woman that way.”
“Are you talking about Jud Corbett, the stuntman?” Eve asked, joining them. She helped herself to a glass of punch.
Faith shrugged and glanced across the room to where Jud Corbett was standing, his gaze on her. She quickly averted her eyes, feeling her cheeks warm even further.
“I heard Jud Corbett is fearless when it comes to stunts,” McKenna said.
“He sounds dangerous,” Eve said, and Faith could feel her sister’s gaze on her.
“Dangerous” described Jud Corbett perfectly, Faith thought, as she saw the look Jud Corbett gave her as he left the dance.
AFTER THE DANCE, Eve Bailey Jackson got on the phone again. Carter was working late tonight at the sheriff’s department—some annual report or something or other.
“I don’t like you staying home alone so much,” Carter had said earlier. His gaze said he knew about the list of phone numbers, knew the long hours she’d spent gathering them—and calling trying to find her birth mother.
He’d seemed about to say something else but changed his mind. Eve knew he worried that she’d never quit looking for her birth mother and that her unfulfilling quest would sour her and their life together. Or worse, that she’d find her mother and be even more disappointed.
Eve had gone through the long list of C. Small numbers, each time telling herself that this would be the call that would end it.
Now as she started to dial yet another, she felt her heart pound with anticipation and fear. This was the last number on the list.
If this number was another dead end, then it was a sign, she told herself. Her fingers shook as she tapped in each number, a silent prayer on her lips and tears in her eyes as she promised herself this would be the last of it. Her search would end here.
Like her brother, she would move on. Carter wanted to have children. He wanted the two of them to get on with their lives.
She made a solemn promise to herself as the phone at the other end of the line began to ring. She’d run out of options and couldn’t bear any more dead ends. She would give up her search for the mother who’d given her and Bridger away. This had to stop.
“No more,” she said under her breath as the phone rang once, twice, three times and then, just when Eve was about to hang up, give up for good, a female voice answered.
“Hello?”
Eve had to clear her throat. “Is this Mrs. Small?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Eve Bailey Jackson. I’m trying to locate a Constance Small who lived near Whitehorse, Montana, thirty-four years ago.”
“Constance?” the woman repeated. The line went dead.
As hard as she tried to hold them back, Eve felt the tears flow down her cheeks. Another dead end. Her last.
THE CALL CAME out of the blue. Mary Ellen was in the middle of baking cookies for the church fund-raiser. Quickly dusting the flour from her hands, she answered the phone with a cheerful, “Hello.”
“Mary Ellen?”
“What’s wrong, Mother?”
“I got another one of those calls about Constance.” Her mother was crying. “After all these years…I just can’t bear it. I know it’s just another prank call, someone wanting money, like the others professing to have information about Constance.”
“It’s all right, Mother.” But Mary Ellen feared it wasn’t. As she’d said, it had been years. Why would someone be calling now?
“I took down the woman’s number from caller ID. She said her name was Eve Bailey Jackson. She was calling from Montana.”
Mary Ellen drew up a chair and sat down hard.
“She sounded nice.” Her mother thought everyone was nice. “But I just can’t do it. Would you call her?” Her mother began to cry, and Mary Ellen hated this Eve Bailey Jackson.
“I’ll take care of it. I’m sure it’s just as you say—nothing. So don’t worry yourself over it.”
For years Mary Ellen had feared this day would come. But as time had gone by, she’d started to think that the truth would never come out.
“Bless you, dear. Here’s her phone number.”
Mary Ellen listened as her mother rattled off the Whitehorse, Montana, telephone number, but she didn’t write it down. She had no intention of returning the call. She told herself she was doing them all a favor as she hung up the phone.
Turning back toward the kitchen, she saw black smoke billowing from the oven. She’d burned the cookies for the church fund-raiser. Only then did she let herself break down.
Chapter Four
The prairie glistened in the morning sun, tall green grasses undulating in the slight breeze, the smell of summer sharp and sweet. Overhead, puffy white clouds floated in a crystalline blue sky.
Faith saw the plume of dust curling up off the dirt road that ran through Old Town Whitehorse past the Bailey Ranch.
She watched as the vehicle slowed, squinting into the morning sun as a vaguely familiar pickup pulled to a stop in front of the house.
“Is that Jud Corbett?” Eve asked from behind her as the cowboy climbed out of the truck. Tilting his Stetson back, he walked toward the front door.
Faith cursed under her breath. Jud Corbett hadn’t taken her warning to stay away. The man was impossible. What could he want? Not to help protect her secrets, she’d bet money on that.
Faith hurried out on the porch and down the steps to cut him off. He was tall and muscled, but there was grace and fluidity to his movements. She easily recognized him in the movies where he did the stunts. There was just something about him. A confidence.
Arrogance, she thought now.
He saw her and slowed as if only now thinking twice about coming here. His mistake.
“I thought we had an understanding?” she demanded through gritted teeth as she faced him.
He grinned then, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Did we?” He took a step toward her. She took two back. “Do I scare you?”
“Of course not,” she snapped, a clear lie. What was it about him that made her feel she always had to be on guard around him? She knew the answer to that one, actually.
“Fearless, are you? Then you’re just the woman I’m looking for.”
She irritably brushed away his words like a cobweb in her path. “Do not even try to charm me. I can assure you it won’t work.” Another lie.
“That wasn’t charm. That was honesty.” He said the words simply, and if she hadn’t known better, she might have believed him. “I need to talk to you about something that will make you very happy.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “If this is about breakfast—”
He laughed. “While I would hope breakfast with me would make you more than very happy, that’s not it.” The grin faded. “Could we talk somewhere?”
Eve was just inside, probably watching them from the window.
“Down by the creek,” Faith said, and turned toward the copse of cottonwoods that stood along the banks. She planned to set the man straight once and for all. The last thing she needed was him showing up on her doorstep again.
While he’d promised to keep her secret, she knew given the way he’d blackmailed her into dancing with him last night that he couldn’t be trusted. What was he doing here? And what could he possibly have to talk to her about? Whatever it was, she was on