by Stacy Finz
“Last I looked you were married,” Jace said.
“Are you kidding me? Laney would throw me over in a big-city minute for one of you fellows.”
“Watch out for Sawyer. He’s got his eye on her,” Cash said. Laney was roughly the same age as their late grandmother.
Jimmy Ray threw his head back and laughed. “I’d pay him to take her off my hands.”
The old man was full of shit. Laney and Jimmy Ray might fight like cats and dogs but they’d been together longer than Jace had been alive. When Jimmy Ray had his triple heart-bypass, Laney closed the restaurant and never left his bedside. Ten days she held vigil.
That was love for you.
Cash took care of the bill and they walked back to the sheriff’s department together.
“Light day?” Jace grabbed his messages on his way to his office.
“Yep. I’ll probably swing by Tractor Supply to get Ellie a saddle blanket.”
“You bought that fancy horse?”
Cash nodded. “It was love at first sight. Unfortunately, my wallet isn’t feeling the romance.”
“The kid deserves some spoiling after what she’s been through. Plus, taking care of a horse builds character.”
“I’ve never seen her this excited. She was up before dawn and at the barn by sunrise to fuss over the mare before school.”
“The mare have a name?”
“Sunflower.”
Jace snorted. “What the hell kind of name is that for a horse?”
“The one the previous owner gave it.” Cash checked his watch. “I better get going. I promised we’d go for a ride after Ellie gets out of school. You need anything from Tractor Supply?”
“I’m good. Enjoy your ride. I’ll be down at the barn later to check out this Sunflower.”
After Cash left, Jace settled in to catch up on paperwork but found his mind straying to Charlie again. Pretty soon, she’d be picking up the boys and ferrying Travis to his meeting. He started to pick up the phone and just as quickly put it down. She didn’t need him micromanaging her.
Instead, he started nosing around on the internet, more than likely a worthless endeavor. If Charlie had given him a fake name, which he was pretty sure she had, there wouldn’t be anything to find. So he focused on the Rosie the Riveter Foundation. The nonprofit maintained a low profile in cyberspace. Jace couldn’t find any news stories on the place, nor much of anything else. The website was also short on information. There was a photo gallery of women at various jobs with testimonials about how the foundation helped them find work. But something about the pictures, the stilted smiles and the uniform settings, made Jace think they were staged.
He called the phone number on the homepage and got a recording. “Thanks for calling. Please leave a message and someone will get back to you shortly.”
Sawyer had probably been right about the foundation being a front for an organization that helped women disappear. Why else would Charlie’s car registration come back to the address, unless they were helping her maintain anonymity?
He called up the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System on his computer. But without having a real name or knowing whether Charlie had even been reported missing was a lot like searching for a stray calf in a wildfire. About 600,000 people went missing a year. He’d learned the significance of that staggering number when they’d first started searching for Angie. So to simply peruse photos would take weeks, even months.
Fed up, he went back to his paperwork. Ten minutes into it, he picked up the phone. Jace had a friend at San Francisco PD. They’d gone through the academy together in Roseville. After a year on the force, Chris got a job in San Francisco, where his girlfriend was going to dental school. Last year, he’d made sergeant and was working property crimes.
It was a long shot but worth a try.
“Hey, long time, no see,” Chris answered, obviously recognizing Jace’s number. “You still sheriff up there?”
“For now. How’s life in the city?”
“Good. Just bought a place in the East Bay. How ʼbout you? How’s that big ole ranch of yours?”
“A handful but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. You got a couple of minutes for me to pick your brain?”
“Of course I do. What’s up?”
“You ever hear of a nonprofit called the Rosie the Riveter Foundation? It’s on South Van Ness, I think in the Mission District.”
“It’s not ringing a bell. Why, is it in trouble?”
“No. It claims to help disadvantaged women find jobs…get them back on their feet. But rumor has it that it’s one of those underground organizations that assist women in escaping abusive relationships. I’ve got a situation here where something like that might be useful.” Out of respect for Charlie’s privacy, he didn’t want to give too much away.
“You try calling over there and introducing yourself?”
“No answer. But I figure they might be leery of someone they don’t know, even someone in law enforcement.” Or especially someone in law enforcement. These kinds of groups liked to fly under the radar.
“You want me to do some asking around?” Chris said.
“I’d owe you one.”
“A weekend fishing at that ranch of yours should do it.”
“You’ve got it.” Jace would welcome a visit with his old friend.
“You ever hear from Mary Ann?” Chris asked.
Jace took a long pause. “Last I heard she was still living in France with that dude she met in Costa Rica.”
“That sucks, man.”
For the boys, yeah it sucked. “It is what it is.”
“You seeing anyone? Diane’s got a lot of single friends.”
Jace laughed. “Maybe after that weekend fishing I’ll come to San Francisco, see your new place and meet some of Diane’s friends.” It wouldn’t kill him to get out every once in a while and meet some women he hadn’t gone to preschool with.
“Sounds like a plan. Give me a day or so to do some poking around.”
“Thanks, Chris. I appreciate it.”
Jace worked until six and went home. The boys’ boots, jackets, and backpacks were lined up neatly in the mudroom and something coming from the kitchen smelled amazing. Best of all, he didn’t hear the television turned up to an earsplitting volume or “I’m going to kill you” being yelled from anywhere in the house. Unless aliens had landed and kidnapped his family, all seemed right with the world.
“Anyone home?” He wandered into the kitchen to find Sawyer sprawled out at his breakfast table and Charlie stirring a pot on the stove.
“We’re here.” Charlie reached up to grab a stack of plates from the cupboard and Jace watched Sawyer follow her with his eyes until his gaze rested on her ass.
Behind Charlie’s back, Jace stuck his palm under Sawyer’s chin and snapped his cousin’s mouth closed. Sawyer lifted his shoulders apologetically.
Charlie turned around and brought the plates to the table. “You have a good day?”
He started to say that no one had died and decided to save the gallows humor for his cousins. Sawyer might not be a cop but he was a journalist. Same off-color jokes. Charlie probably wouldn’t appreciate them. Most didn’t.
“Not bad,” he said. “Where’s Travis and Grady?”
“Doing their homework in your study. Uh, that’s okay, right? If not—”
“It’s fine.” He took the plates from her and set them around the table. “They like to use the computer in there.”
“I just don’t want to do anything wrong.” She went back to the stove and continued stirring.
He exchanged a glance with Sawyer. “Looks to me like you’ve got everything handled.” He gazed around his tidy kitchen and nudged his head at the pot. “What’re you cooking there?”
“Chili. Is that okay? Your refr
igerator has more beef in it than the meat aisle at Safeway. I thought I’d put some of it to good use.”
“Chili’s great. Thank you.” Homemade food, a clean house, quiet kids, he sure the hell wasn’t complaining. “Everything go well today?”
“No problems,” she said. “The boys were wonderful.”
Sawyer choked on his beer. “Someone must’ve replaced them with someone else’s kids.”
Jace added, “No ER visits, I guess.”
“Nope, though Grady is probably suffering from a sugar high. He and I went to the coffee shop to kill time while Travis was at his meeting, and he had two pieces of carrot cake and a big cookie. He swears he’ll still have room for dinner.”
“He will,” both Jace and Sawyer said at the same time. The kid could pack it in.
Sawyer got up, leaned over the big pot, and took a whiff of the chili. “Smells great. Unfortunately, I can’t stay.”
“Unfortunate for whom?” Jace quipped. “Here, let me walk you out.”
Sawyer responded by giving Jace the finger.
Charlie seemed somewhat taken aback. He’d have to explain to her later that this is how the Daltons showed affection.
Sawyer prepared to leave and Jace followed him out to the back porch. “How was New York?”
“Cold but productive.” Sawyer bobbed his head at the house. “You failed to mention that your damsel in distress is smoking hot. Like Penelope Cruz hot.”
“She’s also got more baggage than a packhorse.”
“Who doesn’t?”
Jace gave his cousin a long, hard assessment. Despite covering two wars and crawling into the dankest corners of hell, Sawyer usually pretended that his life was a freaking rose garden. And why not? He was successful, rich, and his parents’ crown prince.
But Jace knew better.
The day Angela fell off the face of the earth was the day his cousin had lost his light. He still burned bright to those who didn’t really know him. But if you did, it was as if someone had replaced the sun with a fluorescent bulb.
“Yep.” Jace nodded. “Who doesn’t? The thing is, I’m not looking for any more to add to my already heavy load.”
“No?” Sawyer jogged down the stairs to hoof it home in the dark. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Jace stood in the cold, watching as Sawyer crossed the field to the barn he’d converted into a New York–style penthouse. His cousin had more money than he had good sense. Jace was giving Charlie a week. That’s all.
He went inside to check on the boys and change out of his uniform. By the time he returned to the kitchen, Charlie had finished setting the table.
“Dinner is ready,” she said and took a loaf of bread out of the oven.
The four of them ate together, Travis and Grady talking over each other until the room reached a decibel level that could turn a person deaf. Charlie didn’t seem to mind that her pretty table and tasty meal were overshadowed by Grady’s descriptive story of how Arnie Judson ate six fish-stick tacos at lunch and proceeded to projectile-vomit across the cafeteria.
“Hey, buddy, how ʼbout we not tell that story at dinnertime?”
“But Dad, it was epic.”
“Sounds like it was, but we’re eating, Grady. Mrs. Rogers went to a lot of trouble to—”
“She said we can call her Charlie,” Grady interrupted.
Charlie’s lips curved up and Jace felt her smile right in his gut. Just one week, he told himself.
* * * *
After dinner, Jace helped Charlotte do the dishes so the boys could finish their homework.
Together, they found a nice groove, Charlotte rinsing the dishes and Jace loading them into the washer. Corbin’s idea of helping was to criticize.
Charlotte, you’re wasting water. Charlotte, how many times do I have to tell you to buy the eco-friendly soap, not this shit?
“The chili was delicious,” Jace said. “Family recipe?”
“Uh, no, just something I made up.” Once upon a time, she’d liked to cook.
Charlotte, stick to reservations. I told you my mother was a Cordon Bleu–trained chef.
“Jace?” It was the first time she’d ever called him by his first name and it felt weird. A little too intimate, even if they were living under the same roof. “I did something impulsive today and I should’ve checked with you first.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” He looked up from the dishwasher, curiosity streaked across his face. It was certainly better than the alternative: anger.
“I stopped by this farmer’s house on the way home from dropping the boys off at school. He was having a yard sale and I bought a few things.” She inwardly cringed. It was a lot more than a few things. “And I was wondering if I could store them in one of your empty outbuildings and if so, could I borrow your truck?”
She held her breath, suddenly realizing just how presumptuous her request was. She was only here for a week and was treating the place like her personal storage facility.
“Sure,” he said, completely unfazed. “Who was the farmer?”
“Uh, an elderly man…Maitland he said his name was.”
Jace stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “Old man Maitland on the other side of town? That barn full of junk?” It wasn’t said as a rebuke, mostly just bafflement.
“Not junk exactly, but when I’m finished it’ll be extremely saleable.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing this.” He didn’t seem altogether confident, but at least he wasn’t belittling her.
The question was, how would she go about selling the pieces without a shop or a permanent address? Online stores like Etsy would be too risky and the first place Corbin would look. She’d figure it out later. For now, it just felt good to be creating again.
“You need the truck to pick the stuff up?”
“Uh-huh. I’ll be very careful with it.”
“I’ll pick it up for you,” he volunteered. “I assume tomorrow’s okay.”
“Tomorrow would be fantastic. Thank you.”
“I’ve gotta say I’m curious to see what you’ve got cooking here. From what I can remember it was mostly rundown farm equipment. Nothing even salvageable. Hope you didn’t pay too much.”
“Nope.” She laughed. “It was a real bargain. Free.”
“Free? You’re kidding me. Old man Maitland is a tightwad. He must have a thing for pretty brunettes,” Jace said and Charlotte felt her face heat.
His broad shoulder accidentally brushed against her arm as he walked to the refrigerator, and she got goose bumps. The reaction was a little startling. After she got pregnant, sex with Corbin had become an exercise in humility. Corbin had never forced her, but saying no had never felt like a viable option. Even before getting pregnant, she’d begun to detest his touch.
For a fleeting second, she wondered what it would be like with Jace, and just as quickly banished the thought from her head.
He discreetly glanced at her ring finger, something she noticed he did frequently. Her phony wedding set—thirty-nine dollars at Macy’s—was somewhere at the bottom of her purse. Meredith said a married pregnant woman would be less conspicuous than an unwed one. Charlotte had thought it was overkill, but Meredith was the expert.
“Charlie—” he started to say but didn’t finish.
“Yes?” she said, even though she sensed he wanted to ask a question she wasn’t supposed to answer.
He leaned against the fridge door and for a moment just stood there, considering her over the rim of his beer bottle. Then he stepped toward her, stopped himself, and abruptly said, “I’m turning in for the night.”
It was only seven.
He headed for his study. She heard him say something to the boys, then footsteps down the long hallway, and a door shutting. She went to her own room, where she took her cell into the b
athroom.
It was time to call Meredith.
Chapter 9
The next day, after dropping Travis and Grady at school, Charlotte met Jace at Mr. Maitland’s farm. Jace had ditched his uniform for a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. It was a good thing he had, because by the time he loaded the back of his pickup with Charlotte’s assortment of castoffs he was covered in dirt, dust, and rust.
“You’ve got a cobweb on your hat.” Charlotte reached up to swipe it off his Stetson, surprising herself with her boldness.
He leaned down so she could finish the job. “It’s seen worse.” He stood back to appraise the pile. “I guess one man’s junk is another’s treasure.” He climbed into the back to tie everything down securely.
Charlotte felt guilty about pulling him away from work, but she had enjoyed watching him load. There was a beauty to his efficiency—and all those straining muscles. He’d been so cheerful about it that it had lifted her spirits.
The previous night’s discussion with Meredith had made for a sleepless night. Corbin was ramping up his search for her and had even taken the extreme measure of calling in his father to put pressure on the police to treat Charlotte as a high-priority missing-persons case.
Meredith would’ve preferred that Charlotte get as far away from California as she could. But she hadn’t yet found Charlotte a place to land.
“When I do, you’ve got to drop everything and go. Like the wind,” Meredith had warned.
In the meantime, she’d have to be even more vigilant about flying under the radar. Tough to do when she lived with a cop. Luckily, Dry Creek seemed to be an island unto itself, even if it was only a couple of hours from a major city.
“Are we good?” Charlotte called up to him.
He jumped down from the bed of the truck. “We should make it home without anything falling out.”
Mr. Maitland sat on an upended bucket, watching from a distance. Occasionally, he’d shout advice. Jace would nod but inevitably ignore the suggestion.
“Do you have to get back to the office? If not, I could make you lunch.” It was the least Charlotte could do. Jace had gone to so much trouble on her behalf, even if he did think she was nuts. A few times she’d caught him staring at her new pile of possessions with a bewildered expression on his face.
