Page 25 of The Rancher's Heart

He was thinking whoever had been about to enter had changed their mind as a harried woman rushed in, carrying a photo. She thrust it at Jonas. “I’m looking for this girl. Have you seen her?”

His mind still on Sloane, he gave the picture of a twelve, maybe thirteen-year-old girl, with blonde hair hanging to her shoulders, a quick glance. She looked sad.

Out of the corner of his eyes, the very tip of a tennis shoe disappeared farther under the reception desk. What now?

“I haven’t seen her,” he said truthfully, handing the picture back to the woman. “Is she a runaway?”

He’d handled more than a few court cases that dealt with kids who ran from bad homes. He preferred not to start by panicking. He had enough on his plate to panic about as it was. Besides, what were the chances that her girl and whoever was attached to the shoe were the same person?

“Her mother and Clara are my neighbors. Tracy was recently killed in a car accident.”

Tracy? That couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I work for CDHS—Department of Human Services. Since I know the family, she’s been staying with me the last few days while we are looking for someone to foster her. When I got up this morning, she was gone, along with her clothes.” She looked around. “I saw a notation for Strawberry Ridge on my computer desk, so I came here. I thought I saw a young girl run in.”

“Do you have ID?”

She handed over her driver’s license and a business card.Nora Owens.“Her name is Clara Randell.”

“What makes you think she came to Strawberry Ridge?” he asked, keeping the business card, but giving the license back.

“It’s logical. Her mother lived in Strawberry Ridge before she moved to Greeley. And I know Clara got on a bus heading in this direction. She could be looking for family—”

If that was Clara hiding under his reception desk, Jonas knew he should turn the girl over to Ms. Owens immediately. But if his hunch was correct and this Tracy was Sloane’s mother—she would want to know about the teenager as soon as possible. As far as he knew, she hadn’t heard from Tracy since the woman left Strawberry Ridge.

He was taking a risk, and except for a gut feeling that rarely operated under an abundance of caution, he didn’t know for sure the person under his desk was the runaway the CDHS social worker was looking for. He knew how these situations worked out. He’d represented enough of these cases in court. And with the way things were with Sloane, if the kid was her sister, he didn’t dare turn her over to social services without getting answers first. Not that he would anyway.

Tapping the card against his fingers, it took a second more to make up his mind. “If I see her, I’ll let you know.”

“I’ll be in town for another day.”

Sloane might not want to be his friend right now, but he sure as heck would never stop being hers, which meant he would follow through on this new development and any other one that came along and try not to get into hot water with the state while he was at it.

He held the door open for the woman and watched her walk down the street, glancing into each of the businesses on the way. When she’d crossed to the next block, he locked the door before planting himself between hisguestand her only escape route. “You can come out now.”

Slowly, the girl in the photograph emerged, surprising Jonas with how much she looked like Sloane when his friend was the same age. The only difference was that Clara was taller.

She eyed him suspiciously, putting as much space between them as the reception area allowed. “How come you didn’t tell Nora I was hiding under the desk?”

“I wanted to see what you had to say before I made up my mind what to do.”

The girl glanced over her shoulder, no doubt looking for an exit.

“There’s no back door. This is the only way out.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the glass that had Jonas Lohmen, Attorney at Law, etched into it. “I’m listening.”

He watched the young teen struggle with how much to tell the stranger standing between her and whatever destination she had in mind. He wouldn’t want to be forced into revealing his secrets, either.

“My mom—” Clara bit her lip, then scowled as she duplicated his stance. It all came out in a rush “—died in a car crash. The people at DHS told me I had to stay with Nora while they decided who I could live with. I don’t want to live with strangers. I’ve heard stories from kids at school. I went through my mom’s things and found a letter to my sister she’d written when I was born. I didn’t know I had a sister—”

Jonas interrupted. “What’s your sister’s name?”

If Clara didn’t have Sloane’s brown eyes, straight blonde hair, and slender build, Jonas would be more suspicious. Kids would go to great lengths to stay out of the foster system.

She pressed her lips together. Jonas waited patiently. Clara had that same stubborn look on her face that Sloane got sometimes when she was determined not to tell him something. Like blurting out she’d decided they couldn’t be friends anymore without talking to him about whatever the problem was first.

Finally, she fisted her hands at her sides. “Her name is Sloane Michaels.”

“Why do you think your mom didn’t mail the letter?” Jonas let his arms drop and pushed his thumbs into his front pockets.

---