Cold Case at Cobra Creek (22 page)

A pained smile twisted at his lips. “I got Gandt. He’s in jail.”

Sage sighed and took another sip of water.

“He blackmailed Lloyd Riley into helping him and ordered him to kill me.”

Sage’s eyes flared with shock. “Did he tell you where Benji is?”

A darkness fell over Dugan’s face, making her stomach tighten with nerves. “Dugan?”

“He claims he has no idea, that Benji wasn’t with Lewis when he killed him.”

Sage closed her eyes, hating the despair overwhelming her. She’d thought for certain that finding Ron’s killer would lead them to her son.

“I won’t give up,” Dugan said in a gruff voice.

“But Carol Sue, the woman we thought might have Benji, is dead.”

“True, but Sandra Peyton is still unaccounted for.”

“I know. Thanks, Dugan.” Her earlier ordeal weighed her down. Or maybe it was defeat.

Sage closed her eyes, willing sleep to take her away from the memory of Gandt leaving her in that burning barn.

And the reality that she still had to face another Christmas without her little boy.

* * *

D
UGAN SETTLED ONTO
the recliner beside Sage and watched her sleep. Although the danger was over for her, he couldn’t bear to leave her alone tonight.

Not with knowing he’d failed to find Benji.

And not with images of her lying in that blazing fire, nearly dead, tormenting him. He could have lost her tonight.

Lost her? He’d never had her....

The realization that he cared so damn much that it hurt made him stand and pace to the window. Cobra Creek was quiet tonight.

The deputy would temporarily take over for Sheriff Gandt. Once the red tape was handled, the ranchers who’d been duped would get their land back.

But Sage was right back where she was when he’d decided to help her.

Making matters worse, Christmas was almost here. The image of that pitiful little Christmas tree with the unopened package under it taunted him.

Sage should have a full-size tree with dozens of gifts beneath it, and her little boy should be home making cookies with her and opening presents Christmas morning.

He considered buying her a gift, but nothing he could buy would make up for the void in her life that losing Benji had left.

She stirred, restless, and made a mewling sound in her throat, then thrashed at the covers. He soothed her with soft words, gently stroking her hair with one hand, until she calmed.

More than anything, he wanted to bring Benji back to her.

He’d never felt this emotional attachment before. This intense drive to please someone.

God...he was falling for her. Maybe he had been from the moment she’d looked up at him with those trusting, green eyes.

But what was he going to do about it?

He couldn’t tell her or pressure her. Sage had already suffered too much. And she was vulnerable.

Besides, why would she want him when he’d failed her?

He finally fell asleep in the chair but woke a couple of hours later when the nurse returned to take Sage’s vitals. He stepped out for coffee and to grab some breakfast while they helped her dress.

By the time he returned, the doctor was dismissing her.

“I’ll drive you home, Sage.”

She thanked him but remained silent as the nurse wheeled her to the exit and on the drive home. When they arrived at the inn, the Christmas lights mocked him.

“Thank you, Dugan. I have to go shower and get out of these clothes. They stink like smoke.”

She was right. Worse, they were probably a reminder of her near-death experience. He climbed out and walked her to the door.

“I can stay with you for a while if you want.”

Sage shook her head, fumbling with the key as she tried to unlock the door. “I need to be alone.”

Dugan took the keys from her and unlocked the door, not ready to leave her. He needed to hold her, to know that she was still alive and safe. That there might be hope for the two of them.

But she stepped inside and blocked the doorway. “Good night, Dugan.”

Dugan reached up to take her hand, but she pulled it away and clenched the door edge.

“I’m not giving up, I will find Benji,” Dugan said earnestly. Sandra Peyton might be the key.

She gave a small nod of acceptance, yet the light he’d seen in her eyes had faded. Damn, she’d lost hope.

The hope that had helped her survive the past two years.

She closed the door in his face, and Dugan cursed.

Maybe she didn’t return the feelings he’d developed for her. But he’d be damned if he’d let her give up on her son.

* * *

S
AGE WAITED UNTIL
Dugan left, then walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. The Christmas tree with Benji’s present sat on the table, looking as bare and lonely as she felt.

Dugan said he wasn’t giving up.

But she was smart enough to realize that they’d reached a dead end. If Gandt didn’t know where Benji was, who did?

Sandra Peyton.

The woman could be anywhere by now. If she’d taken Benji knowing Ron abducted him, she had probably gone into hiding.

Angry and frustrated and full of despair, she took the water to her bedroom and jumped in the shower. The hot spray felt heavenly as it washed away the stench of the smoke.

But the memory of Gandt coldly leaving her to die couldn’t be erased so easily.

The silence in the house echoed around her, eerie and lonely, as she dried off, pulled on a pair of pajamas and collapsed onto her bed.

Dugan’s scent lingered, teasing her senses and making her body ache for his comforting arms and touch.

But she couldn’t allow herself to need him. She had to stand on her own.

The only thing she wanted right now was the little boy who’d stolen her heart the day he was born.

She had nothing to give to a man like Dugan. A man who deserved so much more than a broken woman like her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Christmas Eve

Dugan had called Sage several times the past two days, but she had cut him off. Not that she hadn’t been polite. She’d made it clear that if he learned anything new about her son, he should call her.

But she obviously didn’t want a personal relationship with him.

Because he’d let her down. He’d promised to bring her son home and he hadn’t, and she would never forgive him.

He let Hiram and his other two hands go early so they could spend Christmas Eve with their families.

Dugan would spend another one alone.

Normally the holidays meant nothing. Being alone didn’t bother him. He loved his land and his work and his freedom.

He didn’t know how to be part of a family.

So why did his chest have a sharp pain to it because he wasn’t spending the night with Sage? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her, wondering what she was doing, if she was baking for Christmas dinner, if the inn smelled like cinnamon, if she was lighting a candle for her son, in hopes that it would bring him back to her?

Dammit.

He rode back to the stables, dismounted and brushed down his favorite horse, then stowed him in his stall. Just as he walked across the pasture toward his house, his cell phone buzzed.

Hoping it was Sage, he snatched it up, but Jaxon’s voice echoed back.

“Dugan here.”

“That reporter, Ashlynn Fontaine, called. Said she got another tip from that tip line.”

Dugan’s pulse jackknifed. “Tell me about it.”

“This woman claims she thinks she’s seen Benji, that she works with this waitress named Sandy Lewis, who has a little boy named Jordan. When she saw the news report, she realized Jordan was the spittin’ image of Benji.”

Sandy Lewis—Sandra Peyton Lewis? “What’s the address?”

“I’m texting it to you now.”

Dugan ended the call and referred to the text. He had to check this lead out. But the last time he’d taken Sage with him, it had been nearly devastating for her.

This time he’d go alone.

If Jordan turned out to be Benji and he recovered the little boy, he’d surprise her. If not, she would never know.

* * *

S
AGE FORCED HERSELF
out of bed each day, but the depression that seized her was nearly as paralyzing as it was the first few weeks after Benji disappeared.

She had to face the fact that she might never see her son again.

Could she bear to go on without him?

The women’s group at church surprised her by stopping by with baked goods Christmas Eve morning. She had joined the group two months after Benji disappeared because she’d woken up one day with no desire to live.

It had scared her to think that she might do something crazy like take her own life. Worse, if she did and Benji was found, she wouldn’t be around to take care of him.

That day had driven her to ask for help, and she’d gone to the church seeking solace and prayer. She had found it, both with the pastor and the women who’d embraced her and revitalized her spirit with their positive thinking and compassion.

Today she felt as if she’d regressed. They must have sensed it, because the coffee and goodies were simply a backdrop to let her talk.

She hugged them all goodbye and thanked them for coming, then waved as they hurried to their cars. Five women with five different backgrounds and lives. Families of all sorts. Troubles of their own.

But they had come to her when she needed emotional support the most.

Wiping at tears, she cleaned up the kitchen and stored the tins of cookies on the kitchen bar, setting them out as she would for Benji. The Christmas plate with reindeer on it awaited the cookies and milk they would have left for Santa.

The women had reminded her of the candlelight service at six, and she had promised she would attend. Determined to keep herself from spiraling downward, she spent the afternoon wrapping the presents she’d bought for the children’s hospital and the women’s shelter, then stacked them all in her car to carry to the church.

A group would disperse them in the morning to make sure that children in need had Christmas, like all the other kids in the world.

She had volunteered last year. Maybe she’d go this year, as well.

Anything to help her get through the long, lonely day.

Her mind turned to Dugan and the numerous calls he’d made. She wanted to see him, missed him in a way she’d never expected to.

And not just because he’d been helping her.

Because he’d stood by, solid and strong. He was handsome, sexy, protective, honorable. He owned and worked his own ranch, but he also worked search-and-rescue missions for strangers.

All qualities Ron and Trace had never possessed.

But Dugan deserved someone who could love and take care of him, not an empty shell of a woman who had to force herself to get out of bed to face the day.

* * *

D
UGAN FOUND
S
ANDY’S HOUSE
fifty miles from Cobra Creek. It was a nondescript wooden house with a fenced yard, a swing set in the back and a gray minivan in the drive.

At first glance, it appeared to be homey. Christmas lights twinkled from the awnings, a handmade wreath garnished the front door and a tree complete with trimmings was visible through a picture window. A bike with training wheels sat in the front yard, and a soccer ball had been left in the driveway.

Was this woman simply a mother or a kidnapper?

He was just about to climb out when the front door opened, and a woman stepped outside, pulling a rolling suitcase. She wore sunglasses and a scarf and seemed to be in a hurry. She glanced up and down the street, opened the back of the minivan and tossed her suitcase inside, then shut the door.

She rushed back to the house and seconds later, emerged with a little boy in tow, a jungle backpack slung over his shoulder. Dugan sat up straighter to get a better look. The kid was the right size, but he was wearing a baseball cap, and Dugan couldn’t see his face.

She tugged the boy’s hand, but he drew back, and she stooped down and appeared to be reprimanding him. The boy dropped his head, allowing her to lead him to the van.

Dugan almost interceded then. It looked as though Sandy was getting ready to take a trip. Had Gandt’s arrest spooked her enough to run?

Deciding she might be meeting up with an accomplice, he waited until she backed from the drive, then followed her. He kept his distance, and maintained a steady speed so as not to alarm her.

A half hour later, she turned into the bus station. Dugan parked a couple of spaces from her and watched to see if she was meeting someone. She climbed out, looking over her shoulder and all around the parking lot as if she feared someone was after her.

Seemingly satisfied, she retrieved her suitcase, then pushed open the boy’s door and helped him from the van. After kneeling to speak to him, she took his hand and ushered him toward the bus station.

Dugan didn’t intend to let her get away.

He strode toward the entrance and caught up with her just as she stepped up to the ticket counter. The boy kept his head down, and she had a death grip on his hand.

“I need one adult and one child’s ticket to New Mexico.” She fished out ID and a wad of cash.

“You’re not going anywhere, Miss Peyton,” Dugan said in a low voice near her ear. “Not until you answer some questions.”

She gasped and turned around, wide-eyed. “Who are you?”

“A friend of Sage Freeport.”

Her face paled, and she tried to tug her arm from his grip, but he held her firmly. “Now, unless you want me to pull my gun and make a scene here, do as I say.”

She stilled, and he saw her glance at the boy in panic. The little guy made a frightened sound, which ripped at Dugan’s heart.

“It’s okay, son. I’m not here to hurt you.” He hated to scare him, but if the child was Sage’s son, he was saving the boy. He nudged the woman. “Walk back outside to your van.”

She darted furtive looks around her as if she was debating whether or not to scream for help, but he opened his jacket enough to reveal his gun, and she sucked in a breath and headed toward the van. When they reached it, he ordered her up against the door.