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“She has a Paraguayan driver’s license. Arrived in Portland yesterday morning on a flight from Miami. We’re checking arrival documentation with immigration in Miami.”
    Amy poured coffee into two mugs, placed them on the table, and slipped back into the kitchen for cream and sugar. “What about the hospitals and clinics. She was hurt.”
    “Checked. Dead end.”
    “So she’s vanished?”
    Dallas added cream and four teaspoons of sugar to his coffee. “Doubtful.”
    Amy raised her brows as he added two more spoons of sugar. “Doubtful?”
    When she sat down, Dallas looked at her closely. Her beauty, in spite of facial scratches, was astonishing. He hadn’t been in the company of a woman, other than for friendship, since his wife had left. “Why,” he wondered, “is this woman having such an affect on me?” He turned his attention to questioning her and listened carefully as she related Friday’s events again. On the window ledge in front of him, were three framed photos of a small, platinum-haired boy with soft gray eyes. When she was finished, he asked, “How old’s your boy?”
    Amy smiled at the sudden shift. “Jamie’s five. Very bright for his age, according to the teachers. They say he’s way ahead of the other kids.”
    Dallas nodded. He heard pride in her voice and wondered if he sounded the same when he talked about his daughter, Maya. He kept the questions coming. “How many kids did your mom have?”
    “Just me. There was a problem during my delivery. She couldn’t have any more children.”
    “How old was she when she married?”
    “Eighteen.”
    “How long before you came along?”
    Amy reached across the table for the sugar and added a spoonful to her coffee. “Six months.” She looked at him, expecting a reaction, but he let it go.
    Dallas pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket and made notes. “Your mom have any children before she and your father were married?”
    Amy frowned. “Not that I know of.”
    He sipped the coffee thoughtfully. “How many children did your grandmother have?”
    “My mother was an only child.”
    “You sure?”
    Amy dropped her chin in her hand and looked at him. “Sheriff, if you’re trying to understand how this mystery woman could be about the same age as me and look like me, good luck. I live in what’s left of this family and even I can’t figure that out.”
    Dallas sat back in his chair. “Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out. We always do.”
    Amy eyed him curiously, and then shifted the conversation in a different direction. “You have a southern accent.”
    “Texas. Moved here when I was fifteen. Never could shake the accent though. Gives me away every time.” He laughed. “You know what they say, you can take the boy out of Texas but you can’t take Texas out of the boy.”
    Amy smiled. “I thought it was the farm they couldn’t take out of the boy.”
    “That too. Or in my case maybe it was the ranch.” Dallas realized he was actually enjoying himself. Her smile was radiant. It made her eyes sparkle. He stood abruptly. Time to go . “Well, thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Johnson.”
    Amy followed him to the front door. He stepped outside and picked up the bag he had left on the mat when he had arrived and pulled out a heeled leather shoe. “Here’s the shoe you lost in the brush last night. Thought you might want it back, although it’s a little damp.”
    Amy took the shoe, her fingers brushing his. The slight touch was electric. Their eyes met. Dallas thought. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
     
     

CHAPTER 8
     
     
    Loneliness and something more, emptiness, swept over Amy as she watched the sheriff drive away. During the short time he’d been in the house, she had felt safe. More than that, she’d enjoyed his company. His easy manner exuded confidence and strength. He was distinguished-looking and yet she could picture him on a horse, racing across the Texas landscape, as he must have done for years.
    Now, alone,