A clear thought fought its way to the surface. Why now? Why, after all this time, was someone demanding he pay for his past deeds?
“Holden?”
His mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and stood, hating to face the sheriff and admit the one truth he could no longer hide. “I have to make a list.” He saw the flicker of surprise in the young sheriff’s expression, could imagine it in the faces of his adult children if they found out. He considered all that he’d done as he moved to his desk, sat down and picked up a pen.
He didn’t know where to start, so he began to write down names of not just people he’d wronged, but people who might hate him this much. When he slowed after a few names, he saw that the first name on the list was Charlotte Stafford. He started to scratch it off, telling himself Lottie would never use a child to get back at him, but Stuart stopped him. He watched the sheriff take the list from him, glancing at what he’d written, then up at him. Their gazes met.
Stuart pointed at his shirt pocket, where he’d hidden the DNA report. The sheriff gave him a look that sent a chill through him. “Brand’s not at the top of the list?”
“Brand?” Holden said in surprise. “No, he wouldn’t—”
“What are the chances you would get Brand’s DNA report on the same day Holly Jo is kidnapped and all the kidnapper wants is the truth?”
He didn’t want to believe it. Not his flesh and blood. But Brand might not understand that his father would have gladly told the truth if he had only known.
Holden felt as if the earth was dropping out from under him. “No,” he said. He wanted to throttle Charlotte. How could she have kept this from him? If Brand had Holly Jo, then it was his mother’s bitterness that had caused it. It was his mother’s lies—and Holden’s as well, he had to admit.
“I’m going to have Brand picked up for questioning,” the sheriff was saying. “I need you to keep this quiet for now.” He handed Holden the list of people.
Holden took the sheet of paper, leaving Charlotte’s name at the top and adding their son Brand’s, his hand trembling as he did.
“NO ONE WOULD blame you for being depressed, Charlotte.”
She glared at her doctor. She’d known Dr. Joe Hammond all her life, long before he’d finally retired and moved to Billings. He’d delivered all her children—and delivered more than his share of advice over those years.
“You think I worry about what people think?” she demanded. “Now, that is depressing.”
“Let me write you a prescription for something that might help.”
She huffed as she pushed to her feet. “I’ll let you know when I get that desperate.”
“Charlotte,” he said patiently. “It might be too late by the time you realize just how desperate you are.”
“Joe, how many years have I been coming to you? Do you really think I would take my own life? If you do, then you don’t know me very well.”
“No, I can’t see you hurting yourself that way, but maybe doing something almost as harmful to yourself?” She gave him a side-eye before he added, “I’m just trying to help you.”
Charlotte felt herself soften a little. They were old friends. He’d been there when she’d needed a shoulder. He’d even once asked her to marry him, which made her think of the old expression there is no fool like an old fool. “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I’m fine.”
His hangdog expression said he didn’t believe it. He might have semiretired and moved to Billings, but he still kept up on Powder Crossing gossip, she was sure. He knew how she’d felt about CJ, her eldest son, her favorite. Finding out about the kind of man he’d turned into had been devastating.
She still felt the crush of it pressing against her heart, making it hard to breathe as she awoke with it every morning, went to bed with it every night. It followed her even in her sleep, a nightmarish half sleep that often had her dragged awake to her own screams. She’d done her best to hide it from the world. Joe had now assured her that she’d failed miserably not just with CJ, but with the lies she’d been telling herself.
“You have a good lawyer, I’m sure,” he said, still looking worried about her.
She realized that he wasn’t referring to CJ, who was behind bars awaiting trial for so many felonies that she couldn’t remember them all. She had refused to help him, leaving him to a court-appointed attorney, cutting him out of her life as if she had used a sharp blade like the one she felt he’d stabbed her with in the back.
“I didn’t kill my husband.” She hated that even Joe thought she was guilty. The moment Dixon Malone’s remains had been found in a well near her ranch, everyone seemed to assume that she would be arrested for his murder. She figured they were all waiting for that to happen. “Joe, I didn’t kill him.”
He nodded but said nothing, as expected. Not even her old friend believed her. Sighing, she picked up her purse and cast him one final look. “You’ve been a good friend. I’m going to miss you, Doc.”
“Retired or not, I’ll always be available to you,” he said. He sounded sad, as if he suspected they wouldn’t see each other again. He was probably right. “Take care of yourself, Charlotte.”
“You too, Joe.” She turned and walked out, fighting the ache in her throat and the sting of tears. She’d never been a crier. Neither of her parents had been moved by tears. Never let the bastards see weakness, her mother used to say when she’d come home from school in tears over some mean girl. She’d learned to hold it in, ashamed when she showed fragility, and had taken care of her problems herself.
That was what made it so hard. Not only had she broken down after CJ had been arrested, but she’d also let Holden McKenna see that weakness when he’d found her down by the creek where they used to make love. She’d let him hold her that day while she sobbed out her heart, and she’d regretted it ever since. She hated that he’d seen her at her lowest, and she planned to never let it happen again.
She wiped furtively at her tears. In her fifty-three years, she’d done her best not to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing how wounded she was. And yet that was exactly what she’d done for years with her anger and bitterness over what Holden McKenna had done to her. She’d only been fooling herself. This man she hated and loved in equal parts knew her to her soul. She’d let him into her heart and had spent years trying to get him out before he destroyed her.
Straightening, she jutted out her chin and put on her sunglasses as she pushed through the door to exit the office. Once on the sidewalk, she stopped, suddenly aware of the blinding blue sky and warmth on the breeze. Summer. When had the seasons changed? It came as a shock, as if winter had ended, spring had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and here was summer, all while she’d been in with Doc.
She breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, wanting to stand there, taking in this day as if it were her last. She would get through this—just as she had everything else in her life. She would. She didn’t need Joe Hammond’s magic pills. She was Charlotte Carson Stafford.
Her cell phone rang. She let it ring two more times before she dug it out and checked to see who was calling. The sheriff? She let it ring a couple more times. Was this about CJ? Stuart knew she wasn’t taking her son’s calls. When he’d finally gone too far after trying to kill his sister, she’d become deaf to his pleas for help. He was now on his own.
Her phone stopped ringing, then began again almost at once. The same number indicated it was the Powder Crossing Sheriff’s Department.
She told herself she had no choice but to answer. “Hello?”
“It’s Sheriff Layton.” Stuart? Why was he being so formal? She’d known him since he was a kid. “I’ve put a BOLO out on your son Brand for questioning. Do you know where he is?”
“What? Brand?” It was inconceivable. CJ, yes. Even Oakley. But Brand? This was the last thing she’d expected.
“I understand you’re not at home. But if you know where he is, I need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”
“Urgent? About what?” she demanded.
“I’m going to need to question you as well. Where are you right now?”
