Texas-Sized Trouble. Barb Han
take your word for it,” she said. “I remember you at that age. And the need for an adrenaline rush hasn’t dimmed, has it, Ryder?”
“I like to think I’m more mature now.”
“I’d like to think I’m a supermodel,” she jabbed back. That quick wit of hers still made him want to smile. This time, he resisted the urge.
He glanced at his watch. “It’s late. I’ll get coverage on the ranch tomorrow, so we can get started first thing in the morning. We’ll start with his mother.”
An emotion he couldn’t put his finger on flashed in her eyes. Disappointment? Regret?
If Faith thought this was the beginning of the two of them bonding, working together as life partners, she was sorely mistaken.
* * *
THE HOUSE WAS SMALL, a two-bedroom bungalow with cars parked on the street and, in some cases, right on the front lawn. Those were on cinder blocks. There was a couch positioned on a porch or two instead of actual patio furniture. Chain-link fences surrounded mostly barren yards with patches of yellow grass. Ryder couldn’t help but take note of the contrast to the McCabes’ expansive ranch in Bluff.
Ryder parked in front of 622 Sycamore like Faith had instructed and cut the engine. They’d made small talk on the way over, mostly about the cold front that had blown through last night and the irony of this being the first day of spring when temps were barely hovering above freezing. In Texas, anything was possible when it came to the weather.
“What’s her name?” Ryder nodded toward the house.
“Celeste Bowden,” Faith supplied.
“Okay. Let’s go talk to Celeste Bowden.” He made a move for the door handle and stopped when a disgusted grunt sounded to his right.
“Fair warning, she’s not going to be happy to see me,” she said on a sigh.
“I already gathered that from our conversation last night.” He shouldered the door of his cab open. “Does she love her son?”
“In her own way? Yes,” Faith admitted.
He glanced around the neighborhood. “She may not take care of him in the way you’d like but she won’t want anyone taking him from her. If she hasn’t heard from him by now then she’ll be worried. And that’s the only shot we have at her talking to us, so keep a low profile and let me take the lead.”
Ryder tried not to focus on the fact that he didn’t sleep a wink last night, tossing and turning over the news that he might be a father. Two cups of black coffee first thing this morning had sharpened his mind.
Following closely behind Faith, he couldn’t deny a new protectiveness he felt for her because of the child she was carrying. He still didn’t know how to deal with the news other than to be stunned. Sleeping had been a nonissue. He kept waiting for the shock to wear off so he could figure out his next steps. He’d stayed at the fishing cabin last night, forcing down thoughts of the times he and Faith had spent there. Last night was the first time he’d been back to the place where too many memories could impact his judgment.
This morning, she’d left her car there and they’d decided to take his pickup, leaving long before sunrise. Conversation was a strain now, and he missed the easy way they used to talk to each other.
Ryder hopped the pair of concrete porch steps onto the small patio, and then opened the weathered screen door. It creaked and groaned. No way could anyone slip into this house quietly. And especially because a few dogs in neighboring yards fired off rapid barks. At this rate, the whole neighborhood would be up, trying to figure out what was going on. On second thought, he might need to talk to neighbors. Maybe it was good that they’d be up.
Ryder knocked on the wood part of the door. Most of the top half was glass. White paint chipped off the rest.
No answer.
This time, Ryder pounded on the door, rattling the glass in the window. The neighborhood dogs reacted again, going crazy barking as a figure moved toward the door. The woman came into view as she neared. Her hair wild, she wore jeans and a half-unbuttoned flannel shirt, no doubt the same clothes she had on last night. Worry lines and too much hard living shadowed what might have been an attractive face at one time.
“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked, cracking the door. Her gaze bounced from Ryder to Faith. Her eyes widened as she zeroed in on Faith, no doubt picking up on the fact that she was Hollister McCabe’s daughter. “Never mind. You’re not welcome here. Get off my porch.”
Celeste tried to slam the door but Ryder stuck the toe of his boot inside to stop her. “I’m sorry to wake you, but we’re here out of concern for your son. Is there any chance we can come inside?”
“No.” Angry lines did nothing to improve the woman’s hard features. On closer appraisal, she couldn’t have been older than her midthirties.
“I know he hasn’t been home. We just want to get some information so we can figure out where he is,” Faith said.
“My son is none of your business.” Celeste stared at Faith before giving Ryder a disgusted look. “Now move so I can close the door.”
Bringing Faith might’ve been a mistake. Ryder shifted to the right a little in order to block a direct line of sight between the two of them.
“No need to do anything you’ll regret,” Ryder said quickly, trying to bring the focus back to him. “We’re here to ask a few questions and then we’ll be on our way.”
“You with the law?” Celeste asked, glancing at the pocket of his jacket, most likely looking for a badge.
Ryder shook his head.
“Then let go of my door and get the hell off my property,” Celeste ground out.
“But—” Faith started.
“Last time I checked, trespassing was against the law. If you’re not gone by the time I count to three, I’m calling the cops.” Celeste’s tone intensified with her rising anger. Her gaze was locked onto Faith and he could tell that she was struggling to get past coming face-to-face with a McCabe.
“Okay.” Ryder held his hands up in surrender and shifted his boot, allowing her to shut them out.
The woman slammed the door so hard he thought the glass might break. She took a step back, folded her arms and stared them down.
“I hope you won’t let anything happen to your son because you’re not thrilled with us. We want to work together to find him and make sure he’s okay. We all know he wouldn’t disappear like this without answering his cell,” he said through the thin glass.
An emotion crossed her features, briefly softening her hard stare. She made a move for the door handle, but hesitated.
And then she shook her head.
Damn. He was so close to getting through to her.
“Did you eat breakfast this morning?” Ryder asked Faith. He spoke loud enough for Nicholas’s mother to hear.
“What? No. Why?” Her brow knit in confusion.
“There’s a diner in town.” He turned and hopped off the porch.
“That’s it?” Her voice outlined her shock as she stood rooted. “You’re giving up just like that? And now you’re hungry?”
“Get in the truck.”
“But she might know something. I can’t walk away without figuring out a way to make her talk to us.”
“She won’t. Not like this. She needs a minute to think it over. Besides, she’s listening to us and watching every move we make.” Ryder slowed but didn’t turn; he kept right on walking.
“Then we should talk to the neighbors. Someone