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trafficking, and she didn’t want to make too big a deal of it. Still, she’d seen too many kids head down the wrong trail in her last job, and the trouble often began with some small infraction.
    Theft was theft.
    Ryder was a decent kid with loads of potential, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep right on screwing up, because he was also a confused and lonely kid, and with his dad so far away and his mother permanently disinterested, he was especially vulnerable.
    Well, Grace resolved for about the hundredth time since Ryder had moved in with her, if the boy was destined for a life of crime, it wasn’t going to happen on her watch.
    Except that she had only so much influence over Ryder.
    The hard truth was, Hank needed to man up, take responsibility for his son, give the kid some love and guidance. Yes, he provided financial support, but that was far from enough.
    Ironically, though, if Ryder went downhill from here, Hank would blame her , not himself.
    Did she care about Hank’s opinion? No.
    But she did care, very much, about Ryder.
    She smiled. The boy put on a convincing tough-guy act, but there was more to him, thank God. A lot more.
    For instance, she knew he was secretly feeding a stray cat that had showed up on their patio a few days ago. She’d glimpsed the poor creature a couple of times, saw that it was thin, matted and skittish. When she’d tried to approach, the animal shot into the bushes and hid there, but Ryder had fared better. He’d set out pilfered lunch meat or a bowl of milk and then wait, crouching, almost motionless.
    And the cat would come close enough to eat a few bites or lap up some of the milk.
    That image of Ryder, that display of kindly patience, gave her hope.
    Later, when she was officially off duty, she drove into town, visited the supermarket, planning to fix Ryder’s favorite meal, spaghetti and meatballs. She added potatoes to her cart, then vegetables for a green salad, a stack of canned cat food, and some of the dry kind, too—along with a couple of ceramic bowls.
    Back at the condo, which was part of the resort complex, she thought about how lucky she was to have this job. It was demanding, sure, but besides her salary, she had health insurance and a decent retirement plan, and she didn’t have to cover rent or mortgage payments.
    Plus, nobody shot at her or yelled abuse simply because she wore a badge.
    She paused in the parking lot to admire the place. The condo boasted three sizeable bedrooms, one of which she used as a home office, two bathrooms, a nice sleek kitchen and a Wyoming view that faced the scenic Bliss River. She’d decorated with a few antiques she’d inherited from her grandmother—an English case clock, a pewter pitcher she’d set on the mantel, a beautifully framed and very old charcoal drawing of horses standing in the snow, their manes ruffled by the wind. She’d also splurged and bought a new chocolate-brown couch, with scarlet velvet pillows for accent.
    The low, square coffee table was new, too.
    Feeling domestic, Grace carted in her briefcase, purse and one bag of groceries. Ryder abandoned the video game he’d been absorbed in and jumped to his feet.
    â€œNeed some help?” he asked, with a shy grin.
    â€œYes,” Grace answered, pleased. “There’s more in the car.”
    Ryder rushed out the door, all legs and elbows, and when he returned, he was carrying the bag of cat kibble under one arm. The expression on his face made Grace double-glad she’d decided to cave on the adopt-a-pet question.
    â€œWhat—” he began, looking down at the heavy bag clutched to his side.
    Grace smiled, took the bags from his other hand and set them on the counter. Then she rummaged through them until she found the bowls. “I know what you’ve been up to, bud,” she said.
    To his credit, Ryder didn’t try to dodge the issue. “He’s so hungry, Grace.