renovated it, she’d imagined a constant barrage of people in and out, filling the rooms with laughter and chatter. She’d spend her days baking her specialty pastries and pies, with Benji helping her, stirring and measuring ingredients and licking icing from the bowl, his favorite part.
Ron must have picked up on that dream and played her. Although she’d wanted a houseful of people because she’d been without family for so long, he’d obviously thought she’d wanted the place to be a success so she could make money.
She glanced in the fridge and pulled out a platter of leftover turkey and made herself a sandwich. Although she had no appetite, she’d forced herself to eat at least one meal a day for the past two years, telling herself that she had to keep up her strength for when she brought her son home.
Would that ever happen?
She poured a glass of milk and took it and the sandwich to the table and turned on the TV to watch the news report.
An attractive blonde reporter, who identified herself as March Williams, introduced the story by showing a picture of Ron Lewis. She recapped the details of the accident two years ago.
“Police now know that Lewis was an alias, and that he was wanted on other charges across the state. They also know he was murdered and are searching for his killer.” She paused for dramatic effect. “But another important question remains—where is little Benji Freeport?” A photograph of Benji appeared, making Sage’s heart melt.
“Three-year-old Benji Freeport lived with his mother, Sage Freeport, who owns a bed and breakfast in Cobra Creek. The morning Lewis disappeared, he took Benji with him. Police have no leads at this time but are hopeful that Benji is safe and still alive. If you have any information regarding this case or the whereabouts of Benji Freeport, please call the tip line listed on the screen.”
Sage glanced at the Christmas tree and Benji’s present waiting for him. Each year she’d added another present. How big would the pile get before he came back to open them?
The treetop star lay in the box to the side, taunting her. She had opted not to hang the star, because that was Benji’s job.
Battling tears, she folded her hands, closed her eyes and said a prayer that someone would recognize Benji and call the police.
That this year he could hang the star for Christmas and they’d celebrate his homecoming together.
* * *
D UGAN STOPPED AT the diner and ordered the meat loaf special. He’d learned to cook on the open fire as a boy on the rez, but he’d never quite mastered the oven or grocery shopping.
Food was meant for sustenance, a necessity to give him the energy to tackle his job. Manning the ranch meant early mornings and manual labor, both of which he liked.It helped him pass the days and kept him busy enough not to think about being alone.
Not that being alone had ever bothered him before. But seeing Sage and the way she loved her son reminded him of the way his mother had loved him before she died.
And the way he’d felt when he was shuffled from foster home to foster home where no one really wanted him.
What had Lewis told Benji the day he abducted him? Where was he now?
He knew the questions Sage was asking herself, because they nagged at him.
Two old-timers loped in, grumbling about the weather and their crops. An elderly man and woman held hands as they slid into a booth.
Sheriff Gandt sat in a back booth, chowing down on a blood-red steak.
Donnell Earnest loped in, claimed a bar stool, removed his hat and ordered a beer.
Nadine, the waitress behind the counter, grinned at him. “Hey, Donnie, you all right?”
“Hell, no, that Indian guy was out asking questions about my business.”
Nadine glanced at Dugan over Donnell’s shoulder. “I heard he’s looking for Sage Freeport’s kid.”
“Yeah, and Ron Lewis’s killer. Son of a bitch deserved what he got.”
“I hear you there,” Nadine murmured.
Donnell rubbed a hand
Ron must have picked up on that dream and played her. Although she’d wanted a houseful of people because she’d been without family for so long, he’d obviously thought she’d wanted the place to be a success so she could make money.
She glanced in the fridge and pulled out a platter of leftover turkey and made herself a sandwich. Although she had no appetite, she’d forced herself to eat at least one meal a day for the past two years, telling herself that she had to keep up her strength for when she brought her son home.
Would that ever happen?
She poured a glass of milk and took it and the sandwich to the table and turned on the TV to watch the news report.
An attractive blonde reporter, who identified herself as March Williams, introduced the story by showing a picture of Ron Lewis. She recapped the details of the accident two years ago.
“Police now know that Lewis was an alias, and that he was wanted on other charges across the state. They also know he was murdered and are searching for his killer.” She paused for dramatic effect. “But another important question remains—where is little Benji Freeport?” A photograph of Benji appeared, making Sage’s heart melt.
“Three-year-old Benji Freeport lived with his mother, Sage Freeport, who owns a bed and breakfast in Cobra Creek. The morning Lewis disappeared, he took Benji with him. Police have no leads at this time but are hopeful that Benji is safe and still alive. If you have any information regarding this case or the whereabouts of Benji Freeport, please call the tip line listed on the screen.”
Sage glanced at the Christmas tree and Benji’s present waiting for him. Each year she’d added another present. How big would the pile get before he came back to open them?
The treetop star lay in the box to the side, taunting her. She had opted not to hang the star, because that was Benji’s job.
Battling tears, she folded her hands, closed her eyes and said a prayer that someone would recognize Benji and call the police.
That this year he could hang the star for Christmas and they’d celebrate his homecoming together.
* * *
D UGAN STOPPED AT the diner and ordered the meat loaf special. He’d learned to cook on the open fire as a boy on the rez, but he’d never quite mastered the oven or grocery shopping.
Food was meant for sustenance, a necessity to give him the energy to tackle his job. Manning the ranch meant early mornings and manual labor, both of which he liked.It helped him pass the days and kept him busy enough not to think about being alone.
Not that being alone had ever bothered him before. But seeing Sage and the way she loved her son reminded him of the way his mother had loved him before she died.
And the way he’d felt when he was shuffled from foster home to foster home where no one really wanted him.
What had Lewis told Benji the day he abducted him? Where was he now?
He knew the questions Sage was asking herself, because they nagged at him.
Two old-timers loped in, grumbling about the weather and their crops. An elderly man and woman held hands as they slid into a booth.
Sheriff Gandt sat in a back booth, chowing down on a blood-red steak.
Donnell Earnest loped in, claimed a bar stool, removed his hat and ordered a beer.
Nadine, the waitress behind the counter, grinned at him. “Hey, Donnie, you all right?”
“Hell, no, that Indian guy was out asking questions about my business.”
Nadine glanced at Dugan over Donnell’s shoulder. “I heard he’s looking for Sage Freeport’s kid.”
“Yeah, and Ron Lewis’s killer. Son of a bitch deserved what he got.”
“I hear you there,” Nadine murmured.
Donnell rubbed a hand
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