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CHAPTER FIVE
HOLDENMCKENNARAKEDa hand through his hair as his eldest son stormed out of the dining room. He and Treyton had gotten into the same old argument at breakfast; the last of his son’s words had trailed after him as he slammed out the front door.
You’re so clueless, so completely ill equipped for these times, you have no business running this ranch, old man.
The ranch head housekeeper and cook, and Holden’s closest confidante, came into the room as Treyton’s words died away. Elaine was a small, slim woman with bright blue eyes and a cheerful demeanor, who was close to his own age. He didn’t know what he would do without her and her usual sage advice.
But right now, sitting here at the large dining room table alone, he felt the heat of embarrassment rise to his face knowing that she’d overheard what Treyton had said.Old man. At almost fifty-six, he often felt old. Maybe he was clueless as well. He definitely felt ill equipped at times, especially when it came to dealing with his family.
He glanced at Elaine as she began to clear away the dishes from the big ranch table and saw that her face was tight with fury.
“Don’t listen to him,” she said, anger making her bite out the words. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Doesn’t he?” Holden wasn’t so sure.
“There is nothing wrong with you or your judgment,” she assured him. “Someone just needs to knock Treyton down to size.” As furious as she was, the slight good-tempered cook looked as if she would be happy to do the job.
He smiled in spite of the sick feeling he had after the argument with his son. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
She waved his comment away. “I’m sorry your son is such a jackass.”
At a knock at the front door, she’d scurried away with the dirty dishes, and he’d pushed himself up to answer it. Standing on his doorstep was a large man with an unmemorable face and buzz-cut gray hair. “Can I help you?”
“Holden McKenna? Jason Murdock. If you have a minute...”
“What is this about?”
“I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to look into Dixon Malone’s disappearance.”
Holden had heard rumors about a PI asking questions around town about Dixon. But it had been years since Charlotte’s second husband had disappeared. Why now?
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be of much help. I didn’t know the man,” he said, uninclined to let the PI past the doorstep.
“I promise not to take much of your time. I understand you have a Malone working for you as a ranch hand. Rusty Malone?”
Holden saw that the man wasn’t going to give up. Maybe it would be best to nip this in the bud now before the PI talked to Rusty. Unfortunately, Rusty believed every conspiracy theory he’d ever heard and often made up a few. Who knew what the ranch hand might tell this man. “Please come in. I’ll help any way I can.” But he didn’t offer the man a seat, preferring to stand in the hopes this would be short.
His thoughts went to Charlotte and were quickly accompanied by that old ache of regret. He hated that this PI would bring back a time in her past that she, like him, wanted to forget. They’d both jumped into second marriages after losing their spouses—both living to regret it.
He blamed himself for hurting Lottie, as he’d fondly called her, years ago when they were teenagers. Even now, after breaking her heart and his own by marrying someone else all those years ago, he still wanted to protect her. But he couldn’t any more than he could protect his own heart from the pain of his past mistakes.
“Like I said, I can’t imagine how I could be of help,” Holden said, shifting impatiently on his feet. “Rusty Malone is a distant shirttail relative of Dixon’s. The two never even met. Rusty lived in Texas, coming to work for us long after Dixon left.”
“What makes you think Dixon left?” Murdock asked, pulling out his notebook and pen and looking expectantly at him.
“I heard he left in the middle of the night.”
“After an argument with his wife, Charlotte,” the PI supplied.
“I wouldn’t know about that. I heard that he was seen in town at the bar saying it was over and that he was leaving town.”
Murdock nodded. “All hearsay. I can’t seem to find anyone who actually saw him drive out of town. Who’s to say that he didn’t go back to the ranch that night?”
“Charlotte Stafford,” he said without hesitation. “I understand she never saw him again after he left the first time.”
“One dead husband. Another one disappears?” He raised a brow. “Some might find that suspicious.”
“People do sometimes die. I find nothing suspicious about it.” Then he added, “I lost my wife some years ago.”
