To Trust A Rancher. Debbi Rawlins
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she said, pointing. “Three down from the entrance. It’s a good thing we brought my car. Your truck never could’ve squeezed in.”
Ryder didn’t comment. He hated driving the compact. It was too uncomfortable for someone over six feet, but since her stroke, he knew getting in and out of the car was easier on her. Since she didn’t drive anymore, he’d considered trading it in for a medium-size sedan. But she loved the old Ford, and even after two years, her doctor insisted that a great deal of her problems were psychosomatic.
The prognosis had nearly earned poor old Doc Heaton a whack from his patient’s cane. She’d even used a couple of words Ryder was surprised she knew. He and the doc didn’t talk about it anymore...at least not in her presence.
On occasion, Ryder suggested she try setting the cane aside for an hour, just to see how she fared. She always looked so hurt that her only son didn’t believe her.
After he helped her out of the car, he brought her a shopping cart so she could lean on it instead of the cane.
In truth, she didn’t have to do any of the shopping. Otis came into town once a week to keep the bunkhouse well-stocked. He always offered to take her list with him. But Ryder knew this was more a social outing for her, so even though he’d rather have a tooth pulled, every week when he wasn’t away on business, he brought her to town.
Sometimes they’d go home with only a head of lettuce and a bag of carrots. Since he hadn’t provided her with a single grandchild before he and Leanne had divorced, he figured the penance could’ve been a lot worse.
While she ambled down each aisle, stopping every few minutes to talk, he headed over to the deli case. The ready-made food choices had expanded. Marvin, the owner, was stepping up his game.
“Are you sure you’re only four? You eat like a horse.” The woman’s voice sounded vaguely familiar. Ryder turned toward it.
“I’m not a horse. I’m a boy.” The kid was grinning and tugging on the woman’s hand.
She had her back to Ryder, her wavy brown hair spilling down just past her shoulders. Average height. Slim build. Wearing jeans and a sweater like most of the shoppers. Being a regular now, thanks to his mom, he’d gotten to know more people in the past two years than he had throughout most of his youth. But he didn’t know her.
Laughing, she grabbed a bag of chips off the shelf and dropped it into her cart.
Ryder still couldn’t get a look at her face.
“Oh, my word, I haven’t seen you in years.” Millie Perkins stopped her cart seconds from colliding with the mystery woman. “Becca, right? Becca Hartman?”
Ryder’s chest constricted. Becca? Here in Blackfoot Falls? Was Amy here, too?
“Nice to see you, Mrs. Perkins. How are you?”
“Oh, can’t complain. Wouldn’t do any good if I did, now would it? How’s your mom? Is she still living up in Alaska?”
“She sure is.”
“You have such an adorable little boy.” Millie smiled at him. “What’s your name, sweet pea?”
“I’m not a pea,” he said, scrunching up his face. “I’m a boy.”
Becca gasped. “Noah. Mind your manners.”
“Oh, he’s fine.” Millie bent to ruffle his hair.
Ryder grabbed a box of crackers and pretended to read the label, while he listened and studied Becca. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been eighteen and as thin as a fence post. He’d just married Leanne and they’d been working on plans for their new home when Becca had convinced Amy to run off with her.
His sister had sworn up and down she’d be back in a year, two tops. The plan had been to help Becca get settled, then come back to attend college an hour away. After Amy had missed three Christmases in a row, it was clear to Ryder that she’d made a new life for herself. And she wasn’t coming back. His parents had refused to believe it.
Ryder wished she’d had the decency to be straight with them. Whoever had coined the phrase blood is thicker than water had come up short.
“So are you here for good?” Millie asked.
That got Ryder’s attention again.
Becca shook her head. “Just visiting.”
“What about your friend? You know, Gail Mitchell’s girl,” Millie said. “Amy? Is she here with you?”
The stricken look on Becca’s face caught Ryder off guard. Her posture changed. She reached for her son’s hand. And when she finally smiled, he saw a slight quiver, and he knew in his soul that something had happened to Amy.
“No,” Becca said calmly. “Amy couldn’t make it.”
“Ouch.” The kid scowled at her. “You’re squeezing too hard.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I bet you’re hungry.”
He nodded vigorously.
“Let’s see what we can do about that.” Becca looked at Millie. “It was nice seeing you, Mrs. Perkins. Please give my best to Mr. Perkins.”
“Well, maybe we can have a cup of tea and a nice chat before you leave.” Millie glanced at the contents of Becca’s cart. “Looks like you’ll be here awhile.”
Becca laughed. “Have you forgotten how much a four-year-old can put away?” she said, already steering the cart and the boy around Millie.
“Oh, heavens, yes. I remember.”
Ryder did a quick mental calculation. The boy would’ve been two years old by the time Becca’s grandmother had died. As far as he knew, Shirley hadn’t mentioned anything about Becca having a kid. When it came to news from LA, his mom never skipped a word.
As soon as she made it past Millie, Ryder put the crackers back on the shelf. Time to see what Becca had to say about Amy to his face. He sidestepped the boxed stuffing display so he could cut her off, then remembered his mom. Dammit. He needed to get to Becca first.
He circled around the refrigerator case and stepped in front of her cart.
Eyes widening, she gasped. “Ryder.”
“Hello, Becca.”
“Hi.” Her gaze darted briefly to the boy. “This is a surprise.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Right.” She cleared her throat. “I planned on calling you and your mom later.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“You know, after we settled in. We just got to town an hour ago.”
Okay, maybe she was telling the truth and she had intended to get in touch. But why look so nervous? “Where’s Amy?” he asked, holding Becca’s gaze.
She shook her head. Sadness flickered in her hazel eyes before she blinked and looked away. “I think she had other plans for the—” She pressed her lips together and swallowed.
“What? For Thanksgiving? Let’s see, that makes seven of them that she’s missed now?”
“I’m not her keeper,” Becca said, her voice barely a whisper. “Amy does what she wants.”
“Aunt Amy gave me a neato truck.” The kid grinned up at him. “You wanna see it?”
“Noah.” Becca tugged at his hand. “It’s not here.”
“It’s in the car.”
“No, it’s not...”
Ryder felt a surge of relief. He didn’t know what had given him the sick feeling that something had happened to his sister. If that were true, she wouldn’t be buying the kid toys.