Chapter Seven
T hree days had passed since Jonas told Sloane he couldn’t take her money to help restore the Triple L financially. All he’d heard from her since was crickets. He’d texted her earlier with no response. Four hours was long enough to wait, wasn’t it?
He tried again. “Is everything okay?”
This time, she shot a reply right back. “I’m working, Jonas.”
Yup, his best friend was not in a good mood. No matter what was going on, Sloane didn’t get her feathers ruffled easily. That she seemed mad at him worried Jonas. He didn’t like it when their relationship... er, friendship wasn’t, well... friendly .
Unlike his best friend, he could be as hotheaded as his brothers.
He just hid it better than they did. That was what the older brother was supposed to do, right?
Play the good guy, who had his emotions well under control?
Since he’d come home, keeping his cool hadn’t worked so well.
Maybe in the back of his mind, he’d known about his dad’s gambling habit.
He just didn’t want to acknowledge the problem or that he’d left his mom to deal with the fallout alone.
After mailing the sample from Duke’s mane as directed on the website, all they could do was wait, which left Jonas with too much time to think about the kiss he’d left on Sloane’s temple.
He’d been aiming for her lips but at the last minute, changed direction.
All he could remember was the softness of her skin, how she’d felt like she belonged in the arm that he wrapped around her shoulders, the whisper of a night breeze ruffling the ends of her hair, and how he suddenly wished—
What excuse could he use to get her to go with him to Luke’s on her lunch break? Apologize for so abruptly refusing her sweet offer of financial help? Explain that saving the ranch on their terms was something he and his brothers had to do? Say he was sorry for not telling her about Julieann?
His phone rang.
And speak of the angel. “Hi, Sloane. I was just about to call.”
“I had a feeling.” She sounded distracted. “So, why do you want to talk?”
“I want to apologize—”
“I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” she said at the same time.
“Why? No matter what, we’ll always be friends,” Jonas blurted, a spark of something he wouldn’t admit was panic growing in his chest. “Let’s meet at Luke’s for lunch and talk about this.”
“I can’t. Work is stacked up today.”
“Dinner, then.” He leaned back in his chair. He’d come to his office in town to organize his cases. Now, that was the last thing on his mind.
“I don’t think so.”
“We’ve been best friends since the day we met,” he insisted. “What’s changed?”
The rolling of the creeper she used to get under the vehicles sounded in the background. Silence stretched out, then finally, “I don’t want to talk about it, Jonas.”
“We have to talk about it,” he pressed. “Is this because I can’t take your money?”
“Not really.” Her sigh came clearly across the phone. “I... um... don’t want to be friends out of habit.”
He held the cell closer to his ear. “I swear to you, I’m not your friend because I should be. My god, Sloane, after all this time, how could you think that?”
How did he convince her? “Listen, I’ll bring pizza, or something else if you’d rather, to your place tonight.” He held his breath, waiting, hoping she wasn’t making a complete break. “Come on, kiddo. Let me explain.”
“I probably won’t be fit company. There’s too much to do here. Anyway, I won’t be home until after six.” The creeper rolled again.
The bell over the door in his reception area jingled. She hadn’t exactly said he couldn’t come over. He didn’t give her the chance. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at six fifteen.”
He hung up and went to see who’d come into the office when what he’d rather do was go to the garage and fix whatever the problem was. The reception area was empty.
He was thinking whoever had been about to enter had changed their mind as a harried woman rushed in, carrying a photo. She thrust it at Jonas. “I’m looking for this girl. Have you seen her?”
His mind still on Sloane, he gave the picture of a twelve, maybe thirteen-year-old girl, with blonde hair hanging to her shoulders, a quick glance. She looked sad.
Out of the corner of his eyes, the very tip of a tennis shoe disappeared farther under the reception desk. What now?
“I haven’t seen her,” he said truthfully, handing the picture back to the woman. “Is she a runaway?”
He’d handled more than a few court cases that dealt with kids who ran from bad homes. He preferred not to start by panicking. He had enough on his plate to panic about as it was. Besides, what were the chances that her girl and whoever was attached to the shoe were the same person?
“Her mother and Clara are my neighbors. Tracy was recently killed in a car accident.”
Tracy? That couldn’t be a coincidence.
“I work for CDHS—Department of Human Services. Since I know the family, she’s been staying with me the last few days while we are looking for someone to foster her.
When I got up this morning, she was gone, along with her clothes.
” She looked around. “I saw a notation for Strawberry Ridge on my computer desk, so I came here. I thought I saw a young girl run in.”
“Do you have ID?”
She handed over her driver’s license and a business card. Nora Owens. “Her name is Clara Randell.”
“What makes you think she came to Strawberry Ridge?” he asked, keeping the business card, but giving the license back.
“It’s logical. Her mother lived in Strawberry Ridge before she moved to Greeley. And I know Clara got on a bus heading in this direction. She could be looking for family—”
If that was Clara hiding under his reception desk, Jonas knew he should turn the girl over to Ms. Owens immediately.
But if his hunch was correct and this Tracy was Sloane’s mother—she would want to know about the teenager as soon as possible.
As far as he knew, she hadn’t heard from Tracy since the woman left Strawberry Ridge.
He was taking a risk, and except for a gut feeling that rarely operated under an abundance of caution, he didn’t know for sure the person under his desk was the runaway the CDHS social worker was looking for.
He knew how these situations worked out.
He’d represented enough of these cases in court.
And with the way things were with Sloane, if the kid was her sister, he didn’t dare turn her over to social services without getting answers first. Not that he would anyway.
Tapping the card against his fingers, it took a second more to make up his mind. “If I see her, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll be in town for another day.”
Sloane might not want to be his friend right now, but he sure as heck would never stop being hers, which meant he would follow through on this new development and any other one that came along and try not to get into hot water with the state while he was at it.
He held the door open for the woman and watched her walk down the street, glancing into each of the businesses on the way. When she’d crossed to the next block, he locked the door before planting himself between his guest and her only escape route. “You can come out now.”
Slowly, the girl in the photograph emerged, surprising Jonas with how much she looked like Sloane when his friend was the same age. The only difference was that Clara was taller.
She eyed him suspiciously, putting as much space between them as the reception area allowed. “How come you didn’t tell Nora I was hiding under the desk?”
“I wanted to see what you had to say before I made up my mind what to do.”
The girl glanced over her shoulder, no doubt looking for an exit.
“There’s no back door. This is the only way out.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the glass that had Jonas Lohmen, Attorney at Law, etched into it. “I’m listening.”
He watched the young teen struggle with how much to tell the stranger standing between her and whatever destination she had in mind. He wouldn’t want to be forced into revealing his secrets, either.
“My mom—” Clara bit her lip, then scowled as she duplicated his stance.
It all came out in a rush “—died in a car crash. The people at DHS told me I had to stay with Nora while they decided who I could live with. I don’t want to live with strangers.
I’ve heard stories from kids at school. I went through my mom’s things and found a letter to my sister she’d written when I was born. I didn’t know I had a sister—”
Jonas interrupted. “What’s your sister’s name?”
If Clara didn’t have Sloane’s brown eyes, straight blonde hair, and slender build, Jonas would be more suspicious. Kids would go to great lengths to stay out of the foster system.
She pressed her lips together. Jonas waited patiently.
Clara had that same stubborn look on her face that Sloane got sometimes when she was determined not to tell him something.
Like blurting out she’d decided they couldn’t be friends anymore without talking to him about whatever the problem was first.
Finally, she fisted her hands at her sides. “Her name is Sloane Michaels.”
“Why do you think your mom didn’t mail the letter?” Jonas let his arms drop and pushed his thumbs into his front pockets.
“I don’t know, but that’s how she did things. She forgot a lot.” Clara eyed him warily. “CDHS wants the names of family members. I want to check my sister out and see if I can like her.”
“Well, it turns out you’re in luck.” It was a small world, and didn’t fate have a funny way of poking its nose in when least expected? “I know Sloane. Did you bring a bag with your clothes and things?”
Clara stared at him. To trust or not to trust. Wasn’t that always the question in this kind of situation? He’d handled enough of these cases, pro bono, to know if he didn’t follow the rules, it could all go sideways.
“I left them at the bus station.”
“Okay.” He pulled out his phone. “I have to let Ms. Owens know you’re here.”