“No. I was shocked when I heard. He hadn’t said a word to me. Still hasn’t.” Holden McKenna was a gentle, loving man who couldn’t carry a grudge long, especially against her, she told herself. She felt some of his anger dissipate. “You remember what it was like back then.” She said it like a plea. He unfisted one hand to reach up to rub the back of his neck.
She couldn’t bear the pain she saw replace some of his anger. She took a step toward him as if her love for him outweighed everything else right now. “Holden—”
He stepped back, holding up his hands, warding her off.
She felt the pain of his rejection as if he’d slapped her. With a wave of shame, she knew how he’d felt all these years when she’d repeatedly pushed him away, unforgiving, angry and hurt. Vengeful.
He shook his head, his expression now one of sorrow. “Charlotte.”
Their gazes locked again. She found herself desperately searching for his love for her, terrified she’d finally killed it with her bitterness.
He dragged his gaze away as he retreated another step from her, avoiding even looking in her direction. “I have to find Holly Jo.”
“I’m so sorry. If there is anything I can do...”
He looked out at the river for a moment. “You should have told me.”
“I know.”
He turned to meet her eyes again. “If I’d thought that baby was mine—”
Charlotte had to swallow the lump that formed in her throat. Would he have walked away from Margie and his marriage? Could they have been together all these years?
The doctor had her go on the pill for a while after she’d had CJ. She’d only quit taking it a week or so before she’d run into Holden that day at the creek more than thirty-two years ago. She’d told him it was safe, not that in the state they’d been in that day either of them would have cared. They’d wanted each other so badly, needed each other so badly.
“If Brand has Holly Jo—”
“He doesn’t,” she said quickly. “He wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s...he’s your son, Holden. He took after you more than me.”
His face crumpled, his eyes shiny. He took another step back as if needing to get away from her. “I can’t do this now. I’m not sure I’ll ever...” He couldn’t seem to finish as he turned and stalked away without looking back.
She felt the loss of him like a death as he climbed behind the wheel and drove away without a glance.
LULABELLE BRADEN DIDN’T seem surprised to see Sheriff Stuart Layton standing on her doorstep and said as much. “Someone in Powder Crossing farts and you seem to think I know about it,” she said with a laugh.
After Holden’s first wife, Margie, had died, he’d remarried quickly, apparently thinking his children needed a mother. Lulabelle Braden McKenna had put him through hell for over a year before he’d ended the marriage. Apparently he’d promised himself he wouldn’t make that mistake again, because he hadn’t remarried.
“You here to get your palm read, Sheriff?” Lulabelle asked.
“That’s right—you know all about these things,” he said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. He didn’t know why he was even here. Lulabelle seemed like a long shot, but what did he know? Holden had put her name down on his list, right under Charlotte’s name.
She sighed. “Come on in.”
“If you know so much, how about telling me where Holly Jo is?” he asked as he crossed the threshold and stopped.
She frowned as she turned to him. “That little girl Holden brought back pretending she was just someone he used to know’s kid?” She shook her head. “He misplaced her?”
“You really haven’t heard?” He actually thought maybe she hadn’t.
“Why would I have? Holden McKenna and I are ancient history. He has boots he’s had longer than he had me for a wife. How long’s it been?”
“Not quite thirty years ago, and yet when his ward went missing, your name came up as someone he thought might have taken her.”
She huffed. “That is so like Holden. He must feel guilty as hell about the way he treated me. Sorry, Sheriff, I haven’t given Holden a second thought since I left the McKenna Ranch.” That wasn’t true, and they both knew it. “Even if I did have some residual feelings about the man and our marriage, I wouldn’t take a child to get back at him. Not when I could make a voodoo doll and cause him all kinds of pain.” She laughed, but he wasn’t sure she was joking.
“I thought maybe you could use your sixth sense to tell me where she is.”
“You really don’t know anything about having a sixth sense, do you, Sheriff?”
“I wish I did,” he said. “I thought maybe one of the people from down our way who come to you for your...help might have heard something about Holly Jo. I need to find her before it’s too late.” He feared it was already too late. The girl had been missing for more than ten hours. He could feel her slipping away, and he was no closer to finding her.
“You know I can’t talk about what people tell me.”
He raised a brow. “You’re not a doctor or a lawyer or a priest.”
“No, I’m much more than that. It’s why people tell me things they don’t tell their doctors or their lawyers—especially not their priests.”
He could see that he wasn’t getting anywhere with her. “Just thought maybe you could help.” He started to turn back toward the door.
She grabbed his hand and closed her eyes. “You have nightmares about her.”
He scoffed and pulled his hand free. “You don’t have to be psychic to suspect that. My scars are still visible.” He motioned to his arms and the pale white lines where Abigail Creed’s knife blade had sliced open his skin as she’d attacked him. Normally, he kept his arms covered, but it had been warm enough this morning that he’d worn a short-sleeve uniform shirt and left his jacket in the patrol SUV. Now he regretted it, since he didn’t need the reminder from well-meaning people of the horror he’d been through not long ago. She was right. He did still have nightmares about it sometimes.
“The nightmares must be terrifying,” Lulabelle said sympathetically. “To see her standing over you holding a knife.”
He corrected her. Abigail Creed hadn’t been standing over him. She’d been in the driver’s seat of her SUV when she’d drawn the knife from the pocket in the door and, screaming, begun stabbing him.
“I wasn’t talking about Abigail Creed,” Lulabelle said. “The dreams start out that way, but it isn’t her face you see.” He watched her eyes fill with tears. “What terrifies you is that it’s your mother holding the knife.”
