The Coltons: Fisher, Ryder & Quinn: Soldier's Secret Child. Caridad Pineiro
that was at least a decade old sat near the door.
As they walked by the truck, they noticed the name of a fish company painted on the door along with a Dallas address.
Macy took it to be a good sign.
She entered first, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer light. A small podium stood by the door and beyond that, a long bar to the left. In the center of the space were dozens of tables and chairs and to the far right, a small dance floor and bandstand.
Plastic bunting in red, white and blue emblazoned with the name of a local beer hung from the ceilings. The walls were adorned with yet more ads and neon signs for an assortment of beers.
At the bar, a bartender was filling a glass with beer while a waitress laid out a plate for one of the three customers seated at the counter.
Fisher placed a hand at the small of her back and after a quick exchange of gazes, urged her toward the bar. She took a seat as did he and the bartender approached after setting the beer in front of one of the patrons. He slapped down paper coasters on the relatively clean surface of the bar.
“What can I get you folks?” He inclined his head in Macy’s direction.
“An iced tea for me,” she answered and Fisher immediately added, “And another for me.”
The bartender quickly shifted away to get their orders and the waitress came to their side, held the menus before her as she said, “Can I get you folks some food? We’ve got a mean five alarm chili today as well as a to die for peach cobbler.”
Fisher met her glance for only a second. “Peach cobbler for me. With vanilla ice cream if you’ve got it.”
“We sure do, honey. What about you, ma’am. Same thing as your husband?” the waitress asked.
Macy was about to protest her mistake, but then thought better of it. If the waitress thought they were concerned parents searching for their daughter, she might be more inclined to help them. “I’ll just have the cobbler, thanks.”
The waitress walked away to fill their orders while the bartender came by with their drinks. “Here you go, folks. Is there anything else I can get you?”
Fisher pulled the photo of Sara from his pocket and as he did so, she quickly spoke up. “My husband and I are looking for our daughter, Sara.”
Fisher masked his surprise well, she thought, as he pushed forward the picture they had taken off the Internet.
“We think she might have come through here. Maybe a couple of weeks ago,” Fisher said.
The bartender peered at the photo and then called out to one of the men sitting farther down the bar, “Maybe only…Hey, Billy Joe. Didn’t you say that you gave a young girl a ride a few days ago?”
Billy Joe, a grizzled older man sporting a trucker’s hat, slid off his stool and approached them. Leaning toward the picture on the bar, he placed his hands on his lips and tipped the hat back, exposing his Marine-buzzed salt and pepper hair.
“Yep. Picked her up just outside of Esperanza on…” The man rubbed the thick graying stubble on his cheeks as he tried to recollect. Finally, he said, “I think about two nights ago. She was on the road all by herself trying to get back to some ranch just outside of town.”
“The Hopechest Ranch?” she asked and the old man nodded.
“I think that was the place. Dropped her off at the end of the driveway and she hightailed it up to the front door and went in.”
“Your company’s from Dallas, though, right. Do you do the drive from there regularly?” Fisher asked.
“I do. Funny you should mention that,” the old man said, still rubbing at his cheeks. “When the young lady saw the name on the truck, she asked me if I was headed to Dallas. Seemed to me she didn’t want to go back there if she could avoid it.”
“Have any other strangers passed through here recently?” she asked, glancing back and forth between the bartender and truck driver. The waitress came over at that moment with their cobblers as the bartender said, “Have you seen any new faces around, Alice?”
A frown created a ridge above the older woman’s eyebrows as she considered the question. “Just that salesman who said he was on his way to San Antonio. Didn’t seem like much of a salesman to me.”
“Why’s that?” Fisher questioned.
“Got the most expensive thing on the menu. Didn’t ask for a receipt and left a lousy tip,” she said and wiggled her fingers to indicate that she wanted to see the photo.
After Fisher handed it over and she examined it, she said, “Don’t remember the girl.”
He pulled the other photo from his pocket and passed it to the waitress. “Was this the salesman?”
She glanced at it, but shook her head and placed the photo on the counter of the bar. “Don’t recognize him.”
“Me, neither,” said the truck driver as did the bartender.
She exchanged a glance with Fisher, who handed the bartender the photo of Sara. “Do you think you could keep this just in case Sara comes by again? We can give you a phone number where you can call us.”
“Sure.” The bartender plucked a pen from inside his apron and jotted down the cell phone number that Macy provided.
Although they had ordered the desserts, she had no appetite thanks to the disappointment of discovering virtually nothing about Sara. The only worthwhile information they could pass to Jericho when he returned in a day or two would be the name of the company that the truck driver worked for and the license plate number. It wouldn’t be all that much harder for Jericho to get the man’s name based on that and their description of the truck driver. She didn’t believe the older man had done anything, but Jericho could hopefully confirm that the man had no prior record.
Fisher bent close to her and whispered in her ear. “Do you want to go?”
“I’m not really very hungry,” she admitted.
He brushed a kiss along her brow and laid his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go home then. Maybe T.J. will be able to tell us more once we tell him what we know about Sara’s dad.”
The tenderness of that caress chased away some of the disappointment. “Let’s go home,” she confirmed.
They were on their way to Macy’s, but it must have occurred to her that they would have to go past the Hopechest Ranch to reach her house.
She laid a hand on his arm as he drove the Jeep along the country road. “Do you mind if we drop by the ranch and speak to Jewel? I’d like to share what little we have and see if she maybe has some information for us.”
“Not a problem.” He slowed the Jeep as they neared the driveway for the ranch, then turned onto it and drove up to the front of the house.
After he had parked, he said, “Do you want me to go with you?”
“Of course. Together, right?”
Together for now, he thought, but couldn’t disappoint. She had been too discouraged after their visit to the roadside canteen. Because of that, he nodded and followed her as she walked to the front door and entered, calling out Jewel’s name as she did so.
A very pregnant woman—Mexican, young and pretty—was the first one to respond.
“Macy. Miss Jewel is in the library with Joe,” the woman said.
“Is something wrong, Ana?”
Ana wrung her hands together and glanced toward the back of the house. “Joe said he had to talk to Miss Jewel. That he had