Page 62 of Silent Deception
“It isn’t my theory. I’m just asking.”
Kristin glanced pointedly at her watch, then dug a ten-dollar bill out of her purse and dropped it on the table. “I need to get going.”
He reached across the table and caught her hand. “I don’t want us to argue over this, Kris. Iwantyour father cleared. For your sake and for Cody’s.”
“If I’m defensive, I’m sorry.” She sank back in her chair, his warm hand still on hers, his thumb rubbing circles gently against her wrist. “I...I’m not the girl I was back in college. Things haven’t always been easy. I’ve had to fight for what I believe in. That won’t change.”
“I sure hope not.” His gaze moved slowly over her face. “I know we’ve had a rocky start here, but I’d like to see you again. A real date—not with the kids, not with my obstinate brother. Friday? Saturday?” He grinned boyishly. “Tomorrow?”
“I...” She thought about her resolution to keep her distance. The entire situation was just too complex right now, and she had no business becoming involved with a Gallagher. Especially one who’d soon disappear into some war zone and possibly never return.
But that very fact made it impossible to say no. Whatever time she could have, she would take. No one else had ever held her heart so completely. And no one ever would.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Friday, Saturday, and tomorrow sound just fine.”
* * * *
BY THE TIME THEY LEFTBertha’s, it was five minutes past one and Kristin had to hurry back to the clinic for a full schedule of patients.
Ryan helped her put the fender in the back of her truck, gave her a swift kiss, then headed back to the ranch, while she counted the minutes until five o’clock when she could go to see the sheriff.
She also spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about that kiss, and long afterward, she still felt the warmth of his touch.
During a brief lull—a no-show mom with two toddlers—she hurried down the block to the Snip and Curl, where she found RaeJean, dressed today in a pink uniform with a matching ruffled lace bow in her hair. She was taking payment for a permanent at the front desk.
As soon as the client left, her aunt’s face lit up. “Well, bless your heart,” RaeJean exclaimed. “It’s so nice to see you! Do you have time to sit a spell?”
“Actually, I’ve just got a few minutes between patients, and I’ve come to ask a favor.” There were just two clients still in the shop and both were under hair dryers in the back, but Kristin lowered her voice anyway. “I need to find a babysitter for Cody this Saturday. Do you know of anyone? A client, maybe?”
RaeJean drew herself up, a frothy pink picture of indignation. “And what about his great-aunt?”
Kristin had been thinking more along the lines of a high school tomboy who could play catch or video games. “I just figured you must be tired, working such long days. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Take advantage? My gracious, no. I’d bethrilled.” Her smile widened. “In fact, he could have a sleepover! We could rent some movies and bake cookies. I have a nice guest room, you know.”
“Well...”
“It’s all set, dear. Don’t you worry your little head about a thing.” RaeJean beamed at her. “This will be such fun—I never got to have children of my own, you know. I can’t wait! Oh, and if you ever need me again, just say the word.” A timer dinged on one of the hair dryers. “Oops, gotta run. You tell little Cody we’ll have a good time.”
Bemused, Kristin watched her aunt scurry back to the hair dryers. RaeJean truly had a heart of gold, but whether or notlittle Codysaw it that way could be an entirely different matter.
* * * *
THANKFUL THAT CODYhad gone home with Hayden after school again, Kristin called the sheriff’s office, then parked near the door at a quarter after five. Wade came outside to meet her a few minutes later.
“So, you think you’ve found some evidence?” He rubbed his chin as she opened the cab-level camper shell on the back of her truck. “Where’d you get this?”
“At Buddy’s. The truck body was crushed quite a while ago, but he did find some of the salvaged parts.”
Wade frowned. “But how can you be sure this is the right fender?”
“You showed me photos—and Dad did have a black fender. This is the right make and year, and at least part of the number chalked on the underside matches the record on Dad’s truck.”
“Part of it?”
“Some are too blurry to read, but too many things match up for this to be a coincidence. And look at that area with primer—I bet we’ll see it on those photos.”
“Okay. So it could be the fender on your dad’s truck. I’m still not sure that this will prove anything, ma’am.”
