the couch chewing on the end of her long blond hair. Bo was slouched in the recliner, a jumbo bag of corn chips open on his lap and an open can of beer at his elbow, in his own catatonic state as he stared at some reality show on the television where a woman was shrieking at one of the other contestants.
“Turn down the damned TV,” Arlene yelled, covering the mouthpiece. “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”
Neither of her grown children responded.
“I have to bring Charlotte and Bo?” Arlene asked the woman, turning her back to the two. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for them to be around Violet.”
“It’s important for Violet’s healing process.”
“Well, whatever is important for Violet,” Arlene snapped. “Never mind the rest of us. She really is better?”
“I think you will be surprised when you see her. We’ll plan on your family Saturday.”
Arlene hung up, wondering how Violet could surprise her more than she had. Her old-maid daughter had plotted to kill her and even gotten her brother and sister involved.
Arlene could never forgive Violet for that. She’d been so sure her daughter would never get out of the mental hospital and now this. Family Day.
Surely those fools at that hospital weren’t really considering letting Violet out?
As she spooned the pancake batter into the smoking skillet, the scent of oil and sizzling pancake batter filled the kitchen and adjoining living room.
Behind her, Charlotte made an odd sound, then sprung up from the couch to run down the hall, her hand over her mouth. It was the fastest Arlene had seen the girl move in years. A moment later she heard Charlotte retching in the bathroom.
“What on earth is wrong with her?” Arlene demanded of her son.
He glanced away from the TV to scowl at his mother. “What do you think? She’s pregnant. Haven’t you noticed how big she’s been getting? Where have you been?” He looked past her and swore. “Damn it, Mother, you’re burning the pancakes!”
CADE JACKSON swore as he wrenched the can of pepper spray from Andi.
Unfortunately the spray nozzle had been pointed in the wrong direction—her direction. Fortunately only a little had shot out. Enough that her eyes instantly watered and she began to cough uncontrollably.
He grabbed her, cursing with each step as he tried to drag her to the back of his apartment. She fought him, although it was clearly a losing battle, unaware of what he was trying to do until he shoved her out the back door and into the fresh air.
She took huge gulps, tears running down her face as she coughed and tried to get the fresh air into her lungs.
He stood for a moment shaking his head, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his dark eyes boring into her.
“I think you’re going to live,” he said, giving her can of pepper spray a heave. It landed in the deep snow out by the trees along the Milk River and disappeared. “Now get the hell off my porch.”
He stepped back inside, not even looking chilled though still only wearing a towel, and slammed the door behind him. She heard the lock turn.
ON THE OTHER SIDE of the door, Cade Jackson took a ragged breath and looked down at the grainy photograph still clutched in his hand.
It wasn’t Grace. True it looked enough like her to be her twin. Enough like her to rattle the hell out of him.
The woman in the photograph, Starr Calhoun, had robbed a bunch of banks and gotten away with three million dollars?
He wanted to laugh. Not for a minute would anyone believe that this Starr Calhoun was Grace except some wet-behind-the-ears reporter. It was beyond crazy.
He realized he was shaking. From anger. From shock. From the scare she’d given him. Earlier, for just a fleeting panicked instant, he’d thought the woman in the photo was Grace.
It was clear why the reporter had thought so as well as he took one last look at the photo. Even the poor quality print revealed a little of Grace in this woman and it shook him to his core. It was the eyes. She had Grace’s eyes.
The reporter had made an honest mistake, he told himself as he balled up the photo of Starr Calhoun and tossed it in the trash can. The rumpled-up photograph landed on the note and business card the reporter had left the night before. M. W. Blake. He still wanted to break her pretty little neck for giving him such a scare. And that stunt with the pepper spray…
He shook his head as he returned to his apartment at the back of shop to get dressed. Someday he would look back on this and laugh. Let Tex wait by the phone. He wouldn’t be calling her.
Still he felt shaken by the encounter. Anyone would have been rattled, though, he told himself, after being caught coming out of his shower first thing in the morning by someone like Ms. Blake. He’d foolishly left the shop’s front door open after getting his newspaper this morning. Maybe he’d better start locking his apartment, as well.
When he’d first seen her standing there, he’d been a little surprised but he sure hadn’t expected what was coming. Not from someone who looked like her, small, demure, sweet looking and sounding with that Texas accent of hers. And a determination that rivaled his own.
Too bad he couldn’t shake off the worry that pressed on his chest like a two-ton truck. The woman wasn’t foolish enough to run the story, was she?
As he started to leave, he went back into the shop to retrieve the photo, note and business card from the trash. Smoothing the photo, he felt his original jolt of surprise. He quickly folded the paper and stuck all three items in his coat pocket as he headed for the door again.
Cade would just show the photo to Carter, have him find out who this Starr Calhoun was and put an end to this foolishness before the reporter made a fool of herself and tarnished Grace’s memory. That, after all, was the benefit of having a brother who was sheriff.
Cade glanced at his watch, knowing where to find his brother this time of the morning. At the same place he was seven days a week, the Hi-Line Café.
Leaving his Closed sign in the window, Cade headed for the café just a few blocks to the west. It was one of those beautiful December days, cold and crisp, the sky a crystalline-blue, the clouds mere wisps high above him and the new snow brilliant and blinding.
It was supposed to snow again by evening, he’d heard on the radio this morning before his shower. The shower brought back the image of M. W. Blake standing in his bait shop. He remembered now that his first impression had been one of male interest—before he’d found out who she was and what she wanted.
He recalled being a little taken aback by the sharp pang of desire he’d felt. But given how long it had been, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. The feeling had been more than lust, though. He’d actually been interested.
Even before she’d opened her mouth, it had been clear she wasn’t local. She was wearing some fancy black boots with a gray pin-striped three-piece suit and a lightweight leather coat, her long dark hair pulled up to give him a good view of her long, graceful neck.
When
