Barb Han - Texas-Sized Trouble

“You haven’t spoken to his mother. There could be an easy explanation for all this, Faith,” he said, ignoring the tension sitting like a wall between them.

Faith shook her head. “I didn’t want her to know about our relationship. It would only cause more tension between the two of them and I doubt she’d welcome a McCabe anyway, considering my father hasn’t stepped up to help her in any way. She can’t be happy that he refused support, and I’m not saying that he’s right but neither is sleeping with a married man.”

“She may be able to clear this up in five minutes. We have to talk to her,” he said plainly.

“After the way my father treated her I doubt she’ll want to see anyone from his side of the family again.” Faith made a harrumph sound.

“That may well be true. Doesn’t mean we skip a step,” he said. If one uncomfortable conversation could clear this up, so be it. “Besides, she can’t be all that bad if Nicholas has turned out as well as you say.”

“Fine. But Nicholas isn’t close to his mother and he wouldn’t tell her if he was in trouble.”

“She may have filed a missing persons report. If she hasn’t, we’ll need her help since she’s his legal guardian. How long did you say he’s been gone?” he asked. Cooperation from Nicholas’s mother would go a long way with the law. In fact, she’d have to be the person to officially report him missing.

“It’s been three days,” she said with a voice so weak Ryder’s heart squeezed. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions overrule logic this time. They’d had him thinking that getting mixed up with her was a good idea in the first place.

“I’ve been on campouts without cell service longer than that,” he said, trying to offer what little reassurance he could under the circumstances.

Faith shot him a look.

“If his mother filed a report, three days would be enough time for law enforcement to take her seriously,” he said. What if the kid ran away? From what Faith said the boy came from an unstable home. “There are other logical possibilities. Maybe he got impatient. Or he and his mother could’ve gotten into a fight and he’s staying away while they both cool off. She might’ve done something that he didn’t want to tell you about since you don’t like her in the first place.”

“I have to think he would’ve called me like he always does. And he’s never missed a tutoring session.” If that was true she made a good point.

“Maybe he figures you’ll try to talk him into going home and he’s not ready.”

“It’s a thought,” she said without much enthusiasm, and he could tell she was going along with him even though her heart wasn’t in it.

“There’s another more likely possibility,” he offered.

“And that is?” She was clicking through the possibilities with him, and he could tell from her subdued expression that nothing was sparking.

“He might’ve met a girl.” He held his hand up when she started to speak. “Hold on. Hear me out. Fifteen-year-old boys are hormones on legs. It’s possible that he hit it off with someone and is staying at her house for a few days.”

Faith held up her cell phone.

“Last thing a hormonal teenager wants is the voice of reason in his ear. Believe me, I speak from experience,” Ryder said. “We had a lot of those in our house over the years between the six of us boys.”

“I’ll 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.”