Ladd Haven (34 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Annie spotted a blue car on the side of
the road and pointed. “Oh my gosh—Cal, look! Is that Casey’s
car?”

“
It sure looks like
it.”

“
Pull over!”

Cal slowed, veering off to where the
blue car sat parked. Annie didn’t wait until his truck stopped
before leaping out. “Annie!” Cal called out.

Visions of her daughter slumped over
the wheel propelled her forward, ripped through her imagination.
“Casey!” Racing over, she slammed into the car, hands hitting
windshield and roof as she peered into the interior. Empty. Panic
battered her heart. Empty!

Cal appeared by her side. He placed a
hand to the hood. “Car’s still warm. She couldn’t have gotten
far.”

“
Where is she?” Annie cried.
“Where would she have gone?”

Cal glanced back in the direction of
the hotel. “Looks like she was headed our way.”

“
Cal—what are we going to
do?” Dread filled her. “We didn’t see her.”

“
She might have called for a
ride.”

Annie yanked out her phone. She dialed
Casey’s cell number, each unanswered ring compounding her fear.
Thoughts of an abductor swirled in her mind. Casey’s voice message
played and Annie snapped, “Casey, its Mom. Call me when you get
this message.”

What if it was too late?

Cal placed arms on her shoulders and
drew her near. Holding her securely, he zeroed in and held tight.
“She’s all right, Annie. She probably called for a ride. Troy most
likely. Why don’t you try his phone?”

“
I don’t have his
number.”

“
Try Delaney. She’s bound to
have it.”

“
Yes, you’re right.” Annie
immediately called Delaney. “Delaney, do you have Troy’s cell phone
number? I need to call him. Casey’s car is broken down on the side
of the road, and I need to see if she’s with him.” Shooting a
worried look toward Cal, she responded into the phone, “Yes, she
was on her way to the hotel. Okay, thank you.” Clutching the phone
to her breast, she said, “Delaney said Troy was at the stables
earlier. Told me to let her know if I can’t reach him and she’ll
call down for me.”

“
Good. Don’t worry,
sweetheart. Casey’s fine.”

Turning to Nick, Delaney set her phone
on the kitchen counter of her small cabin. “Casey’s car is on the
side of the road. Annie says she was on her way here.”

“
She abandoned her
car?”

Delaney nodded. A disquiet slinked in,
rivaling the sudden unease in her husband’s gaze. “Annie’s calling
Troy. She thinks maybe he went and picked her up.”

“
He probably
did.”

Delaney couldn’t eject her concern so
easily. “Should we call him?”

“
Didn’t you say Annie was
calling him?”

“
Yes.”

“
You both don’t need to
call. Why don’t you check with the stable manager, see if Troy has
left?”

Delaney picked up the phone and dialed
the stables. After speaking with her assistant manager, she
finished the conversation more worried than when she began. “He
said Troy left an hour ago.”

“
So we don’t know when Casey
left her car, do we? He could have grabbed her and
gone.”

Delaney shook her head, unsettled by
Nick’s choice of words. “I don’t like it. Casey’s seven months
pregnant. Something could have happened to her.”

Nick reached for her. Taking the phone
from her vise-like grip he set it on the butcher-block island and
took her in his arms. The beginnings of dinner prep on the counter
beside them were discarded, their evening of relaxation marred.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions. Why don’t we get in the car and go
take a look for ourselves?”

“
Good idea.”

Walking past the hotel lobby, Troy
cursed his brother again. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes before he
could get someone to follow him to the hotel where he would drop
Troy’s truck. Twenty minutes that were supposed to happen an hour
ago. Inwardly, Troy fumed.

“
Troy!”

He turned, surprised to see
Malcolm Ward waving him over to the hotel. His heart leapt to his
throat.
Now what
?

Troy hurried over to the lobby
entrance. Tipping back his hat, he asked, “Yes, sir?”

“
Annie’s on the phone for
you.”

“
Mrs. Foster?”

Malcolm nodded. Troy jogged up the
steps and headed through the door Mr. Ward held for him. “You can
take the call over there.”

“
Thanks.” Troy went to a
phone located on a small table situated between two over-stuffed
chairs. He didn’t sit, just picked up the receiver and asked, “Mrs.
Foster?”

“
Yes. Is Casey with
you?”

“
No, ma’am. She said she was
coming to see me but I called and told her to meet me at Fran’s
Diner.”

“
You did? What time was
that?”

Alarm bells went off in his brain as he
checked his watch. “About a half-hour or so. Why? What’s the
matter?”

There was a long pause. Troy turned
from nearby eyes and ears. Staring at a border of ferns visible
through floor-to-ceiling glass windows, he asked, “Mrs. Foster, is
something wrong?”

“
We found her car abandoned
on the side of road about three miles from the hotel. It looks like
she was headed in that direction.”

Troy’s blood ran cold. “What do you
mean abandoned?”

“
It’s on the side of the
road. I think she was having car trouble.”

“
Well, where the heck is she
now?” he demanded, controlling his tone the best he
could.

“
I don’t know,” came her
mother’s shaky reply.

Troy’s entire world nose-dived.
Indecision gripped him. Should he go to Casey’s car? Should he go
to Fran’s Diner? Back to the stables?

He didn’t have a vehicle—how was we
gonna do a thing? Horrible thoughts assaulted him as he imagined a
pregnant Casey hitchhiking. Dad gummit! Why didn’t she call
him?

Casey pulled a crooked twig from her
hair and tossed it to the ground. Brushing wayward strands of hair
behind her ears—hair damp with sweat—she bent over and recovered
her breath. Hands to knees, she inhaled deeply against the pound of
her heart. That last trek had been tough, most of it uphill. Lungs
heaving, she hoped the baby was okay. The doctor said exercise was
good for the baby. Did that include mountain climbing?

Her impromptu hike had been more than
she expected.

But she was here. Almost. The level of
sunlight was growing, open land visible through the trees ahead.
Swiping the back of her hand across her brow, she stood, gently
stretched and massaged her lower back. Her legs were wired and
tired. She was hot, dehydrated. The muscles around her stomach were
tight, cramps occurring at more regular intervals. Stepping over a
downed log, she kept her footfall light as possible. Jarring steps
aggravated her stomach. She already felt an odd pressure. She
didn’t want to worsen it.

For the first time Casey was afraid.
She had a bad feeling about her baby. She’d read about counting the
minutes between contractions was what a woman did when she was
determining whether or not to go to the hospital. But she was only
seven months pregnant. Her cramps weren’t technically contractions.
What did it mean if they were happening more frequently? Was it
because she’d overdone it?

A brush of light-headedness swept
through her skull. Pausing, she waited for it to pass. Yes, it had
to be. Too much exertion wasn’t good for her. She needed to sit.
Relax. Take it easy and let her body recover. But she couldn’t. Not
yet. After a few minutes, she picked up the pace and continued. The
trail widened, opened to a field. In the distance, she spotted a
metal rooftop. Her heart sang. Yes! The stables were in
sight!

Breathing in, she calmed the rapid beat
of her heart. The rest of the trip would be easy. Pulling her cell
phone out of her pocket—she’d ditched her purse a while back—Casey
checked for signal. One bar. It was worth a try, she thought and
dialed Troy’s number. The phone went straight to voicemail. “Dang
it,” she muttered, her throat dry and scratchy. Dropping the phone
back in her pocket she supported her underbelly of her stomach with
both hands and kicked into motion. It would be okay. She could do
this. She’d be there in five, ten minutes, tops. “C’mon, baby.
We’re going to see your daddy!”

“
Felicity.”

“
Mrs. Foster!” she exclaimed
breathlessly, startled by the sound of her name, despite the fact
she’d been waiting for the woman. Dressed elegantly, as though she
were on her way out for the evening, Felicity suddenly
wondered,
Was she
?

“
When Thelma told me it was
you, I didn’t know whether to believe her or not.” Victoria Foster
neared, concern and curiosity mingling in her light brown gaze.
“It’s so lovely to see you again. How are you feeling?”

Felicity gulped. She was referring to
her hasty departure last week, her unexpected dash from the dinner
party. “Fine,” she replied. “It must have been a twenty-four hour
bug.”

“
I’m so glad to hear it.”
Extending a hand toward the sofa, Mrs. Foster asked, “Would you
like to sit?”

“
Sure.” Thankful the lie had
been easily accepted, Felicity hurriedly took a seat on a leather
sofa. There was no doubt Mrs. Foster didn’t believe her but she was
being polite, and for that Felicity was grateful.

Mrs. Foster opted for an upholstered
wing chair. Rather than relaxing into the cushions she sat perched
on the edge, her posture erect. Imperious. “To what do I owe the
pleasure of your company this evening?”

Setting hands to her knees, Felicity
glanced about her surroundings, uncertain how to begin. “I’m sorry
to barge in on you without calling first.”

“
Please, you’re not barging
in at all. We’re family.” Mrs. Foster smiled, emanating warmth,
camaraderie. “I’d ask you to stay for dinner, but with no one else
home, Thelma’s taking the night off from the kitchen.”

“
Oh, no problem. I’m not
really hungry,” Felicity replied, growing uncomfortable beneath
Mrs. Foster’s expectant gaze. With the niceties covered, she was
clearly waiting for Felicity to explain the nature of her visit
more thoroughly. Clearing her throat, Felicity pushed up a little
on a her cushion and said, “I wanted to come by and talk, apologize
for the other night and—”

“
Sweetheart,” Mrs. Foster
interrupted, pleasure lighting up her gaze, “you have nothing to
apologize for. Please, we all have moments we’d rather forget. It’s
forgotten. Don’t give it another thought.”

Felicity settled in on the older
woman’s face, the pleasant smile, determined eyes framed by fine
lines, accentuated to perfection in a shimmery cream shadow and
sable liner. Mrs. Foster was a woman of purpose. She wasn’t
frivolous or stupid. There was no sense in playing games. She’d see
right through them, anyway. Felicity took a deep breath and dove
in, “I’m here to talk about my father.”

Mrs. Foster’s expression grew
concerned. “Yes, dear, I’m sorry to hear about the trouble between
him and your mother. It’s quite unfortunate when a child becomes
entangled in their parents’ problems.”

Felicity thought that was
putting it mildly. Terms that came to her mind were
“
punching bag
”,
“
tug-of-war
”,
“
good guy-bad guy
.”
Her grandmother acted sincere, while at the same time, oblivious to
the facts. “I understand you’re supporting him,” Felicity put
forth, “taking his side against my mom.”

Victoria raised a manicured brow and
glanced askance. “There is always more than one side to any story,
my dear. You should be old enough to understand that.”

“
Yes, but there’s only one
right and wrong. My father is pressing charges against Troy for
things he didn’t do. He went to jail because of it.”

She frowned. “Yes, Jack mentioned
something about the boy.”

“
Mentioned something about
him? He’s in
jail
because of him.”

“
Sweetheart, you weren’t
there, nor was I. Can we really profess to know what
happened?”

Felicity struggled to keep her cool.
The woman was maddeningly calm, talking as though they were
discussing a news story from halfway across the globe involving
complete strangers. They weren’t. They were discussing her
father—Victoria’s son—and Troy, one of Felicity’s best friends. Did
Mrs. Foster not understand what was at stake? Did she not know the
truth?

“
Do you know he tried to
rape my mother? That he beat her all those years ago and that’s why
she divorced him?”

Victoria stiffened, pursing her lips.
“Once again, there are two sides to every story. You are only
hearing one side, which is most undoubtedly skewed.”