The Daddy Survey

by Janis Reams Hudson

  “What did I tell you?” Howard ranted. “Trouble. Nothing but trouble.”

  Outside, the roar and rattle of a semi, the swish of its air brakes, sent a new fear stabbing at Emily’s heart. She whirled toward the door. “The highway!” What if Libby had decided to cross the highway? She was so tiny. Cars and trucks sped past the café at sixty miles an hour or faster. “Libby, dear God.”

  Sloan heard Emily’s desperate whisper. “Would she go out there?”

  “What?” Distracted, horrified by visions of Libby’s tiny body splattered across the blacktop, Emily turned toward the man who had quit her job for her. A small detail about which she couldn’t be bothered just then.

  “The road,” Sloan said. “Would she try to cross it?”

  Emily swallowed. “She knows she’s not allowed to, but we’re staying at the motel over there, so she might—” She was rambling. It was the fear. Neither of her children had ever gone missing before. She couldn’t just stand there and wring her hands, she had to do something.

  She made a dash for the door. “Janie, you stay here.”

  A hushed murmur spread throughout the dining room.

  Sloan took command. He sent two men to the gas station across the corner, and another two to the garage west of the café. “Look everywhere,” he ordered them. “In every place a little girl can hide, inside and outside the buildings. Then come back here and tell Janie what you find. Okay, Janie?”

  Her face pale, eyes so big behind her glasses that they threatened to swallow her face, Janie nodded. “Okay, Mr. Sloan. But where are you going?”

  “I’m going to look around out back, just to be sure.” If Libby’s feelings were hurt because of that jackass Bisman, there was no telling where the poor kid might have gone.

  Libby’s feelings were, indeed, hurt. She was crushed. But she wasn’t at the motel where her mother looked. She wanted to be, wanted to curl up in the bed she shared with her sister and pull the covers over her head. But she wasn’t allowed to cross the road without her mother.

  Besides, she couldn’t go out the front door of the café without everybody hearing the bell over the door tinkle.

  She didn’t want to sneak away, she wanted to have Mommy hold her and tell her everything would be all right. But Libby didn’t deserve to be held in Mommy’s arms. She’d been a brat—Mr. Bisman said so—and she’d gotten her mommy fired.

  Libby knew what a brat was. After all, she wasn’t a baby anymore, she was six. In three months she’d be six and a half. Not a baby.

  But she felt like a baby as she huddled up against the back side of the big trash bin behind the café and swiped tears from her cheeks.

  It was Sloan who found her as he searched behind the café.

  The sound of a sniff pulled him around the Dumpster, and there she sat, huddled in on herself, arms around her raised knees, head buried, shoulders heaving with each sob.

  “Ah, sweetheart.” He knelt beside her, his heart breaking. “Don’t let that blowhard upset you.”

  She sniffed and looked up at him through lashes clumped with tears. Her cheeks were soaked. “What’s a bo-hard?”

  Unmindful of whatever substances might have missed the Dumpster and landed on the ground behind it, Sloan sat beside Libby and chuckled. “Blowhard. Well, it’s someone who talks just to hear himself run off at the mouth. Like a big gust of wind. Lots of noise, but in the end it’s nothing important.”

  Libby sniffed again. “I got Mommy fired. We’re gonna be homeless now.”

  Sloan slipped an arm around the child and hugged her to his side. “Ah, sweetheart, you’re not going to be homeless.”

  She looked up at him like a puppy begging for table scraps. “Really?”

  “Really. Now, come on. You got your mommy all worried about you, sneaking out like this. We better go find her and let her know you’re all right, don’t you think? She’s awful worried. You might have to tell her you’re sorry for scaring her so bad.”

  Sniff. “Okay, Mr. Sloan.”

  After failing to find any trace of Libby at the motel, Emily rushed back across the road. She burst through the café door just as Sloan led Libby in through the rear entrance. With a glad cry, Emily flew across the dining room and swept her baby up in her arms.

  She was so relieved to have her daughter back safe and sound that it was several long moments before she realized that she was being rushed from the café, one daughter on her hip, the other at her side. Shock held her silent until they were halfway across the parking lot. There she came to a halt and stared at the man her daughters called Mr. Sloan.

  “What have you done?” she managed, stunned.

  “Found your missing daughter?”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “And for that I will be eternally grateful. But you told him I quit my job!”

  “I’m sorry.” He took her by the arm and turned her again toward the road. “But you’re better off not working for that creep, anyway.”

  “Better off?” At the edge of the parking lot she dug in her heels and pulled her arm free from his grasp. “Better off? With no job, no place to stay? I’d say you’ve put us out on the street, but look around! There is no street. There’s only a highway, and my car is dead.” She was starting to rant; fresh panic was taking over. “How am I better off?”

  Libby sniffed and quieted. “I got us fired, Mommy.”

  “No, honey, no, you didn’t get us fired.” Emily shifted Libby, still on her hip. As she kissed her daughter’s forehead, she shot a glare at the true culprit. “Mr. Sloan got us fired.”

  The sudden bane of her existence raised a palm. “I said I was sorry. I screwed up, didn’t handle it well.”

  Emily gave him a sickly smile. “Gee, that helps, mister. Thank you.” With her stomach in knots, she turned away and faced the road. What was she going to do? Where could they go? How would they get there?

  If the girls weren’t with her, she would turn and scream at the man who had brought this latest disaster upon them. She would cuss and kick and maybe even punch him in the nose. But her girls were with her, and she didn’t want them to see their mother turn into a madwoman before their eyes.

  It was just as well, because, in all honesty, she had to admit that she’d been expecting Howard to fire her for the past three days. Ever since his wife had gone to see her mother up in Denver and left him in charge. With Margaret away, fat, balding Howard, with his sweaty hands and sly eyes, liked to play. With his female employees.

  None of them went along with him, as far as Emily could tell, but she had been taken completely by surprise at his unwanted advances. He had always seemed so nice to her. But, then, Margaret had always been around.

  When he trapped Emily beside the cooler, her reaction had been less than polite. She hadn’t meant to give him a bloody nose. Not really. She’d never hit anyone before in her life. But when he had grabbed her breast and squeezed, she had simply reacted.

  Frankly, she had been surprised he hadn’t fired her then and there.

  Now he had; he’d merely used today’s accident as an excuse. She didn’t know what to do. Dear God, what could she do? She had enough money to get them to Fort Smith on the bus, but the route didn’t come through The Corner. She had no idea where she would have to go to get on, or how to get there if she did.

  “Just how bad a spot are you in?” the man named Sloan asked.

  Emily glared at him. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I beg to differ, since I guess it’s partly my fault, at least according to you.”

  “You helped, that’s for sure,” she muttered.

  “Look,” he said, turning her to face him. “If it’s a job you need, maybe I can help.”

  Emily turned away and started across the empty highway toward the motel. “Well, unless it’s within walking distance—” The only things within fifty miles were the café, the motel, the garage, the gas station. “—I’ll have to pass, thank you all the s
ame.”

  “What’s wrong with your car?”

  Emily had hoped the man would get the message and take off, but no such luck. He flanked Janie and crossed the highway with them.

  “I don’t know,” she said irritably. “Something about the oil not circulating through the engine. They say they have to take the whole engine out, but they won’t start until I have the money to pay for it. Which was why I was working at the café. I was working at the motel in exchange for a room for us.”

  Sloan winced at the situation Emily and her daughters found themselves in. And he had cost her the job. Both jobs.

  Well, okay. If he was the cause, he would have to be the solution. “Can you keep house?”

  “I beg your pardon?” She passed the motel office and stopped at the door to room twelve.

  “You know, cook, dust, vacuum, laundry. That sort of thing. Keep house.”

  She gave a small chuckle that sounded sad to his ears. “I don’t know much else, but housekeeping I do know.”

  “Then come to work for me at the ranch. We’ll tow your car behind us. My brother Caleb is the best mechanic in three counties, and he works cheap.”

  Emily shook her head. “What kind of irresponsible mother would I be if I took my daughters and drove off with a total stranger?”

  “Mommy?” Libby, still riding on Emily’s hip, poked her mother in the shoulder.

  “In a minute, sweetie.”

  “I can appreciate how you must feel,” the man said. “You barely know me from Adam.”

  “Mommy,” Libby insisted. “Mommy, he’s not a stranger, he’s Mr. Sloan.”

  Janie squeezed Emily’s hand. “Libby’s right, Mother, he’s Mr. Sloan, not a stranger.”

  Emily swallowed rather than let out the scream of frustration that wanted to erupt from her throat. “Yes, honey, I know.”

  “Look,” Sloan said. “Just wait here a minute. I’ll be right back.” He turned and headed back toward the road.

  Emily opened the door to her room and took the girls inside. She didn’t have time to worry about Mr. Sloan or his housekeeping job, Lord knew where. Take her girls and ride off with a total stranger? What did he think she was, a gullible idiot? She would have to be criminally stupid to simply take his word for anything. She had to figure out what she was going to do. She couldn’t stay here any longer.

  In the two minutes before the man named Sloan returned and knocked on the door, Emily came up with absolutely nothing. No job, no plan, no option other than to call her cousin Brenda in Fort Smith, but that was no option. Brenda didn’t have the money to lend her to get her car fixed.

  The only thing Emily knew to do was find someone to take them to the nearest bus station. She had enough money to get the three of them to Fort Smith, but she would have to abandon her car. How would she get around in Fort Smith without a car? How would she ever afford a new one?

  Now, here was the bane of her existence, at her door like a pesky encyclopedia salesman.

  Come to think of it, since everything was on the Internet these days, she wasn’t sure they even had door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen anymore.

  Lord, she must be losing it to let her mind wander into such trivial territory while a crisis loomed over her head.

  She was homeless. She and her daughters had just joined the ranks of those lost souls who lived on the streets, forced to beg, or worse, for money.

  “What are we going to do, Mother?” Janie asked.

  Emily sighed. “I’m not sure, honey. I’m going to have to think about it for a few minutes.”

  Libby sniffed. “Do we hafta pack our stuff now?”

  Emily let Libby slide down her hip. “Not just yet.”

  Then came the knock on their door announcing Mr. Sloan’s return. When Emily opened the door she noticed he now carried a briefcase. She eyed it with suspicion. “What’s that for?”

  He stepped into the room and crossed to the small nightstand where the telephone sat. “It’s to show you, hopefully, that I’m a trustworthy person.” From the briefcase he pulled out a notebook computer and hooked it up to the phone line. After booting up, he logged on to the Internet and went to the Web site of a ranch called the Cherokee Rose.

  “Do you know how to navigate around a site?” he asked.

  She didn’t, but she didn’t particularly want to admit such a thing.

  “I do,” Janie claimed. “We use the Web all the time in school. But where’s your mouse?”

  “You use this,” he said. “It’s a touch pad. You just slide your finger over it to make the pointer move. Try it.”

  Emily itched to try it herself, but she stood aside and let Janie do it. The girl moved through the information on the Web site with confidence.

  It was interesting information.

  Mr. Sloan was, according to the site, Sloan Chisholm, co-operator of the Cherokee Rose ranch in Central Oklahoma, along with his brothers Caleb and Justin. The owner of the ranch was their grandmother, Cherokee Rose Chisholm. They raised cattle and horses and did some horse training. They had a list a mile long of awards, prizes and honors for various ranching and livestock pursuits from organizations such as the American Quarter Horse Association and Oklahoma Cattlemen’s Association, among others.

  Emily didn’t know anything about ranching or cattle or horses, but she couldn’t help but be impressed by the credentials listed.

  “So how about it?” he asked.

  Emily slowly sat on the edge of the bed. This man, this stranger was offering her something she couldn’t provide for herself and her daughters—a way out of their current predicament. A job keeping house for his family. All Emily had to do was trust him. Quite possibly with not only her life, but the lives of her daughters.

  “It would be my grandmother you’d be working for.”

  “Your grandmother?” Some of the tightness in her chest eased.

  “She does too much, works too hard. And she hates housework. She’d much rather spend her days on horseback. But she loves kids, so she’ll be glad to see the girls. I don’t want you to worry about that. The job includes room and board.”

  He was going too fast. Her head was starting to spin. She pushed herself to her feet, but when he named the salary, she sat back down, quickly.

  It wasn’t an outrageous salary, but it was generous. She would never make that much waiting tables or changing motel sheets.

  She wiped her damp palms on the legs of her jeans. “I’d only be able to work for as long as it took to get my car fixed.” She couldn’t believe she was even considering his offer.

  He smiled. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like us and decide to stay.”

  If Emily’s return smile was on the nervous side, that was to be expected. “We’re on our way to Fort Smith, to a good job there, at the factory where my cousin works.”

  He nodded as if in deep thought. “Okay, that’s fine. I assume your car’s at the garage across the road?”

  “Yes. It’s parked in the back.” She wiped her palms again. “He wouldn’t work on it until I had the money to pay for the repairs.”

  “Why don’t I go see about that while you ladies get packed?”

  Emily didn’t remember giving him a definite answer, but within an hour she found herself in the front seat of Sloan Chisholm’s four-door pickup. Her daughters, deliriously excited, were in the back seat, their belongings were in the truck bed, and her car was trailing them courtesy of a tow bar attached to the hitch on the back bumper. The Corner disappeared behind them.

  Before they had pulled away from the motel, Sloan had taken her into the motel office, where Sandra, Howard and Margaret’s thirty-seven-year-old daughter, worked. He’d given Sandra his driver’s license, tag and cell phone numbers and told her that if she didn’t hear from Emily that evening and again the next morning, she was to call the state police and report her missing.

  That went a long way toward calming Emily’s nerves. Plus the fact that they were headed toward Amarillo.
Once there she could always jump ship, so to speak, and take the bus.

  And lose her car. Damn.

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Had she spoken aloud? Emily blinked and looked over at the man behind the wheel. “Pardon?”

  “You’re having second thoughts. I don’t blame you. But I’m really a nice guy. You don’t have to worry.”

  “You raise cattle, rescue damsels in distress and read minds?”

  He laughed. “You got it.” He had a nice laugh. “You ever been on a ranch?”

  “When we were kids, Michael’s cousin lived on a small ranch outside Pueblo.”

  “Michael?”

  Emily smiled sadly. “My husband.”

  “What happened to him?”

  She stared at the road before them. The dotted white line down the center of the two-lane blacktop threatened to hypnotize her. She kept her voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the girls in the back seat. “He died two years ago. Leukemia.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sloan said. “That must have been rough on all of you.”

  “Especially on him.” Emily gasped. “My God, I can’t believe I said that.”

  “Why not? I’d have to assume it’s the truth.”

  Emily flopped her hands in her lap. “It just sounded so…flippant. So disrespectful.”

  “To me it just sounded honest.”

  They fell silent, letting the hum of tires on pavement, the roar of the engine and the whispers and giggles of two little girls fill the cab.

  Finally Sloan spoke again. “So how did you end up working for that creep back there, anyway?”

  “I didn’t know he was a creep until these past few days that his wife has been away.”

  “The café is a long way from Pueblo,” he said.

  “Are you after my life story, Mr. Chisholm?”

  “It’s Sloan, and I’m just trying to make conversation.”

  “Then suppose you tell me what a rancher from Oklahoma was doing stopping in at that out-of-the-way place in New Mexico.” She would much rather hear about him than spout off the details of her life.

  “Well, let’s see. Two days ago I stopped in for lunch on my way to return a horse to its owner.”