“What were you doing?” She rushed to him. “You could have hurt yourself!”
“I just wanted to touch the horns.”
He jumped down from the chair and ran behind the desk, knocking off some items onto the floor.
“Jake—” She sighed with exasperation.
He kept his distance, watching her with wide eyes that were suspiciously shiny and it occurred to her that he might cry if she yelled at him. Her irritation dissolved.
“Help me pick up the things on the floor,” was all she said.
Jake obeyed, handing her Chase’s flipped-open checkbook without closing it, more interested in a bubble-glass paperweight that fortunately hadn’t been broken. He cradled its heavy smoothness in his small hands before he returned it to the desk.
Sloan wasn’t paying attention. She was looking at the last check entry. Chase’s handwriting on the stub was clear and bold.
To Wade Rogers. In the amount of ten thousand dollars.
Taken aback, she stared at the stub to make sure she’d read the amount correctly, wondering if it was for a charitable donation or what. But that space had been left blank.
Puzzled, she closed the checkbook and returned it to the desktop. “Aunt Cat made some Christmas cookies this afternoon. Your great-grandfather’s in the kitchen. Shall we go join him for some milk and cookies?”
“Can I take the paperweight?” He cast one last admiring look at it on the desk.
“No. You don’t want Greypa to know that you went tearing around and messed up the things on his desk, do you?”
The little boy squared his shoulders. “I’ll tell him. He won’t mind.”
Sloan absently stroked his hair and smiled. “No, he probably won’t.”
“Jake’s all tucked in and almost asleep.” Trey walked into the master suite’s sitting room, expecting to see his wife lounging on the couch. But Sloan was at the window, staring into the blackness beyond it, clearly preoccupied. “I thought you’d be watching television,” he said, glancing at the darkened set. “Something wrong?”
“I was just thinking.” She turned
away from the window, still seeming distracted.
“About what?” Trey scanned her expression, sensing she was troubled about something.
Sloan hesitated to reply but she moved toward him. “I’m not sure,” she said at first, then, “I guess I’m worried about Chase.”
“Why?” Trey looked surprised.
“This afternoon Jake accidentally knocked some things off Chase’s desk. His checkbook fell open—it’s that old-fashioned kind, with four checks to a page, stubs on the left. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”
“I have. So what about it?”
“The last stub was for a check he wrote to Wade Rogers. The checkbook was opened to it. I couldn’t help seeing it,” she added half defensively.
“So?”
“It was for ten thousand dollars, Trey. That’s a great deal of money.”
“What are you getting at?” Trey asked slowly, cocking his head to one side.
“Why would Chase write a check to Wade for such a large amount?” Sloan challenged. “He barely knows him.”
“I have no idea.” Trey shrugged. “Maybe it was a donation of some sort.”
Sloan’s mouth took on a grim, worried line. “Don’t you think you should ask him about it?”