His comment deflated her anger, and a nervous laugh escaped her. “Yes, he is.”
“He said he’d look into Lewis’s murder.”
“Sure he will.” Sage brushed her hands together. “Like he looked into the crash two years ago.”
Dugan sank his big body onto the bench beside her. “I know you were engaged to Lewis and want answers about who killed him.”
Anger shot through Sage. “We may have been engaged, but that was obviously a mistake. The minute he took my son from my house without my permission, any feelings I had for him died.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t care why he was murdered. In fact, I would have killed him myself for taking Benji if I’d found him.”
A tense second passed. “I understand,” Dugan said in a gruff voice.
“Do you? That man took everything from me.”
The anguish in her tone made his chest squeeze. “I’ll help you,” he said. “I’ll find out why Lewis was murdered.”
Sage studied his face. He seemed so sincere. Earnest. As if he actually cared.
But she wouldn’t buy in to that, not ever again.
On the other hand, Dugan had run for sheriff and Gandt had beaten him, so he probably had his own personal agenda. He wanted to show Gandt up and prove to the town that they’d elected the wrong man.
She really didn’t care about his motive. “All right. But understand this—the only reason I want to know who killed Ron is that it might lead me to my son. Whatever dirt you dig up on Ron is fine with me. I don’t care about his reputation or even my own, for that matter.”
Dugan studied her in silence for a few minutes. Sage felt the wind ruffle her hair, felt the heat from his body, felt the silence thick with the unknown.
“I’ll do everything I can to help you,” Dugan said gruffly. “But I may not find the answers you want.”
Sage understood the implications of his statement. “I know that.” She gripped her hands together. “All I want is the truth...no matter what it is.”
“Even if it’s not pretty?”
Sage nodded. “The truth can’t be any worse than what I’ve already imagined.”
* * *
DUGAN HOPED THAT was true. But there was the possibility that they’d find out her little boy had been burned in the fire. Or that he’d been kidnapped by a cold-blooded murderer.
The scenarios that came to mind sent a shot of fear through him. For all they knew, the shooter could have abducted Benji and sold him or handed him off to a group trafficking kids. Hell, he could have been a pedophile.
In fact, kidnapping the boy could have been the endgame all along.
Someone could have hired Lewis to get the boy.
But if so, why?
He had to ask questions, questions Sage might not like.
“You’ve done investigative work before?” Sage asked.
Dugan nodded. “I’ve been called in as a consultant on some cold cases. I have a friend, Texas Ranger Jaxon Ward, who I work with.”
“How do you know him?”
“We go way back,” Dugan said, remembering the foster home where they’d met.
Sage arched an eyebrow in question, but Dugan let the moment pass. They weren’t here to talk about him and his shady upbringing. “In light of the fact that Lewis’s body has been found, I’m going to enter your son’s picture into the system for missing children.”
Emotions darkened Sage’s soft green eyes, but she nodded. “Of course. I tried to get Sheriff Gandt to do that two years ago, but he was certain Benji died in the crash or drowned, and said it was a waste of time.”
That sounded like shoddy police work to him.
“If you want to stop by the inn, I can give you one of the latest pictures I took.”
“I’ll walk with you over there now.”
Sage stood, one hand clutching her shoulder bag. “Why don’t you meet me there in half an hour? I have an errand to run first.”
“Half an hour,” Dugan agreed.
Sage hesitated a moment, her breath shaky in the heartbeat of silence that stretched between them. “Thank you, Dugan. I can’t tell you what it means to have someone listen to me. I...know some people think I’m nuts. That I just can’t let go.”
He had heard rumors that she set the table for her son at every meal, as if he was coming home for dinner. Hell, was that crazy, or was she simply trying to keep hope alive?
“I don’t blame you for not giving up,” Dugan said gruffly. “At least not without the facts or proof that your son is really gone.”
He let the words linger between them, well aware she understood the meaning underscoring his comment. If he found proof Benji was dead, she’d have to accept that.
But if there was a chance the boy was out there somewhere, he’d find him and bring him back to her where he belonged.
* * *
SAGE UNLOADED THE GROCERIES, grateful the couple staying at the inn had taken a day trip and wouldn’t be back until bedtime. Breakfast came with the room rental, but lunch and dinner were optional. In addition, she provided coffee and tea and snacks midmorning and afternoon, including fruit, cookies and an assortment of freshly baked pastries and desserts. She usually conferred with the guests on check-in and planned accordingly.
The doorbell rang; then the front bell tinkled that someone had entered. She rushed to the entryway and found Dugan standing beneath the chandelier, studying the rustic farm tools and pictures of horses on the wall.
People who visited Texas wanted rustic charm, and she tried to give it to them.
“I came for that picture.” Dugan tipped his Stetson out of politeness, his rugged features stark in the evening light.
“Come this way.” She led him through the swinging double doors to the kitchen. His gaze caught on the tabletop Christmas tree, and she bit back a comment, refusing to explain herself.
Maybe Benji would never come back.
But if he did, his present would be waiting. And they would celebrate all the days and holidays they’d missed spending together the past two years.
Chapter Three
Sage opened a photo album on the breakfast bar and began to flip through it. Dugan watched pain etch itself on her face as she stared at the pictures chronicling Benji’s young life.
A baby picture of him swaddled in a blue blanket while he lay nestled in Sage’s arms. A photo of the little boy sleeping in a crib, another of him as an infant in the bathtub playing with a rubber ducky, pictures of him learning to crawl, then walk.
Photos of Benji tearing open presents at his first birthday party, riding a rocking horse at Christmas, playing in the sprinkler out back, cuddled on the couch in monster pajamas and cradling his blanket.
Sage paused to trace her finger over a small envelope. “I kept a lock of Benji’s hair from his first haircut.”
Dugan offered a smile, tolerating her trip down memory lane because he understood her emotions played into this case and he couldn’t ignore them.
He shifted uncomfortably. He had a hard time relating to family; he had never been part of one and didn’t know how families worked. At least, not normal, loving ones. If they existed.
He’d grown up between foster care and the rez, never really wanted in either place.
She brushed at a tear, then removed a picture of Benji posed by the Christmas tree. “I took that the day before he went missing.”
Dugan glanced at the tabletop tree and realized the same present still lay beneath the tree’s base. Dammit. She’d kept the tree up all this time waiting on her son to return to open it.
“Can I get the photograph back?” Sage asked. “As you can see, this is all I have left....”
The crack in her voice tore at him. “Of course. I’ll take good care of it, Sage.” And maybe he’d bring back the real thing instead of just a picture.
But he refrained from making that promise.
