“When I got here, my dad was gone.” She gestured with one hand toward Brad. “He was here, acting as if he owned the place.”
“Well, I’m afraid he does own the Leap of Faith.” Russ cast a censuring glance in Brad’s direction.
Emotions rose hot and hard, nearly suffocating Margot with their intensity. “You—you can’t win a ranch in a card game.”
“Boyd signed the deed over to him.” Russ shot her a sympathetic look. “We’ve checked and it was a legitimate business transaction.”
“It was a poker game,” she said so loudly Vivian swiveled her head and growled.
At Russ? At Brad? Did it even matter?
Later, she would deal with the ownership of the ranch. For now, Margot would focus on what was most important...finding her dad.
“Tell me what steps you’ve taken to find him.”
“We’ve notified the New York City Police Department as well as the police departments of every stop between here and there.” Russ spoke in what she thought of as a police voice. “Because of your father’s age and questionable cognitive ability, we were able to put him out there as a ‘Missing Vulnerable Adult.’”
“How is that different than simply being a missing person?” Margot asked.
“More attention,” Russ told her. “More focus.”
“Has anyone spoken with him since he left Rust Creek Falls?” she asked. “Or have there been any sightings in any of the cities on the train route?”
“No.” Russ gentled his tone. “That doesn’t mean we quit looking. I check in weekly with the departments in the towns where the train stopped.”
Margot shoved back her chair with a clatter and began to pace. “He can’t have vanished into thin air. I should go to New York, see—”
“New York City has a population of over eight and a half million.” Russ rose and moved to her, his voice calm. “The best thing you can do is to wait here. Let us know if he contacts you.”
Margot blew out a breath, raked her fingers through her hair. She returned to the table and dropped down in the seat she’d vacated only moments earlier. “You’re right. It’s just that...he’s my dad. He’s old and he’s out there alone.”
And there was a man living in her house who, despite what the detective said, had no right to be here.
This was her home. She was the one who belonged. If Brad Crawford thought she would move out because of a poker hand, he would soon learn differently.
* * *
Brad watched Russ drive off from the front porch and hoped he’d seen the last of the deputy. The man obviously still had it into his head—just like many others in town—that Brad had something to do with Boyd’s mysterious disappearance. That, for an unknown reason, he wanted the old guy out of town so badly he’d purchased a train ticket.
Even though it made no sense, the rumor persisted. Brad had heard the whispers and seen the sidelong glances. He’d paid them no mind, telling himself it really was no different than the gossip that flourished whenever one of his relationships came to an end.
Rust Creek Falls was a nice little town but people clearly had too much time on their hands to speculate and draw erroneous conclusions.
He glanced around, wondering where Margot had gone. She’d said her goodbyes to the deputy but then disappeared when Russ stepped outside.
The sound of a dog barking came from the stables so Brad headed in that direction. The saddle was already on her gray Arabian when he stepped inside. The dog was there too, baring her teeth in welcome.
“Hey, Viper, the mean-dog act is getting old,” Brad told the animal, ignoring the growls.
Margot turned, her brows slamming together. “What did you call her?”
“Viper. That’s her name.”
“That is not her name.” Margot scowled. “Her name is Vivian.”
“Seriously?”
Her chin lifted. “What’s so strange about that?”
Brad paused, considered, grinned. “My mother has a friend named Vivian. That woman has a certain bite to her so perhaps it’s not so strange. Come to think of it, Mom’s friend also has those streaks of gray in her hair.”
“Har, har. You’re hilarious, Crawford.” Margot reached down and gently rubbed the top of the dog’s head. “Sometimes I call her Vivi.”
He made a gagging sound. “That’s even worse.”
“Deal with it. That’s her name.”
“I’m going to call her Viper,” he said, settling the matter.
“You most certainly are not.” Her voice snapped like sheets hung out to dry on a windy day.
“Try and stop me.” He shot her a wicked smile, enjoying the banter.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to stop you. You’re moving out, so you won’t be around to call her anything.”
“Wrong again, Red.”
She leaned forward, giving him a good view of her lace bra. He tried to think of something else that would irritate her but there was only one thought in his head.
If she’d only lean closer...
Not only would he be interested in seeing more, he wanted to immerse himself in her, in her scent. She smelled like wildflowers. Not the sickening over-the-top fragrance his grandma wore, the kind that made his eyes water, but a light, airy scent that enveloped him, made him want to draw closer.
Her boot barely missed his gut as she swung into the saddle. “I’m going to check the property.”
“I haven’t sold any of it off since your dad hightailed it out of town,” he assured her. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“How reassuring.” Her eyes were cool. “Actually I plan to check the fence line. It’s October. The weather could change any time. There were some sections that needed—”
“Already done.” Brad smiled when he saw the shock on her face then turned and quickly saddled his own horse, a three-year-old roan called Buck.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He grinned, kicked the horse gently in the sides and headed out of the stable. “Enjoying an autumn day with a beautiful woman.”
Despite the worry over her father, Margot relaxed in the saddle. She’d grown up riding before she could walk. The fact that she couldn’t compete until next season was a blow, but she was thankful the doctor said she could still ride at a slow walk. Exploring these meadows and valleys on horseback under the big Montana sky had been a huge part of her childhood.
Though she’d never given much thought to the matter, she realized now that the land she assumed would always be there for her was in danger of slipping away.
A poker game.
It was a good thing her mother wasn’t here. Giselle Sullivan would have kicked her husband’s ass nine ways to Sunday if he’d pulled a stunt like this when she was alive. Of course, Boyd would never have gambled or drank or ordered his only daughter to stay away if her mother was still alive.
He adored the pretty city girl he’d married when he was fifty-three. Married once in his early twenties,