. He also noticed that he’d been down that same road yesterday on his way to the Butler ranch and that was most likely what had him riled up, thinking about them.

  Calling this place convenient was just about laughable when it would be a thirty-minute ordeal, round trip. The drive would do him good. Thinking about the past had him tense. The air was cold and he didn’t like winter. It didn’t help that his least favorite holiday came at the start of it. Wyatt clenched his back teeth and moved inside. He located a bottle of pain reliever and paid at the counter.

  Walking out to his truck, he cursed when he saw the front flat tire. He must’ve picked up a nail. No surprise, given the quality of the roads and all the construction going on. Texas was booming. He was used to it living in Austin. There should be something to patch it up in his toolbox. He unlocked the door and pulled out his tool kit. Then he remembered that he’d used the last of his can of aerosol tire inflator after visiting the Brunson Falls job site two weeks ago. He’d been meaning to buy a new one.

  He bent down to examine his right front tire and cursed under his breath.

  “Can we help?” The voice was familiar. It sounded like the Butlers from the other day and hearing it had the same effect. It grated on his nerves.

  He leaned back on his heels and turned his head to look at Dade and Dalton. They’d kept enough distance that he figured they were showing him that they weren’t trying to sneak up on him and he appreciated the gesture.

  “It’s just a flat. I’ll take care of this in no time.”

  “We can help put on the spare,” Dalton said.

  He’d taken out the spare, but he figured there’d be something he could buy in the store that would have him on his way in a few minutes. “I don’t need a hand.”

  “You sure? We could knock that out in a minute together or give you a ride anywhere you need to go,” the other one said.

  “I know how to fix a flat.” Wyatt was being a jerk. Seeing them reminded him of Maverick Mike Butler and the heavy thoughts he’d been having on the way over.

  Everyone needed to be very clear that Wyatt could handle himself in any situation. There wasn’t a case where he believed it necessary to ask someone else for help and especially not a Butler. Maybe his stubbornness came from being an only child and learning to depend on himself early in life. He’d always been the keep-to-himself type, the loner. People were under the misguided impression that a man who liked to be alone was lonely.

  In Wyatt’s case, the opposite couldn’t be truer. He happened to like his own company. He didn’t need others to validate him. And he sure as hell didn’t want anything from a Butler, and that included their time.

  “In case you change your mind,” one of them said.

  “I’m clear on what I need. I don’t need your help.” Wyatt had started to say handout. That was odd.

  One of the twins bent down, set a small card next to Wyatt and placed a rock on top so it wouldn’t blow away.

  Wyatt glanced down. It was a business card with a cell number on it.

  Hell would catch him on fire before he’d call that number.
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  CHANGING THE TIRE turned out to be more complicated than buying a can of aerosol and plugging up a small hole. First of all, the store was out. Figure that. With all this construction, he should’ve at least considered the possibility.

  Waiting for another customer to show up and be willing to take him to a big-box store near the interstate took almost twenty minutes.

  Fixing the tire was the easy part after he’d secured the right materials, except that it had started to drizzle and his hands nearly froze before he’d finished and was on the road again.

  By the time he made it back to Meg’s, his arms were covered in dirt and he was in one hell of a fine mood.

  It took a few minutes for her to answer the door, and when she did she looked like she’d been hit by a truck while he was gone. She had to squint to look at him. Movement looked to cause tremendous pain.

  “What happened?” he asked out of concern.

  “Headache,” she responded, holding the baby. “It got worse.” She hadn’t seemed to be in that much pain when he’d left more than an hour ago. Now he really felt like a jerk for taking so long to get back. He reminded himself that he’d had no idea she would get this bad, but he wasn’t ready to let himself off the hook. Last year, she’d canceled dinner plans more than once complaining of a headache. Even then, he’d believed she was working herself too hard. From the looks of it, she hadn’t slowed down since having the baby.

  They needed to have a conversation about her taking better care of herself.

  Stephanie pushed past him as he followed Meg into the kitchen. Her friend glared at him as he held out the small bag.

  “You’re a little late, don’t you think,” she said, not bothering to mask her anger.

  “I had a flat tire,” he said.

  “And, what? No spare?” she shot back.

  “It’s okay,” Meg interrupted, her face crinkled like it hurt to speak.

  Wyatt apologized again.

  She looked at the bag in his hands like he was handing her a bomb. “It’s fine. I don’t need them anymore. Stephanie borrowed a couple from the neighbor. They’ll kick in any minute. I’m already starting to feel better anyway.”

  This was better? Wyatt’s extended hand stood between them.

  She glanced at him and then the bag awkwardly. “Thanks anyway.”

  “You should’ve called,” he said.

  “What good would that have done with a flat tire?” Stephanie said from her spot next to the coffee machine. “Besides, I could say the same thing to you.”

  Wyatt wasn’t used to answering to anyone else and he had to admit to being offended. There was a reason he lived in a house with one coffee mug.

  And yet he still felt like the biggest jerk for not checking in.

  He set the bag down on the counter beside Meg as she poured a fresh cup.

  Looking at her struggling through pain was a knife stab to the chest. It would be better if he was the one suffering. That would be easier for him. Watching her, feeling helpless was the worst.

  A memory broke through. He was standing beside his mother’s hospital bed as she pushed the morphine-release button repeatedly, complaining of severe pain. He could see it written in the carved lines of her forehead, the pinched muscles of her face. No matter how many times she pushed that button in a row, none came. There was only so much narcotic it could dispense before it became dangerous and her pain seemed to stay above that threshold.

  Meg’s cell phone buzzed and she quickly answered, balancing the call and the baby. Stephanie cut across the kitchen and took the sleeping infant from Meg’s arms with a disgusted look toward Wyatt. Was he supposed to know what her problem was?

  He would’ve offered to hold the baby if it weren’t for the fact that he was afraid he’d hurt the little thing. She wasn’t much bigger than nothing wrapped in that tiny blanket. He’d never held something so small and so innocent in his arms.

  And something with the potential to rock his world so completely.

  His cell buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and checked the screen. Dr. Raul. Based on the side of the conversation he could hear, Meg was on her phone with the sheriff. Two calls that had the potential to change Wyatt’s life. The odds of both of them coming in at the same time on a normal day were ridiculously low. But this week, on this day any good luck he’d experienced in his life up until now could come crashing down around him.

  “What did the test say?” Wyatt asked after perfunctory greetings.

  The doctor hesitated before saying, “Congratulations, Mr. Jackson.”

  “There’s no other possibility?” Wyatt wasn’t sure why he asked. Part of him had known since he first put eyes on the little girl that she was his. She was an exact match to his baby picture. He expected to be disappointed by the confirmation. Confused. Hell, angry.

  Strangely, he wasn’t any of those things. It was as if puzzle pieces clicked together and the picture made perfect sense.

  Would he have chosen this particular time in his life to have a child? The answer was simple. No.

  But she was here. She was beautiful. And he’d figure out how to move forward with an arrangement between him and Meg to make it all work.

  It was most likely his practical nature and not real feelings for his child that snapped him into focus so quickly.

  “These tests are never one hundred percent certain, but statistically speaking the probability that you’re not the father is insignificant,” the doctor answered.

  “Thank you.” Wyatt ended the call as Meg almost fell against the counter.

  Her face was drained of color. He was grateful Stephanie was with the little one. He got to Meg’s side in time to catch her, but she lost her grip on the cell she’d been holding and it crashed against the tile.

  “What did he say?” Wyatt asked, ready to catch her if her legs gave out. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that the two of them would need to have a serious conversation about the future now that he was a father, but he drew a line around the knowledge and marked it as off-limits for now. Separating his emotions was a survival skill he’d developed as a small child out of necessity.

  “The hair ribbon.” Meg was trembling.

  “The what?” He searched her face for something...

  “It belonged to Mary Jane,” she said so quietly that he almost couldn’t make out the words.

  “Who’s that?” he asked as she started to sink toward the floor. He tightened his grip around her waist as the sound of the baby crying blasted from the room down the hall.

  For a split second it dawned on him that his child was crying. Again he had to contain his emotions and the strangeness of the thought in order to focus on Meg.

  Wyatt took most of her weight as he helped her to the kitchen chair.

  “Who’s Mary Jane?” he asked again.

  It took a few seconds for Meg to speak, and he assumed she was gathering her courage as her gaze darted around the floor. “We were kids when she was taken. Ten years old. She was my best friend.”

  She looked up at him with a look of complete terror.

  “He’s back. He can’t have my daughter,” Meg said in that determined voice of hers. “He can’t take Aubrey, too.”

  “No one’s taking my daughter.” Wyatt didn’t know why those words sprang out, but he wouldn’t take them back if he could. This news changed things because he also realized that Meg and his daughter were being targeted. Or someone was taunting her. Could the man who had taken her friend have returned? It was a possibility too real to be discounted. Had the abductor left the ribbon on purpose? Or had the person done that to throw off investigators?

  Meg gave him a look that said she knew what the doctor had told him.

  “I’m guessing they never caught the guy,” he said to Meg. Was this why she wor
ked on behalf of children and women who couldn’t fight for themselves? Her best friend had been abducted and the perpetrator was never brought to justice.

  “We were together that day.” Meg focused out the window, her gaze fixed, and she looked lost.

  A shot of anger burst through him. He clenched and released his fists to stop from reaching out to touch her, to be her comfort as tears slid down her cheeks.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” she said quickly, and there was desperation in her tone. Her eyes widened and more tears fell. “I keep trying to remember. All I recall is climbing the tree. I tried to convince her to follow but she was too scared. I should’ve gone down to play with her but I didn’t.” Meg stilled. “Next thing I remember I’m in the sheriff’s office being grilled about who took her. The deputy thought I knew what happened and was being insolent.”

  “But you didn’t remember so you couldn’t help,” he reassured. So much made sense about why she’d chosen her line of work and then there was her tenuous relationship with the sheriff’s office.

  Had a monster returned? Solving a cold case that had occurred almost two decades ago might just lead Wyatt and Meg to the truth about what was going on now. But if she didn’t know then what had happened, how would she remember now?

  “Aubrey needs a bottle.” She pushed up to her feet as the sounds of the little girl’s whimpering neared.

  Wyatt had no idea how to do that, but he was ready for a crash course. “Sit down until you can stand without losing your balance. Tell me what to do.”

  “No, it’s okay—”

  “The DNA test confirmed what you knew all along. Aubrey is my daughter. I owe you an apology, Meg.” He softened his tone when he said, “If you’ll let me, I’d like to learn how to feed her.”

  Meg called to her friend, who brought the baby into the room and pulled up a chair next to her. The baby wound up to cry and released a scream that shredded Wyatt’s heart. He’d never heard a more gut-wrenching sound than his own daughter crying. Daughter. That word would take some getting used to.