Colton First Responder. Linda O. Johnston

chairman of the board of Colton Oil and owner of Rattlesnake Ridge Ranch—where Grayson lived with his siblings.

      He felt himself cringe at Savannah’s question. His dad wasn’t doing well at all. Recently shot by an unknown person, Payne had gone into a coma—and hadn’t come out of it yet.

      There were more family things going on, too. They had just recently learned, thanks to a strange email, that his oldest brother, Ace, might have been switched at birth with another baby.

      But to Savannah he simply said, “We think he’s improving. Thanks for asking.” He reached out to take Savannah’s hand, but she pulled him closer, giving him a brief hug.

      A hug that somehow made him want to get even closer, though he didn’t. “Glad to hear that. So—see you tomorrow?”

      “Yes,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

      He hoped. Oh, yes, he would return. But would she still be here? Would she be okay?

      He would find out when he got here.

       Chapter 4

      Savannah held open the cabin’s door and watched Grayson walk away along the uneven ground and through the trees in the glow of his large flashlight, heading essentially the direction from which she had come. Soon, she didn’t see any more signs of him.

      She had a sudden urge to dive back inside, grab the small flashlight she’d found and leave this cabin, too.

      To dash after Grayson? Only if she could feel certain he was genuine, that he was as nice as he’d seemed—and that he really believed in her innocence.

      She had no reason to doubt him, except that this situation was so horrendous that she simply couldn’t—and didn’t—trust anyone.

      Sure, he could have dragged her along with him now, called authorities who could take her into custody and been done with the situation, but he hadn’t.

      That didn’t mean she didn’t need to worry about what came next. Would he really just turn up here tomorrow with supplies and a phone for her? Allow her to remain loose while the cops looked for her, potentially gathering more false evidence of her guilt? Assuming, of course, that an escaped fugitive remained high on their radar at the moment, despite the earthquake.

      In any case, would Grayson help her as he’d promised?

      She wasn’t stupid, though her marriage to Zane didn’t exactly show her to be a good judge of character—notwithstanding the fact that she’d had impetus from her dad, who had been impressed with Zane’s wealth, to be in that relationship. Partly thanks to him, she had convinced herself that she loved Zane, but in retrospect she wasn’t sure how much she had really cared.

      But what was her best alternative for staying here? Running from the cabin and going the opposite direction to Grayson? With that small flashlight being nearly her only illumination, and damage to the ground and any other buildings she might come across, plus the possibility of more aftershocks? There’d be a lot of potential danger in that, at least if she didn’t wait till daylight.

      “Okay,” she finally whispered to herself, backing into the cabin once more and closing the door. Locking it this time, at least—so maybe she would hear if someone showed up and attempted to get inside.

      Meanwhile, she felt exhausted. She decided to go lie down on that inviting bed, allow herself to sleep—and hope that her subconscious would awaken her if anything happened or someone else showed up.

      And tomorrow? Well, she really wanted to believe in Grayson and his honesty. He was one heck of a guy, sure, but she’d had enough of men. She genuinely believed that Zane had set up his supposed murder to ruin the rest of her life.

      But Grayson? He was a first responder, so he at least cared about people, even strangers, on some level.

      Turning, she picked up the flashlight, walked to the bed and sat down.

      Grayson. Would she decide in the morning to wait here for him, see if he was as kind as he appeared to be? Whether he responded to her needs rather than the reality of who and what she currently was—an escaped prison inmate?

      She would see how she felt. She hadn’t harmed anyone to allow herself to escape, though she was certainly happy for her freedom.

      But what would she do next? How could she possibly look for Zane or any clues that would prove she was right, that he’d framed her and that he was still alive?

      It might help if she had that burner phone Grayson and she had discussed.

      And if he did turn up here tomorrow with the supplies he’d promised, including that phone, she would feel a lot more comfortable trusting him.

      For now? She didn’t want to wear out the flashlight batteries, so after she turned the sheets over and lay down on the bed—not particularly comfortable, but at least it had a pillow with a case she turned inside out—she shut the light off, then closed her eyes.

      “Good night, Grayson,” she whispered with a small smile, recognizing the irony in her words and current attitude. “I’ll see you tomorrow, when all my worrying about your truthfulness will be over.”

      She hoped.

      The next morning, Grayson awoke at the family ranch.

      Now he sat at his wing’s kitchen table, more decorative and undoubtedly more expensive than the plain wood one at the cabin last night. He grabbed toast and coffee for breakfast, getting ready to meet the new day and learn more about how his employees had done yesterday. From what he’d grasped when he spoke with Norah, everyone had been out there helping people successfully. But he hadn’t spoken with any of them again afterward. He wanted confirmation today, as well as more details.

      He also planned to check out what downtown Mustang Valley looked like after the quake, and do a shopping expedition there, as well.

      Then—well, then, he would have the pleasure of going to see Savannah again. Lovely Savannah, who claimed she had been set up by her ex and falsely accused of murder. Very falsely.

      He had thought about Savannah a lot last night after leaving her. Maybe he should just stay out of the whole thing, neither help her nor rat on her to the authorities. But—well, he liked her.

      And he hated the idea that she was being framed by her ex, if that was true.

      He’d gotten out of a bad relationship recently, too. But they’d both just walked away. His ex hadn’t plotted any revenge against him, and he hadn’t against her, either. That sounded so absurd in Savannah’s situation. But it could of course, be true.

      Hell, he was a first responder. He helped people who needed it. Who deserved it. And he truly believed, at least for now, that included Savannah.

      He would find out soon, he figured, if he had been duped by her, and she actually was a killer.

      He took a sip of coffee from his mug with the FHFR logo and phone number on it.

      That mind of his unsurprisingly kept going back to yesterday and the quake and its aftermath.

      Once he’d left Savannah the previous night, he had returned to the place where he’d earlier found the damaged van and its dead occupant. All was gone now—except his own useful SUV.

      Then he carefully drove along a couple of the mangled dirt roads to check out other fishing cabins besides the one Savannah was occupying, but they were empty, a good thing. And he’d seen no other evidence of people needing help, though quake damage was still evident.

      He had considered stopping again on his way home to check on Savannah but had decided against it, since he was sure she was asleep by then. He doubted anyone