She made the statement as if wanting to know that made it better.

“So why do you take it?” C.J. asked, not sure why she didn’t feel vindicated to have her suspicions confirmed.

“Sometimes we buy food. When Mrs. Fortier gets mad at us, she sends us to bed without supper. That happens a lot and we get real hungry. We try to be quiet, but sometimes we forget, and then she locks us in our room.” Lucy sighed. “We’re saving the rest for when we’re ready to run away and be on our own. Some of it’s gonna have to go for a new coat for Tommy. Mrs. Fortier says his old one is just fine, but it’s too small. He can barely fit into it, and when it snows and stuff, he needs to be warm.”

Anger flooded C.J., but this time it wasn’t directed at the child. Instead, she felt a burning need to find the horrible woman who treated these children so badly and lock her in a room without food for a couple of weeks. Then she should spend a good long time in prison.

“I’m glad you and Tommy take care of each other,” she said, careful to keep her feelings to herself. If Lucy saw any strong emotion, she would assume C.J. was mad at her. Based on recent events, who could blame the girl?

She slid forward until she could reach the girl’s hair and continued combing it. They talked about the horses and how good Cookie’s desserts were until C.J. finished with the braid and handed over her mirror.

Lucy stared at herself. Her mouth curved into a delighted smile.

“I have to go show Tommy,” she crowed, handed C.J. the mirror, then raced toward the cook wagon. Halfway across the clearing, she turned back.

“Thank you, C.J.”

“You’re welcome. After dinner, I’ll take it out so it’s not too lumpy to sleep on, but if you’d like me to put it back in the morning, I will.”

Lucy beamed. “I’d like that a lot.”

C.J. watched her go, then packed away her mirror and comb. In her world, the act was a small thing, but what was it in Lucy’s world?

Thad stepped into the clearing. He carried a mug of coffee in each hand. “I saw your handiwork,” he said, handing her the cup. “Lucy’s hair looks nice.”

C.J. shrugged, not wanting to talk about why she’d done it or what it all meant. If this had been her first baby step back into the world of the humane, she didn’t want to look at it too closely for fear of messing up.

“Lucy told me a few things about her foster-care situation,” she said and recounted the girl’s stories of lack of clothing and being sent to bed without food. “When we get back, I want to report that woman. She shouldn’t be allowed to take in children. Not if she isn’t interested in caring for them.”

She braced herself for Thad’s response. No doubt he would want them to take in the children themselves. While she and her husband had been approved to have foster children, for C.J. it had simply been one more step on the road to getting a baby. She had no intention of taking in older children.

“Good idea,” he said instead. “We have our contact in social services. I also know a few lawyers who work in the department. I’ll have a word with them, as well. Lucy and Tommy should be with someone who wants them.”

C.J. waited, but he only smiled at her and sipped his coffee. That was it? She’d been prepared to fight him on the issue. What had happened? And why did she feel oddly let down?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SHORTLY BEFORE LUNCH Phoebe realized she was missing her pen. She wouldn’t have noticed except in an attempt to give herself hope about her employment future, she’d decided to spend some of her riding time brainstorming alternative career options. And as being within sighting distance of Zane caused her brain to shut down in a hormonal rush, she figured she should write those ideas down. Hence the need for a pen. But it was just plain gone.

One advantage of minimal luggage was the ease with which she could sort through her belongings. She had all her clothes, no watch, one silver earring and—

“That is just so annoying,” she said aloud, then stomped her foot on the ground. “I mean, how do they know?”

Chase crossed the clearing and headed toward her. “How does who know what?”

“The raccoons,” she told him. “My pen is missing.”

He grinned. “Let me guess. Shiny?”

“A silver Cross pen. I doubt it’s all that expensive, but it was given to me by a client, so it was special.” She closed her saddlebag. “What I want to know is how did they get it? Do they paw through my luggage while I’m out eating or something?”

“I’m sure word has gotten around about you,” he said and chuckled. “The raccoon grapevine is filled with messages about the dark-haired woman with the endless stash of shiny possessions.”

Phoebe didn’t doubt that could be very possible. “Think I could get my pen back if I offered them the other earring?”

“We could try to set up a meeting on neutral ground.”

Phoebe couldn’t help laughing as she pictured herself in a trench coat on a foggy night, crossing a bridge to meet a nervous raccoon.

“Let me know if you make any progress with them,” she said.

“Sure thing.” Chase settled on the log next to her, straddling it and facing her. “So, tell me about Jonny Blaze. What’s he like?”

She wrinkled her nose. “He was fine. I told you, he treated me like his kid sister. The man actually patted my head. I’m not making that up.”