The Rivals by Joan Johnston Page B

waiting for someone to show up from the Teton County Sheriff’s Office,” Libby said. “Kate was seen leaving the Mangy Moose with a man who hasn’t been identified.”
    Clay slipped the gold cuff links from his starched cuffs and dropped them into his pants pocket, then rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong, veined forearms. He looked like a man who spent his days manhandling barbed wire, but as attorney general of the United States, Clay only exerted his muscle figuratively.
    His current job was only a stepping stone, Libby knew. Clay had been groomed all his life for higher office. He would likely go from Washington to the governor’s mansion in Texas, where his father owned an empire called the Bitter Creek Cattle Company, with a ranch the size of a small northeastern state. From the governor’s mansion, it was a short step to the White House
    The fact that Clay had gotten a sixteen-year-old pregnant when he was twenty-seven might very well put those aspirations in jeopardy. Which was why Kate’s relationship to him had remained a secret.
    Libby wondered why Clay would risk coming here at a time like this. There was liable to be news coverage of Kate’s disappearance, since she was King Grayhawk’s granddaughter. If Clay was here, someone might ask what his connection was to the Grayhawk family, who were known adversaries, politically and otherwise, of the Blackthornes.
    Clay’s visits with his unacknowledged daughter at his ranch in Jackson had been done in a way that kept their true relationship a secret from the outside world. To maintain the deception, Kate had never addressed her father as Dad or Daddy or Father or Pop. He was simply Mr. Blackthorne. Or when they were alone, Clay.
    â€œWhat was Kate doing in a bar?” Clay asked. “She’s not old enough to drink.”
    â€œWhen did that ever stop a determined teenager?” Libby retorted. “There’s no reason for you to be here. I’m handling the situation.”
    â€œThen why did you call me?”
    â€œI thought Kate might have called you when she couldn’t reach me about whatever was troubling her. And I thought you should know your daughter was missing.”
    â€œIf I’m not mistaken, she’d only been out of touch a couple of hours when you called. Why did you think something had happened to her?”
    Libby wondered now why she’d made that giant leap on such insubstantial evidence. Maybe it was a mother’s intuition, but she’d had a premonition since she’d first listened to Kate’s voicemail that her daughter was in trouble. She turned the question back on Clay and said, “Why did you come?”
    Clay’s gray eyes locked with her blue ones as he said, “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I had a feeling something was wrong. It’s strange enough that Kate would leave school in the middle of the term like that. Since she called you, I presume she wanted to talk to you about something. So why didn’t she come straight here and wait for you?”
    â€œI know what you mean,” Libby said, her hands clutched together to keep Clay from seeing that they were shaking. “I can’t stop thinking about those other two girls who disappeared. And the third one, who was found dead.” She met Clay’s gaze and said, “I’m scared.”
    In the eighteen years since they’d been lovers, they’d never once touched. But the child they’d made together was missing, perhaps in mortal danger. When Clay opened his arms, Libby walked right into them. His body was warm and he smelled faintly of some masculine cologne. His arms were strong and she felt safe within them.
    Memories swamped her, of long lazy afternoons in the sunlight. Of his callused hands on her flesh. Of his long, tanned flanks in the leaf-dappled sunlight. It had been a heady time, she’d been so much in love. So had he.
    Until