Wedding Bells at Wandering Creek. Patricia Thayer

dining room, past a long table that could seat a dozen people and into a big country kitchen.

      The room had honey maple cabinets and shiny black granite countertops. He caught a whiff of something spicy cooking. His stomach growled, reminding him he’d had a packet of peanut butter crackers for lunch.

      Off in a corner in front of French doors, Molly Reynolds and the foreman stood at the table. Another young woman in jeans and white blouse was setting the table.

      “You’ve met my mother.”

      “Hello, Mrs. Kingsley.”

      She smiled. “Mr. Sullivan.”

      “Please call me, Jack.”

      The pretty woman returned his smile. “And everyone calls me Molly.”

      The expression on Willow’s face told him she didn’t like the familiarity. He turned his attention to the foreman.

      The man eyed him closely. “Sullivan. I’m Trevor Adams, foreman.”

      So, Trevor Adams wasn’t going to be his friend. He saw Jack as too much of a threat. “Adams,” Jack said.

      “And this is Gina Vargas,” Willow added as the young Hispanic woman looked up from her task. “She keeps the house in order and she’s the best cook around.”

      “Gina, I’m looking forward to the meal. It smells great.”

      “Thank you,” she said shyly. “Here’s your place.”

      “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen,” Molly said.

      He grinned. “I’m a kitchen kind of guy. And being a bachelor I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal.” He waited until the women took their places, then he sat down.

      Gina set a tall glass of iced tea at his place. Then she returned with a large casserole filled with bubbling chicken enchiladas. She added bowls of beans, rice and a stack of tortillas.

      It began to rain again, and as it sheeted down on the brick patio outside, Molly dished out generous portions of food and handed the first to Jack, then did the same for the others. He added his own beans and rice, then dug in.

      There was some polite conversation about the weather and then came the questions.

      “How long have you been in business for yourself, Jack?” Molly asked.

      “About five years.” He took a drink of sweet tea. “But you already know that…and probably a lot more.” All they’d had to do was read his ad in the Seattle area Yellow Pages, or check his Web site.

      Molly gave him an innocent smile. “I thought it was interesting that you were on the Seattle Police Force for three years.”

      “You’ve been a busy lady, Molly.”

      “If I’ve learned anything from growing up in Hollywood, it’s not to trust many people. Not to take them at face value, anyway. But I can’t take all the credit. My daughter is very thorough.” Her intent gaze held his. “Your ad also states you specialize in white-collar investigations. Does that mean you’re after Dean for a crime?”

      “I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars of the case. You know your son better than I do. You tell me.”

      Willow glared at him. “Dean would never steal….”

      Willow braced herself for more questions from the man. Instead Jack just studied her, which was even more disconcerting.

      “I never said he stole anything,” he finally said. “The reason I’m looking for him…is just to talk with him.” Jack spoke in between bites. “It’s not an unfair request, especially since he hasn’t been to work in the past week.”

      “So it’s his boss from Walsh Enterprises that hired you?”

      He took another drink of his tea, ignoring her question. “Since Dean hasn’t been seen at his apartment, logical reasoning would be to think he came to visit his family…especially if he needs help.”

      Willow didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t believe that her brother would do anything unethical…certainly not steal money. And she certainly didn’t want to give Jack any more information about the family. It was important that he not learn that Matt Kingsley had cut off the purse strings to his son years ago. Every dime of her father’s estate was tied up in a trust until after Molly’d passed on.

      Trevor dropped his fork on his plate. “So you’re going to hang out here and bushwhack Dean when or if he shows up.”

      Jack ignored Adams and turned his attention to Willow and Molly. “I’m not playing any games with your family. I’m trying to help. It is imperative that Dean clears something up before it becomes a legal matter.”

      “Then let’s help each other,” Molly offered. “We want to keep our lives private, and escape media notice. Having you parked on the edge of the ranch will draw attention.”

      “I’m not leaving…”

      Molly raised her hand. “We know. So we’re offering you access to our property, and our word that we’ll let you know if Dean contacts us.”

      Jack’s eyes narrowed.

      “But only if you promise not to tell anyone you’re a private investigator, and pretend that you work here…as a ranch hand.”

      He wasn’t sure if Molly Kingsley was kidding or not. “You want me to play cowboy?”

      “Maybe. We won’t ask you to bust any wild horses,” Willow said. “But there are other things you can do around the ranch. And we can teach you a few things so you can get by.” She turned to her mother. “A good cover might be that he’s a friend of Dean’s.”

      Molly nodded. “I do have one concern. Can you handle about three dozen rowdy kids? Because in a little over a week, we’re reopening our annual summer camp.”

      “By then I’ll be out of here.”

      “One would hope,” Willow said.

      Jack couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, I’ll do it. I mean how hard can it be?”

      Jack had held back one bit of information. He actually had spent some time on a working ranch. After he’d been labeled a troubled kid, his mother was more than happy to get rid of her twelve-year-old son for a couple of months. He hated leaving his friends in town to go to a police sponsored summer camp, but in the end he’d enjoyed his time in the country. Back then, he’d considered himself such a badass he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of knowing he liked anything.

      Until Mike got a hold of him. The tough cop refused to put up with a teenager’s foul mouth and bad attitude. Damn. If Mike could see him now. “What goes around comes around,” he’d told Jack so many times.

      An hour after dinner, carrying his duffel bag, Jack followed Trevor into the bunkhouse. They entered into a large main room with rough-cedar walls divided up into different areas. In the kitchen area three long tables took up the space.

      Along one wall was a huge sofa and two recliners. Two men occupied chairs facing a large television tuned to a baseball game.

      “Ted and Larry,” Trevor began. “This is Jack Sullivan. He just hired on and will be bunking here with you.”

      Both men greeted him with a wave as Trevor continued the tour, down the hall to the first of three smaller rooms. Here there were four bunks, two already made up. Jack tossed his things on a vacant one next to the window.

      “The bathroom is at the end of the hall, bed linens and towels are in the cupboard. Breakfast is at six after the morning chores are finished.”

      Jack could see Adams enjoyed playing boss. “When do we get up?”

      “About five. The stock gets fed first.”