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What made Ely’s claim more terrifying was what was hidden underground in the back pasture of the Cahill Ranch. The alleged abduction had taken place near one of the more than two hundred missile silos that sat in the middle of farm and ranch land across Montana. Back in the late 1950s, Flint’s grandfather had signed over a two-acre plot of land in the middle of his ranch to the US government in perpetuity for national defense.
The US Air Force buried a thousand Minuteman missiles three stories deep in ranch land just like theirs. A missile, which was on constant alert and capable of delivering a 1.2 megaton nuclear warhead to a target in thirty minutes, was still buried in their backyard. The program was called MAD, mutually assured destruction.
On the night Ely claimed he was abducted by aliens, the Air Force reported seeing a UFO hovering over several of the missile silos—including the one on the Cahill Ranch. Suddenly the missiles began to shut down, going off alert. It caused a panic with the military but no one had known about it until years later when the information was declassified.
A few months ago Ely had sworn something was going on at the missile silo.
“Maybe I’ll swing by Dad’s place later after work,” Darby said.
Lillie saw that her brother was purposely trying to change the subject. Did he really think he could distract her that easily? “So this Mariah Ayers you hired, what is she like?”
“She’s...” He seemed at a loss for words for a moment. “You’ll see for yourself. She’s coming in tomorrow to fill out the paperwork.”
“Where is she from?” Lillie asked.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Well, you must have asked about her other jobs.”
“Actually, I didn’t. I had her make me a drink. A mojito.”
“You don’t drink.”
“It wasn’t for me,” he said, turning to look at her with impatience. “I wanted to see if she was as good as she said she was. She was.”
“Hmm,” Lillie said, still eyeing him suspiciously. This wasn’t like him. He was the one who asked a lot of questions when hiring anyone. So what was different this time? “I can’t wait to meet her.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u28eb3891-9601-5919-b88d-41a19934752e)
MAGGIE THOMPSON RAKED her fingers through the teenager’s long hair, looking for a spot she might have missed before picking up her scissors again.
The girl wasn’t paying any attention. She was on her phone texting and had been since she’d walked in the door. Next to her at the only other chair in the shop, Daisy Caulfield, her other stylist, was visiting with a regular, Irma Tinsley.
Maggie drew out each side of the teen’s hair, eyeballing the lengths colored a bright pink. Last week it was purple. Before that, green.
She’d begun cutting her friends’ hair at the age of eleven. Now at thirty-three, sometimes she felt as if she could do it in her sleep. She snipped a little more before putting down her scissors and picking up her blow dryer.
“Don’t need to dry it,” Astoria “Tori” Clark said, already slipping out of the chair before Maggie could turn on the blow dryer. “I’ve got to go. My mom called with the credit card number, right?” she said over her shoulder.
“She did,” Maggie said, but not before the girl was gone.
“There a fire somewhere?” Daisy asked from the next chair, where Irma was getting foil pulled out from her highlights.
“I don’t understand this new generation,” the elderly Irma said. “Did you see her, thumbs just a flying on that phone of hers. What in the world does she have to talk about nonstop?”
Maggie laughed. “It’s the way to communicate now.”
“First they did away with teaching cursive writing in schools,” Irma said. “Next it will be diagramming sentences.”
Daisy laughed. “I think they’ve already done away with that.”
“See what I mean? And you call that communicating?”
As she began to sweep up around her station, Maggie realized that she’d never seen Irma so worked up.
“People don’t talk to each other anymore, let alone write more than a tweet or a text or some fool thing. When I think of the wonderful letters my husband wrote me—” She stopped abruptly as if choking on her words.
Maggie stopped sweeping to look over at the woman. “Irma?”
The elderly woman was in tears. “I’m sorry. It’s just... You probably haven’t heard. My house was broken into. Not much was taken because I don’t keep valuables there. But the letters from my husband...they were in a jeweled box of my grandmother’s.”
“The thieves took it?” Daisy said, stopping pulling foil from the woman’s hair to stare at her in the mirror. Her gaze was full of sympathy. The more Maggie learned about her employee, the more she suspected the young woman was a true romantic.
Irma nodded. “It broke my heart. I would have rather they have taken my mother’s pearls.” She touched the strand at her neck. “But the thieves didn’t even know that the pearls were worth money while the jeweled box will be next to impossible to pawn and the letters only mean something to me.” She shook her head.
“I’m so sorry, Irma,” Maggie and Daisy said almost in unison.
“Oh, the letters aren’t gone exactly,” the elderly woman said, brightening. Irma was one of those people who looked for silver linings. “I’ve read them so many times that I have them memorized. Still, it’s not the same, you know.”
“The sheriff will find out who took them and they’ll be punished,” Daisy said. “Maybe they won’t have gotten rid of the letters.”
Irma smiled up at Daisy and reached back to pat the younger woman’s hand resting on the back of the chair. “Thank you, dear.”
Maggie finished sweeping up as her next client came in. She was glad she didn’t have time to think about Irma’s loss—or Sheriff Flint Cahill. She just hoped Daisy was right and Flint would find the thieves—and the letters.
Even the thought of Flint though made her heart ache. They’d dated for a while and were getting serious when... She shook her head, refusing to even think about what—who—had broken them up because it made her so angry. She’d had a crush on Flint from as far back as she could remember. But then he’d married. Even after his divorce, Maggie hadn’t thought there was any hope that he might notice her. When he did...
It hurt too much to think about. She missed him and couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought of her, as she greeted her next client.
* * *
FLINT KNELT DOWN next to the footprints in the soft earth outside the window.
“I’d say that’s how the little bastards got in,” Undersheriff Mark Ramirez said behind him. Mark had taken the call and was still angry, Flint could tell.
“You took photos of the shoe prints?” he asked, knowing that his undersheriff would have taken care of it, but still double-checking.
“Nothing distinct about the tracks unfortunately. Looks like new tennis shoes, no unusual wear, hardly any wear at all, actually, on either of the two pairs of shoes. Interesting, but there must be dozens of tennis shoes like them, right? But from the size, I’d say two kids.”
Flint figured the same thing. When the first couple of houses had been broken into, he’d thought it was just kids up to pranks since the only things that were taken were alcohol and junk food.
“Sandra’s sure nothing other than her iPad was taken?” Flint asked.
Mark nodded. “She doesn’t keep money or jewelry in the house. Doesn’t even normally lock her door, but she knew she was going to be gone for the night...”
Flint rose and studied the rough edge of the screen where it had been cut—rather than torn like the second break-in—allowing access into a spare bedroom. “Who all knew she was going to be gone for the night?”
His undersheriff frowned. “I’ll ask her if she mentioned it to anyone. But you know how this town is. Everyone knows everyone else’s business.”
Flint nodded and stepped away from the window. This was the fourth break-in in a matter of days. The first one had been during daylight hours. The burglars had gone through the screen door into the kitchen and taken a six-pack of beer, some candy bars and a bag of potato chips. The second one was more of the same except that a screen had been torn out of a window to allow access.
“It’s got to be the same ones, don’t you think?” Mark said.
Flint nodded again. What disturbed him was that for this one the thieves had broken in through a window at night and, as at Irma Tinsley’s, the thieves had taken more than snacks.
* * *
BACK AT THE Stagecoach Saloon the next day, Mariah took a seat at one of the tables in the corner to fill out the paperwork Darby had given her.
She could feel his gaze on her, a mixture of curiosity, puzzlement and worry. She smiled to herself. He should be worried. But given that, why had he hired her?
“Not sure what to put down for my address,” she said, looking up at him to catch him staring at her. He quickly glanced away, adding to her amusement.
Last night, after she’d moved into the old cabin, she’d stood outside staring up at the stars and questioning what she was doing here. The smart thing to do was to keep moving. The thought made her smile since being a nomad was in her Romani genes. And like her ancestors, her reasons were much the same. She had to keep ahead of her past and the people who wanted to destroy her.
“I’m staying in that cabin down the road. I don’t think it has an address.”
Darby looked surprised. “That’s where I was staying up until recently. Now I live upstairs here.” He stopped as if he hadn’t meant to be that forthcoming. “Unless you need to get mail, you can leave that blank. I will need a forwarding address when you leave, though.”
She smiled. “Don’t you mean if I leave?”
He nodded. “Right.”
She finished and took the papers with her social security number on them over to him, pulling up a stool.
He looked through them, stopping occasionally to glance up at her. “You don’t stay long at any one place.”
Mariah shrugged. “Maybe I’m looking for the place I want to settle down.”
“Apparently you haven’t found it yet.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I like it here so far.”
“Guess we’ll see how you feel in a few days,” Darby said.
“Guess we will.” She slid off the stool. “So, you sure you don’t want me to start tonight?”
“No, my sister, Lillie, is working along with our other barmaid and waitress, Kendall Raines.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when a dark-haired beauty with her brother’s gray eyes came in from the kitchen. Those gray eyes widened when she saw Mariah.
“You must be our new waitress,” the young woman said, holding out her hand as she stepped to Mariah. “Lillie Cahill,” she said, smiling as she shook her hand. There was more than interest in her inquiring gaze.
“Mariah Ayers.” They were about the same height and close in age. She felt a connection that surprised her. Another strong, determined woman. Mariah didn’t have her grandmother’s clairvoyance, but still she could tell that Lillie was very protective of her brother.
“I was surprised to hear my brother had hired someone,” Lillie was saying. “But he said he was impressed with your skills.”
“Did he?” she asked, raising a brow as she shot Darby a look. With amusement, she saw that the cowboy looked as if he wanted to throttle his sister.
“And he already gave you a Stagecoach Saloon T-shirt.”
“Actually, I picked this one up at the Chokecherry Festival yesterday,” Mariah said.
“Lucky you.” Lillie cut her eyes to her brother. “So is that where you two met?”
Mariah smiled at Darby and waited.
“We might have crossed paths at the festival,” the cowboy said. “But we didn’t meet until yesterday when she came in looking for a job.”
“What a coincidence,” Lillie said, still studying her brother and no doubt wondering why he looked flustered. “And so lucky we had an opening.”
“Lucky for all of us,” Mariah said.
She told herself that this would be fun for the short time it would last and then she’d be gone again. She couldn’t stay long in any one place. Not if she hoped to stay a step ahead of her past.
“I see you didn’t put down a cell phone number in case I need to call you,” Darby said to her as he busied himself with her paperwork again.
“If you need me, you know where I live,” she said. “Otherwise, I’ll be here.”
They all turned as a blonde, blue-eyed young woman wearing jeans, a Stagecoach Saloon T-shirt and boots came in. The blonde stopped as if she thought she might be interrupting something.
“Kendall, this is Mariah, our new alternate waitress. Kendall Raines, Mariah Ayers.”
Kendall frowned. “Oh.” She took a few steps forward to shake Mariah’s hand. “I didn’t know you were thinking about hiring another waitress.”
“She’ll work my schedule,” Darby said, making Kendall raise a brow.
“With the busy season ahead, it will give us all more flexibility,” Lillie said, clearly bailing her brother out.
Mariah watched the interactions with interest. Her hiring had shaken things up around here. Kendall didn’t look pleased. Was there something going on between the young waitress and the cowboy?
She met Darby’s gaze, saw his disinterest in Kendall Raines and was surprised. Apparently he didn’t go for cute, blonde and blue-eyed. She realized she liked him better because of it and quickly she reminded herself why she was here. Also she warned herself that this wasn’t some easy mark. This cowboy was on to her. He’d caught her red-handed at the festival and yet he hadn’t gone to the law. Why was that? More to the point, what happened now?
He’d be watching her, that was a given. He probably expected her to steal from the cash register like a common thief. He had to know that she was here for her bracelet. But he wasn’t about to just hand it over, was he? She got the feeling he was waiting to see how far she would go to get it back.
Clearly, he was waiting for her to make the next move. She didn’t plan on disappointing him, she thought as she flashed him a smile and saw his eyes narrow.
* * *
DARBY SADDLED UP his horse, anxious to clear his head. After Mariah had left the saloon, he’d felt too antsy to stay upstairs in the apartment. And there was no way he was going to hang out at the bar. His sister wouldn’t shut up about the new hire. She was more curious about Mariah than he was—and that was saying a lot.
He swung up into the saddle and reined the steed toward the rolling foothills past the ranch. He’d been riding horses since he was a year old, but he hadn’t taken to it like Lillie—until recently.
This feeling of being closed-in had been bothering him for a while. He’d been so excited about opening the Stagecoach Saloon with Lillie. That had kept him busy for a while. After it was a success, though, he’d felt antsy again as if uncomfortable in his own skin.
“You need a woman,” their cook Billie Dee had told him one day when he’d paced around the kitchen for no good reason.
“What?” Her words had taken him by surprise.
