Page 21 of River Wild

He didn’t look at her, feeling afraid for her and this new world she was wading into. All of them had been more than a little protective of her since the kidnapping. She seemed to have put the whole nightmare behind her, but Pickett was glad that Holden had insisted she see a therapist.

Now she had a boyfriend.

Pickett had to remind himself that having a boyfriend at her age was probably normal. He expected her to be more wary and he was sure she was – just not of a cute boy from her school.

He told himself that she was dealing with what had happened to her. After that terrifying experience, she probably just wanted everything to be...normal. He couldn’t definitely understand that.

The therapy sessions seemed to be going well. As the psychiatrist had said, children were reliant. He could certainly see that in Holly Jo.

But this was her first “boyfriend.” She knew nothing about teenaged boys.

HOLDENHADSPENTmuch of the day trying to calm down after his run-in with the sheriff that morning. Bailey and Stuart? Could the sheriff handle his willful daughter? Could any man?

He’d gone into town to talk to the sheriff about the murder and how the investigation was going. He kept thinking about what Ralph Jones had said.I thought it was Bailey at first. His alley cat of a daughter, coming and going from the ranch at all hours, scared him.

What he hadn’t expected was to see his daughter coming out of the sheriff’s house at that hour of the morning. Stuart was in love with her? He almost felt sorry for the man and feared Bailey would never settle down. For a long time now, he’d feared that she would come to a bad end, and he’d have only himself to blame, because he hadn’t been there for her when she needed him growing up.

After several meetings, lunch with an implement dealer, and then an afternoon taking care of other business in town, he headed home, tired and out of sorts. As he turned in to the ranch and drove to the house, he saw Elaine talking to Deacon Yates, his ranch manager, out in the yard, and felt a twinge of jealousy. For years, he and his housekeeper and cook had been as close as an old married couple. She’d been his most trusted friend, his rock, and now she was seeing Deacon.

He remembered the day Deacon had come to him, hat in hand literally, to make known that he wanted to date Elaine. He’d been looking for Holden’s blessing. He’d had no choice but to give it when Deacon had showed where his heart lay.

It wasn’t like he had any right to stand in Deacon’s way. He loved Elaine—she was family—but he’d given away his heart years ago to Charlotte Stafford, his Lottie. He knew it, and so did Elaine, so he had to let her go even though he doubted he’d ever have Lottie. It felt as if everyone was leaving him.

With Charlotte gone and no one apparently knowing where she’d gone or if she would be coming back, he felt lost. Still he rode over to the creek almost every day—just in case she’d returned. What a damned fool he was.

As he drove up to the ranch and saw Pickett waiting for him in front of the house pacing and looking anxious, he swore.Now what, Holden thought as he parked and got out. He didn’t feel like dealing with it after the day he’d had.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded of the young man who’d become much more than a hired ranch hand. Pickett was like another son. If he was worried about something, then there was reason for concern.

“It’s Holly Jo.”

WHENTHESHERIFFreached his house hours later, he was relieved and a little surprised to see Bailey waiting for him—not inside the house but on his porch in the dark. He parked, cutting his engine, afraid she was finally going to tell him something he now suspected.

After climbing out of his patrol SUV, he walked toward her in the darkest night he could remember. The blackness felt suffocating, the clouds low, not a breath of breeze. The stillness made his flesh crawl. He found himself watching for movement in the sleepy town of Powder Crossing as if every shadow could be dangerous. On the surface, it appeared to be just another night in the tiny eastern Montana town that was merely struggling to stay alive. But he’d learned as sheriff to look below the surface—even when he didn’t want to.

Bailey rose as he approached. Their eyes met, and he saw naked fear and pain—both threatening to drop him to his knees. She was finally going to tell him. His chest tightened as he saw her face crumble. He reached for her, drawing her close and holding her. He could feel her heart pounding, her body trembling. He held her tighter, fearing why she’d been showing up at his door for months.

After a few minutes standing on his porch in the shadowy blackness of the night, he drew her inside and closed the door behind her, locking it. He knew what was out there in the dark, but what he was about to let inside terrified him more.

Whatever Bailey was going to tell him, it would change everything.

Why was he always drawn to women with secrets, women who lied to him, women who tempted him even when he sensed a strong undercurrent inside them that warned him how dangerous they could be?

This one had moved into the living room, taken off her jacket, tossed it on his couch and dropped her oversized satchel on the floor next to it, but she hadn’t sat down.

She looked scared, but so was he. He wished like hell she wasn’t going to say what he knew she was. So he said it for her. “You already knew what happened to Willow. Bailey, I saw your expression in my office when you asked about her. You suspected what had really happened.” He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat. “You need to tell me. If you know who the killer is, if he’s threatening you—”

“I knew because he did it to me.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“DIDITTOYOU?” Stuart repeated, as if trying to make sense out of this. “Are you saying—”

“He attacked me,” Bailey said, her voice breaking. She could tell that he didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to believe it had happened to her. She’d never told anyone, had hoped she’d never have to. There’d been a time when she’d denied to herself that it had even happened.

But when she met Stuart’s gaze, she knew she was going to have to tell him everything. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

He stood, silhouetted against the kitchen light he’d turned on as if afraid to move. “I don’t understand,” he said keeping his voice soft, devoid of the one thing he knew would break her: sympathy. He was still the sheriff, the man she needed right now a lot more than the cowboy who’d been in love with her for years. But it was that lovesick cowboy who broke her heart. He thought he wanted to hear this, but he didn’t. “If you know who he is—”

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