by Rita Herron
By the time he reached his cabin, his thoughts had turned to possibilities other than Tia’s ex or Wanda. What if the kidnapping wasn’t personal? What if it had nothing to do with revenge against Tia, but simply that she’d crossed paths with a desperate person who wanted a baby, and she’d become the target because she was a single mother?
Images of the agonized look on Tia’s face haunted him as he went inside. The rustic place was empty, a chill in the den. He shrugged off his jacket and holster but carried his gun with him, then planted it on the coffee table. The envelope of letters Cash had left was sitting in the center of the table where he’d left them.
He stared at it, struck by the pink rosebuds on the wooden keepsake. His birth mother’s doing.
Myra Banks was his mother. She’d rocked him to sleep when he was a baby and nursed his fevers and bandaged his skinned knees and...loved him as much as any mother could.
But this woman... What about her?
Cash insisted he read them, that he understand how much Grace McCullen had wanted the two of them.
He lifted the envelope. Just as Cash said, it was filled with dozens of letters and cards.
He thumbed through them. He didn’t know where to start.
Pulse pounding, he walked to the bar in the corner, poured himself a whiskey, then returned. He tossed the first drink back, then poured another and set it on the table.
The picture sitting on the table of him and Myra at Christmas last year mocked him. It had been four years since his father had died. They’d both missed him, although the last few years his father had let his own drinking get out of hand. He’d blamed financial problems, a backstabbing partner who’d cheated him out of half his building supply company.
Even if Ryder and his father hadn’t always gotten along and he’d been a bastard to his mother when he was drinking, Myra and Troy had been there for him.
Cash’s face, identical to his own, flashed behind his eyes. Cash, his twin, who’d been tossed around in foster care all his life.
Cash, who was now friends—and brothers—with Maddox, Brett and Ray McCullen.
Ryder heaved a sigh. He didn’t need a brother. Or to be part of that family.
Still...he had to know the truth.
He dug through the pile, checking the dates, until he found the earliest dated envelope. He opened it and drew out a photograph inside a folded sheet of paper.
He lifted the picture and studied the dark-haired pregnant woman. She was holding a basket of wildflowers. She had her hand on her pregnant belly, and she was smiling up at the sun.
This was the woman who’d given birth to him. She was beautiful.
Emotions flooded him, and he opened the sheet of paper and started to read. Her handwriting was feminine, soft, delicate—her words music to his soul.
Dear son,
This morning, I had an ultrasound and learned I was having twin boys. This is the most exciting day of my life!
I’m not only blessed with one more baby, but two.
As much as the McCullen men need more women around Horseshoe Creek, I honestly believe that God meant for me to have a ranch of boys. The world needs more good men and husbands, and I know you and your brothers will fill that role.
I’ve already experienced the joy and chaos little boys bring, and also the love and camaraderie they share. I can’t wait to add you and your brother to the McCullen clan.
Your father, Joe, is a tough cowboy, but a loving man and father, and you will be blessed by having a role model and leader to guide you through life.
I wish my own mama, your grandmother, could have lived to see this day.
I love you so much my heart is bursting and exploding with emotions. Just a few more weeks, and I’ll get to hold you in my arms.
Until then, I’ll sing you a lullaby each night while you nestle alongside your twin inside me.
Love always,
Mama
* * *
“MAMA LOVES YOU, JORDIE,” Tia whispered as she stepped into the nursery. The soothing blues and greens of the room reminded her of the day she’d painted the room in anticipation of her son’s arrival.
Ina had knitted baby bootees, and Elle had brought a basket of baby toys. She picked up the blue teddy bear Amy had given her, turned on the musical mobile of toy animals dancing above Jordie’s crib and hugged the bear to her as she sank into the chair.
The toy train, football, blocks, arts and crafts corner, puzzles, rocking horse and farm set were all waiting. She rocked the chair back and forth and began to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” along with the musical mobile, pushing the chair back and forth with her feet as she cradled the bear to her like she had her son.
For a while, she allowed herself to imagine her little boy playing in the room. She saw him riding the little pony, drawing pictures to hang on the wall, learning to walk, running outside in the backyard and splashing in a rain puddle, then waving to her from the jungle gym at the park.
Of course he’d learn to ride and they’d have picnics and feed the horses and ducks.
A smile tugged at her mouth as she envisioned birthdays and Christmases and marking his growth on the wall chart that she’d hung by the door.
The Hickory Dickory Dock clock on the wall ticked another hour away. Another hour that her son was missing.
* * *
ONCE RYDER STARTED with the mail, he couldn’t stop himself until he’d read every letter and card. His mother poured out her heart, telling him how much she missed him every day, how she envisioned him and his twin and what they would have looked like, how she put flowers and toys and gifts on their tiny graves, how she quietly celebrated their birthdays.
Then there were disturbing letters where she chronicled her search for the twins. On pink flowered stationery with ink blurred from her tears, she’d written heart-wrenching descriptions of the nightmares that had plagued her. Sleepless nights when she’d wake up sobbing into the pillow because she could hear her babies’ cries.
Ryder rubbed a hand over his eyes. God.
Cash was right.
The words on those pages were not from a woman who’d sold her children to fund her and her husband’s ranch.
She told about the distance her grief had created between her and Joe, about his affair with Barbara, about how she’d forgiven him because they’d both sought comfort in different ways.
In each progressive letter, she’d promised not to give up looking for them, that she would find them and bring them back to Horseshoe Creek.
The last letter made his heart pound. She’d sensed someone following her. Had felt like she was being watched.
She’d been afraid...
Grief for the woman who’d given birth to him mushroomed in his chest. He traced his finger over her picture, and sorrow brought tears to his eyes.
Next came the face of the woman who’d raised him—Myra Banks.
Dammit. Had she lied about how she’d gotten him, or had the person who’d kidnapped him and Cash lied to her?
He stood and paced. He had to talk to her.
He checked his watch. Ten o’clock.
Dammit, she’d be in bed now.
He’d pay her a visit first thing in the morning. And he’d get to the truth.
* * *
TIA DRAGGED HERSELF to the bedroom, forced herself into pajamas and crawled into bed, hugging the teddy bear to her. She sniffed the plush fur, her son’s baby scent lingering.
She closed her eyes, but the dark only accentuated the quiet emptiness in the room and in her house.
Her chest ached so badly she could hardly breathe.
Fatigue clawed at her. Just as she was about to drift asleep, her phone trilled.
Tia’s pulse jumped.
She swung her legs to the side of the bed and snatched her cell phone. Her hand was trembling so badly she dropped the phone on the floor. Heart racing, she flipped it over.
The caller ID display box showed Unknown.
Panic snapped at her nerve endings, but she jerked up the phone and stabbed Connect.
“Hello.”
“I saw you on the news.”
Tia’s breath stalled in her chest. “What? Who is this?”
“Your baby is safe. But he won’t be if you keep looking for him.”
Terror crawled through Tia. Before she could ask more, the phone went silent.
Chapter Fifteen
Tia trembled as she stared at her phone. The voice had belonged to a woman.
Who the hell was she? Did she really have Jordie?
And what had she meant—he was safe for now? If she kept looking...what would she do to him?
Terror and rage slammed into her. She punched Call Back but it didn’t go through.
Tia lurched from bed, strode to the window and peeked out through the blinds. No cars outside. No one in the backyard.
She rushed to the front and looked through the window—no one there, either.
Heart pounding, she pressed Ryder’s number. She paced the living room while she waited on him to respond. Three times across the room and he picked up.
“Ryder, I just got a call from a woman who said she has Jordie, that he’s safe.”
“What?” Ryder said. “Is she bringing him back?”
“No.” Tia wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “She said if I wanted him to stay safe that I should stop looking for him.”
Ryder murmured something below his breath. “Dammit, I’m sorry, Tia. I warned you that your interview might draw the crazies and pranks.”
“What if it isn’t a prank?” Tia cried. “What if she’s telling the truth, and we keep looking and she hurts him?” She choked back hysteria. “I’d never forgive myself if something bad happened to him because of me.”
* * *
RYDER SILENTLY CURSED and walked outside onto the back porch. No way in hell he’d sleep now.
“Listen, Tia, I’ll be right over. Meanwhile, I’ll call the tech team and see if they can trace that call. Did a name show up?”
“No, it was an unknown.”
Of course it was. “Probably a burner. I’ll see if anything has come in over the tip line. Stay put and don’t panic.”
“I’m trying not to,” Tia said, her voice cracking with tension. “But I’m scared, Ryder.”
“I know.” His own gut was churning. If that woman had abducted Jordie, she might be panicking. And if she didn’t have him and was just playing some sick, cruel game, she was heartless and deserved to be locked up.
“Hang in there, Tia, I’ll be there soon.”
Ryder threw a change of clothes and toothbrush in a duffel bag. Then he strapped on his holster and gun, slipped on a jacket, snatched his keys, and headed outside. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the mail from his birth mother. He hurried over, stacked everything back inside the envelope and closed it.
The night air hit him, filled with the smell of impending rain.
He jumped in his SUV and sped toward Tia’s, calling Gwen as he drove onto the main road.
He explained about the call Tia had received. “I need you to find out where that call came from.”
“I’m on it, but if it was as quick a call as it sounds, I doubt we can trace it.”
Frustration knotted his shoulders. “I know it, but do your best.” They couldn’t ignore any call or lead. “Anything from the tip line?”
“Not yet. There have been a few calls, and I have people checking them out.”
“What about the woman in the video feed from the hospital nursery? Any ID on her?”
“Afraid not. We’re running her through facial recognition and waiting to get the medical records from legal, but so far nothing. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Thanks.” Ryder ended the call, his experience as an agent warring with his worry for Tia and her baby.
You are not supposed to get involved.
But after reading his birth mother’s heartfelt words and realizing the pain she’d suffered had only grown deeper with every passing day and hour he and Cash were missing, he realized that Tia was experiencing the same emotions now.
Grace had sensed someone was watching her because she was asking questions about him and Cash.
Tia had just received a threatening call.
Still, he couldn’t talk Tia out of giving up her search. Her love—a mother’s love—was too strong, just as his birth mother’s was.
Only his birth mother’s search had gotten her killed.
* * *
TIA PACED THE living room, too terrified to sit or lie down. By the time Ryder arrived, she’d worked herself into a sweat.
She yanked open the door and met him on the porch. “Could you trace the call?”
Ryder’s boots pounded the wooden porch floor as he strode toward her. “Gwen’s trying. But most likely it came from a burner phone, Tia. If she calls again and you keep her on the phone long enough, maybe we can get something.”
Tia’s chest tightened. “But what if she doesn’t call again?”
Ryder gripped her arms to stop her constant motion. “We’ll find her another way.”
“But how?” Tia whispered.
Ryder pulled her into his arms and held her. “This is what I do,” he murmured.
She pressed her hand against his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath her palm, soothing her slightly. Ryder was strong and caring and he knew what he was doing.
She had to trust him.
Hard to do when the last man she’d trusted had been Darren, and he’d tried to con her out of her inheritance, then abandoned her when she was pregnant.
He pulled away slightly, then took her hands in his. “When she called, did you hear anything in the background that might indicate where she was?”
Tia strained to remember. “I don’t know, I was so terrified...”
“Think. Was there any street noise? Cars? A train? Water?”
“I think I heard a siren.”
“Like the police?” Ryder asked.
She shook her head. “No, maybe an ambulance?”
“So she might have been near a hospital,” Ryder said.
Tia pressed her fingers to her temple. “Maybe. I don’t know, Ryder. It could have been a fire engine.”
He squeezed her hands. “Okay, just think about it. Something might come to you later.”
Although later might not be soon enough.
* * *
RYDER STRUGGLED NOT to show his own anxiety. Tia needed comfort, encouragement and hope.
Lying to her wouldn’t be fair.
He insisted that she lie down, but from the couch where he’d stretched out he could hear her tossing and turning.
Just as dawn streaked the sky, she finally settled and fell asleep. She needed rest, so he changed clothes and made coffee, then decided to pay his mother that visit.
By eight o’clock, he’d swung by his place, picked up a couple of Grace’s letters and was knocking on Myra’s door. She always enjoyed her coffee in the sunroom in the mornings and greeted him with a cup in hand.
“Ryder, what a nice surprise.” She wrapped him in a hug. Ryder stiffened slightly. She might not be so happy when he told her the reason for his visit.
Myra pulled back, a small frown creasing her eyes. “Is something wrong, honey?”
Ryder gave himself a second to grasp his emotions before he cleared his throat. “We need to talk. Can I join you in the sunroom for some coffee?”
; “Of course.” She swept her hand through her wavy chin-length hair and gestured toward the coffeepot. “Do you want some breakfast, too?”
Ryder shook his head. He couldn’t eat until this conversation was over.
He chose a mug from her collection, filled it with coffee and they walked to the sunroom together.
She sank into her wicker chair while he took the glider. His father had owned a fifty-acre farm outside town, but when he died, his mother sold it and bought this little bungalow a mile from town. It was a small neighborhood, but catered to retirees who didn’t want to deal with yard upkeep.
“What’s going on, Ryder?” she asked, tone worried.
“I’ve been working a case,” he said, stalling. “A baby kidnapping.”
“Oh, the Jeffries woman. I saw her on the news last night.”
He sipped his coffee and gave a nod. “We’re hoping the tip line turns up a lead.”
“I’m so sorry for her,” his mother said. “It must be horrible to have your baby stolen from your home like that.”
He studied her but saw no sign of an underlying meaning that she could relate because of him. “She’s devastated. She wanted a family more than anything in the world.”
Myra traced a finger around the rim of her mug. “Well, I hope you find the baby.”
“I will.” An awkwardness stretched between them in the silence that ensued. Ryder took another long sip of his coffee. He didn’t know where to begin, so he removed a couple of Grace’s letters from inside his jacket and laid them on the wrought-iron coffee table.
His mother looked down at them with a frown, then lifted her gaze to meet his. “Talk to me, son. What’s going on?”
“It’s about my adoption,” Ryder said. “I need to know who handled it. How you and Dad got me.”
Myra’s hand trembled as she lowered her coffee mug to the table. “We’ve already been through this, Ryder. We wanted a baby and couldn’t have one. Your father met this lawyer who said he’d found a little boy for us.”
“What was the lawyer’s name?”
A seed of panic flared in her eyes before she masked it. “Frost. William Frost.”
