As a devastating summer storm hits Grand Springs, Colorado, the next thirty-six hours will change the town and its residents forever….
Eve Stuart thought a trip home for her brother Hal’s wedding would be fun—and short enough that she’d avoid seeing Rio Redtree. But that was before a storm cut power all over town, her brother’s bride went missing and Eve’s mother, Olivia, was tragically killed.
Now Rio, an investigative reporter, is the only one with a lead on her mother’s case. Eve’s willing to answer his questions, as long as they don’t involve her daughter Molly. Six years ago, Rio made it clear he never wanted a child. How can Eve trust him to do the right thing if he finds out the truth about Molly?
Book 6 of the 36 Hours series. Don’t miss Book 7: A fugitive from mysterious gunmen—and her own wedding—Randi Howell starts over in Texas in The Rancher and the Runaway Bride by New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery.
Father and Child Reunion
Christine Flynn
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
Prologue
June 8
It was only a nightmare. An awful, impossible dream. Any minute, Eve Stuart was sure she would wake up in her own bed and the horror would be over. Since it was Sunday, she’d settle Molly, her five-year-old, in front of the television with a bowl of cereal to watch cartoons. Then she’d call her mom, as she did every Sunday morning, and they would chat for an hour about what was going on in their respective worlds.
She knew exactly how the conversation would go. Her mom would ask if she had any new clients at the interior design studio, while sounds of coffee being poured filtered from each end of the line. After that, she’d want to know what Molly had done in preschool that week. Since Olivia Stuart was mayor of Grand Springs, Colorado, and on the board of nearly every charity in town, Eve would then get an update on the latest fund-raiser, along with an earful about how the city council was trying to railroad this issue or that cause. Grand Springs was more than a thousand miles from Santa Barbara, but she and her mom had never let the distance interfere. They had always been close.
Eve leaned her forehead against the window, too numb to notice the sunlight dancing off the puddles left by the storm. She’d been nervous about coming back, and her reasons had nothing to do with her family. But assuming she wouldn’t be here long, she’d come to attend her brother’s wedding and to spend the weekend with her mom. Instead, the wedding had been called off because the bride disappeared, massive mud slides and a blackout had thrown the town into utter chaos, and she had spent yesterday in the chapel and this morning on a park bench across from Vanderbilt Memorial hospital trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all.
Her mother had collapsed on Friday night. A heart attack, Dr. Jennings had told her. But that was impossible. Her mother had never had anything more serious than a cold. Now she was dead.
“The lady says I’m suppose’ to watch TV and let you take a nap. Can’t I be in here with you, Mommy?”
At the sound of the soft little voice, Eve wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Her pixie-faced little girl stood in the doorway of the bedroom. The pink bow of one long black pigtail drooped listlessly, and Ted, her battered blue teddy bear, dangled from her small fist as if he were hanging on for dear life. The lady Molly referred to was Millicent, the next-door neighbor who’d sat with her all night and most of yesterday.
Molly cocked her head, her little brow furrowing.
“Are you sad?”
Eve sank into the maple rocking chair behind her and opened her arms. Leave it to a child to reduce a myriad of emotions to their simplest term.
“Yes,” she whispered when Molly climbed into her lap. “Yes, I am.” The little girl smelled of bubble bath and orange juice, scents that seemed so impossibly normal. “I need to tell you something, honey. About Grandma.”
Searching for the words she didn’t want to voice, Eve smoothed back Molly’s dark bangs. Her little girl was so small, so innocent, and every instinct Eve possessed screamed to protect her baby from such a harsh reality. But Molly would start asking questions soon. Lately, it seemed all she did was ask questions.
“Do you remember when they took Grandma to the hospital in the ambulance, and I told you she was very sick?”
With her chin on Ted’s head, Molly gave a sober nod.
“Well, the doctors did everything they could to make her better…but they couldn’t.” Eve swallowed past the knot in her throat. “She died.”
A frown swept Molly’s delicate features.
“Do you know what that means?”
“I think so.”
“You do?”
“Angela Abramson had a fish that died.”
Angela was her little friend from preschool. Eve had forgotten about the fish. “Then, you understand that when someone…or something…dies, it can’t come back again.”
Innocent blue eyes turned troubled. “Did they flush Grandma down the toilet?”
“Oh, no, honey,” Eve assured, hugging her close. “It’s different with people than it is with fish.”
“Then, where is she?”
“Well,” Eve began, wondering how to explained something so complicated. “The part of her that we can see is still at the hospital. But the part of her that made her the person we knew…her spirit…is in heaven.”
“Can we go see her spirit?”
“Heaven is where the angels are, Molly. People…living people…can’t go there. You remember me reading to you about angels, don’t you?”
Eve felt Molly nod and curl closer. Her daughter was familiar with angels from bedtime stories, and with the angel that crowned their tree at Christmas. What she knew about “real” angels, though, was that she couldn’t see them. So Eve explained that her grandma was just like those angels now. Even though they couldn’t see her, she would always be with them.
It was hard for Eve to know if her little girl could grasp such a concept. Though she tried desperately to find some comfort in it herself, intangibles provided little solace at the moment. The only thing that helped the ache in her chest was holding Molly. With her child’s warm little body snuggled securely in her arms, she slowly began to rock.
“Mommy?”
“What, honey?”
“Is your daddy an angel, too?”
Eve had never known her father, and her mom had rarely mentioned him. He’d died so long ago that she had no mental image of him at all. “I suppose he is.”
“So Grandma won’t be lonesome up there?”
“No, honey. She won’t be lonesome.”
“Mommy?”
“Hmm?”
“How come I don’t have a daddy?”
“You do have a daddy,” Eve replied, numbness buffering the jolt she might have otherwise felt at the question. “Everyone does. Some of us just don’t live with them.”
“Oh.” Molly wiggled in tighter. “We live with just us, huh?”
“Just us,” she repeated, and let herself be grateful that her little girl hadn’t pressed for more.
Eve had always known Molly would ask about her father someday, but the child didn’t need anything else to shake her little world just now. And, just now, Rio Redtree was the last person on earth Eve wanted to think about. Not that she’d been able to avoid thoughts of him. Ever si
nce she’d decided to come home, the enigmatic man who’d once stolen her heart had been very much on her mind.
It had been six years since Eve had seen him. Six years that seemed like a lifetime. Rio was an investigative reporter for the Grand Springs Herald now. According to her mother, the most relentless reporter the paper had ever hired. Only her mother had known how close she and Rio had once been. And only her mother had known that he was the father of Eve’s child.
But Rio didn’t even know Molly existed.
Chapter One
July 15
Eve stopped in the doorway of her mom’s bedroom, packing boxes in hand and a knot in her throat. She wouldn’t think about what she had to do. She’d just do it.
The resolution made, she dropped the boxes by the lace-covered four-poster bed, whipped back the curtains overlooking the flower garden and opened the doors of a tall cherry armoire. The cubicles at eye level were filled with neatly folded sweaters. Cardigans and lightweights on one side, jacket-types and bulky knits on the other. Without letting herself recall the last time she’d seen her mother wearing any one of them, Eve put the lot in a box designated for the women’s shelter. She set the small floral sachet she found tucked behind them in a smaller box for mementos she would save for Molly.
Keeping her mind carefully blank, she turned next to the narrow drawer beneath the now empty shelves. It held scarves. Soft squares of soft periwinkle, rose and yellow lay next to lengths of poppy red, royal blue and emerald green. Patterns were separated from solids. Pastels from primaries. Each color group was separated further by size.
She’d known her mother was efficient, even admired her innate sense of order. But had she ever realized she was this organized?
At the thought, Eve’s resolve faltered. She wasn’t a strong person. A little stubborn, maybe. Independent, definitely. And that, out of necessity as much as training. But she really wasn’t strong enough to divorce herself from the ache in her chest. It was just that, after packing up most of the closet yesterday, blocking her mind to what she was doing had seemed the only way to get through the rest of the room without dehydrating herself.
She hesitantly touched a square of indigo blue. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home in Santa Barbara. Back in her sunny apartment with the tulips she and Molly had planted struggling to grow on their tiny patio. Back at work, arguing with jerky Geoff Englebright about whether or not she could handle major accounts on her own. Back in the familiar world of shuttling Molly to preschool and day care and to T-ball or tumbling class on Saturday, and spending evenings with the sketches she hoped would someday be good enough to sell.
What did she know about filing for probate and liquidating assets and whatever else the attorney had said she needed to do? She knew color and texture and space. She knew how to design interiors that were functional, appealing, stunning. Whatever the client wanted. She knew “Disney princesses” and how to make cupcakes with smiley faces. But she still didn’t know what she was supposed to do with all the things her mother had loved.
Squares of fabric turned into a kaleidoscope of color as the scarves blurred.
Blinking furiously, Eve pulled a breath and picked up a stack of silk. Her mother’s possessions wouldn’t pack themselves, so she’d best get on with it. After all, taking care of her mother’s belongings was part of the reason she’d come back.
Shortly after the funeral, she had returned to Santa Barbara to finish what design projects she could, then turned over the rest to her boss and begged for a leave of absence from her job. She’d been so busy, she could scarcely think. But the numbness that had protected her during that time had vanished the moment she’d walked back through the door of the spacious, two-story house, Molly and suitcases in tow. Though she’d been gone for almost a month, and she’d had a two-day, thousand-mile drive in which to prepare herself for her return, she’d felt just as rocky when she arrived as she had the day they’d left. Nothing had changed. In the days following her mother’s death, the unimaginable—the unthinkable—had become the reality.
Eve still couldn’t believe what the police had told her. Her mother hadn’t just had a heart attack. She’d been murdered.
“A lethal injection of potassium” was how the detective had so calmly described what the killer had used for a weapon. “Someone definitely knew what he was doing.”
The last of the scarves went into the box. The senselessness of her mother’s death only compounded the ache in Eve’s chest. Or maybe, she thought, it was some sort of unacknowledged rage at whoever could have done such a thing that made it so hard to breathe whenever she thought of why her mother was no longer there. It didn’t help that the police had yet to come up with a solid suspect; that whoever had robbed her and her brother of their mom, Molly of her grandmother and the entire town of a decent, caring human being was still running free. At least, she hadn’t heard that the authorities had any leads. Her brother, Hal, who was the acting mayor and in a much better position than she to get that sort of information, wasn’t speaking to her much these days.
The refined, two-tone chime of the doorbell cut off any consideration Eve might have given that disturbing development. As shaky as she was feeling, she could only handle one problem at a time, anyway.
The doorbell sounded again, the notes drifting through the house like a musical ghost.
One of the first things Eve had done when she’d returned a few days ago was enroll Molly in St. Veronica’s summer day camp. That meant her little girl wasn’t there to peek around the Priscillas in the living room and holler out a description of whoever was leaning on the bell.
For one totally indulgent moment, Eve considered not answering. Only the thought that Molly might be returning early had her shoving her fingers through her hair and heading for the stairs.
It wasn’t Molly. By the time Eve reached the bottom step of the wide, carved oak staircase, she could see a shape visible through the pattern of beveled glass on the front door. It was definitely adult. Big adult. The top of Molly’s head wouldn’t have even reached the casing of the oval window.
She headed across the wide foyer, thinking it was probably Millicent from next door or, perhaps, someone from one of the many organizations to which her mom had belonged. That thought, belated though it was, had her wishing she’d checked herself out in the dresser mirror. Her mom certainly would have. Appearances were important, after all. And Eve, the prodigal daughter, wanted very much to avoid reflecting badly on her mother.
Her hand brushed the collar of her pink oxford shirt, then flattened over the single pearl on her necklace. Her white slacks were cotton and casual, but her attire should stand up to scrutiny. It was the rest of her that needed work. Her blue eyes were probably rimmed in red, and her short blond hair would have been more presentable had she not shoved her fingers through it, but it was too late to undo the damage now. Her caller could see her approaching through the door’s window.
And she could see him.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dark. The impressions registered a millisecond before her heart bumped her ribs and her steps faltered to a stop.
Rio.
Her heart jerked again, her thoughts scrambling. She’d known she’d have to see him. Considering his work and her obligations, avoiding him for the next couple of months would be nearly impossible. She knew, too, that she had to tell him about Molly before he found out on his own. But she had no idea how to do that. Or what he would say when she did.
A thread of panic tangled with the other emotions knotting her stomach. She’d known she would see him. But she’d never thought he’d appear on her mother’s doorstep.
Brass clicked when she pressed the latch. Pulling open the door, she glanced past the narrow band of a collarless white shirt to a jaw that looked chiseled from stone. A heartbeat later, she met eyes the color of midnight.
The scent of impending rain blew in with the breeze. Or maybe it was the man dwarfing her in the doorway that sudde
nly made the air feel charged. Rio seemed bigger to her, his lean body more powerful. His neatly trimmed black hair was combed straight back from his face, accentuating the bronze and beautifully honed features that spoke clearly of his Native American ancestry. But those features betrayed nothing.
His mouth, sculpted and blatantly sensual, formed a hard line when his glance moved from her pale features to the scarf in her hand, then locked on her face once more. Knowing she would see him didn’t mean she’d been prepared. She realized that the moment she encountered the piercing ebony eyes that had always seen so much, and revealed so little.
“Hello, Eve.”
“Rio.” His name was little more than a whisper. “I didn’t expect you.”
“I don’t imagine you did. May I come in?”
Another jolt of panic sliced through her at the question, her glance darting to her watch. Realizing that Molly wasn’t due to return for half an hour, her next breath came a little easier. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
She pushed open the screen, than backed to the center of the large maroon-and-blue Aubusson rug when he stepped in and closed the door. In the space of seconds, he’d scanned the high-ceilinged foyer, the perimeter of polished wood floor and the mirror reflecting the matching Ming-style vases on the long entry table.
“I’m working on a story for the Herald about your mother’s murder.” His voice, smoky and deep, held a cool edge of professionalism as he studied his surroundings. He clearly had a purpose. Yet, he didn’t seem interested in knowing why she’d disappeared from his life without a word. Or why she’d refused to return his calls. When he turned to face her again, six years of silence screaming between them, he was all business. The look in his eyes as he noted the redness in hers seemed no less impersonal.
“I’m interviewing everyone who may have had any contact with her that last day,” he added, making it clear he hadn’t singled her out. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you. Just so you know, I’m not willing to jeopardize finding whoever’s guilty for the sake of a story. Anything you tell me stays confidential until the police investigation breaks.”
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