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Voices came from the kitchen, and Tara followed them. Her brothers were there. Half a dozen ranch hands gathered around the table while Juanita was at the stove, flipping pancakes like a pro.
There was a new face at the table. Dutch Ferguson. The badge on his chest caught and held her gaze. What was he doing here? Was there news of the floods? About Morgan? Sylvie? She froze in the doorway, her heart pounding against her ribs.
“H-hi, Dutch,” she whispered, clearing her throat before she headed to the coffeemaker. “What, uh, brings you out here so early?” Did she really want to know the answer to that question?
“Emily’s call last night,” Dutch explained. “I was out this way and thought I’d stop in and check.” He took a minute to savor the coffee from his cup. “We did get a call about that girl.”
Tara’s heart sank. She couldn’t let Brooke go back to her mother. Morgan might never find her again.
“You did?” That wasn’t her hand shaking as she poured the coffee into a mug, really it wasn’t. She didn’t fill it too full, a precaution against spilling it. She liberally added cream and sugar, the clink of her spoon loud in the too-quiet room as she stirred the mixture. Finally, a sip of fortification under her belt, she slowly turned to look at the older man again.
“We got a call, yeah,” Dutch repeated softly. “Some guy named Jimmy said the little girl had been kidnapped.”
Tara gasped. “I—”
The sheriff lifted his hand. “We know better. But—” he looked at Wyatt “—the call is on record.”
“And time-stamped.” Emily came into the kitchen then, wearing a fluffy, blue robe that Tara remembered her opening last Christmas. “What time did he call, Dutch?” Emily didn’t look nearly as ruffled as Tara felt. She envied her sister-in-law.
“Bernice took the call, just like she took yours. ’Cept yours was two and a half hours before his.”
“Two and a half hours?” Tara screeched. “We didn’t call Bernice until Brooke was with me a couple hours.”
“That’s a hell of a long time for a little one to be gone and no one noticing.” The anger was clear in Wyatt’s voice.
“I’m not disagreeing with you, Wyatt.” Dutch finished his coffee and pushed away from the table. He carried his cup to the sink. “Emily, I know when you called. Phil has the case file you started. We’re in good shape there.” He walked toward the door. “But right now, I got a little girl who’s not with either of her parents, and I don’t see either of those parents here.”
Emily bypassed the coffee and fixed herself a cup of tea. She took in a deep breath of the steam that rose from the cup. “She’s in my custody now. As an officer of the court, that trumps either parent until we’ve done an investigation.”
“Never knew you to be one to argue jurisdiction, Emily.” Dutch faced the room, and Tara watched the grin grow on his weathered face. “You know I’m not one to argue about that sort of thing, either.”
“I do, Dutch.” She smiled back. “How much time do you think we’ve got?”
Tara didn’t understand what was going on. She was tired and stressed, and her head hurt from either the drink DJ had made her last night or lack of sleep or a dozen other stresses she’d internalized.
“I’ll stall them with the investigation as long as I can.” Dutch pushed the screen door open. “Let me know when—if—the father shows up. His lawyer has already filed a motion. I’m thinking you’re going to grant it?” He looked at Emily, an eyebrow lifted.
“Why, Dutch, I believe we’ve worked together entirely too long.” Emily deepened her drawl, and the men in the room laughed.
The sheriff looked at Tara and she swallowed hard, surprised at the deep emotion in his worn eyes. “Did you need something, Sheriff?” She tried to keep her voice even.
“You took a mighty big risk last night. I’ve been all over this county in the past twenty-four hours. I’ve seen the destruction. Most of the time, I’d give you a lecture about setting out like that in the dark. But you did a good thing, getting that girl to someplace safe.” The old man cleared his throat, not saying another word as he headed to his car.
