The Marriage Profile. Metsy Hingle
been at the root of Archy and Kate’s divorce. Even now Justin couldn’t help but feel a measure of shame at the callous way their father had treated Hawk. Justin also couldn’t help but feel shame of his own, as well as regret, for not doing more to bridge the gap that had long existed between Hawk and the rest of the Wainwrights. Not only had Hawk lost all those years, but he and the rest of his family had lost, too.
“I nearly let pride cost me the thing I wanted most—Jenny,” Hawk told him, referring to the interior designer who’d recently become his wife. “Don’t make the same mistake I almost did and let pride cost you what you want most.”
“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” Audrey Lou Cox told him the following morning as Justin prepared to take a sip of the coffee he’d just poured himself.
“Why? You lace it with arsenic so you can have my job?” Justin teased the stern-faced secretary he’d inherited along with the sheriff’s office. Somewhere between the age of fifty and eighty, the woman had served more than twenty-five years under a string of Mission Creek sheriffs. “You don’t have to kill me to get the job, you know. I keep telling you, the folks in this town would vote you in over me in a heartbeat.”
“And why on earth would I want your job?”
“You’d get to wear a badge,” Justin offered.
The woman didn’t even crack a smile. “I got all the jewelry I want already. Besides, somebody has to keep this place running, and it don’t look like that person’s going to be you if you keep spending all your time traipsing from one end of the county to the other.”
“You got me there,” Justin told her, and took a sniff of the coffee.
“Heard there was quite a turnout for the dedication of the maternity ward at the hospital last night.”
“Yeah, I think half the county was there. You should have come,” Justin told her.
Audrey Lou sniffed. “And why would I want to spend my evening eating puny little sandwiches, drinking watered-down punch and listening to long-winded speeches from politicians when I could eat a nice hot meal, put my feet up and watch my favorite crime show?”
“When you put it like that, I guess I can’t think of any reason.” Justin certainly wished he had skipped the ceremony last night. If he had, he wouldn’t have seen Angela and might have actually managed to get some sleep. As it was, he’d barely slept a wink. Soured by thoughts of Angela, he stared at the inky contents of his cup. “So what’s wrong with this stuff?”
“That boy you hired made it about an hour ago, and he put enough grinds in the thing to make six pots.”
“Strong, huh?”
“I wasn’t about to drink any to find out. I was waiting for a free minute so’s I could come in here and throw the stuff out and make a fresh pot. But since you’re here, you can do it. I’ve got work to do.” And on that note, she turned and exited the little kitchen.
Desperate for the caffeine, Justin took a sip. And he nearly gagged. Audrey Lou had been right. While he generally liked his coffee black and strong, he drew the line at drinking brew that could pass for tar. Not that the extra caffeine would hurt, Justin admitted as he went about the business of measuring coffee grinds and water. After his chat with Hawk, he’d driven around and thought about what his brother had said. Hawk’s remark about pride had hit close to the mark. Too close.
More than once after Angela had left him, he’d missed her so much that he’d almost gone after her—until pride had kicked in and he’d abandoned the idea. Hawk had also hit the nail on the head about his feelings for Angela. Seeing her with Ricky had made him jealous, he admitted. And it had been that jealousy that had been the driving force behind his anger toward her last night.
As he waited for the coffee to finish dripping, Justin grimaced as he remembered swinging by the town’s two hotels, intent on apologizing to her for his behavior. Only there had been no Angela Mason registered at either establishment. He’d gone home to the ranch wondering if she’d driven back to San Antonio or if she was spending the night with Ricky Mercado. And it had been thoughts of Angela with Ricky that had kept him awake most of the night. Sometime during the early hours of the morning, he’d finally fallen asleep, only to dream about her. The way she’d looked at him on their wedding day in the small church when she’d pledged her love. The sweet, shy smile that curved her mouth on those mornings when he’d awakened her with a kiss. The way she’d gasped his name as he filled her when they’d made love. The way he’d felt when he’d been inside her.
Justin scrubbed a hand down his face. Was it any wonder he’d awakened with a dull, throbbing ache in his head and a painful hard-on for his ex-wife?
“Sheriff, the mayor’s on the line for you and your sister Rose wants you to call her, something about a dinner party,” Audrey Lou told him.
“Thanks,” Justin said, and forgoing the coffee, he headed for his office.
More than an hour later when Justin hung up the phone, the dull throbbing in his head had escalated into a bruiser of a headache. And he wasn’t at all sure how much of it had to do with his sleepless night or the workload. Rubbing the muscles at the base of his neck, Justin sat back and stared at the piles of paperwork and messages that covered his desk.
Maybe now was a good time for that coffee, Justin decided. After pouring himself a mug of the no-longer-fresh brew, he went back to his desk and began sorting through the endless reports and files and messages. For a county that he had always considered small by Texas standards, Mission Creek had certainly been a hotbed of activity lately, he thought as he sorted the open case files jammed with reports.
He opened the file containing a report on the abandoned baby girl named Lena who had been found on the Lone Star Country Club’s golf course last year—the same little girl who had since been kidnapped and he had yet to find. Picking up the snapshot of the smiling sweetheart that Josie Carson had taken only days before the kidnapping occurred, he traced her tiny face with his fingertip. Once again he felt that familiar pang as he thought of the little angel being snatched from the Carsons. And on the heels of that ache came frustration and anger. Anger with the person who had taken her. Anger with himself for failing to find her. Whooshing out a breath, Justin put the photo aside and reminded himself that as sheriff he couldn’t afford to let his emotions become involved. Anger and resentment weren’t going to help him find Lena. Only solid skills and dogged determination would do that.
And he would find her, he promised himself. He had to. Because it sure didn’t look like the FBI was going to be able to do it. If anything they only hampered his own efforts.
Thumbing through the file, he scanned the DNA tests that had been run on select members of the country club and the final paternity test that had revealed Luke Callaghan as the girl’s father. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how Luke must feel, returning home from some sort of business trip out of the country during which he’d been blinded. And then discovering he not only had a daughter he knew nothing about, but that the girl had been kidnapped. What still puzzled him was how Luke could be the baby’s father and not know who the mother was. Justin rubbed a hand along his jaw. Had it been any other man, he’d have sworn the guy was lying. But not Luke Callaghan. He didn’t doubt for a second that Luke had told him the truth.
For the next twenty minutes Justin fielded calls while he went over the notes on Lena’s kidnapping. And once again he found himself with more questions than answers. Closing the file, he picked up the next folder in the stack and sighed at the sight of the label that read “Bridges, Carl—Murder Case.” He didn’t even have to open the file on this one because he could recite the details of Judge Carl Bridges’s murder from memory. The fact that the case remained unsolved gnawed at him almost as much as Lena’s kidnapping. As he made a note to follow up with a call to Dylan Bridges that evening, he snatched up the ringing telephone.
When he hung up the phone fifteen minutes later, Justin reached for the next file, which was not only the oldest working file in his office, but the thickest by far because it contained