since he’d left Whitehorse. Nor was there a house or fence in sight. The land rolled in waves of green grasses toward the badlands of the Missouri Breaks.
Of all the places he’d been in the world, none seemed as desolate as this right now. He’d heard this called one of the loneliest places in America. One hundred and fifty miles of country with only a few roads, none of them passable when wet, scores of townships without a town or even a house and, ripping a deep, twisted canyon through it all was the Missouri River, where the badlands rose up from the canyon floor in pre-glacial cliffs.
This country of purple-shadowed coulees filled with stands of scrub pine, spruce and cedar was what had brought him here. The river bottom was cloaked in thick stands of cottonwoods that reached for the big sky, and the prairie let him see for miles.
Montana was said to have a population density of six people per square mile. Out here that number dropped to zero-point-three people.
He had yearned for isolation. For open spaces. For freedom. Here in this part of Montana, one of the last lawless places, he had found it.
Had he blinked, he would have missed Old Town Whitehorse. A weathered sign was barely visible in the tall weeds beside the road. Whitehorse. Someone had added Old Town above the faded lettering in black paint.
Hank slowed as he passed a one-room schoolhouse, the Whitehorse Community Center, a few more old houses, the cemetery with its wrought-iron arch.
The railroad might have lured the first residents to the north, but a lot of Whitehorse apparently had remained right here.
He turned down the road as Arlene had instructed. Not far along he spotted the farmhouse. It was big and white with a wide screened-in porch. Behind it, a faded red barn with a horse weather vane that moved restlessly in the breeze.
He pulled in, parked. As he got out of his SUV, he saw Arlene waiting for him, on the front porch. Her face lit at the sight of him and he felt that pull inside him, his heart beating a little faster, the sky a little bluer.
What was it about this woman? She was far from beautiful. But there was a strength to her. An inner beauty that seemed to radiate from her face when he looked at her.
His grandmother would have said she came from good stock. A woman who’d never been pampered. A woman who he suspected had never been loved—at least not enough. And that, he thought, explained the vulnerability that she tried so hard to hide.
After the phone call from Cameron last night, he knew he shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to bring his old life anywhere near this woman, who he suspected had enough problems without him becoming one of them.
But as he walked toward her and saw the determined set of her shoulders under the oversize shirt, the way she stood in boots and slim jeans that emphasized her height, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he could turn his back on her.
He’d help her find her daughter, then he’d make some excuse not to see her anymore until he knew what the hell Cameron wanted. A breach in security? That had nothing to do with him any longer. Even if his former enemies had learned who he was, he’d suspected long before he’d quit that all the bad guys knew the other bad guys. That’s why he hadn’t returned the call. He didn’t want any more to do with that spook stuff.
“I shouldn’t have called you,” Arlene said, coming down the porch steps toward him. “I’m sure this is just Charlotte being Charlotte. I don’t want you bothered with it. She likes to worry me.”
He smiled ruefully, thinking of his own daughter. “Kids do that.”
“Really, I shouldn’t have involved you in this,” she said nervously.
“Arlene, I want to help. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She made a swipe at them. “I made some lemonade.”
He didn’t need any lemonade, but he had a feeling she needed to keep busy. “Lemonade sounds wonderful.”
She glanced toward the house. “My son is home.”
“I look forward to meeting him.”
Her skeptical glance almost made him laugh as she angled back up onto the porch to open the front door.
He followed her inside. The place was immaculate right down to the plastic covers on the couch and chairs. The floors looked freshly scrubbed, and there wasn’t even a dust mote in the air.
The only thing out of place was the young man sprawled on the couch watching TV. He frowned when he saw Hank but didn’t move.
“Bo, this is Hank Monroe,” she said, biting off each word as she gave a jerk of her head that indicated her son should stand.
Bo ignored the gesture. “So you’re dating my mom?” he asked, his tone incredulous as he gave Hank the once-over.
“Bo,” Arlene snapped as she stepped into the living room to shut off the television.
Hank said nothing, his gaze locking with Bo’s. Bo looked away first, and Hank followed Arlene into the kitchen. He heard the television come back on, but Bo turned it down, obviously not wanting to miss what was going on in the adjacent room.
“I did teach him manners. He just refuses to use them. I’m sorry,” Arlene said as she poured Hank a glass of lemonade from a sweating glass pitcher.
“Don’t be.” He took a sip. The lemonade was wonderful and he said as much.
She beamed and offered him some ginger-snaps she’d made. “They take first place at the fair every year.” She glanced toward the living room, clearly anxious.
Hank motioned to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you tell me when you last saw Charlotte.”
Arlene pulled out the chair, brushing at nonexistent crumbs on the seat, and sat down. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I saw her just before she left for her doctor’s appointment. Her appointment was for three, but as usual she was running late. I was worried about her driving too fast on the road into Whitehorse. I offered to take her, but…” Her voice broke.
“You said you talked to the doctor and she didn’t make her appointment?”
Arlene nodded.
“Had she missed an appointment before?” he asked, pretty sure he already knew the answer.
“Yes, but she was getting so close to her due date I can’t imagine her just blowing this one off.”
“Okay. There is only one road into Whitehorse, right?”
Arlene’s eyes widened as she shifted her gaze to the living room. Bo was caught watching them and instantly got a don’t-look-at-me expression.
“Charlotte wouldn’t have taken the shortcut would she?” Arlene asked her son.
“Why do you keep asking me what Charlotte would do?” Bo demanded, raising his voice. “I have no idea. It’s not like we ever talk. You should know that.”
“I should know a lot of things,” Arlene snapped.
