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Hunt grabbed the cordless phone from the kitchen counter and handed it to her. “I hate that this is what made you decide to go. I hope you’ll be happy with your daughter and her family.”
“I will be. It’s been lonely here. I’ve just been stubbornand a little scared of leaving what I’ve always known. But I know I’ll be happy with them.”
Hunt left Mrs. Phelps to make her call and looked around the house. The guy who did this was methodical. He started in the bedroom where he knew most people—women in particular—kept their jewelry and cash, though he’d been right in assuming a lot of people stashed cash in the kitchen. He’d left closets open. Probably looking for a hidden safe. The medicine cabinet was closed, but Hunt checked inside and found several pill bottles. The guy wasn’t looking for drugs. He wanted the quick money. Cash and jewelry he could pawn or exchange at one of the many cash-for-gold businesses that had popped up everywhere over the last few years. Those places made it near impossible to track down stolen items.
Mrs. Phelps would probably never see her wedding ring or any of her other valuables ever again.
Unless Hunt tracked down the guy doing this and got to him before he had a chance to get rid of the evidence for the cash he really wanted.
Hunt made his way back to the kitchen, noting the intruder hadn’t left any clues inside the house. He’d check for footprints out front.
Mrs. Phelps was just finishing up with her daughter. “Yes, I’m going to have my head examined. Officer Wilde is taking me. I’ll call later to let you know everything is all right. Just like I said. I’m fine.” Mrs. Phelps listened, then sighed. “I’m looking forward to seeing you, too, sweetheart.” Her eyes glassed over. “Yes. The room sounds lovely. I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable there. We’ll talk tonight.”
Mrs. Phelps ended the call and looked up at him.“She and her husband renovated their house recently. They turned a downstairs living room into a bed and bath for me. They planned to ask me to move in again over Thanksgiving. I had no idea.”
“They wanted to make sure you knew you were wanted and they had a place just for you.” Hunt had moved out of the Split Tree Ranch main house and into one of the cabins on the property. He’d renovated it and made it his. But he missed seeing his dad and brother in the morning and at night and knowing they were right there if he needed them. He missed spending time with them.
Short-staffed and underfunded, the police department kept him working long hours, which meant he hadn’t helped out on the ranch in too long to even remember the last time he did. He missed working alongside his brother Max and their dad.
The rift between him and Chase the last year hadn’t helped.
But they were all trying to put the past behind them and move forward.
Still, Hunt spent more time in his patrol car and at the station than he did at his place. And he couldn’t remember the last time he went on a date, let alone spent the night with a woman.
The closest thing was bringing Cyn home from the bar three nights ago. He could still conjure the memory of her in that tight leather skirt, hips swaying as she walked up to her door, and how she flipped him off. Perversely, he loved her sass and how she disliked him. He didn’t really take it personally. She simply didn’t like him imposing rules on her.
“You okay?” Mrs. Phelps asked. “You look like you’d rather be somewhere else, too.”
Maybe with someone else. He wouldn’t mind being wrapped up in some good trouble with Cyn, but that was never going to happen.
He didn’t answer Mrs. Phelps. “Let’s get you to the hospital and checked out.” He grabbed her walker and helped her up. After he picked up her wallet, put it back in her purse and draped the bag over her shoulder, he walked with her to the front door and out onto the porch. “Did you happen to see what kind of car he was driving?”
Mrs. Phelps pursed her lips and looked off in the distance. “A gray four-door of some kind. I think it had a broken bumper. It hung kind of lopsided.”
Hunt made note of it. “Give me a second before I help you to the car.” He walked down the two porch steps and down the paved walkway to the dirt-and-gravel driveway. He spotted where the car had been parked and the deep grooves the tires left when the guy peeled out of the driveway. He had some tire impressions and one good shoe print. Maybe a work boot of some kind.
“Let me just take some pictures of this.” He went to the back of his patrol car and pulled out a ruler. He laid it out next to the tire impression and took several close-ups of the tread marks. He did the same with the shoe impression. Then he took pictures of the wider view of the scene. He’d already photographed everything inside Mrs. Phelps’s home. He’d add them all to her case file and hope he found some evidence that was tied to her assailant, so he could lock the guy up for hurting such a nice woman.
Finished with the task, he helped Mrs. Phelps down the steps and to his car. He made sure she was comfortable in the front seat and got behind the wheel.
He pulled out onto the main road and headed to the hospital.
“Are you married, Officer Wilde?”
“No. My older brother just got engaged,” he offered, making small talk to take her mind off what happened to her.
“That’s wonderful. I miss my husband something terrible. Especially now. It’s a hard thing to lose someone you loved nearly your whole life.”
“But what a gift to be with someone that long, too.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
He shook his head, not wanting to think about his empty bed and lonely cabin.
“Find someone who gets you. Someone who makes you happy when you just look at them. Someone who takes care of you in small ways. Because I can tell you it’s not the big things that you’ll want back when they’re gone, but the little things you’ll miss. My husband used to bring me coffee in bed in the morning because he knew I was slow to rise and I liked that quiet time. He made sure my car always had gas, so anywhere I wanted to go, I was ready. And every night when we went to sleep, he’d hold my hand as he drifted off. Sometimes, I can feel his hand in mine when I lay in bed at night.”
Hunt hoped one day he found a woman who wanted something as simple and meaningful as all that.
