know who she’s been in contact with?”
“No.” She stood in the doorway of Corry’s room. The bedding was flung across the bed and dragged on the floor, and a few odds and ends of clothing were still scattered about.
Jay walked into the room, an envelope in his hand.
“She’s gone. This was on the table.” He handed her an envelope.
Lacey’s fingers trembled as she took it from him. She ripped it and tore the paper out. Eyes watering, she read the scribbled lines, trying to make sense of misspelled words and her sister’s childlike handwriting. But she got it. She crumpled the note in her hand. She got it.
“She’s gone.” She held out the note and Jay took it from her hand.
“Let’s take a drive and see if we can find her. She couldn’t have gotten far.”
Optimism. Lacey had worked hard on being an optimist. She had worked hard on finding faith in hard times. She didn’t know what to think about Corry leaving with the baby.
She glanced at her watch. “Jay, if they left right after I left, they could be back in St. Louis by now.”
He inhaled and let it out in a sigh. “That’s true. Let’s go inside and we’ll see if she left anything behind.”
“We should call the police.”
Dark brows lifted and he sort of smiled at her. “Lacey, I am the police. And unless she’s committed a crime, there’s no reason for going after her. She’s a grown woman who left your house with her own child.”
“But she can’t take care of Rachel. She can barely take care of herself.”
“She’s an adult.”
“An adult who reads and writes at a first-grade level.” Lacey looked away from his compassion, his sympathy.
“Can she take care of Rachel?”
Lacey walked through the dark, cool interior of the house, her house. She kept her eyes down, thinking of what to do next. She couldn’t face the empty bassinet or thoughts of Rachel with Corry.
“She can, but I don’t know if she can keep her safe.” Lacey spoke softly, because if she said it too loudly, would it seem harsh? “My mother and Corry make a lot of bad decisions.”
“We could hotline her with family services and maybe they could intervene on behalf of the baby.” Jay walked through the kitchen. He stopped at the canisters.
“What do you keep in these?”
“Sugar, flour, coffee. Normal stuff. Why?”
“This one is empty and the lid was next to it.” He lifted the smallest canister.
The air left her lungs and the room felt too hot, and then too cold. Never in a million years would she have thought…
But then again, she should have. Because she knew Corry, knew what she was capable of. She was capable of stealing from her own family.
“It wasn’t coffee?” He set the canister down and replaced the lid. “Money?”
Her chest ached and her throat tightened. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t be the person he pitied. She had survived worse than this, and she would survive again.
“You aren’t stupid.”
“I should have put it in the bank.” She shook her head, looking away from Jay so she wouldn’t see his compassion and he couldn’t see her tears. “I put my tip money in there, and lived on my hourly wages. It was for land.”
“For land?” Soft and tender, his voice soothed. He took a few steps in her direction, and she wanted to rely on the strong arms of a cowboy to hold her and tell her everything would be okay.
He wasn’t offering, and she knew better.
“Yes, for land. I want a place of my own.” Dreams, snatched away. “But I can start over, right? It isn’t the end of the world.”
“No.” He stood in front of her now, tall and cowboy, with eyes that seemed to understand. “It isn’t the end of the world, but it probably feels like it is.”
“It feels more like I might never see my niece again. Rachel is more important than land. I don’t want that baby to live the life we lived in St. Louis. I want her to have a real family and real chances.”
“She’ll be okay with her mother.”
“No, she won’t. Jay, you don’t get it. You’ve lived here all your life, in a cocoon that sheltered you from the outside world. You don’t know what it’s like to always worry about who’s walking through the front door and what they’re going to do to you.”
The words spilled out and so did the tears, coursing down her cheeks, salty on her lips. She brushed them away with her hand and shook her head when he tried to hold her.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, staring at the floor because she couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I don’t want to be someone you feel sorry for. I’d much rather you resent me for being here.”
“I don’t resent you.”
She smiled then and wiped at her eyes. “You do, but it’s nice of you to say you don’t. Look, I’m fine. I survived and I have a great life here. And if you keep looking at me like that, you’re going to make me cry again. I don’t want to cry anymore.”
“We’ll find Rachel.” He made it sound like a promise she could believe. She’d been promised a lot in her life.
“I hope so.”
“Lacey, growing up in Gibson doesn’t guarantee anything.” He walked to the door. “Let’s see if we can find your sister and the baby. At least now we have a reason to call the police.”
The stolen money. Lacey picked up her purse and followed him out the door, still hurting over what Corry had done, and ashamed because she knew that life held no guarantees for anyone.
Not even for Jay Blackhorse.
Chapter Seven
Jay cruised past the church on Tuesday afternoon. He’d been past a couple of other times, and each time, Lacey’s car had been parked out front. It was still parked out front. Maybe she’d heard from her sister.
Probably not. He didn’t expect Corry to suddenly have a conscience and feel guilty for what she’d done to Lacey. He pulled into the church parking lot and parked. But he didn’t get out.
Instead, he questioned why he was there. He asked God, but didn’t hear a clear answer. It felt a lot like getting involved in Lacey’s life, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want involved, he didn’t want tangled up. He didn’t want to understand her life in St. Louis and what she’d done there.
Pastor Dan walked out of the front of the church, taking the steps two at a time, because that was just Dan. He was always in a hurry to get somewhere. And he was always smiling. Dan had a lot of joy. Joy was as contagious as someone’s bad mood, but a lot easier to take. Jay got out of his truck and waited.
“Got business, or are you just here to pass the time?” Dan stopped, still smiling, but with a curious glint in his eyes.
“Passing time.” Jay reached into the truck and pulled out two plastic bags with Styrofoam containers. “I doubt she’s eaten anything.”
And that was the entangled part that he hadn’t wanted. He’d noticed her car at the church for the last few hours, and he’d started to think that maybe she hadn’t eaten. She wasn’t