Pat Warren - A Mother's Secret

Kincaid’s big hand reached over to cover hers. “We’ll get him back, Sara.”

Even as he heard the words that he hoped reassured her, Kincaid felt a chill race up his spine. Yes, eventually they’d get Mike Nelson back. But would he still be alive and well? That was always the danger with a stressed-out, desperate kidnapper whose back was to the wall. Sometimes they killed accidentally and sometimes out of frustration. It was always a race against time, and the statistics weren’t in their favor.

Yet sometimes everything worked out and he got the kidnapped child back unharmed. He lived for those times.

Cave Creek was a laid-back, hilly town populated mostly by folks whose families had lived there for years. Kincaid turned off the main drag onto a dirt road that wound through the trees for more than a mile before reaching a large tan cinder-block ranch house. Sara noticed several outbuildings—a large aluminum horse barn and a smaller one farther down plus a big wooden building that looked to be a bunkhouse for his help. Two chestnut horses and a fawn-colored pony wandered about inside a fenced corral. A sleek yellow Labrador came bounding over to meet them, giving off a few welcoming barks as the Explorer stopped in front of a wide carport housing a white truck and a black Jeep.

“When you said you had a ranch, I had no idea it was such a big spread.”

“Only twenty acres. We sold off the rest. We breed some fine quarter horses, board others, train some for show.” Getting out, he greeted the big Lab. “Hey, Iago! How you doing, boy?” He stroked the big dog’s neck, then glanced over and saw that Sara was still inside. “It’s okay. He won’t bother you as long as I’m with you.”

Cautiously she got out and turned to see another yellow Lab come strolling forward, slowed by a very late pregnancy. She watched Kincaid bend to rub behind the dog’s ears.

“How’s it going, Juno?” he asked as the heavy dog offered her belly for a little scratching while Iago stood guard. They made quite a picture with the late-afternoon sun dappling shadows through the leafy trees.

Moving toward them, Sara hid her surprise. “I see someone likes Shakespeare and mythology.” She held out her hand tentatively, and Iago sniffed it, deciding she was acceptable.

Squinting up at her, Kincaid grinned. “Yeah, us old country boys read a book now and then.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, sure. You uppity Scottsdale folk think everyone up our way chews tobacco, listens to Willie Nelson and eats charbroiled steak every night.”

Angling her head, she saw he was trying to lighten her mood. “Well, don’t you?”

“Yeah, mostly.” He straightened and nodded toward the wide, shaded porch. “Come inside where it’s cooler while I throw a couple things in a bag.”

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