killed.
A flood of questions all but bounced off the very walls as well as the people within them.
“Who did it?”
“Why would anyone kill Faye?”
“Are you sure?”
“Dead? Really dead?”
“Oh, God. Are we all in danger?”
Others, severely numbed by the news, said nothing, only listened, waiting either to be convinced or given details. Or, better yet, for someone to tell them they were dreaming.
No one could believe that she was really dead. They had just seen her early this morning, talking and as full of life as ever.
“Why would someone kill her?” Catherine, one of Gabby’s two older sisters, asked, her voice shaky as she asked the question.
“Apparently she was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the chief said, speaking up. His authoritative tone indicated that he had the floor now. “Looks like she tried to stop the kidnapping.”
“What kidnapping?” someone from the staff cried.
“There’s been a kidnapping?” Jethro’s question sounded more like an accusation that the chief had been withholding information from him.
Amanda all but went into shock. She covered her mouth with her hands to hold back the guttural cry that was clawing at her throat, seeking release.
“Oh, my God, my baby,” she cried, her eyes darting toward Gabby. She’d gone to the rodeo only because she trusted Gabby implicitly and Gabby was supposed to be babysitting.
But then she realized that her sister was holding a baby. That was her baby. Then what was the chief talking about?
Rushing over to take her baby from Gabby, Amanda scooped the infant into her arms, holding on to her as tightly as she dared. The sudden, terrified ache in her heart abated.
“No,” the chief said. “As you can see, your little lady wasn’t the victim. She stayed nice and safe and sound.” For emphasis he needlessly gestured toward Gabby just as Amanda took hold of her little girl.
It took Amanda more than a few seconds to reconcile the alternative waves of terror and exhilaration going through her, neutralizing the effects. All that mattered, she told herself, taking a deep breath and drawing in the baby’s sweet all-but-newborn scent, was that Cheyenne was safe.
“If these murderers didn’t get Cheyenne, who were they after?” Catherine asked.
“Oh, don’t fool yourselves—they were after your baby, all right, Ms. Amanda. But what they got was Avery Garth—his baby,” the chief concluded, pointing a finger at Trevor.
Amanda, who was still holding her daughter as if she never intended on letting the little girl go, struggled to establish a sense of peace.
Though for the most part it was still eluding her, she looked toward Trevor. “They kidnapped your baby girl?” she asked, utterly stunned.
Before he could acknowledge her question or tell her that, with all due respect, it was none of her business how anything involving his personal life went down, Gabby took the initiative—and the blame.
“I put Avery down for her nap in Cheyenne’s crib in the nursery.” Because both Mathilda—still sobbing—and Amanda looked at her as if she’d just turned feeble-minded, she felt compelled to explain herself. “Cheyenne had already taken her nap, and I thought the surroundings in the nursery might be nicer for Avery.”
“Well, that was a damn fool thought,” Jethro said sharply to his youngest.
“It’s an infant. ” Darla Colton, Jethro’s ex-wife, felt compelled to add her two cents. Every time there was some sort of an argument Darla and/or one of her two less-than-savory adult children could be found at the heart of it, fanning the flames. “It can’t tell the difference between an embroidered pillow and a pile of hay,” the woman insisted as she looked at Gabby. “They barely know which end is up at that age. Now I—”
“You certainly know which end is up, don’t you, Mom?” Tawny interjected her two cents’ worth with a less-than-pleasant laugh. “You always made sure to keep that
A flood of questions all but bounced off the very walls as well as the people within them.
“Who did it?”
“Why would anyone kill Faye?”
“Are you sure?”
“Dead? Really dead?”
“Oh, God. Are we all in danger?”
Others, severely numbed by the news, said nothing, only listened, waiting either to be convinced or given details. Or, better yet, for someone to tell them they were dreaming.
No one could believe that she was really dead. They had just seen her early this morning, talking and as full of life as ever.
“Why would someone kill her?” Catherine, one of Gabby’s two older sisters, asked, her voice shaky as she asked the question.
“Apparently she was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the chief said, speaking up. His authoritative tone indicated that he had the floor now. “Looks like she tried to stop the kidnapping.”
“What kidnapping?” someone from the staff cried.
“There’s been a kidnapping?” Jethro’s question sounded more like an accusation that the chief had been withholding information from him.
Amanda all but went into shock. She covered her mouth with her hands to hold back the guttural cry that was clawing at her throat, seeking release.
“Oh, my God, my baby,” she cried, her eyes darting toward Gabby. She’d gone to the rodeo only because she trusted Gabby implicitly and Gabby was supposed to be babysitting.
But then she realized that her sister was holding a baby. That was her baby. Then what was the chief talking about?
Rushing over to take her baby from Gabby, Amanda scooped the infant into her arms, holding on to her as tightly as she dared. The sudden, terrified ache in her heart abated.
“No,” the chief said. “As you can see, your little lady wasn’t the victim. She stayed nice and safe and sound.” For emphasis he needlessly gestured toward Gabby just as Amanda took hold of her little girl.
It took Amanda more than a few seconds to reconcile the alternative waves of terror and exhilaration going through her, neutralizing the effects. All that mattered, she told herself, taking a deep breath and drawing in the baby’s sweet all-but-newborn scent, was that Cheyenne was safe.
“If these murderers didn’t get Cheyenne, who were they after?” Catherine asked.
“Oh, don’t fool yourselves—they were after your baby, all right, Ms. Amanda. But what they got was Avery Garth—his baby,” the chief concluded, pointing a finger at Trevor.
Amanda, who was still holding her daughter as if she never intended on letting the little girl go, struggled to establish a sense of peace.
Though for the most part it was still eluding her, she looked toward Trevor. “They kidnapped your baby girl?” she asked, utterly stunned.
Before he could acknowledge her question or tell her that, with all due respect, it was none of her business how anything involving his personal life went down, Gabby took the initiative—and the blame.
“I put Avery down for her nap in Cheyenne’s crib in the nursery.” Because both Mathilda—still sobbing—and Amanda looked at her as if she’d just turned feeble-minded, she felt compelled to explain herself. “Cheyenne had already taken her nap, and I thought the surroundings in the nursery might be nicer for Avery.”
“Well, that was a damn fool thought,” Jethro said sharply to his youngest.
“It’s an infant. ” Darla Colton, Jethro’s ex-wife, felt compelled to add her two cents. Every time there was some sort of an argument Darla and/or one of her two less-than-savory adult children could be found at the heart of it, fanning the flames. “It can’t tell the difference between an embroidered pillow and a pile of hay,” the woman insisted as she looked at Gabby. “They barely know which end is up at that age. Now I—”
“You certainly know which end is up, don’t you, Mom?” Tawny interjected her two cents’ worth with a less-than-pleasant laugh. “You always made sure to keep that
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