for being skeptical about Charlotte’s disappearing act. Arlene herself couldn’t help but believe he might be right.
She blamed herself. She’d failed miserably as a mother. It was the only explanation for the way her three had turned out. And even now she had no idea what she’d done wrong. Floyd had always been too busy farming—until recently, when he’d bailed out completely.
Drying her tears, she pulled herself together as she drove home. She had to believe that Charlotte would come back and that that innocent little baby was all right.
“Arlene?” Hank’s voice sounded like heaven when he answered the phone. “Any news on your daughter?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and turned her back to Bo, who was sprawled on the couch, watching television. “She never went to her doctor’s appointment yesterday, and I still haven’t heard a word. I’m worried sick.”
“I’ll come right out and help you look for her.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Bo. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Arlene, I want to help.”
She’d hoped to put this off. She took the phone outside to the porch and closed the door firmly behind her.
“The truth is, I haven’t been honest with you about my family.” The tears that burned her eyes surprised her. She hadn’t cried for years, and now all of a sudden she was a waterworks. “I’ve made a horrible mess of my life. Of my children’s lives. I have one daughter in a mental institution, another one pregnant and a son—” Her voice broke and she couldn’t continue.
“I haven’t told you about my family either,” Hank said. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, as well, Arlene. You know I told you I was widowed? It’s true. My wife and I never divorced but we hadn’t lived together for years. I’m walking out the door now. I can be at your place in fifteen minutes. Just give me the directions. We’ll find your daughter.”
Arlene cupped her hand over her mouth for a moment to keep from sobbing, her relief overwhelming her. She’d been handling things on her own for so many years, just the thought of someone wanting to help her…When there were problems, Floyd had always left it up to her to take care of them, blaming her no matter what the trouble was or the outcome.
“You need to drive south toward Old Town,” she finally managed to say.
“I’ll be right there.”
Chapter Three
Hank drove down the narrow dirt road, flying over the small rises, dropping down to creek bottoms and cattle crossings.
He hadn’t seen another vehicle since he’d left Whitehorse. Nor was there a house or fence in sight. The land rolled in waves of green grasses toward the badlands of the Missouri Breaks.
Of all the places he’d been in the world, none seemed as desolate as this right now. He’d heard this called one of the loneliest places in America. One hundred and fifty miles of country with only a few roads, none of them passable when wet, scores of townships without a town or even a house and, ripping a deep, twisted canyon through it all was the Missouri River, where the badlands rose up from the canyon floor in pre-glacial cliffs.
This country of purple-shadowed coulees filled with stands of scrub pine, spruce and cedar was what had brought him here. The river bottom was cloaked in thick stands of cottonwoods that reached for the big sky, and the prairie let him see for miles.
Montana was said to have a population density of six people per square mile. Out here that number dropped to zero-point-three people.
He had yearned for isolation. For open spaces. For freedom. Here in this part of Montana, one of the last lawless places, he had found it.
Had he blinked, he would have missed Old Town Whitehorse. A weathered sign was barely visible in the tall weeds beside the road. Whitehorse. Someone had added Old Town above the faded lettering in black paint.
Hank slowed as he passed a one-room schoolhouse, the Whitehorse Community Center, a few more old houses, the cemetery with its wrought-iron arch.
The railroad might have lured the first residents to the north, but a lot of Whitehorse apparently had remained right here.
He turned down the road as Arlene had instructed. Not far along he spotted the farmhouse. It was big and white with a wide screened-in porch. Behind it, a faded red barn with a horse weather vane that moved restlessly in the breeze.
He pulled in, parked. As he got out of his SUV, he saw Arlene waiting for him, on the front porch. Her face lit at the sight of him and he felt that pull inside him, his heart beating a little faster, the sky a little bluer.
What was it about this woman? She was far from beautiful. But there was a strength to her. An inner beauty that seemed to radiate from her face when he looked at her.
His grandmother would have said she came from good stock. A woman who’d never been pampered. A woman who he suspected had never been loved—at least not enough. And that, he thought, explained the vulnerability that she tried so hard to hide.
After the phone call from Cameron last night, he knew he shouldn’t be here. He didn’t want to bring his old life anywhere near this woman, who he suspected had enough problems without him becoming one of them.
But as he walked toward her and saw the determined set of her shoulders under the oversize shirt, the way she stood in boots and slim jeans that emphasized her height, there wasn’t a chance in hell that he could turn his back on her.
He’d help her find her daughter, then he’d make some excuse not to see her anymore until he knew what the hell Cameron wanted. A breach in security? That had nothing to do with him any longer. Even if his former enemies had learned who he was, he’d suspected long before he’d quit that all the bad guys knew the other bad guys. That’s why he hadn’t returned the call. He didn’t want any more to do with that spook stuff.
“I shouldn’t have called you,” Arlene said, coming down the porch steps toward him. “I’m sure this is just Charlotte being Charlotte. I don’t want you bothered with it. She likes to worry me.”
He smiled ruefully, thinking of his own daughter. “Kids do that.”
“Really, I shouldn’t have involved you in this,” she said nervously.
“Arlene, I want to help. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She made a swipe at them. “I made some lemonade.”
He didn’t need any lemonade, but he had a feeling she needed to keep busy. “Lemonade sounds wonderful.”
She glanced toward the house. “My son is home.”
“I look forward to meeting him.”
Her skeptical glance almost made him laugh as she angled back up onto the porch to open the front door.
He followed her inside. The place was immaculate right down to the plastic covers on the couch and chairs. The floors looked freshly scrubbed, and there wasn’t even a dust mote in the air.
The only thing out of place was the young man sprawled on the couch watching TV. He frowned when he saw Hank but didn’t move.
“Bo, this is Hank Monroe,” she said, biting off each word as she gave a jerk of her head that indicated her son should stand.
Bo ignored the gesture. “So you’re dating my mom?” he asked, his tone incredulous as he gave Hank the once-over.
“Bo,” Arlene snapped as she stepped into the living room to shut off the television.
Hank said nothing, his gaze locking with Bo’s. Bo looked away first, and Hank followed Arlene into the kitchen. He heard the television come back on, but Bo turned it down, obviously not wanting to miss what was going