“Are you closing your eyes?” she asked.

“You bet I am, kid.”

Maggie didn’t like the way he said it, but she was so pleased to have someone willing to play with her that she didn’t care.

“Don’t peek,” she warned and raced around the corner.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he called after her.

He said that in a way she didn’t like, either. Almost as if he was mad but without raising his voice. Maggie tore across the yard, her pack slapping against her back, and hid in Savannah’s garden. She liked the smell of the roses. She crouched down under the table on the patio…but Richard didn’t come and he didn’t come. She got tired of waiting.

He was probably looking in places near the barn, she decided. Sneaking out of the rose garden, she crept on tiptoe closer to where she’d last seen him. Circling around to the other side of the barn, she saw Grady’s truck that Richard sometimes drove. He didn’t usually keep his truck there. The truck bed was covered with a sort of blanket but bigger.

Richard would never think of looking for her there. The tailgate was down, and by standing on a box she was able to climb inside. The floor hurt her knees and it was dark and warm inside, almost like a cave under the heavy cloth. There was lots of other stuff, too. She found a rolled-up sleeping bag and leaned against it.

“Richard!” she called, thinking he might need help finding her.

Nothing.

It was getting so hot under the blanket that she took off the backpack. Soon her eyes grew heavy with sleep. She decided to put her head down on the sleeping bag, but just for a few minutes until Richard found her.

Just until then.

* * *

THIS WAS SO EASY it was embarrassing, Richard Weston told himself. The pickup, formerly owned by Grady—as he liked to think of it—sped down the road toward Bitter End. No one would think of looking for him there. No one would even guess.

Luckily his brother’s head was in the clouds these days. Grady Weston in love—if it wasn’t so damn funny, it’d be sad. Grady had fallen in love—for the first time, Richard was sure—at the age of thirty-six—and it wasn’t a pretty sight. For a couple of weeks now he’d been walking around the house with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his eyes glazed over. It was a wonder he hadn’t tripped down the stairs and broken his damn neck.

Actually Richard wouldn’t have minded doing the dirty deed with Miss Caroline himself. He’d bet that woman was some hot number in the sack. Still, he felt grateful to her for keeping Grady distracted. His blockhead of a brother didn’t have a clue what he, Richard, was up to. Before Grady figured it out, he’d be long gone. Yup, it was that easy.

Richard laughed aloud. “Idiots.” He hated to say this about his own flesh and blood, but both Grady and Savannah were dolts. It was kind of sad that they’d be gullible enough to let him drive off with several months’ worth of supplies. He’d even managed to acquire a small gasoline-powered generator—one he’d put onto his brother’s business account, naturally. Of course Grady wouldn’t know anything about it for a couple of weeks.

Richard almost wished he could be a fly on the wall when the bills started coming in. Grady would have a conniption. Richard felt a mild twinge of guilt about that, but hell, he didn’t have any choice. Not really. He had to eat, and while the portable television might seem an extravagance, it wasn’t. How would he know what was going on in the world without watching the evening news? It wasn’t like he was going to get cable in the old ghost town, either. All he had were rabbit ears. He’d be lucky to receive one station, possibly two, but that was probably just as well. Otherwise he’d be tempted to laze around and waste his whole supply of gasoline on running the TV.

By the time he reached the turnoff to the dirt road that wound up the far side of the valley, he was lost in his thoughts.

He knew himself well enough to realize he’d find it difficult to stay cooped up in Bitter End, with no companionship and few diversions. There were sure to be times when he’d welcome an excuse to venture into Promise, or any one of the other small towns that dotted the Texas hill country.

He couldn’t do that, however. Grady was bound to report the truck as stolen, and sure as shootin’, Richard would have a lawman on his tail five minutes after he hit the highway. But a stolen vehicle was only a small part of Richard’s worries—just one more complication in his already complicated life.

Hell, all the lawmen in three states would give their eyeteeth to get their hands on him. So the last thing he needed was to be pulled in for driving a stolen truck.

A shiver raced down his spine. He didn’t want to think about that.

The road grew bumpy and he slowed. For a moment he thought he heard a sound, a cry of some kind, but he strained his ears and didn’t hear it again.

Imagination was a funny thing, he mused. Could be dangerous, too. On a recent visit to Bitter End, he’d had the impression that someone was watching him. Someone or something. A vague feeling, mildly uncomfortable.

He blamed Ellie Frasier for that. She’d given him the willies the time he’d brought her to Bitter End. The minute they’d left the truck, she’d started making noises about this “feeling.” He hadn’t felt a damn thing, while she’d been practically crawling out of her skin. Naturally that was for the best, since he certainly didn’t want her coming back and bringing her friends along.

Ellie hadn’t been able to get out fast enough. Whatever the feeling was, it had never bothered Richard—until that last visit. He’d probably just heard too much about this so-called sensation. He didn’t understand it, but he was counting it as a plus. The town’s reputation for eeriness meant that people would stay away. He’d have to control his own imagination, not let ghost stories and strange noises spook him.

As he neared Bitter End, he reduced the truck’s speed. He’d found a spot in the ghost town where he could hide the pickup, so if anyone did happen to stumble in, they wouldn’t see it.

He stopped in front of the wooden stable, which leaned heavily to one side. He’d say one thing for the folks who’d originally built this place. They’d been great craftsmen. Most of the buildings still stood, despite their age.

He drove the truck into the decrepit stable and jumped down from the cab. He was about to close the door when he caught a movement under the canvas tarp.

He froze. Sure enough, he saw it move again. Believing in the element of surprise, he moved quietly to the back of the truck and firmly gripped the edge of the blanket. With no warning, he jerked it away from the bed.

Maggie Daniels screamed and cowered in a corner. It took them both a moment to recover, but she was faster.

“Richard!”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

The smile on her face disappeared. “We were playing hide-and-seek, remember? I fell asleep….”

Richard swore.

Maggie’s eyes grew round. “If my mommy was here, she’d wash your mouth out with soap.”

As far as he could see, Richard had few choices. He could dump the kid on the highway—but would she shut up about where she’d been? He could keep her in Bitter End. Or he could do away with her entirely. Kidnap and murder charges wouldn’t look good on his rap sheet. But he might not have any other options.

Damn it, what was he going to do now?

* * *

GRADY HAD NEVER been one to idle away time, nor had he been known to sit under a willow tree and soak in the beauty of a summer evening. Not for the past six years, at any rate. It’d taken him that long to get the ranch into the black. He’d earned a decent profit last year and would again this year, God willing. He finally felt good about his life and he didn’t want his happiness compromised now with talk of Maggie’s father. He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter—but it did. Caroline had wanted to tell him, and curious though he was, he’d persuaded her to wait. Grady recognized that his behavior was uncharacteristic; generally he faced problems head-on. But he knew why he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Admitting it didn’t come easy, not by a long shot. Intuitively he feared that once she told him about Maggie’s father, nothing would be the same between them. Sitting with her in the shade of the willow tree, holding her close, loving her—these moments were far too special to invade with difficult truths. So he’d delayed the inevitable, hurled it into the future until he felt more ready to deal with it.