by Stacy Finz
“What drags your ass out of bed this early?” Jace asked his cousin.
“That investigator I told you about called. He thinks he has a lead on Angie.”
Charlotte had heard the men talk about Sawyer’s sister once or twice. From what she had gleaned from the conversation, Angie was missing.
“I hope you’ve thoroughly vetted this guy.” Jace got up from the table and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Some of these investigators have been known to come up with leads”—he made finger quotes in the air around the word “leads”—“when they think the gravy train is about to run dry.”
“Of course I vetted him. I’m a fucking journalist, Jace.”
They both at the same time looked at Charlotte. “Sorry for the language,” Sawyer said.
She snorted. “Seriously?”
A ghost of a smile appeared on Jace’s lips and he turned back to Sawyer. “What’s the lead?”
“He says two years ago, Angie was living in a co-op in New Mexico. Some kind of new age thing in the desert, near Taos.”
“That sounds like Angela. But two years… that’s a long time ago, Sawyer. She could be anywhere by now.”
“It’s something to go on, though.”
Charlotte heard so much hope in Sawyer’s voice that she assumed it was a good lead. But when she caught Jace’s eye there was sadness there, not hope. It made Charlotte wonder how many times Sawyer had gone down this road, only to reach a dead end.
“Has he talked to any of the folks in the co-op? Does it even exist anymore?” Jace pointed at the pan on the top of the stove. “Your omelet’s burning.”
Sawyer turned down the heat. “He hasn’t gotten that far yet. He needed my authorization to go to New Mexico. I’m tempted to go myself, but I’ve got a deadline.”
“Did you give him the authorization then?”
“Of course I did.”
Jace rubbed his hand down his face. “Maybe it would’ve been wiser to make a couple of phone calls first. See what you could find out about this so-called co-op.”
“I plan on it. But this guy’s good, better than all the others I’ve hired.”
“That’s my point, Sawyer. Why is he able to dig up stuff no one else has?”
“I don’t know, Jace. Why are you a better sheriff’s candidate than Jacob Jolly? Why was Cash a better FBI agent than the whole damn Bureau?”
“Just do yourself a favor and check some of this stuff out before you give this guy a blank check,” Jace said.
Charlotte didn’t know any details about Angie, but reading between the lines she got the distinct impression Jace wasn’t buying the investigator’s findings. It was a shame because Angie’s disappearance was obviously a great source of sorrow in the family. Later, after Sawyer left, she planned to ask Jace to tell her the full story.
That was another thing that had happened in the weeks she’d lived at Dry Creek Ranch. She no longer tiptoed around questions she had or topics she wanted to discuss, fearful that Jace would bite her head off. Jace was always patient, always happy to answer her questions about ranch life or respond to personal inquiries such as how he planned to pay the back taxes. Their conversations were always open and Jace never showed a trace of condescension, even though she knew next to nothing about cattle or law enforcement. A few times she’d even broached the subject of Mary Ann.
While he always responded in that concise, unvarnished way of his, he never said anything disparaging about his ex. He never let on that he was disgusted that she’d left two boys in order to move to France, though Charlotte could only assume he was. However bad the marriage might’ve been, how do you abandon your children? And, really, how terrible could the relationship have been? Waking up in the same house as Jace every morning wasn’t a hardship. Not even close. He was honorable, dependable, protective…the list went on and on.
Charlotte’s only insight into Mary Ann, besides the fact that she’d left her boys motherless, came from Aubrey. And according to Jace’s best friend—perhaps not the most objective person—Mary Ann was simply a woman who was never happy. Charlotte had certainly known people like that—Corbin, for one—making her think Aubrey’s assessment was probably the truth.
Especially because Charlotte had no evidence that Jace was an ogre. Just the opposite, in fact.
Sawyer pushed an omelet under her nose. The eggs were brown around the edges. Overcooked. But Charlotte took a big bite anyway because she didn’t want to be rude. Besides, her appetite had returned in a big way since losing the baby. She’d been eating three meals a day, often packing herself the same school lunch she made for the boys to take with her to the workshop.
“Charlie and I were just talking about a way to monetize the ranch,” Jace said.
Sawyer looked up from his plate, gave Charlotte a cool assessment, and went back to eating. “You mean besides the cattle?”
“Yeah. Like the McCourtney’s pumpkin patch and country store.”
“Last I looked, we don’t grow pumpkins.”
Jace smacked the top of Sawyer’s head. “No, but maybe we should. I hear they’re raking it in.”
“Too seasonal. We need something year-round,” Sawyer said, surprising Charlotte for taking her idea seriously. “Let me think about it, do a little research. Whatever we decide, though, won’t pay out fast enough for us to make the back taxes. I’ll talk to my parents.”
Charlotte saw Jace bristle. “I told you I don’t want to ask them for money.”
“It would just be a loan.”
“Damnit, we talked about this, Sawyer. You agreed that we’d do this on our own.”
“No, you talked about it,” Sawyer said around a full mouth. “I didn’t agree to anything. My parents are loaded and this is our family legacy we’re talking about, not a handout for a startup. They don’t want us to lose it as much as we don’t want to lose it.”
Jace shook his head. “If you want to ask them for your share, go right ahead. But I’ll take care of my own. I suspect Cash will say the same, but that’s between you and him. I’ve got to get to work.”
He grabbed his hat and vest from the mudroom and Charlotte watched him get inside his police SUV.
“He’s a stubborn SOB,” Sawyer said almost to himself.
“Do you really think you’re at risk of losing the ranch?” Coming from the help, it was a presumptuous question but Jace had never made her feel like a hired hand. And she knew how much he valued his grandfather’s bequest.
He gave her another appraisal, this one cooler than the first. She thought he was going to tell her to mind her own business but he shrugged instead.
“If he continues to be that bullheaded about it, we will. We owe two hundred thousand dollars. After putting food on the table, paying the electric bill, and keeping shoes on the kids’ feet, there isn’t a lot left over in a sheriff’s salary. And if he continues to deny the fact that Jacob Jolly is a real contender for his job, Jace won’t even have his crappy sheriff’s salary.”
“It’s that serious?” Aubrey had said as much, but Charlotte wondered if she’d been overreacting.
Sawyer didn’t respond in words, just pinned her with a look.
Oh boy. Sawyer struck Charlotte as someone who knew the score. “What should he be doing that he’s not?” she asked.
“A good start would be raising money for advertising. I think he has all of a thousand bucks in his campaign fund. That won’t even buy him a display ad in the Dry Creek supermarket circular. He could use some billboards along the highway, a few full-page newspaper ads, and mailers that should go out to everyone in the county. Ideally, as we get closer to the primary, he should air a couple of TV spots on one of the regional cable stations. Hell, at this point, I’d be happy if he had buttons and bumper stickers to give away. But my cousin seems to think he’ll be reelected on his job performance
alone. Pretty damn naïve if you ask me.”
Jace wasn’t naïve. Just the opposite. Being a cop all these years, he’d probably seen it all. But Sawyer was right, Jace did take the attitude that his work spoke for itself. Unfortunately, voters were often more taken with flash and disingenuous promises.
“What about holding an expensive dinner for donors?” She’d been to several for Corbin’s father. They’d been tedious and the food had been awful, but they’d raised a lot of money.
Sawyer chuckled. “I don’t think a fancy rubber-chicken dinner would go over too well around here. But a barbecue might. We could serve Dalton beef to remind everyone of Jace’s roots in the community, charge eighty bucks a head, and Jace could mingle with his constituents. We could show a video chronicling his accomplishments. He might not raise a lot of cash, but at least he’d get himself back in the game.”
Charlotte nodded. She liked the idea. “Okay, how do we proceed? Should one of us talk to Tiffany?”
Sawyer hopped off the stool and walked his plate to the dishwasher. “You better talk to Jace about it first. I’d do it, but you saw how well he listens to me. You, on the other hand…let’s just say you have his ear. That’s saying a lot because no one has had it for a long time.” He gave her a hard stare. “I hope you’ll keep that in mind. He’s had enough hurt in his life; he and the boys don’t need any more.” With that he walked out and headed across the field to that penthouse apartment he lived in.
She didn’t quite know what to do with Sawyer’s statement and spent much of the day pretending not to give it any weight. When Jace got home that evening she told him about the idea for the barbecue.
“I’ve had ’em before,” he said as he came up behind her to sniff the potato soup she was making.
The sheer size of him hulking over her should’ve filled her with unease. Instead, she felt cocooned. Warm and safe and aware of him in the way a woman is of a man whom she longs to be touched by. The truth was she’d been thinking of him—and touching—a lot. The revelation was as strange as her desire to feel a man’s arms around her again. It had been a long time since she’d wanted intimacy.
Yet, with Jace it was all she could think about.
“After buying all the supplies I pretty much just broke even,” he continued, unaware of the effect his proximity was having on her.
“Sawyer said we could use beef from the ranch.” She moved away from the pot to gain a little distance and immediately felt bereft of his body heat. Funny, because she hadn’t been cold before he’d walked in the door.
“Yeah, we can do that. But there’s still everything else. All the fixings. Drinks. Staff. It adds up.”
“Maybe we could get donations and volunteers.” Off the top of her head, Charlotte could think of at least a dozen women who would be more than happy to help if it meant getting closer to Jace. And Tiffany would know others to hit up.
Jace scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I’ll think about it.”
“I could organize it for you,” she blurted out, adding, “with Tiffany’s help of course.”
“Yeah?” His lips ticked up and she felt her heart bounce up and down like a teeter-totter. “I suppose we could do it at the ranch, break out some of the old outdoor heaters and build a big bonfire.”
“Absolutely, though it’s getting warmer.” She was excited for the chance to return some of the generosity he’d shown her. And a party. She used to love throwing parties.
Charlotte and Allison had thrown a sixtieth birthday party for their mother that friends and relatives still talked about. They’d blocked off their parents’ street and turned it into a park with dozens of potted trees, flower boxes, and hundreds of twinkly lights. They’d even hired street vendors and a swing band to play on a stage made to look like an old-time park gazebo.
The entire event had been magical.
“I’ll call Tiffany right after dinner,” she said. “I bet Aubrey would like to help too.”
“Whomever you want.” He shrugged but he was still smiling. “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
She reached up into the cupboard for bowls when she felt him behind her again. When she turned around, his startling blue eyes locked with hers. They just stood there like that and Charlotte was sure Jace was going to kiss her. But just like that he quickly moved away.
“Should I call the boys in for dinner?”
“Sure,” she said and began setting the table so he wouldn’t see the disappointment on her face. She’d wanted that kiss. God, how she had wanted it.
And what the hell was wrong with her? Kisses, touches. She’d just escaped a horrible relationship. Not more than a month ago, she’d lost a child. And now she was dreaming about Jace Dalton. No wonder she was the queen of bad choices.
Jace yelled to Travis and Grady and within a few minutes the boys swarmed the kitchen.
“Charlie, can my friend Joshua come over after school tomorrow? Please?” Grady wrapped his arms around her waist. The boy was a little charmer.
She looked at Jace, who responded, “It’s up to you. You’re the one in charge while I’m at work.”
You’re in charge.
He had no idea how much those words meant to her, how they helped restore a piece of her self-esteem. His belief in her should’ve been enough. It should’ve been everything. What did it say about her that she wanted more? So much more.
Chapter 13
Jace turned in early that night. After dinner he usually enjoyed a glass of wine and conversation with Charlie in his study. But tonight he wasn’t interested in talking. What he was interested in wasn’t in the cards.
His head knew that. Unfortunately, his body hadn’t gotten the memo.
Maybe he should call Antonia, a woman he occasionally saw in Nevada City in the neighboring county. She’d moved up to Gold Country about two years ago and owned a pottery studio on the main drag in town. He’d met her while browsing her shop for a gift to buy his secretary. In the looks department, she’d reminded him a little of Mary Ann. Blond, pale blue eyes, fair skin, rocking body. The similarities stopped there, though. Antonia was focused, rooted, and committed to the community. The previous year, she’d taken over the space next to her small store and expanded.
They’d had a nice thing going. No demands, no expectations. Just a monthly date in which Jace took her to dinner or in summertime, dinner and an outdoor concert. He enjoyed listening to her talk about art, which he knew nothing about. She pretended to be interested in ranching and Jace’s sons.
Mostly, they enjoyed the sex.
But ever since Charlie had moved in, he’d stopped seeing Antonia. He didn’t feel right about jumping into the sack with one woman while his mind was on another. Now, he questioned the sanity of that decision.
It was getting more difficult every day. Like the night before, when Grady had accidentally broken a water jug. The sound of smashing glass must’ve triggered a bad memory because Charlie went white as a sheet. It had taken the strength of Hercules to stop Jace from taking her in his arms and kissing away whatever flashback she was having.
Then, there were nights when the vision of her, sitting cross-legged on the couch by the fire with her dark hair loose around her shoulders, made him so hard he’d have to get up to leave the room.
But he wouldn’t let things get out of control. Charlie was under his protection, for Christ’s sake. As long as she lived under his roof, he wouldn’t touch her.
Not unless she touched him first.
* * * *
The next morning, she waited in the kitchen for him with a thermos of coffee. It had become part of their routine. By the time he got back from checking on the cattle, she’d have breakfast made. The two of them would eat together and talk about their respective plans for the day until Travis and Grady dragged themselves out of bed.
It was Jace’s favorite part of the day.
“It’s not as cold as it was yesterday.”
“March is almost here.” He eyed her feet. Although she was dressed, she still had on a pair of fuzzy slippers. “You’ve been outside already?”
“Just on the back porch.” She hugged herself and smiled. “It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day.”
It was barely light outside, but in Jace’s experience a rancher could predict the weather better than a meteorologist. “This place is turning you into a cowgirl.”
“You think?” The way her face glowed, she’d taken the comment as high praise.
“You want to drive out with me to the back pasture? We’ll take my truck.” Most of the time he saddled up Amigo, but Charlie didn’t know how to ride. Someday soon, though, Jace would get her on the back of a horse.
“What about breakfast?”
“We’ll make it when we get back.” His eyes fell to her feet again. “Go put on a pair of boots.” The only ones she had stopped short of her ankles and had probably been purchased in a high-end shoe store. But they were better than slippers.
“You sure? What about the boys?”
“They’ll be fine. Now, giddyup, daylight’s burning.”
A few minutes later, she met him in the mudroom, raring to go. He helped her into the cab of his truck and they rode the short distance to the cattle barn in silence.
Jace killed the engine. “What are you sighing about over there?”
“It’s so beautiful here.” She turned sideways in her seat. “Did you always love it? Or did you dream as a boy of running off to the big city?”
He chuckled. “Never. From the time I was born this ranch was in my blood. Cash and Sawyer’s too. Grandpa Dalton used to say it skipped a generation.”
“Your parents didn’t love it here?”
“They did. If my father hadn’t been killed in the crash, he’d probably be running the ranch now.” He paused. It had been more than a couple of decades since a drunk had plowed into his father’s truck on Highway 49, but Jace still missed them every day. “Cash and Sawyer’s fathers weren’t into it, though. Uncle Jed and Uncle Dan weren’t cut from the same cloth as Grandpa Dalton. Cash’s dad wanted to be a cop.” His lips tipped up. “Like I told you, I probably got that from him. And Uncle Dan…Sawyer’s dad…owns a big PR firm in Los Angeles. They represent celebrities, rock stars, big athletes. Their specialty is crisis management.”
