Camouflage Cowboy

by Jan Hambright

  “We’ll ship this off to the attorney general of the state of Texas and hope he’ll grant our request for a medical review so we can have the adoption records unsealed. It’s a long shot, but we need to try this route first.”

  Grace swallowed, feeling disappointment bubble up from inside of her. “I pursued that avenue the moment I arrived back in Texas. My plea was denied.”

  “I’m sorry.” His brows creased as he studied her. “I’ve examined the redacted copy, and short of the judge’s signature on the dotted line, your mother’s race and age at the time of your birth, there isn’t much to go on. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-three.”

  “Your birth mother was twenty-two when she had you. That would make her approximately fifty-five years old now. It’s a long shot, but maybe we could take out an ad in the local newspaper, offer the information we have to anyone who might know who she is.”

  “That’s a great idea. I have some money left from my parents’ estate that I’ve been saving for an emergency. Maybe a small reward could be offered for information that leads to the discovery of her identity. If she still lives in the area, she may see herself in the ad and respond. I mean, I’m sure she gave me up out of necessity.” Hope infiltrated the doubts racing around inside of her head, but Nick was right—they didn’t have much to go on.

  She reached out and brushed the back of Nick’s strong hand where it rested against the paper.

  “You still haven’t told me how much your fee is.”

  Nick shook his head, then brought his other hand over to cover hers. “This one’s on the house, sweetheart.”

  Touched by the gesture of kindness, she smiled at him. “I’ll find a way to repay you. Cluck-cluck once a week. A clean refrigerator. Something.”

  “It’ll be payment enough when Caleb is healthy.”

  Grace’s heart squeezed in her chest. She needed to see that day, as well, maybe more than she needed the air in the room.

  “I’m planning to drive you and Caleb to Cradles to Crayons in the morning, just in case Marshall is waiting there to pick up your trail again. I’ll pick you up, as well, to make sure he doesn’t follow.”

  She nodded. He released her hand from under his, shuffled the worthless papers together and stuffed them into the file.

  “If he’s consistent, he’ll eventually leave town,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” He looked at her, but she found her gaze slipping to his lips for an instant. She restrained herself, along with the memory of how much she’d enjoyed kissing him.

  “I mean, he seems to show up out of nowhere. It usually takes me a week or so to realize he’s there, watching from the shadows. He does malicious things, like letting the air out of my tires, and having the power company shut off my electricity. Then he vanishes, and I pack up and leave, afraid he’ll try to hurt us someday.”

  “I’m planning a recon mission in Freedom tomorrow while you’re at work. If he’s still in town I’ll find him, and convince him it would make a lot of sense if he left.”

  “Be careful, Nick. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” Worry fisted in her stomach. “He’s a cop. He’s armed.”

  “Turn in. I’ll lock up.” A slow, sexy smile pulled on his mouth as he reached up to brush his fingers against the side of her face.

  Grace swallowed and closed her eyes, absorbing the touch like balm, before reality snapped her back. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Promise me?”

  “You’ve got it. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded, encouraged that they’d made progress on several fronts tonight, including confirmation of a physical attraction that made her feel warm clear down to her toes. But she couldn’t shake her very real concerns for Nick’s safety.

  NICK ROCKED BACK IN HIS CHAIR and stared at his computer screen. If he sank much lower on the investigative scale he’d get dirt on his belt buckle.

  Angry with himself, he considered the implications of digging deeper into Grace’s past. She’d made Rodney Marshall sound like a harmless individual, whose only crimes were malicious pranks before vanishing to stalk another day. But he’d seen the damage Marshall had done in Grace’s condo. He’d seen the hatred in defiling her bed with battery acid, and using bloodred spray paint on the garage wall to get his message across. He thought she was a murderer.

  Rodney Marshall wasn’t an average, vanilla stalker.

  He pulled up the internet and plugged in the words Billings Montana Newspapers into the search engine. The Billings Gazette popped up as the first listing. He clicked on the link, then clicked on the newspaper’s archived files.

  Staring at the search box he felt taunted. It begged for him to roll the dice, enter Grace’s name and take a gamble on the outcome.

  Nick gritted his teeth and typed Grace Marshall in the blank box. He hesitated, his finger on the enter key. There could be no secrets. It was all or nothing. He was preparing to go to the wall for her against the most powerful woman in the state of Texas. He had to know what Grace was running from.

  He clicked Enter.

  The headline filled the monitor screen.

  Nick reeled back in his chair. Wild horses didn’t kick as hard as the blow he felt enter his body and radiate into his heart as he reread it.

  Popular Preschool Teacher Charged with Manslaughter in Husband’s Death.

  He hit the print request tab and closed his eyes. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. It was the tie he’d never anticipated.

  Chapter Eight

  Nick watched Grace and Caleb take the steps up to the main entrance of Cradles to Crayons.

  Caleb paused on the landing, turned and waved to him.

  He waved back from inside the Tahoe, and waited for them to get safely inside, before he put the vehicle in Reverse and backed out of the parking space.

  Last night’s internet search had produced the answer he was looking for, but it had also opened a gaping hole in his heart.

  Grace Marshall had been charged with involuntary manslaughter in the death of her husband, Troy Marshall, Caleb’s father. He didn’t have the trial transcripts, or the nitty-gritty details of what had transpired the night Troy Marshall died, but he knew Grace had been acquitted on all charges. That explained how she’d been able to pass her background check for Cradles to Crayons. The record had no doubt been expunged by the presiding judge in the case. But why hadn’t she disclosed any of it to him? Was it out of fear he would believe she was a murderer and drop her case, or the need for anonymity so she could get on with her life? He didn’t know, but maybe it was some of both.

  One thing was certain. The dead man’s brother, Rodney Marshall, was stalking her to exact the justice he believed the court system had denied him.

  Any way he figured it, Grace was in real danger. The only unknown in the equation was Caleb.

  Nick’s gut twisted.

  Rodney Marshall’s hatred had always been directed at Grace for the perceived injustice. What if he decided to go after Caleb to get to her? It was a scenario Nick had to consider; he was certain Grace had. Maybe that’s why she always chose to run, rather than stay and face the terrifying possibility of Rodney Marshall someday devouring her tiny son in his hunger for vengeance.

  A cold chill skittered through him. He had to find Marshall and neutralize him.

  Now.

  Or risk allowing harm to come to a woman and child he was falling for.

  GRACE BLEW her playground whistle as hard as she could and headed straight for the swing where Lacey and Lyric Kemp were threatening to tear off each other’s ponytails.

  Tomboy versus princess. The Kemp twins’ weekly smack-down had erupted, and it looked as though Princess Lyric might win the day with her fist wrapped in Lacey’s hair.

  Special-education teacher Charlotte Manning reached them first, also anxious to break up the fight while the twins still had their dark tresses intact.

  “Girls. Girls. Stop this.” Gra
ce reached out and put her hand on Lyric’s back. “Come on, Lyric. Let go of Lacey’s hair. Let’s work this out. Tell me what happened.”

  “She promised to give me the swing, and push me. Now she won’t get off. It’s my turn!”

  “Is that true, Lacey? Did you promise to share with your sister?”

  Lacey’s scowl deepened. “Yeah,” she said begrudgingly, her eyelids pulling down as her lower lip pushed out.

  “A promise is a promise. You should always keep your word. Tell your sister you’re sorry for not following through.”

  “Sorry, Lyric.”

  Grace reached out and put her hand on Lyric’s forearm. “Let go of her and apologize for pulling her hair.”

  Determined but congenial, Lyric shook her hand free of her sister’s ponytail, then plucked a couple of detached strands from between her fingers.

  “Sorry, Lace.”

  A moment later they were hugging as Grace stepped back, satisfied when Lyric settled on the swing seat and Lacey gave her a push.

  “Lindsay Kemp’s got her hands full with those two,” Charlotte Manning said as they turned to face one another.

  “I agree, but thank goodness they’re both reasonable children and willing to work it out.” Grace scanned the playground for Caleb in the scattered clusters of children. Her aid, Tracy Sullivan, had called in sick with the flu, leaving her and Charlotte to supervise the preschool students, when they would normally have been inside in the classroom at this time of day.

  “Do you see Caleb?” A measure of concern worked over her nerves that wouldn’t be subdued until she laid eyes on her son. “He was playing with Zachary Giordano a moment ago in the sandbox.”

  Charlotte turned to assess the children. “Zachary’s still there, but I don’t see Caleb.”

  The first fingerings of panic inched up Grace’s throat. “Excuse me, Charlotte.”

  She headed toward Zachary, a sweet little boy with Asperger’s syndrome, one of many disorders in the spectrum of autism. She scanned the area for a glimpse of Caleb’s green, hooded sweatshirt on the playground around her.

  “Zachary?”

  He stared up at her from his knees-buckled-under position on the sand, where he’d galloped his toy horse figure in a perfect circle around himself so many times, he’d dug a narrow trench in the stuff.

  Her gaze fell on the discarded brown horse in the corner of the sandbox to Zachary’s right.

  Caleb’s horse.

  “Where’s Caleb? Did you see where he went?” She went to her knees. “Zachary, have you seen Caleb?”

  Charlotte Manning’s shadow fell across the sand. “Let me, Grace. He’s tactile.” She closed the gap between herself and her pupil, and put her hand on Zachary’s shoulder. “Zachary, I need you to point out the last place you saw Caleb go.”

  Like magic, Zachary seemed to come alive and a broad smile spread on his face. He raised his arm and pointed at the rear entrance into Cradles to Crayons.

  “He’s probably in the restroom, Grace. Go ahead, check. I can handle this alone.”

  “Thanks, Charlotte.” Grace pushed up from her knees and hurried for the back door of the preschool. All the safety measures and tornado-warning drills they’d practiced repeatedly, and Caleb had violated the one rule at the top of the list. Always let a teacher know where you’re going, and take a buddy with you if possible.

  She would have to reassess her methods to see if they were truly being absorbed and understood by her preschool students.

  Someday their lives may depend on it.

  Grace turned the knob and stepped into the facility’s wide rear corridor, lined with coat hooks and cubbies for each student’s personal belongings. She shut the door and hurried for the other end where the boys’ and girls’ restrooms flanked either side of the hallway. But even before she reached them, she knew they were both empty. There was no sliver of light coming from under the door and gleaming against the polished tile of the hallway. Still, she opened each door and flicked on the light, just to be sure Caleb wasn’t inside.

  A solid fist of panic slammed into her brain, a myriad of possibilities streaking through her mind. She peered through the glass panel in the security door leading out into the heart of the facility, where Bailey Lockhart was currently finishing up a tour with the parents of a prospective student.

  Was it possible he’d made it through the security door and over to the day-care wing, or back into the classroom without being seen?

  Doubt rippled through her. Cradles to Crayons’ most recent security renovations had been designed to give the children limited access to each designated section of the building. No toddlers from day care could wander around in preschool classrooms and vice versa. Even the basement had been converted into a storm cellar.

  Grace’s heart rate increased as she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor that ran between the classrooms and the day care.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Lockhart, may I speak with you?”

  Bailey looked up and smiled. “Certainly.” She handed the young couple a Cradles to Crayons brochure. “This will explain all of the early-childhood programs we offer. If you’d like to look it over for a moment, I’ll be right back.”

  “Grace?” Bailey said in a voice just above a whisper. “Is something wrong?”

  Tension twisted Grace’s muscles into knots, but she smiled at her boss in spite of her desire to call out the National Guard. “Have you by any chance seen Caleb? He’s missing from the playground.”

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve been showing the Johnsons around the facility. Have you checked with day care?”

  “That’s my next stop.”

  “Keep me posted. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.”

  Grace nodded and headed for the day care, certain that Caleb wouldn’t have gone there. He’d jumped for joy last year when he escaped to preschool. Still, she needed to check. At the Dutch door, with the top half open, she stopped and peered in. One of the attendants, Pamela Maxwell, was reading a book to the entire group of little ones, but Caleb wasn’t among them.

  Turning, Grace headed back down the corridor. Just past the door with the words Storm Cellar on it, she pulled up short. They’d drilled dozens of times on what to do if the tornado-warning siren sounded. Take cover in the shelter and wait for the twister to pass.

  Grace pulled open the door.

  The automatic emergency lighting switched on. She took the broad stairway down into the basement two steps at a time, and hurried to the concrete, steel-reinforced storm cellar, capable of withstanding a direct hit by an F5 tornado with the blast door shut.

  She stepped inside and looked around the cavernous room. Stacked in one corner was a pallet of bottled water and a few food rations. A child could easily hide behind the emergency supplies.

  “Caleb! Are you in here? Caleb Marshall!” No answer.

  “Oh, dear God,” she whispered, her body beginning to shake. Children didn’t just vanish into thin air. Her throat squeezed as she raced from the room and pounded up the stairs, cursing Rodney Marshall.

  He wouldn’t hurt him, would he? His own flesh and blood?

  She bolted through the doorway and collided with Bailey.

  “Grace.”

  “We need to call the police. Caleb’s gone!” The choked request rolled out of her mouth as she shoved her hand into her sweater pocket and locked her fingers around her cell phone.

  She shouldn’t have stayed in Freedom. She should have run the second Rodney found them. Her worst nightmare was playing out in raw reality right in front of her and she was helpless to stop it. She needed Nick. Now.

  “Grace.”

  She focused on her boss for an instant, on the tone of concern in her voice, and the sympathetic smile that spread on her mouth.

  “Caleb’s fine. The Johnsons nearly tripped over him when they were leaving. He’s sitting out on the front steps.”

  “How?” Grace whispered, her hand going to her heart as it thudde
d against her palm and nearly pounded out of her chest.

  “I showed the Johnsons the coat-and-belongings corridor, and they wanted to look out over the playground. I made the mistake of leaving the security door ajar. He must have been in the bathroom at the time and simply slipped out into the hallway. From there it was simple to cross to the main entrance and go outside.”

  “Thank God he’s okay.” Grace swallowed hard. “I’ll go…and talk to him. He certainly knows better than to leave the building without permission.”

  Bailey squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry, Grace. I’ll find a way to make sure something like this never happens again.”

  “I know you will.” She smiled at the boss who’d become her friend, and turned for the tile-lined corridor leading to the front entrance. Pausing next to the doorjamb, she stared out the window in the door, at where Caleb sat on the landing, gazing at the parking lot.

  Grace sucked in a deep breath and let go of her fear. He was safe, that’s all that mattered, but she still intended to scold him for not following the safety rules, and encourage him to do better next time. Turning the knob, she pushed the door open and went outside.

  “There you are,” she said. “Mommy was worried when I couldn’t find you on the playground.” She closed the door and took a spot next to him, wrapping her arms around her knees. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “It’s who,” Caleb insisted, shielding his eyes from the sun as he smiled up at her. “Mister Nick is coming to get us. I don’t wanna miss him.”

  Grace’s heart sagged in her chest. Hot tears stung the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away, wondering if she was doing the right thing, staying in Freedom, allowing Nick and Caleb’s attachment to solidify.

  “Oh, sweetheart, come here. We won’t miss Nick. He’ll be here, and I bet he’ll even come inside if he can’t find us.” Reaching over at a sideways angle, she pulled him onto her lap, and started when a small red-and-yellow toy snake jiggled halfway out of his sweatshirt pocket.