"If your stalker has been hanging around town, chances are someone's seen him," Cord said slowly. "We can stop in at the diner. Maybe the motel. Ask around."
Apparently, he'd gotten the same impression from the deputy that she had. The man hadn't seemed to take her seriously. Or maybe… Well, the deputy had seemed fixated on Cord. Was there an old grudge behind his indifference?
It wasn't right. But she didn't have it in her to take it up with the sheriff.
Her teeth chattered just thinking about being seen around town. Being out in the open made them vulnerable.
Cord looked at her, his gaze calm and steady, one hand resting over the steering wheel.
Only the fine lines around his eyes betrayed his tension.
Walking around town, talking to people, wasn't going to be easy for him either. But he'd offered because he cared.
She swallowed her fear. Tried to. "Yeah. Maybe we should grab lunch."
14
Cord stood at his bedroom window watching Molly toss a tennis ball to Hound Dog in the midmorning sunlight. The cold snap had stuck around, and the bitter cold was almost suffocating. The forecasters were calling for a big storm over the weekend.
Hound Dog was a wimp in the cold and would want to come in soon.
Molly'd been edgy and quiet when they'd returned from town yesterday.
She'd been a trooper, kept her chin up through a fruitless lunch at the diner and a quick stop at the bank and gas station. No one had seen a newcomer in town who fit Toby's description. No one had noticed a red Mustang that didn't belong.
She'd hidden her terror from everyone except him.
Back on the ranch, she'd bundled up with two sweatshirts beneath her jean jacket and gone out into the field to work on the tractors. He hated that jacket and had even asked her why she didn't get a better coat. She'd shrugged and put him off.
In retrospect, he realized she couldn't afford to buy something new. She'd said her father had cut her off, and she'd left her waitressing job behind. How much money could she have? He wasn't even paying her for her work, just giving her room and board.
He'd checked on her twice during the afternoon. She'd been working almost manically, intense and focused. He'd felt as if he was distracting her and had quickly gone on with his own chores.
Being in town had taken a toll on them both.
He'd probably been more uncomfortable than she had when they'd sat at the diner counter to order lunch.
Martha Myers had been a waitress there when he was a kid. Seemed now she owned the place. The diner was a known source of gossip, and he knew everyone in Sutter's Hollow had been talking since Mackie's death.
He'd half-expected to get a bowl of the world-famous chili dumped on his head. Instead, Martha had been courteous and friendly. At the table next to them, an old-timer whose name Cord couldn't remember had asked how repairs on the ranch were going and promised to spread the word that it was for sale.
It had been the most normal afternoon in town he'd had since he was a kid. And it had made him wonder if it was possible to earn a spot back in the good graces of Sutter's Hollow after all.
Which had caused him to lose sleep last night. Sutter's Hollow was his past. He'd already decided to return to Houston and take Molly with him. His future was there.
So why was he questioning whether he could belong here after all these years? Why did he care?
When he heard Molly coming in through the mudroom, he headed down the stairs. He could hear her cooing to the dog, though her words were obscured by the closed mudroom door.
He detoured to the living room as she entered the kitchen.
"What're we making for lunch?" he called.
He couldn't help himself. He wanted her close, and it wasn't to protect her. He was attracted to her. Badly.
He wanted for himself the joy she exuded in those moments when she forgot about her stalker. He wanted to know her.
Wanted to kiss her.
"I've got some soup on," she returned.
"Rick called earlier. He was headed this way to see his aunt or something. He's going to drop off the last of your parts."
She hummed acknowledgement.
He walked to the front window and picked up the wrapped Christmas gift.
Molly was facing her demons. He could at least put Mackie to rest. Molly'd gotten rid of the horrid tree. Scrubbed the living room clean.
He needed to do his part. He turned the package in his hands, weighed it. It was a framed photo, a larger one. Eight by ten.
What would Mackie have put inside? Nothing good, of that he was certain.
He played with the corner of the wrapping paper for a moment. It seemed more worn than it should have been. How long had this gift been hiding under Mackie's tree? Was it ten years old, from that first Christmas he hadn't come home for the holiday? He hadn’t even bothered to call.
He'd stalled long enough. He inched one finger beneath the tape and ripped the paper away from the frame.
Took a deep breath. Turned over the frame.
It was full of pictures. Him and West on their stomachs hanging off the side of a fishing dock. Him and West mugging over two flashlights at a camp-out with Noah. Older photos. Faded ones of the two brothers with Mom's arms around them.
His chest tightened. Where had Mackie even found the photos? He'd left everything behind when he'd run away. He'd stored that old shoebox in the top of the closet, but he was sure Mackie would've thrown away the photos, not kept them.
She was the opposite of sentimental.
Was it possible she'd saved the photos to hurt him somehow?
He turned over the frame in his hands, searching for some answer that would make sense.
The corner of the cardboard tucked into the frame wasn't flat, as if whoever had put in the
