and after tossing and turning for hours in her sleeping bag, she had finally fallen into a death-like sleep.
But this morning, she’d awakened ready to face whatever would be awaiting her back at the office in town. Coming up here in the mountains had been the best thing she could have done. For months she’d been worried and confused as small amounts of money kept disappearing from the foundation.
Then last week, she’d realized that more than a hundred thousand dollars was gone. She’d been so shocked that she hadn’t been able to breathe, let alone think. That’s when she’d called in an independent auditor. She just hoped she could find out what had happened to the money before anyone got wind of it—especially her father, Senator Buckmaster Hamilton.
Her stomach roiled at the thought. He’d always been so proud of her for taking over the reins of the foundation that bore her mother’s name. All her father needed was another scandal. He was running for the presidency of the United States, something he’d dreamed of for years. Now his daughter was about to go to jail for embezzlement. She could only imagine his disappointment in her—not to mention what it might do to the foundation.
She loved the work the foundation did, helping small businesses in their community. Her father had been worried that she couldn’t handle the responsibility. She’d been determined to show him he was wrong. And show herself, as well. She’d grown up a lot in the past five years, and running the foundation had given her a sense of purpose she’d badly needed.
That’s why she was anxious to find out the results of the audit now that her head was clear. The mountains always did that for her. Breathing in the fresh air now, she swung up in the saddle, spurred her horse and headed down the trail toward the ranch. She’d camped only a couple of hours back into the mountain, so she still had plenty of time, she thought as she rode. The last thing she wanted was to be late to meet with the auditor.
She’d known for some time that there were...discrepancies in foundation funds. A part of her had hoped that it was merely a mistake—that someone would realize he or she had made an error—so she wouldn’t have to confront anyone about the slip.
Bo knew how naive that was, but she couldn’t bear to think that one of her employees was behind the theft. Yes, her employees were a ragtag bunch. There was Albert Drum, a seventy-two-year-young former banker who worked with the recipients of the foundation loans. Emily Calder, twenty-four, took care of the website, research, communication and marketing. The only other employee was forty-eight-year-old widower Norma Branstetter, who was in charge of fund-raising.
Employees and board members reviewed the applications that came in for financial help. But Bo was the one responsible for the money that came and went through the foundation.
Unfortunately, she trusted her employees so much that she often let them run the place, including dealing with the financial end of things. She hadn’t been paying close enough attention. How else could there be unexplained expenditures?
Her father had warned her about the people she hired, saying she had to be careful. But she loved giving jobs to those who desperately needed another chance. Her employees had become a second family to her.
Just the thought that one of her employees might be responsible made her sick to her stomach. True, she was a sucker for a hard-luck story. But she trusted the people she’d hired. The thought brought tears to her eyes. They all tried so hard and were so appreciative of their jobs. She refused to believe any one of them would steal from the foundation.
So what had happened to the missing funds?
She hadn’t ridden far when her horse nickered and raised his head as if sniffing the wind. Spurring him forward, she continued through the dense trees. The pine boughs sighed in the breeze, releasing the smells of early summer in the mountains she’d grown up with. She loved the Crazy Mountains. She loved them especially at this time of year. They rose from the valley into high snowcapped peaks, the awe-inspiring range running for miles to the north like a mountainous island in a sea of grassy plains.
What she appreciated most about the Crazies was that a person could get lost in them, she thought. A hunter had done just that last year.
She’d ridden down the ridge some distance, the sun moving across the sky over her head, before she caught the strong smell of smoke. This morning she’d put her campfire out using the creek water nearby. Too much of Montana burned every summer because of lightning storms and careless people, so she’d made sure her fire was extinguished before she’d left.
Now reining in, she spotted the source of the smoke. A small campfire burned below her in the dense trees of a protected gully. She stared down into the camp as smoke curled up. While it wasn’t that unusual to stumble across a backpacker this deep in the Crazies, it was strange for a camp to be so far off the trail. Also, she didn’t see anyone below her on the mountain near the fire. Had whoever had camped there failed to put out the fire before leaving?
Bo hesitated, feeling torn because she didn’t want to take the time to ride all the way down the mountain to the out-of-the-way camp. Nor did she want to ride into anyone’s camp unless necessary.
But if the camper had failed to put out the fire, that was another story.
“Hello?” she called down the mountainside.
A hawk let out a cry overhead, momentarily startling her.
“Hello?” she called again, louder.
No answer. No sign of anyone in the camp.
Bo let out an aggravated sigh and spurred her horse. She had a long ride back and didn’t need a detour. But she still had plenty of time if she hurried. As she made her way down into the ravine, she caught glimpses of the camp and the smoking campfire, but nothing else.
The hidden-away camp finally came into view below her. She could see that whoever had camped there hadn’t made any effort at all to put out the fire. She looked for horseshoe tracks but saw only boot prints in the dust that led down to the camp.
A quiet seemed to fall over the mountainside. No hawk called out again from high above the trees. No squirrel chattered at her from a pine bough. Even the breeze seemed to have gone silent.
Bo felt a sudden chill as if the sun had gone down—an instant before the man appeared so suddenly from out of the dense darkness of the trees. He grabbed her, yanked her down from the saddle and clamped an arm around her as he shoved the dirty blade of a knife in her face.
“Well, look at you,” he said hoarsely against her ear. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes? Guess it’s my lucky day.”
SENATOR BUCKMASTER HAMILTON stood at the front window of his ranch house, stewing. He’d been either in Washington or on the road off and on since January with the presidential campaign, surrounded by staff, volunteers, donors and reporters with cameras in his face. When he’d finally escaped and come home to the ranch, he’d hoped for a little privacy.
But once the news of his first wife’s miraculous return from the dead had hit the local newspaper, the story had gone viral. Reporters had begun calling the house and then showing up on the ranch with cameras and news vans.
He’d thought it would have died down after almost four months. But if anything, with his campaign going well, the media seemed even more bloodthirsty for dirt on his family—let alone photographs of Sarah. Everyone wanted to know where she’d been and if her alleged memory loss was real.
No one wanted to know more than he did. His “dead” wife’s return had turned his life upside down since he’d remarried fifteen years ago. He was just thankful that of his six daughters, five of them were away from the ranch and doing their best to keep out of the limelight.
“You really should eat some breakfast,” Angelina Broadwater Hamilton said as she came into the living room with two cups of coffee. His wife handed one to him and