Cowboy Secrets. Alice Sharpe

get some sleep. If her motives were any more than that, wouldn’t she have emptied the bottle?”

      Sierra stared at him for a few heartbeats. “I guess so,” she admitted. She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. It was difficult to believe that it had been less than twenty-four hours before when she followed Natalia Bonaparte out of New York to that bar and waited for her companion to show up.

      A sudden thought popped into Sierra’s head, a flash of intuition, perhaps. Was it possible the man last night had been Spiro Papadakis, after all? What if he’d recognized Sierra that first time she walked past their table? Hadn’t she detected a glimmer of recognition on his face when their gazes met? Perhaps he’d been spying on his wife spying on him! He could have seen Sierra and his wife meet somewhere. Could it be that he’d learned to hide his accent and sound like he was fresh from the Atlantic City boardwalk at least for a second or two? Had he, in fact, fooled her?

      As a non sequitur went, this one was a doozy, but it often happened that way: get your mind flooded with one problem and an insight into another problem floats in to announce itself.

      Her laptop was in her carry-on. As soon as they got back to the ranch, she could download the photos onto the computer and then email the images to Savannah. All she’d told Savannah last night was that she wasn’t sure if it was Spiro or not and to be prepared for photographs. She’d also asked about accents but hadn’t gotten a response yet.

      “You’ve gotten kind of quiet over there,” Pike said as they finally left the riverside road and drew close to a small town proclaiming itself Falls Bluff. Icy rain slithered down the windshield as Pike drove to the urgent care center. The town hardly looked big enough to support such a thing, but that’s probably the exact kind of community that needed an emergency facility the most.

      “I was thinking,” she said. “Not just about Tess, but about a case.”

      “Does that case have anything to do with why you looked over your shoulder this morning at the airport?” he asked.

      She turned to face him as he pulled into a parking spot. “I’m not sure if it does or not,” she said, then opened her door. She couldn’t believe how her knees wobbled when she stood or the way her heart suddenly raced.

      What if she lost her little sister before ever really finding her, or ever really helping her? The thought was intolerable.

      Pike shrugged off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders as she stepped onto the sidewalk. His arm around her suggested he saw or sensed this sudden bolt of numbing fear, and she welcomed his support as they hurried inside.

Chapter Three

      Pike leaned against a wall, hands clasping his hat against his chest, legs crossed at the ankles, waiting for Sierra to arrange medical coverage for her sister. No one knew if Tess had insurance, so Sierra had said she would pay the bill with a credit card. Of course, they could call Tess’s father and ask him, but Sierra was reluctant to do that until after they spoke to Tess, and right now that was impossible.

      Eventually, Sierra joined him in the waiting room and they sat down beside each other. Pike leafed through a magazine. Sierra just stared toward the door leading to the treatment rooms.

      After what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Stewart showed up and greeted Pike like the longtime family friend he was, then sat down. Pike introduced Sierra and explained the relationships. There were so many confusing this-person-married-that-person and divorced-a-year-later explanations that some men might have been baffled, but Mason Stewart was one of Henry Hastings’s oldest friends and he knew all about Harry’s seven wives.

      “She’s doing well,” he said. “After we got everything out of her stomach, we administered activated charcoal and a cathartic to cleanse the rest of her system.”

      “Is she conscious?” Sierra asked with a tremble in her voice.

      “Yes. Talking is tricky for a while because we numbed her throat, but I expect her to recover as expected. Give her a few minutes and you can speak to her. I have to warn you, she seems very agitated.”

      “She’s been that way for the past day or two, ever since she got here,” Pike said.

      “Do you know why?”

      “Not yet. That’s why Sierra came to Idaho. We need to talk to her. Something has her spooked.”

      “Doctor, I have to ask this,” Sierra said softly. “Is there any indication that Tess purposely overdosed?”

      “She knew you were coming, right?” he asked.

      “Yes. My arrival was imminent.”

      “Let me just say this. Blood tests and stomach contents show she didn’t take a whole lot of the sedative, but she hasn’t eaten much of anything, it seems, for quite a while, and she is a slightly built girl. Two of those pills will knock Harry out for twelve hours, let alone a kid weighing less than half his weight. If you’re worried about suicide, you should get someone to talk to her, but she insists it’s just a case of being desperate to get some sleep, and I’m tending to believe her. I’d like to keep her for a few hours but we’re not equipped or staffed to have her all night. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Grace actually worked here as a nurse a few years back.”

      “Pike’s stepmother?” Sierra asked.

      “Yes. I feel good sending her home knowing Grace can help look after her. I’m going to call her and bring her up to speed. Give the kid a couple of days to recover from all this, okay? Keep things as mellow as you can.”

      “Absolutely,” Pike said and wondered how on earth they would accomplish that feat.

      Dr. Stewart stood and they rose, too. “She wants to see you both. Normally I’d suggest she rest, but I don’t think she’ll be able to relax until she shares whatever has her upset, so you might as well get it over with. We’ll let you know when she’s ready.”

      Once again they sat. If Pike had known Sierra longer, he would have tried to comfort her. It seemed almost natural that he should take her hand or put an arm around her. Instead, he decided to distract her with a question. “Tell me about your last case.”

      “What?” she said as though she’d been thinking of way different things than work. “My case?”

      “The one you had to leave to come here.”

      She shrugged. “I have a client who is separated from her husband. She wants a divorce. She’s the one with the money. She signed a prenup that gives him a good hunk of cash if the marriage dissolves unless she can prove he cheated on her.”

      “And you were employed to gather evidence.”

      “Yes. So, she got wind he was seeing a woman out of town. I followed that woman to Jersey to a seedy bar. When a man who looked like my client’s husband joined the woman, I snapped pictures, but then I decided he was the wrong guy. Now I’m wondering if I made too quick a judgment.”

      “Why?”

      “Gut feeling, I guess.”

      “Is that why you seem worried about it?”

      “I suppose. It’s weird, really. There’s no reason to second-guess myself, I just do sometimes, and when that happens it invariably proves I noticed something, you know, like subliminally.”

      “Did you contact your client already?”

      “Emailed her, yes. She doesn’t like to talk on the phone. She always emails me unless we meet face-to-face, which only happened once. I’ll have to look at the pictures again when we get back to your place.”

      He looked into her green eyes, eyes as clear as ocean-washed bottle glass. What he saw were things he admired in a human being: passion about their life and convictions, truthfulness and the desire to help. “Do you like your job, Sierra?” he asked.