shrugged and Ross wanted to strangle her. What was she thinking, picking him up in a car with expired license plates? Shit, was she a moron?
“Well, now, I just thought I’d give you a verbal warnin’ this time,” Shep said, and he looked past Mary Beth to her passenger. The weight of his gaze behind those damned reflective sunglasses was almost more than Ross could bear. Almost. “Well, look who you’ve got with you.” With a friendly nod, he said, “I’d like to say it’s good to see you again, McCallum, but we both know that it’d be a lie.”
Ross didn’t respond.
“I don’t want no trouble from you,” Shep said. “This ain’t just a warnin’ to your sister, you understand.” His smile was as tight as his ass. “You. McCallum. You’re walkin’ a thin line, already, son. This here’s my county.”
“I remember,” Ross ground out.
“Good. That’s good. Don’t you go forgettin’.” Shep tipped the brim of his hat at Ross’s sister. “And you, Mary Beth, you take care of them tags.”
“I will,” she said sweetly as he sauntered back to his cruiser. She slapped the old Ford into drive and waited for a truck filled with Mexicans in the cab and piled high with hay to swoosh past. As she gunned the engine, she grumbled, “It’s already startin‘, Ross.” Her face was pale beneath her tan, and her lips drew into a line of disapproval. “Goddamn it, it’s already startin’.”
Yep, he thought, tossing the butt of his cigarette out the window.
And he couldn’t wait.
Shelby snapped off her laptop computer. Curled into a striped chair that was tucked between the window and the bed in her room, she’d been on-line for hours, searching websites that promised to find missing people, posting inquiries on message boards, wracking her brain in her efforts to locate Dr. Ned Charles Pritchart. Her back hurt, her neck ached and her head pounded. Frustration was fast becoming her closest companion.
And then there was Nevada. His image kept floating in and out of her mind, bothering her like a pesky insect that wouldn’t go away. The worst of it was, she still found him attractive—in an earthy, Texan kind of way. Though she’d told herself time and time again that soon she’d need to settle down, that she wasn’t getting any younger, that she needed a rock-steady man who worked nine to five or even longer, a businessman with an easy smile but a hard edge, one who wanted children, a family, a house in the suburbs of Seattle ... certainly not some broken-down cowboy who had walked on both sides of the law.
Just because they’d been lovers, had a child ... and he was as sexy as all get out. “Stop it,” she growled, stretching her legs onto the ottoman. She had work to do. She wasn’t about to be distracted. Not by anyone. Including Elizabeth’s damnably sexy father.
The trouble was, she was no closer to finding her daughter this afternoon than she had been when she’d first gotten the envelope two days earlier. “Get a grip, it’s going to take time,” she said to the pale ghost of her reflection in her bedroom window. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out. She’d already missed nine years of her daughter’s life; how much more could she risk?
She considered hiring an on-line private investigator, but didn’t know which of the dozens listed would be reliable. As for her own efforts, she’d managed to locate a handful of Dr. Pritcharts flung far across the United States—none of whom had turned out to be the Ned Pritchart who had delivered her baby.
He could have hidden himself anywhere. Europe. South America. Or he could be dead.
Don’t think that way.
She glanced down to the backyard and the shimmering aquamarine water of the pool. Inviting. Cool. She hadn’t brought a swimming suit with her, but she could probably scrounge up something she’d left here years ago.
She was on her way to the bureau when she heard her father’s car roll
“Well, now, I just thought I’d give you a verbal warnin’ this time,” Shep said, and he looked past Mary Beth to her passenger. The weight of his gaze behind those damned reflective sunglasses was almost more than Ross could bear. Almost. “Well, look who you’ve got with you.” With a friendly nod, he said, “I’d like to say it’s good to see you again, McCallum, but we both know that it’d be a lie.”
Ross didn’t respond.
“I don’t want no trouble from you,” Shep said. “This ain’t just a warnin’ to your sister, you understand.” His smile was as tight as his ass. “You. McCallum. You’re walkin’ a thin line, already, son. This here’s my county.”
“I remember,” Ross ground out.
“Good. That’s good. Don’t you go forgettin’.” Shep tipped the brim of his hat at Ross’s sister. “And you, Mary Beth, you take care of them tags.”
“I will,” she said sweetly as he sauntered back to his cruiser. She slapped the old Ford into drive and waited for a truck filled with Mexicans in the cab and piled high with hay to swoosh past. As she gunned the engine, she grumbled, “It’s already startin‘, Ross.” Her face was pale beneath her tan, and her lips drew into a line of disapproval. “Goddamn it, it’s already startin’.”
Yep, he thought, tossing the butt of his cigarette out the window.
And he couldn’t wait.
Shelby snapped off her laptop computer. Curled into a striped chair that was tucked between the window and the bed in her room, she’d been on-line for hours, searching websites that promised to find missing people, posting inquiries on message boards, wracking her brain in her efforts to locate Dr. Ned Charles Pritchart. Her back hurt, her neck ached and her head pounded. Frustration was fast becoming her closest companion.
And then there was Nevada. His image kept floating in and out of her mind, bothering her like a pesky insect that wouldn’t go away. The worst of it was, she still found him attractive—in an earthy, Texan kind of way. Though she’d told herself time and time again that soon she’d need to settle down, that she wasn’t getting any younger, that she needed a rock-steady man who worked nine to five or even longer, a businessman with an easy smile but a hard edge, one who wanted children, a family, a house in the suburbs of Seattle ... certainly not some broken-down cowboy who had walked on both sides of the law.
Just because they’d been lovers, had a child ... and he was as sexy as all get out. “Stop it,” she growled, stretching her legs onto the ottoman. She had work to do. She wasn’t about to be distracted. Not by anyone. Including Elizabeth’s damnably sexy father.
The trouble was, she was no closer to finding her daughter this afternoon than she had been when she’d first gotten the envelope two days earlier. “Get a grip, it’s going to take time,” she said to the pale ghost of her reflection in her bedroom window. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out. She’d already missed nine years of her daughter’s life; how much more could she risk?
She considered hiring an on-line private investigator, but didn’t know which of the dozens listed would be reliable. As for her own efforts, she’d managed to locate a handful of Dr. Pritcharts flung far across the United States—none of whom had turned out to be the Ned Pritchart who had delivered her baby.
He could have hidden himself anywhere. Europe. South America. Or he could be dead.
Don’t think that way.
She glanced down to the backyard and the shimmering aquamarine water of the pool. Inviting. Cool. She hadn’t brought a swimming suit with her, but she could probably scrounge up something she’d left here years ago.
She was on her way to the bureau when she heard her father’s car roll
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