“Have a cup of coffee?”
“Not necessary.”
Fiona moved closer to Carolyn’s horse. Elvis was a big handsome mahogany brown stallion with a black mane and a white blaze on his forehead. She glided her hand along his bristly coat. Gently, she encouraged her friend to open up. “I heard that the kidnappers were arrested.”
“The FBI closed down that survivalist group that was staying at the Circle M Ranch. Nicole wasn’t there.”
“You said she called last night.”
“It’s crazy. I don’t even know where to start.”
While Fiona waited for Carolyn to sort out her thoughts, she continued to pet the horse. Elvis ducked his head and bared his teeth in a horsey grin. “Is he flirting with me?”
“Elvis is shameless, but don’t give him anything to eat. The last thing I need is a fat Elvis.”
Fiona chuckled, but Carolyn didn’t crack a smile. She was so tightly wound that Fiona thought she might start spinning like a top. Apparently, she wasn’t ready to continue with her story because she changed the topic. “I haven’t even asked about you, Fiona. How’s Abby?”
“She’s fine. Right now she’s with the babysitter in Riverton.”
“You’re not usually at your cabin in December.”
Not wanting to launch into a dissertation about her own problems, Fiona looked up at the cloudless blue sky. “The weather’s been amazing. Almost as warm as Denver. Do you think we’ll have a white Christmas?”
“Christmas is Nicole’s favorite time of year.” Her voice cracked. “She decorates like mad. I don’t know how to do any of that stuff.”
“I’ll help,” Fiona offered. “Let’s walk while we talk.”
With Elvis following behind them, they made their way across the dry winter grass, skirting the edge of the lodgepole and ponderosa pines that formed a natural barrier around Fiona’s house. Her rocky, forested land had never been intended for farming or grazing.
“Before Nicole was abducted,” Carolyn said, “she and my brother had an argument. Last night, when they met face-to-face, she told him that the kidnapping gave her time to think, and she decided not to come home. She never wants to see Dylan again.”
“She wants a divorce?”
“Apparently.” Carolyn kicked a pinecone from her path. “Dylan won’t talk to me. Or anybody else. Whatever Nicole said, it was enough to convince him. He called off the search.”
“Can he do that?” No matter what the victim said, kidnapping was still a crime. “Isn’t the FBI involved?”
“The FBI profilers and search teams were willing to back off. They blame Nicole’s behavior on Stockholm syndrome.”
“They think Nicole fell in love with her captor?”
“I don’t believe it. Nicole and my brother are soul mates. Damn it, she wouldn’t leave him. Not like that.” Carolyn’s determination flared. “I’m not letting this investigation die. I convinced one of the FBI agents to stay. Even if my brother doesn’t like it.”
She stopped walking. They stood at a high point on a ridge, looking down at the barbed-wire fence that separated their property. In a pasture near the trees, a large herd of cattle were grazing. A field of improbably green winter wheat, planted in late September, stretched out to the road.
Fiona loved this view—a patchwork of subtle winter colors punctuated by the green of the wheat and the heavy black shapes of cattle.
Elvis stepped up beside her and nudged her shoulder like an oversize dog who wanted to be petted. She stroked his neck. “If Nicole is with her kidnapper, that means he’s still at large. Right?”
“There are two of them. One of them has a criminal record as long as your arm. The other is Butch Thurgood—supposedly the guy Nicole likes. He’s won top prizes in rodeos for bronc busting, and he has a reputation for being a horse whisperer.”
“Last night,” Fiona said, “I heard two men arguing. I didn’t see them, but they were close to my house.”
“Did you search?”
Fiona shook her head. It had never occurred to her to go poking around in the dark. “Do you think it was them?”
“It’s worth investigating. I’ll tell Burke, and we’ll come back over here.”
“Burke?”
“The FBI agent who stayed behind.” When she said his name, her features relaxed. “Can I ask you something? Woman to woman.”
“Okay.”
“How did you know? When you met Wyatt, how did you know he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”
“It’s not something I planned for. My heart told me.”
“Lucky you.” Carolyn gave a wry grin. “My heart isn’t so direct. I’d know what to do about Burke if I could refer to a balance sheet or see a prospectus.”
Though Fiona respected her neighbor’s keen business sense and focus, she didn’t believe these denials. “It’s obvious that you care about him. Even if it doesn’t make rational sense, you might even love him.”
“I’ve been in love before, and it hasn’t worked.”
“You’ll never know what’s going to happen with Burke unless you give it a try.”
“Oh, hell. I couldn’t possibly pick a more inconvenient time for this to happen.” She stuck the toe of her boot into the stirrup and mounted Elvis. “I’ll be back with Burke to investigate your mysterious voices in the night.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.”
Fiona watched as Carolyn rode down the ridge to the road where she wouldn’t encounter any barbed wire. Though they were the same age, Fiona felt much older. She’d already been through her own cycle of life—marriage, childbirth and the death of her husband.
Now she was alone again. Starting over. She envied the glow of first love that flushed Carolyn’s face when she spoke of the FBI agent. Someday, she hoped to feel that way again. She remembered the sudden rush of emotion that came with love. The shivers. The heat. Hot and cold at the same time.
Instead of walking directly back to the house, she climbed the ridge. From a vantage point behind a boulder, she looked down at her property.
A cool December wind shook the branches of the pines. In spite of the bright sunlight pouring down, she shivered. The voices she had heard last night could have been coming from the barn. Or the toolshed. Or the unfinished pottery studio Wyatt had been constructing for her.
She glimpsed something moving at the back of the house. A shadow that resembled the silhouette of a man. She squinted hard, trying to be sure of the vague shape she thought she’d seen. Was someone
