The Missing Twin. Rita Herron

done. Something that would be painful for Madelyn. But a task that was necessary in order to verify whether or not that grave held a baby.

      “Madelyn,” he said in a voice low enough not to reach Sara’s ears. “We need to exhume the casket you buried.”

      Grief flickered in her eyes as she glanced at Sara who was madly coloring another picture of her and Cissy. This time they were holding hands, dancing in the middle of a sea of sunflowers.

      “All right,” Madelyn said firmly. “If it’ll help us learn the truth, then let’s do it as soon as possible.”

      MADELYN PICTURED THE Lost Angels section at Sanctuary Gardens where they’d held Cissy’s memorial service in her mind and nausea flooded her. Still, with the questions Caleb had raised, Sara’s nightmares, and the revelations about Dr. Emery, she wouldn’t rest until she knew if Cissy was really buried in that grave.

      Compassion darkened Caleb’s eyes. “Okay. We’ll get the ball rolling.”

      Madelyn nodded, gripping her emotions with a firm hand. For so long she had accepted that Cissy was dead that it was hard for her to wrap her mind around the fact that she might have survived. That she might be living somewhere with another family. That a physician would actually deceive his patients and sell their babies.

      But the doctor’s arrest was proof of the possibility, creating doubts, and she had to investigate or she would always wonder.

      Sara ran to her, waving her drawing, her ponytail bobbing. “Look, Mommy, Cissy’s gonna be so happy when we brings her home with us. She loves sunflowers. They’re all around her.”

      “The sunflowers are beautiful,” Madelyn said, her heart aching as worry knotted her insides. Was it true that twins were only half of a whole? What if they didn’t find out Cissy was alive and bring her home? How would Sara take the news?

      Would she be able to move on and finally be happy?

      Sara tugged at Madelyn’s hand. “We gots to hurry, Mommy.”

      Madelyn stroked Sara’s hair away from her forehead. “Sweetheart, that’s why we’re here. Caleb—Mr. Walker—is going to investigate and find out why you’re seeing these scary things.”

      Sara angled her face toward Caleb. “Thank you for ’vestigatin’, Mister.”

      Madelyn smiled in spite of her turmoil because, after all, Sara was a charmer. Caleb knelt and extended his hand to Sara, and Madelyn couldn’t help but notice how strong and calloused and tanned his fingers were, how masculine.

      “I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Sara.”

      An odd look crossed Sara’s face, then she took Caleb’s hand and turned it over in her own small one and studied his palm as if she could see inside the man through his fingers. Madelyn noted the breadth of his palm against Sara’s tiny one and thought that Sara might be frightened of him, but she seemed to immediately trust him.

      In fact, neither one spoke for a moment. They simply stared at each other, silent, assessing, as if sharing some private moment.

      “You gots an Indian name?” Sara asked in a whisper.

      Caleb nodded. “Firewalker.”

      Sara’s eyes widened. “You walks on fire? Does it hurt?”

      Caleb shook his head then pressed a hand to his chest. “No. Not if you hone in on your inner strength and power. On peace and faith.”

      Sara smiled. “I gots faith that you’re gonna find Cissy.”

      A pained look crossed Caleb’s face. “I will do my best, Sara,” he said gruffly.

      Madelyn’s heart melted. Sara had not only missed her twin sister, but she’d missed having a father, as well. And she had been so caught up in raising her little girl, on being a single mother, surviving the loss of her husband and Cissy and making ends meet, that Madelyn hadn’t once considered a personal relationship with a man.

      Or finding a father for Sara.

      She didn’t need a man, she’d decided long ago. Sara had her, and she would be enough.

      Only she wasn’t enough. And now she needed this detective’s help.

      Her breath fluttered as he swung his gaze up to her. His dark eyes sparkled with questions, yet she also sensed that she could trust him.

      She hoped to hell that was true.

      Sara dropped his hand and skipped to the door.

      “Caleb, you’ll let me know what you find.” She didn’t know if she could bear to be at the exhumation.

      He nodded, then extended his hand to her this time. Wariness filled Madelyn, but she slid her hand into his. An odd sensation rippled through her at the feel of his rough, leathery skin against her own. It had been so long since she’d touched a man that her belly fluttered with awareness.

      She pulled away immediately. She couldn’t afford to indulge in a romantic flirtation. Finding out the truth about Cissy and ending these nightmares for Sara was all that mattered.

      AS SOON AS MADELYN LEFT, Caleb set the wheels in motion for the exhumation.

      “Sheriff Gray said he expects this won’t be the last request for one,” Gage said. “Damn Dr. Emery.”

      “Damn him for killing himself,” Caleb said. “He should have to face every patient he deceived and make things right.” Although there was no restitution, nothing that could make up for the loss of a child.

      “The sheriff said workers will be meeting at the cemetery early in the morning for the exhumation. They want to make sure it’s as private as possible,” Gage said.

      Caleb nodded. “I’ll meet them there.”

      Yanking on his rawhide jacket, he headed outside. Time to pay his respects to Mara.

      Wind battered his Jeep as he plowed across the mountain toward the Native American burial grounds. As he parked and climbed out, the sounds of ancient war drums and echoes of fallen friends bombarded him. Stones and wooden markers etched with family names stood in honor of loved ones, while handmade Native American beads and baskets decorated others, holding treasures.

      Gripping a bouquet of lilies in one hand, he crossed the graveyard, grateful he’d managed to bring Mara here where her own parents were also buried. He paused at their markers, then stopped in front of Mara’s, his heart heavy as he placed the flowers on her grave.

      Today would have been Mara’s twenty-eighth birthday. If she had lived.

      And his son, if he’d been born, would have been two.

      That hollowness he’d lived with since Mara’s murder gnawed at him, and he traced a finger over Mara’s name. His throat tightened as an image of what his son might have looked like materialized in his mind.

      A toddler with chubby cheeks, thick, black hair, dark skin, and brown eyes like Mara’s. His son would have been walking and climbing onto everything now.

      But his little boy had never had a chance…

      The icy cold of the winter wind seeped through him, adding to the chill he’d felt for the past three years. Three years of living alone. Of wondering why Mara and his unborn child had been taken instead of him.

      Three years of living with the guilt.

      Gritting his teeth, he stood, the vision of his son disappearing in the foggy haze. But Mara waited, an ethereal beauty in her traditional white wedding dress.

      Although each day he sensed her fading. That her soul was preparing to move on. That she was waiting on something…something she needed from him…

      For him to let her go? He wasn’t sure that was possible. The guilt alone kept him coming back, kept him praying, kept him…prisoner.

      Why