at the creek, her hair had been covered by a baseball cap. Now her long dark hair fell in a riot of loose curls down to the middle of her back. As she moved, it swayed in luxurious shiny ebony waves.
“Miss!”
She pretended not to hear him, he was sure of it. But she wasn’t getting away. This woman was the closest he’d come to knowing who Madeline Ross really had been—and maybe what she’d been capable of.
He quickly caught up to her and, grabbing one slim arm, spun her around to face him. He was momentarily startled by her wide green eyes in a face that could have stopped traffic. Her cheekbones were high, her mouth bow-shaped.
He’d expected her to be alarmed. Or at least frightened by having a man accost her in a hotel parking lot. But as she stared back at him from the depths of all that emerald green, he only saw a curious regard. Her lips parted slightly as if waiting to be kissed before turning up at the corners in more pronounced amusement.
Taken aback, he had trouble finding his voice.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” she asked as he quickly released her arm.
“Sorry,” he said as he stared her. She was definitely the woman from the creek, but she wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. He’d assumed since she’d known Madeline that she would be more like her. This woman was much more refined, educated and apparently well-off. It seemed impossible that she could have been working with Madeline all those years ago.
So how did he explain what he’d seen at the creek?
He couldn’t and for a moment he didn’t know what was going to come out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I thought you were...” He shook his head.
She hadn’t moved, hadn’t turned and run; she hadn’t even tried to put a little distance between them. Instead, she was studying him with those wide-open green eyes. If anything, he saw interest in those eyes.
“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned for him.
It made him angry. He should be concerned for her, given what he’d seen. What was worse was that he realized that this woman couldn’t possibly be the person who’d been working with Madeline all those years ago. She wasn’t old enough.
He felt like an even bigger fool. But still, he hadn’t imagined what he’d seen at the creek. But what had he seen?
“I saw you at the creek earlier.” He waited for her to explain. She didn’t. “You seemed upset.”
“Did I? Is that why you chased me down?”
“I got the feeling that you had some connection to the woman whose remains were found in the creek. I must have been wrong.”
“No, you’re not wrong.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “I beg your pardon?”
“What did she call herself?”
He felt as if he’d fallen down a rabbit hole. “I’m sorry, who are we talking about?”
“The woman who broke your heart.”
“Oh, her,” he said with a laugh. “Are we still talking about the woman found in the creek?”
“Only if she’s the one who broke your heart. Oh, I see. She did. I thought as much. Do I remind you of her?” she asked and tucked a lock of her dark hair behind one ear. A diamond earring winked in the sunlight.
“No, she couldn’t hold a candle to you,” he admitted truthfully. In retrospect, everything about Madeline had been disingenuous from her blond hair to her name. While everything about this woman was the real thing. Not that any of that had mattered when he was seventeen and in love for the very first time.
Tucker realized he was staring again—and having an even harder time following this conversation. He shook his head. “Sorry, I’m confused.”
She chuckled. “I’m not surprised.” She held out her hand. “Katherine Rothschild, but my friends call me Kate.”
“Tucker Cahill.” Her hand was small and warm, the skin silken, the manicured nails a sweet pale pink. “Rothschild,” he repeated and held on to her hand a little too long. Anyone who had ever lived in Montana knew that name. “Your father—”
“Is the former senator and now a congressman in Washington, DC.”
Clayton Rothschild was a mover and shaker in DC and one of the wealthiest men in the state. He owned almost as much land in Montana as Ted Turner.
“Cahill? Any relation to Sheriff Flint Cahill?”
“He’s my brother.” He frowned, suddenly wondering how a young woman like her—let alone a Rothschild—would know Flint. Not to mention what she’d been doing down by the creek earlier. She still hadn’t explained what he’d seen. All she’d done was confuse him.
“You said you do have a connection to the dead woman?” He was having trouble believing that.
She smiled. “And so do you, I’m guessing. Do they have a positive identification on her yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard. How do you know all this?”
“About the skeletal remains being found? From the news. That’s why I’m here. I’d planned to speak to your brother Flint. But it was nice to meet you instead. Well, I better get checked in before they give my room away.”
“Wait,” he said, realizing she’d sidestepped almost every question he’d asked her. “You haven’t told me what you were doing at the creek earlier. I heard you crying. I also saw you spit on the woman’s grave.”
Kate Rothschild nodded, smiling. “Nor have you told me what she called herself, this woman who broke your heart.”
“Madeline.”
“Well, in that case, you should buy me dinner tonight,” Kate said. “It appears we have some things in common.”
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Of course not. Pick me up at seven.” With that, she turned and headed into the hotel.
Tucker watched her go.
“It was nice meeting you, Tucker Cahill,” she said over her shoulder an instant before the door closed behind her.
* * *
KATE HAD JUST stepped into the hotel when her cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and saw that it was her mother calling again. She pocketed her phone and proceeded to get checked in. Her mind kept straying in the direction of Tucker Cahill. She was still embarrassed that he’d witnessed her breakdown at the creek. But in a twist of fate, it had all worked out better than she’d planned. And now she was having dinner with him tonight.
Strike while the iron is hot, she thought and realized that she’d just used one of her mother’s expressions. That was a sour thought.
Once
