At least the rain was letting up; she hoped that was a good omen.

“Shallie?” Russ’s voice was quiet, almost kind.

She didn’t turn around or speak. But she did stop.

“What business could you possibly have, way out here in Buttcrack, Montana?” he asked.

She ignored his profane description of the town, although it probably described his view of it. “Here’s the deal, Russ,” she replied, still facing the door. “You tell me what you know about my mother—not Della’s version, but what you, yourself, remember—and I just might answer that question.” She wondered if he realized she’d actually given him her answer, or part of it, anyway. Her need to learn whatever she could about Christine Fletcher.

Russ was silent.

Shallie pushed open the door and stepped out into the drizzle. This time, it felt good, the rain, warm and gentle and, somehow, soothing.

CHAPTER THREE

NOW WHAT? CORD HOLLISTER asked himself, as he drove the winding road to the ranch, the girl sitting silent in the passenger seat of his truck, arms wrapped tightly around her backpack. Thankfully, the rain had tapered off in the last hour, now reduced to a drizzle.

After some whispered discussion back at Sully’s, he and J.P. and Eli had decided it made the most sense if he took the girl home—to stay with Mitch and Tina Robbins, the ranch foreman and his wife.

Thank God, when he called Tina, she’d readily agreed to take her in. Tina and Mitch were good people, and since their own brood was grown-up and gone, there was plenty of room in their spotless double-wide trailer for one skinny, bullheaded girl-child.

Maybe Tina could get something out of the kid, like her real name for one thing. Cord wasn’t buying the “Zelda” bit, and he was getting tired of thinking of her as “the girl” and its few variations.

“I looked you up online,” said the mystery child. “You know, Google. I looked you all up. That’s how I knew who was who. You’re pretty famous. Are you rich, too?”

Cord laughed. “I’m not famous outside the horse-training world,” he said. “And I guess I do all right, moneywise.” Certainly well enough to pay child support, if I’d known I might be a father. Damn it, Reba, any one of us, all of us, would’ve stepped up if you’d told us you had a child—and that we might each be the father…

“I like it, that you work with horses,” she said.

“You like horses?” It was a start.

“Better than people, most of the time.”

Cord smiled at that, but he felt another ripple of sadness, too, remembering that story about her dog. If it was true—and it felt true—it was a real heartbreaker.