Bye-bye internet.
She slammed down the top of her laptop, rushed across the room, and searched her purse. Her phone had sunk to the bottom and she had to swim through the flotsam to pluck it out.
“Hello,” she answered, afraid she had already missed the call. “Hello?”
“Gina, it’s Danny.”
Chapter 7
Sawyer reached into the overhead storage bin and pulled out his carry-on. It had only been a four-hour flight from Albuquerque to Sacramento, but his legs were happy to be standing again. The seats in economy were too damn cramped for someone six-two.
He handed down a second bag to a middle-aged woman who’d sat in the seat next to him. She had not been subtle in her attempts to set him up with her daughter. Sawyer had pretended to be interested but his mind was on other things.
It had been his second trip to New Mexico in search of answers about Angie. He’d gone Friday on a whim, convinced that if he dug deeper, talked to more people, he’d get somewhere this time.
Yet, he had more questions now than when he’d started.
His source, the cagey woman he’d originally spoken with, was even more tight-lipped than she’d been the first time. Though she had let it slip that Angie had left the commune—communebeing a fancy way of sayingcult—to do humanitarian work overseas. When he tried to pinpoint her on where overseas, she said she didn’t know.
He wasn’t buying it. But that’s all he had. So it pretty much left him with the entire world to search.
The heat hit him as soon as he stepped outside to catch a shuttle to the overnight lot. It had been cooler in Santa Fe, or maybe just drier. He’d only been gone two days, but was anxious to get home. Sleep in his own bed.
He turned on his phone and scrolled through his emails and messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait until he got to the ranch. Traffic was manageable this late in the evening and he hoped to make good time.
Wishful thinking. What should’ve been an hour drive turned into two. A big rig jackknifed on the freeway, leaving a backup miles long. By the time he pulled through the ranch gate, he was in a foul mood.
And it only got worse when he found a little BMW parked in front of his garage doors.
“At least have the freaking decency not to block me from getting in,” he muttered under his breath and left his Range Rover in the driveway.
Sawyer slung the strap of his go bag over his shoulder and went inside. Something smelled good, like fresh-baked bread.
“You’re here.” He unceremoniously dumped his bag on the floor.
“Hungry?” She looked up from something she was reading on his kitchen counter. It appeared to be his mail.
He swiped the pile of bills and assorted other paperwork off the counter, shoved them in a drawer, and grunted under his breath.
“I’ll take that as ayes. Sit down and I’ll make you something.”
It was the least she could do after constantly invading his space. Ever since they’d had their moment on the creek bank, he’d been avoiding her, even leaving his house when he knew she was coming over to use his kitchen.
But in all honesty, seeing her again…shit. He liked it. He liked having her in his kitchen again.
“Let me change first,” he said. Between the stuffy plane and the heat, he’d have to scrape his shirt off like wallpaper. On his way to the bedroom, he adjusted the air-conditioner to sixty-five.
He emptied his pockets and dropped his loose change, phone, and wallet on his dresser. In the bathroom, he stripped, washed up, and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt. On his way back to the kitchen, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand.
“You’re here late.” He took a seat at the island. “Are you baking bread?”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah and it sucks. It’s tough and flavorless. Nothing is coming out right. Maybe it’s the altitude.”
“We’re only at a little more than twenty-four-hundred feet, hardly Mount Whitney.” He got himself a beer out of the refrigerator, popped the cap, and took a long drag. “You want one?” He figured if she did, she would’ve helped herself, since she’d helped herself to everything else in his house. That is, everything but him. Not that he was interested.
“I’m good.”
He tipped the neck of the bottle back to take another swig and held her gaze, letting his eyes slide down her torso. “Are you?”
