C.J. Carmichael - Promise from a Cowboy

“Savannah Moody.”

“I can’t find my slippers.”

She tried not to sigh. The staff at the care home had been instructed to restrict her mother’s calls. But Francine Moody could be ingenious, and no one appreciated that better than Savannah.

Over the years her mother’s calls had become increasingly frequent and ever more muddled. Francine had never had the strongest hold on reality. Now it was mostly beyond her grasp.

“Mom, hang up the phone and ask Aubrey to help you find them.”

“Who’s Aubrey?”

“She feeds you dinner every evening, remember? The nice woman with the smile you say reminds you of Goldie Hawn?”

Actually, aside from her dyed blond hair and winning smile, Aubrey looked nothing like the winsome movie star. But the association seemed to help her mom’s failing memory.

“Oh, yes, Goldie Hawn. Do you remember when she—”

“Mom, I’ve got to go now, okay?” If she let her ramble on, her mother would spend the next thirty minutes rehashing the plot of some old movie. “I’ll be home again in a few days and I’ll visit you then.” She closed her phone, hoping B.J. hadn’t heard any of that. His pity about her down-and-out family was the last thing she needed.

A few steps away from her truck, Savannah pulled out her keys and clicked the unlock button. She’d just slid behind the steering wheel, when B.J. plopped himself right next to her.

She stared straight ahead, trying to adjust to his presence. But even without looking she could sense his long, muscular form beside her.

B.J. was too tall to be a cowboy, but that hadn’t stopped him from being a success at it. He had a high forehead and a strong jaw and chin, and intense gray eyes that hinted at green when the light was right.

From the first time she’d met him—at age fifteen when she’d walked into class as the new kid in town—she’d thought he was the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.

She still thought that.

Reluctantly.

Asking him to come to her truck had been a mistake. She’d thought a restaurant would be too intimate. But her cab had never felt so small, and if there’d been a table between them, at least she wouldn’t have had to sit so close that their shoulders practically touched.

The table also would have hidden the long line of his jean-clad thigh. And surely, in a restaurant, she wouldn’t have been able to hear the sound of him breathing.

“This is real cozy, but an open window would be nice.”

Quickly she inserted the key, then powered down both windows. “Sorry. This is awkward.”

“It doesn’t have to be, Savannah.”

Was he serious? She had to check his expression to be sure, but he didn’t seem to be mocking her.

“I heard your mom was in the care home in town now. How is she adjusting?”

So he had heard the call. Damn.

“Pretty good. Half the time she doesn’t really understand where she is, anyway.”

“That’s got to be tough.”

Savannah shrugged. Life with her mother had always been tough. Francine had been a flighty parent and an erratic housekeeper. But only recently had she crossed the line and become careless to the point of causing harm. Two years ago she’d flooded the main floor bathroom of their home on a twenty-acre plot of land just outside of town. The next month she’d almost set the house on fire.

“Do the doctors think she has Alzheimer’s?”

“No. She remembers some things just fine. She can tell you the exact year she planted each of the perennials in the garden at home. She’s just got...really bad judgment when it comes to everyday decisions. Her doctor insisted that she needed round-the-clock care, and since I can hardly afford that, there was no option but to send her away.”

Savannah did her best not to sound bitter. But it wasn’t easy, knowing that if Olive Lambert ever got really sick, her kids would have no trouble affording top-notch medical care.

At one time the discrepancy between the Lamberts and the Moodys hadn’t bothered her at all.

But that was before her brother’s future had been compromised by a prank that had turned into a full-blown disaster. On the surface it didn’t seem that bad. A bunch of foolish high school kids trespassing in an old barn and having an underage drinking party.

It wasn’t their fault the storm had blown in. Or that lightning had struck, setting the barn on fire.

But the presence of that vagrant in the loft troubled Savannah. It seemed too much of a coincidence. There had to be more to the story than either B.J. or her brother was letting on.

“What about Regan?” B.J. asked, continuing his polite inquiries about her family. “I heard she graduated from the University of Montana this year, same as my sister, Cassidy.”

Savannah couldn’t help but perk up at the mention of her ten-year-younger sister. “She sure did. She’s applied to medical school, too.” Every day Savannah checked the mail with a hope that bordered on desperation. She so much wanted her baby sister to have the success and respect that she deserved.

Unlike their brother, Regan had always been easy to manage. She excelled at school, never broke the rules that her sister set for her and was helpful at home, doing most of the cooking—a job Savannah disliked.

“She’ll make a great doctor,” B.J. said. “Remember how she was always trying to patch up those dolls of hers?”

Savannah started to smile as she recalled the makeshift beds with their bandaged dolls that Regan would line up on the porch railing when she played “hospital.” But the memories, although happy, only reminded her of the special role B.J. had once played in her life.

He’d been around a lot in those days. Regan had almost considered him a second brother. While she...well, she had considered him something a lot more intimate than that.

She rubbed her temple. Last thing she wanted was to rehash the night everything had changed. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a choice. “Like I was saying, I had a visit from a private investigator from Los Angeles last week.”

“Yeah?” B.J. sounded cautious.

“The investigator—her name is June Savage—was hired by a wealthy man named Morgan McBride eighteen years ago to find his runaway teenage son, Travis.”

B.J. twisted, spreading out his left arm along the back of the seat. She had his full attention now. “So we’re talking about our last year of high school?”

He’d done the math and come up with the right answer.

“Yes. Savage never did find the kid—well, not exactly a kid, he was nineteen years old when he went missing. But a few weeks ago a watch came up for sale on eBay. The watch was a McBride heirloom that hadn’t been seen since Travis ran away.”

“This is sounding complicated.”

She agreed. “Savage went to talk to the man who was selling the watch. Turns out he’d bought it at a pawn shop in Lewistown. Want to guess the year?”

“Our graduation year?”

“Right on the first try.”

B.J. frowned. “Are you saying this kid was the man who died in the fire?”

“Might be.”

“I’ve always wondered who he was.” B.J.’s voice sounded raw.

Savannah nodded. So had she. “Finding that watch caused June Savage to reopen her investigation. Previously she’d been concentrating her search in Mexico, since there had been signs pointing in that direction. This was the first time they considered Montana.”

“Montana is one thing. How did Savage narrow it down to Coffee Creek?”

“She was thorough. A search of death records for the year in question turned up the John Doe who died in that fire on Silver Creek Ranch. When she discovered that the body was roughly the same age and size as the missing McBride kid, she drove down to check it out.”