Cold Case at Cobra Creek. Rita Herron
him back to her where he belonged.
* * *
SAGE UNLOADED THE GROCERIES, grateful the couple staying at the inn had taken a day trip and wouldn’t be back until bedtime. Breakfast came with the room rental, but lunch and dinner were optional. In addition, she provided coffee and tea and snacks midmorning and afternoon, including fruit, cookies and an assortment of freshly baked pastries and desserts. She usually conferred with the guests on check-in and planned accordingly.
The doorbell rang; then the front bell tinkled that someone had entered. She rushed to the entryway and found Dugan standing beneath the chandelier, studying the rustic farm tools and pictures of horses on the wall.
People who visited Texas wanted rustic charm, and she tried to give it to them.
“I came for that picture.” Dugan tipped his Stetson out of politeness, his rugged features stark in the evening light.
“Come this way.” She led him through the swinging double doors to the kitchen. His gaze caught on the tabletop Christmas tree, and she bit back a comment, refusing to explain herself.
Maybe Benji would never come back.
But if he did, his present would be waiting. And they would celebrate all the days and holidays they’d missed spending together the past two years.
Sage opened a photo album on the breakfast bar and began to flip through it. Dugan watched pain etch itself on her face as she stared at the pictures chronicling Benji’s young life.
A baby picture of him swaddled in a blue blanket while he lay nestled in Sage’s arms. A photo of the little boy sleeping in a crib, another of him as an infant in the bathtub playing with a rubber ducky, pictures of him learning to crawl, then walk.
Photos of Benji tearing open presents at his first birthday party, riding a rocking horse at Christmas, playing in the sprinkler out back, cuddled on the couch in monster pajamas and cradling his blanket.
Sage paused to trace her finger over a small envelope. “I kept a lock of Benji’s hair from his first haircut.”
Dugan offered a smile, tolerating her trip down memory lane because he understood her emotions played into this case and he couldn’t ignore them.
He shifted uncomfortably. He had a hard time relating to family; he had never been part of one and didn’t know how families worked. At least, not normal, loving ones. If they existed.
He’d grown up between foster care and the rez, never really wanted in either place.
She brushed at a tear, then removed a picture of Benji posed by the Christmas tree. “I took that the day before he went missing.”
Dugan glanced at the tabletop tree and realized the same present still lay beneath the tree’s base. Dammit. She’d kept the tree up all this time waiting on her son to return to open it.
“Can I get the photograph back?” Sage asked. “As you can see, this is all I have left....”
The crack in her voice tore at him. “Of course. I’ll take good care of it, Sage.” And maybe he’d bring back the real thing instead of just a picture.
But he refrained from making that promise.
“Sage, before I get started, we need to talk. There are some questions I need you to answer.”
Sage closed the photo album and laid a hand on top of it. He noticed her nails were short, slightly jagged, as if she’d been biting them.
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you have any idea why Ron Lewis had Benji in the car with him that day?”
“No.” Sage threaded her fingers through the long, tangled tresses of her hair, hair that was streaked with red, brown and gold. “Sheriff Gandt suggested that he was taking Benji Christmas shopping to buy me a present.”
A possibility. “What do you think?”
“Ron knew how protective I was of my son. I don’t understand why he would have left without telling me or leaving me a note. He knew that Benji was all I had, and that I would panic when I woke up and discovered they were gone.”
“What about other family?” Dugan asked.
Sage sighed wearily. “I never knew my father. My mother died the year before I had Benji. A car accident.”
He knew this could get touchy. “And Benji’s father?”
Resignation settled in her eyes. “Trace Lanier. I met him right after my mother died.” She traced a finger along the edge of the photo album. “I was grieving and vulnerable. Not that that’s an excuse, but we dated a few times. When I discovered the pregnancy, he bailed.”
“Where is he now?”
“I have no clue. He worked the rodeos, traveling town to town.”
“Did he express any interest in seeing his son?”
Sage laughed, a bitter sound. “No. He didn’t even want to acknowledge that Benji was his. In fact, he accused me of lying, of coming after him for money.”
Dugan waited, his pulse hammering. Sage didn’t strike him as that type at all.
“I was furious,” Sage said. “I told him that my mother was a single mother and that she’d raised me on her own, and that I would do the same. I didn’t want his money. And I didn’t care if I ever saw him again or if he ever met his son.”
“And that was that?”
Sage brushed her hands together. “That was that. I never heard from him again.”
Dugan contemplated her story. “Do you think that he might have changed his mind and decided he wanted to see Benji?”
Sage shook her head. “No. I think he’s doing pretty well in the rodeo circuit now. Making a name bronco riding. That brings the rodeo groupies. The last thing he’d want is to have a child get in the way of that.”
Dugan had never met the bastard, but he didn’t like him.
Still, he’d verify that information. Perhaps Lanier’s manager had suggested that having a little boy could improve his popularity. It was a long shot, but Dugan didn’t intend to ignore any possibility.
SAGE HATED ADMITTING that she had fallen for Trace Lanier’s sexy rodeo looks, but she had. Even worse, she’d believed Ron Lewis was different.
Could he have simply been taking Benji Christmas shopping and gotten killed before he could bring her son back?
And why would someone kill Ron?
Or had Ron taken Benji for another reason?
But why? She didn’t have money to pay a ransom....
“Do you want coffee?” Sage asked.
Dugan nodded, and she poured them both a mug, then placed a slice of homemade pound cake on a plate in front of him. “It’s fresh. I baked it last night.”
A small smile curved his mouth. “I’ve heard you’re a good cook.”
“Really?” Sage blushed. What else had he heard?
“Yes, I’m sure it helps with your business.”
“I suppose so,” Sage said. “I used to stay with my grandma when I was little, and she taught me everything she knew.”
He sipped his coffee. “Tell me about Ron Lewis. How did you two meet?”
“Actually he stayed here when he came to town on business,” Sage said. “He was a real estate developer. He wanted to convince the town council to go forward on a new development that