Page 42 of River Wild

“When do you expect him?”

“A few days. I could have him call you,” Annette said, clearly not going to ask him in even as she flirted with him. She was trying to get rid of him.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d do that.” He’d started to turn away when she said, “You sure you don’t want to leave a message?”

“I’m sure,” he said over his shoulder. As he drove away, he passed a large, newer-model pickup coming into the ranch. Wyoming plates. He called the office and had the plates run, but the name that came up, Brock Sherwood, didn’t ring any bells.

HOLDENLOOKEDUPto find Elaine standing in his den-office doorway. He’d already had a rough day and wasn’t up to more. He’d ridden over to the creek this morning, but there had been no sign of Lottie. He felt like a damned fool, which was probably why he’d said what he had to the sheriff. “If it’s bad news—”

“Not necessarily,” she said quickly. “I did some checking about this boy Buck Savage.” She came on into the room, closing the door behind her since she didn’t want anyone hearing and telling Holly Jo that they’d been checking up on her boyfriend. “Talked to the principal and several teachers at the school. Seems like a nice boy, popular.”

“But?”

“One of the teachers said she thought Buck had been getting help on his math homework. She said she thinks Holly Jo is doing it for him and trying to pass it off as his.”

“Terrific,” Holden said with a curse. “What is the teacher going to do about it?”

“Let it go for a while, saying these kinds of relationships never last long.”

“Meaning what?” he demanded.

“That if he’s only using her to do his homework, he’ll probably lose interest in her, and they’ll break up.”

Holden shoved to his feet.“The little bastard is using her?”

“We don’t know that for a fact,” Elaine said quickly as he came around the end of his desk.

“We know his father. I think it’s time I paid a visit to the Savages.” He reached for his Stetson as he started for the door.

“Try to be diplomatic, because if it gets back to Holly Jo—”

He slammed the door. “Diplomacy my ass,” he said under his breath.

BAILEYFELTAchill as she left Willow’s rental. It had been so strange and eerie to see all of the woman’s things as if Willow had just stepped out and would be back any moment. There’d been a feeling of expectation in the air along with the faint scent of the woman’s perfume. In the bathroom, her makeup had been spread out on the counter, evidence of an important date night.

In her bedroom, a variety of clothes from the closet had been discarded on the bed as if she’d had trouble deciding what to wear. Again, the date had been important to her, given her obvious indecision.

The mess in the bathroom and bedroom told her that Willow hadn’t planned to bring her date back to her house that night since she hadn’t tried to tidy up. Instead, it almost looked as if she’d been running late.

So where had she been going, and with whom? Had it been him? Had he come to her door that night? Had Willow been expecting him—or someone else? He wouldn’t have come into the house. No reason to take a chance of leaving any evidence behind. Since there was no sign of a struggle, she must have gone outside with him. But was he who she’d gotten dressed up for?

Or had it been someone else?

The thought nagged at her as she drove, riding along with her like that ever-present feeling of being watched. Another chill curled around her neck. She quickly rubbed it away, remembering when it had been clothesline cord around her neck. She had to find him and soon, she told herself as she headed into town.

If Willow had a date that night, someone she worked with at the hotel just might have known about it. People might not have been as forthcoming with the sheriff and crime team as they would be with her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ONHISWAYout to talk to Jay Erickson, the sheriff swung by Ralph Jones’s place since the two ranch properties adjoined. Stuart needed to ask Ralph why he’d followed Bailey on the road to Billings—not once, but twice. He also wanted to talk to Ralph’s wife, Norma, about her award-winning peanut butter fudge.

When he drove up, he saw Ralph standing in the doorway of a large old shed across from the main house. The rancher was in sunlight, but quickly stepped back as if trying to hide in the shadows behind him.

The sheriff parked, got out and walked toward the shed. He couldn’t see the rancher but knew he was still there. “Ralph?” he called as he approached the doorway, suddenly on alert. From inside, he heard what sounded like a wrench hit the wood floor, following by a rustling of movement.

Cautiously, he stepped to the doorway and waited for his eyes to adjust to the semidarkness. A dark figure moved from the back of the shed, stepping in a shaft of light from a crack in the wall. “Back here.”

Like the men not crossed off Bailey’s list, Ralph Jones was a large, solid man. Twelve years ago, he would have been forty-three, a man in his prime. He’d been invited to the barbecue, but had he gone? Maybe not, and that was why Bailey had crossed him off her list.

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