Casey nodded. Okay, sounds like a plan. Ill do that.
Sherry gave them a warm look. Thank you, ladies. Casey, give me your phone number. Ill call Mr. Sinclaire tonight and fill him in. He can call you and you two can set a day and time to exchange those photos of Megan holding Susie on her glove. She clasped her hands. I just pray to God this is the breakthrough Megan needs. Her father, Matt, is so filled with guilt over his daughters condition. It just tears my heart up.
Casey nodded. She understood tragedy, suffering, grief and guilt. Sounds like a plan to me. Shes a sweet child. Id like to see her work through her trauma and start talking again.
Katie walked to the door and waited for Casey to open it for her. Its known as hysterical muteness, Casey. Megan has been through a battery of shrinks and theyve all told Matt Sinclaire the same thingits hysterical. A little six-year-old doesnt realize that, of course. And now, two years later, Megan is still mute, which tells you the power of the trauma she experienced.
Casey opened the door. Yes, she murmured, it does.
Sherry followed Kate and Casey out into the empty hall and walked with them. The children were all in the lunchroom, but Sherry kept her voice low. Listen, she told Casey, Mr. Sinclaire has his problems, too. I mean, Bev Sinclaire and he were childhood sweethearts from the moment they met in the first grade. She was the love of his life. Hes not over her death. Hes filled with guilt and remorse from what I can see.
Katie nodded and they turned down the hall toward the exit doors. Hes blaming himself for what
happened. He was in Cheyenne at fire school when it occurred. But look, go to the quilting store. Youll find out everything you ever needed to know about Matt Sinclaire from Gwen.
Casey opened the door, the cool April breeze hitting them. There was snow on the ground, but the sky was a bright blue. The sun warmed her a bit. Okay, Ill do that. Casey gave Sherry Harrington her business card. Call me, Sherry, when you know something.
Oh, I will, Casey. Bless you! Thank you!
Casey didnt feel very blessed. She walked with Katie out to her SUV and opened the rear door so Katie could put the bird boxes in and strap them down. The asphalt parking area had been cleared of snow and was wet and gleaming under the midday sunlight.
Do you know anything about Matt Sinclaire? Casey asked, shutting the door.
Katie fished the keys out of the pocket of her red jacket. Hes a hunk.
Casey laughed. Okay.
Grinning, Katie said, Hes thirty years old, black hair, green eyes, square face and about six foot two inches in height. Hes been on the fire department eight years, and hes a lieutenant. Before Bev was murdered, Matt was a pretty outgoing dude. But now Katie opened the drivers-side door hes pretty serious, unreadable and just about as mute as his daughter.
Sounds pretty grim, Casey muttered, frowning.
Katie nodded and frowned. How do you get over your wife suddenly being torn from you? And on top of that, your child goes mute and is trapped inside her own trauma? Matt cant fathom what she has endured. No one can.
Really bad stuff, Casey mumbled, frowning. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her brown nylon Forest Service jacket. Her mint-green USFS truck was parked next to Katies vehicle.
Gwen has said repeatedly that Matt needs psychological help, but hes refused. Hes gummed up tighter than Fort Knox when it comes to his own grief. All we see is his guilt. He just hasnt been able to open up and let out all that toxic grief, Katie said. She climbed into her truck. Maybe, Casey, youre a ray of sunlight into his dark world. That was smart of you to take those photos. She grinned and slipped the key into the ignition. The engine growled to life. Who knows? Maybe those photos will not only help Megan, but Matt, too. Good luck!
CHAPTER THREE
Knocking a couple of times, Casey stood back and waited. In her left hand, she held her beat-up brown leather briefcase that had seen her through her university years. What was Matthew Sinclaire like? And how would Megan receive the photos of Hank, the red-tailed hawk?
The door opened.
Automatically, Casey held her breath for a moment. Her eyes widened as a man in a red T-shirt and jeans appeared. Instantly, her heart began a wild, unfamiliar beat. She looked up into his green eyes and felt consumed by his intent gaze upon her. To say that Matthew Sinclaire was a hunk was understating the obvious. The red T-shirt emblazoned with the words Jackson Hole Fire Department emphasized his broad, deep chest. His shoulders were powerful. He stood relaxed, body at a slight slouch; a man who was comfortable with who he was.
You must be Ranger Casey Cantrell? he asked in a deep voice.
Giving a nod, Casey rasped, Yes, sir, I am. Are you Lieutenant Matthew Sinclaire? She felt, suddenly, like a teenager in front of this guy. Clearly, Sinclaire was a mans man, and it triggered something deep and hungering within her. Fingers tightening around the handle of her briefcase, Casey tried to appear just as relaxed as he seemed to be.