notebook. “Go ahead.” She wrote something down that appeared to be directions, though Gavin couldn’t see clearly from where he sat in the passenger seat. “Great. Meet you in fifteen minutes.”
Snapping the notebook closed, she started the truck. “I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but I have to leave.”
“No problem. Three o’clock tomorrow okay? To meet here,” he added when she didn’t immediately respond.
“Oh, yeah.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Three o’clock.”
After she dropped Gavin off in front of the house, he stood for a moment watching her truck bump down the long sloping driveway leading to the main road.
Apparently she knew someone in Mustang Village.
He didn’t like that his curiosity was piqued. He liked the anticipation he felt at seeing her again tomorrow even less.
SAGE REACHED THE BASE of the mountain and merged with the light traffic traveling east. A quarter mile up the road, she spotted a stone sign marking the main entrance to Mustang Village. Next to the sign stood a life-size and very realistic bronze statue of a rearing horse.
Just inside the entrance was a modest shopping plaza with retail stores, a bank, fresh food market, urgent care center and two restaurants, one fast-food, one sit-down. Situated behind the shopping plaza was a commercial building with offices on the first floor and apartments on the second. Stretching beyond that were acres and acres of houses as far as she could see.
What had it been like when all this was once an endless rolling valley at the base of a scenic mountain range? She could almost envision it in her mind’s eye.
Gavin’s family had probably made a killing when they sold the land, but Sage wasn’t sure she could have traded glorious and primitive desert for a sea of commercial and residential development.
A second sign directed her to the visitors’ center. She turned into the parking lot, shut off the ignition and, as instructed, waited for her cousin’s husband.
As the minutes dragged by, Sage’s nervousness increased. She tried distracting herself by observing life at midafternoon in Mustang Village.
It was, she had to agree, a unique and almost genius blending of country life and town life. Cars drove by at a very safe fifteen miles per hour while an empty school bus returned from delivering children home. Exercise enthusiasts walked or jogged or biked along the sidewalks, and people on horseback rode the designated bridle paths networking the community. As the warning signs posted everywhere stated, horses had the right of way in Mustang Village.
Finally, just when Sage was ready to get out of her truck and start pacing, her cousin’s husband arrived, his SUV slipping into the space beside hers.
She greeted him with a relieved hug. He’d been at work when she stopped by their house earlier to drop off Isa, so she’d yet to see him.
“Thank you, Roberto,” she told him when they broke apart. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
“Happy to help, primita.”
Calling her “little cousin” always made Sage smile. At five-eight, he was no more than an inch taller than her. When she wore boots, like today, they stood nose to nose.
Not so with Gavin Powell. Even in boots, she’d had to tilt her head back in order to meet those vivid blue eyes of his.
Why had she thought of him all of a sudden?
“We’d better get a move on,” Roberto said. “Before he figures out you’re in the area and takes off.”
“You have the paperwork?” she asked, hopping in the passenger side of his SUV.
“Right here.” Roberto tapped the front of his suit jacket.
He’d used his firm’s resources to locate Sage’s ex—again. This time, she assured herself, would be different. Dan wouldn’t be able to disappear before they had a chance to personally serve him with the child support demand papers.
She marveled at his ability to jump from place to place, always one step ahead of her. As a horse trainer, a good one, he easily found work all over the Southwest. He was also often paid in cash or by personal check, which had made garnishing his wages nearly impossible.
To her knowledge, this was the first time he’d returned to Arizona in two years.
“He sure picked a nice spot,” she observed, taking in the attractive houses with their tidy front yards, each landscaped with natural desert fauna to conserve water. The homes sat on three-quarter acre lots, with small corrals and shaded pens visible in the spacious backyards.
“Very nice,” Roberto concurred. “And Mustang Village is teeming with horse people, a lot of them with surplus money and a burning desire for their kids to have the best-trained horses. Dan’s probably doing pretty well for himself.”
“He always has.” That was something Sage didn’t understand. Her ex could afford the child support. He just refused to pay it.
Another thing Sage didn’t understand was his disinterest in seeing Isa. How could a father who’d been devoted to his daughter for the first two years of her life not want to see her? Spend time with her? Be a vital part of her growing up?
“We’re here,” Roberto said, and maneuvered the SUV into the driveway of a large Santa Fe–style house.
“Do you think he’s home?” Sage asked, her worry spiking at the noticeable absence of a vehicle in the driveway.
Roberto grinned confidently. “Only one way to find out.”
At Dan’s front door, Roberto rung the bell.
Sage read the hand-painted stone plaque hanging beside the door.
The Rivera Family.
His last name, penned with large, bold strokes, reminded her that she and Dan had never married. She’d wanted to, had brought up the subject frequently during their three years together, but Dan had always manufactured some excuse.
Roberto rang the doorbell again. Sage rubbed her sweaty palms on the front of her jeans.
The Rivera Family.
Suddenly it struck her. Family! As in wife and children.
Before her thought had a chance to fully develop, the door swung open, and Dan appeared in the frame, his expectant expression dissolving into a frown the instant he spotted her.
“What do you want, Sage?”
“To make sure you receive a copy of this.” Roberto attempted to hand Dan the child support demand letter. “Since you haven’t responded to the nine previous ones mailed to you.”
He drew back, refusing to accept the papers. “Who the hell are you?”
“Ms. Navarre’s attorney.”
“Get off my property.”
“You
