Hideaway

by Hannah Alexander

  “Why does anything have to be wrong? I’m happy to see Blaze.”

  “Then why don’t you act happy?” Blaze asked.

  “Because I’m hot and tired and it’s been a long day, and I dread going back home to Columbia next week. You want some iced tea?”

  “Yeah, but I’ll get it,” Blaze said. “I want mine sweetened.” He pulled open the screen door, narrowed his eyes at Dane, and jerked his head toward Cheyenne.

  Dane got the message clearly.

  “What else is up?” Dane asked her as Blaze disappeared into the house with a quick greeting to Blue.

  “The lawsuit.” For the first time since he’d met her, she almost looked her age.

  “You’ve heard from Columbia today?”

  She nodded.

  Cecil had told him about giving the messages to Austin to bring out to her this morning. She was getting more messages from Columbia lately—reconnecting her to her world.

  But was Columbia still her world? Could that be, partially, what was bothering her?

  “They want to agree to a settlement,” she said. “That would place a permanent mark on my résumé, and it isn’t fair.”

  No, it wasn’t fair, but he’d learned long ago that life wasn’t fair. Somehow, he didn’t think she was in the mood for a sermon about real Life—the one after this.

  “Won’t they at least hold a deposition so you can share information?” he asked. “I don’t know much about law, but you need to have an opportunity to see what kind of opposition you’ll be up against. I’ve heard that if everyone can see a good defense, often the case will be dropped.”

  “Apparently, none of that is up to me unless I want to foot the bill for my own attorney—and I could still lose, with no financial backup.” She slumped onto the top step of the porch. “I guess I shouldn’t worry about it much. It isn’t as if I have any huge accounts they can dip into.”

  He sat down beside her and took her hand. To him, it felt like a perfect fit. “I thought you said you lived in an apartment.”

  She nodded. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “And you drive a car that isn’t exactly—”

  “It’s none of your business where I spend my money,” she said. But a smile broke the surface.

  “Let me guess. I doubt you have a gambling problem, and you obviously don’t have a drug habit. You’re apparently not much of a jet-setter. Something you said a few weeks ago gave me the impression you might frequent a soup kitchen or rescue mission somewhere near home.”

  She withdrew her hand from his. “What does Cecil do, tell everybody in town about my phone messages?”

  The question stung. “He only mentioned it to me in passing, and I gave him a long lecture about confidentiality. I’m hoping it won’t happen again, but I can’t promise you anything.”

  She stood up and paced the yard, arms crossed over her chest. “I don’t know if I could ever get accustomed to the lack of privacy in this place. A person might as well live in a glass house.”

  “So you wouldn’t be interested in Austin’s offer.”

  She pivoted, narrowing her eyes at him. “What did he do, drive over to the ranch and announce it to the whole crowd?”

  “Why is that upsetting you so much all of a sudden? You know what a close community this is, especially since we’re so isolated here.”

  She spread her hands in the air and continued pacing. “Maybe what’s upsetting me is the fact that I’m tempted to take him up on the offer. I suppose he also blabbed that he’s taking me to see The Shepherd of the Hills Wednesday night.”

  Dane felt as if he’d just been awarded a prize, then socked in the stomach. “No.”

  Blaze came charging out of the house with three glasses of iced tea clinking against each other. “Cheyenne, I can’t believe you’d go out on a date with that blowhard mayor.”

  “It isn’t a date, it’s—”

  “Hold up a minute, isn’t that Bertie coming down the drive?” Blaze set the glasses on the ledge of the concrete wall.

  Dane saw the small, stooped figure coming down the driveway toward them, waving at them frantically.

  “Something’s wrong.” Blaze ran down the steps and raced toward her. Dane and Cheyenne followed.

  Bertie stopped when Blaze reached her. She bent over, resting her hands on her knees as she panted to catch her breath. “I called the ranch, and they said you was here.” She panted again. Her face was flushed, as if she’d run all the way.

  “Bertie, what’s happened?” Dane asked, reaching for her.

  “We’re getting too old for this,” Bertie said, gasping for breath. “It just don’t figure why all this has to happen at once.”

  “What, Bertie?” Cheyenne asked. Red, it had to be. His heart?

  Bertie shook her head. “He’s done it before, I know, but it still scares me every time. What could be wrong with him? Is his mind going on him?”

  Dane took Bertie by the shoulders. “Has something happened to Red?”

  Bertie nodded. “He’s disappeared again, and I can’t find him anywhere.” She gazed up helplessly at Dane. “He got tired when he was over at the ranch today.”

  “That’s right,” Dane said, “but when I offered to take him home, he said he already had a ride.”

  “Did he say who with?” Bertie asked.

  “No, it could have been anybody.”

  “It’s nigh on sunset and he’s not home yet. I think he’s lost again, Dane, I do. Just like last time. Can you help me find him?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Don’t know what I’d do without Red,” Bertie said. She fidgeted in the passenger seat of Cheyenne’s car as Cheyenne drove her back home, with Dane and Blaze in the back seat. “Don’t know what could’ve happened to him.”

  “You said he’s wandered off like this before?” Cheyenne asked. She’d never seen Bertie so upset, and she feared the worst.

  “He did one night a couple of years ago.” Bertie looked over the seat at Dane. “Remember that, Dane?”

  “You mean when he and Cecil went fishing at Roaring River on the first day of trout season?”

  “That’s the time. We all thought it was funny then, ’cause Cecil was bringing him back home, had a flat tire and stopped to change it. It being dark, Red couldn’t tell he wasn’t home yet, and couldn’t hear Cecil telling him to sit tight. While Cecil was changing the tire, Red just politely got out of the truck and started walking to what he thought was home, which was really across Lizzie Barlow’s field. Her dogs got after him and nearly ate him before they realized who he was and stopped.” Bertie shook her head sadly. “It’s a shame when folks’ eyes and ears go on them, and they don’t keep up with the rest of the world.”

  Cheyenne pulled into the Meyers’ driveway and parked. Dane got out of the back seat and rushed forward to open the door for Bertie. “I wish I’d made sure he was okay before he left the ranch today.”

  “Now, don’t you go blaming yourself,” Bertie said. “There was people all over that place helping with the cleanup, and Red was just one of them. Red can get himself into more mischief—” Her voice caught, and her chin quivered.

  “The first thing we need to do is ask everyone who was there today if they saw Red,” Dane said. “That’s simple. I’ll call Cook and Austin. They know everybody in the state, it seems.”

  Cheyenne picked up her car phone from beside her on the seat. “We can use this if you give me some numbers to call.”

  “I’ve got an extra phone book in the living room,” Bertie said.

  Blaze rushed ahead of Bertie and opened the front door for her. “Might not be that easy. You know Red, he could’ve rested an hour or so, then lit back out to go fishing.”

  “But I had the boat,” Bertie said. “We went over together this morning, and then when he got tired, he said he’d catch a ride back home. You know how boats was coming and going all day today.”

  “Who does he usually fish with
?” Cheyenne asked.

  “Anybody who’ll come by this way,” Bertie said. “But first let’s find out who brought him home. Could be they dropped him off down at the dock, then left, and Red got turned around again. It could’ve happened. He just forgets where he is sometimes.”

  “Shouldn’t we start searching down by the boat dock in both directions?” Cheyenne asked.

  “I done did that—that’s why I’m so tired.” Bertie led them into the house and reached beneath her telephone on an end table. “I went as far as the end of Lizzie Barlow’s land, and as far as the beginning of yours. I didn’t see no sign of him, not even a track in the mud. He’s not been down your way, far as I can tell.”

  Dane picked up the receiver and punched his numbers. “If we don’t find any leads soon, we’ll get the boys to search up and down the shore on both sides of the lake. Hello, Jason? I need to talk to Cook. We’ve lost Red.”

  It was starting to get dark by the time Dane reached Austin on his cell phone. “Austin? Dane here. Thanks for coming out to help us today. Did you happen to see Red Meyer when he left to go home?”

  “I saw him there,” Austin said, “but I didn’t see him leave. What’s going on? Are you saying he didn’t make it home?”

  “He wasn’t here when Bertie arrived home, and someone must have given him a lift with their boat.”

  “You might call Mom. She’s probably got a list of everybody who was there and how long they stayed, what they ate for lunch. You know my mother. Red’s probably just wandered off again.”

  “Thanks, I’ll call Lizzie.”

  “I’m showing a place right now. Let me know when you find Red.”

  Dane disconnected, knowing this was not the time to brood about the apparently growing relationship between Austin and Cheyenne. Still, it rankled. She was going to a show with Austin Barlow.

  He was dialing Lizzie Barlow’s number when Cook and six ranch boys trooped into the house carrying flashlights.

  “Would you look at that,” Bertie said as she rushed forward to hug each one of them. “You boys’ve got to be tired after working on the cleanup all day long. You’re just the best kids….” Her voice quavered. “I don’t know what I’d do without my ranch boys.”

  After speaking with Lizzie and receiving no additional information, Dane gave up on the phone calls and sent the boys off in groups of two to scour the Meyers’ sixty acres.

  “It could be, if he was tired, he just lay down to sleep under a tree or a bush somewhere,” Cook suggested as he headed out the front door with Jason.

  Dane drew Cheyenne aside while Blaze held Bertie’s attention in the kitchen. “Keep Bertie here. She’s already worn herself out looking for Red.”

  “Keep us posted.”

  “We’ll check back in every hour. Red and Bertie have an old cow bell hanging at the back door that they use to call the goats. If you hear any news, or if Red comes wandering in, you can use that bell to call us.”

  Cheyenne’s gaze followed Bertie, and Dane could see the concern in her expression. “Dane, do you think something bad has happened?” she asked softly.

  “I don’t know. I’d sure like to find out who he was with. By now everyone in town knows about Red, so we’ll hear if he turns up there.” Dane felt suddenly weary. “Red’s an impulsive old cuss. But I wouldn’t have expected him to leave Bertie to do tonight’s milking alone.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Cheyenne said. “The milking.”

  “It’ll need to be done. If that makes you nervous, I could have one of the boys stay and help, or I could stay.”

  “No, I’ll help Bertie do it. She’ll need to keep occupied. Watching me help milk her goats will definitely do that.”

  “Have you worked with them before?”

  She grimaced. “You mean milked? I have a practical idea about where the milk comes from, but that’s it. The only goat I trust is Mildred. The closest I ever came to the others was the day that buck chased me onto the roof.”

  Dane could have kicked himself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think. Why don’t I stay here, and you and Blaze—”

  “No, I’m a big girl, I can handle milking a few little goats. Besides, they sold Roscoe.” With a tentative smile, she reached up, as if on impulse, and touched the side of Dane’s face, rubbing her fingers over his beard. “You look tired.”

  He placed his hand over hers, loving the gentle comfort. “I think we could all use a little less excitement for a while.” Unfortunately, he couldn’t see that happening any time soon, even if they found Red.

  He prayed they would find Red.

  “I’ll be fine with the goats,” she said, stepping back and withdrawing that soft, exquisite touch from his face. “I’ll simply follow Bertie’s instructions.”

  “Just your being here will help her. I’ll be back soon, I hope.”

  “They’ll find him, I’m sure,” Cheyenne said, putting an arm around Bertie’s slender, suddenly fragile shoulders, as they watched the shadowed figures scatter into the woods around the house. “Meanwhile, we might as well get started milking.”

  Bertie’s shoulders stiffened. “Milking.” She looked up at Cheyenne. “I can’t believe I forgot all about my girls. They’re probably wondering if I’ve lost my mind. You say you want to help?”

  “Of course I do, Bertie.” Cheyenne glanced through the window toward the little milking barn at the far side of the yard. A comfortingly familiar animal stood at the door, nosing the handle. “Especially if they’re all as tame as Mildred.”

  Bertie nodded and patted Cheyenne’s arm. “Won’t be no trouble, you’ll see. You knew we got rid of that old mean thing right after he hurt you.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Bertie reached for a red bandanna hanging on the hall tree beside the back door, then led the way outside. “Most goats won’t be that way unless they’re treated mean or teased a lot, and most goats won’t have their horns. The owners usually cut those off.”

  Dane was right about the goats occupying Bertie. As she stepped into the barn ahead of Cheyenne, she kept up a steady stream of conversation. Cheyenne was grateful for something to do.

  To her surprise, when she entered the milking area behind Bertie, the does entered behind them and stood in line, as if eager to be milked. They didn’t look nearly as large or formidable as they had on Cheyenne’s front yard and porch a few weeks ago, but part of that time she had been lying on the ground looking up at them.

  Bertie laid a gentle hand on the head of one of the serene-looking does and reached up onto a shelf for a small stainless-steel bucket. The doe stood calmly as Bertie motioned Cheyenne forward.

  “This one here’s one of the gentlest, so I’ll let you get started on her. Dane’s boys built us these here milking stands quite a few years ago, and they’re sure easier on the back than sitting on a stool and reaching down.”

  At her urging, the white-tan-and-brown doe stepped up an incline to a stand—or stanchion—that reached almost to Cheyenne’s waist. The doe stuck her head through a partition, where a small trough had been built. “Now all we have to do is stand and milk, while the doe munches on her portion of grain. Don’t worry, she’ll wait for that grain all night if need be.”

  Cheyenne watched Bertie do the cleaning, then dry the udder and start milking.

  “I’ll let you watch me this first time, then I’ll go to the other stand and start on my own.” Bertie seemed to have forgotten about everything but the task in front of her.

  She positioned the bucket. “See here what I’m doing?” She gave a demonstration, forcing a stream of milk downward into the bucket, then glanced up and smiled at Cheyenne’s dubious expression.

  “You know, I just thought about something,” Cheyenne said. “What if someone tries to call us while we’re out here?”

  Bertie nodded toward the far wall, where a telephone hung. “Got us an extension a couple of years ago. Come on, you can do this. You’ll have to practice a while before y
ou get the hang of it. Give it a try.”

  The gentle-faced doe suddenly looked a little less gentle as Cheyenne approached the stand. “Uh, what do I do now?”

  “Grab a teat.”

  Cheyenne reached forward tentatively and took one of the large, soft nipples. The doe jerked, and her head came around questioningly.

  “It’s okay, Dove,” Bertie said calmly. “She won’t hurt you. Talk to her, Cheyenne. Red and I do all the time. Make her think you know what you’re doing.”

  “But I don’t.”

  “Act like you do. Act like you mean what you’re doing. Don’t act afraid, or she’ll take advantage.”

  Cheyenne did as Bertie instructed, and squeezed. Nothing happened.

  “You’re not holding firmly enough,” Bertie said as she filled the small trough with grain for Dove. “And you have to pull gently. Try again.”

  When the doe’s attention focused on the grain, Cheyenne squeezed again—this time more firmly—and was rewarded by a long stream of milk.

  “Good,” Bertie said. “Didn’t hit the bucket, but it’s a start. Try again.”

  Encouraged, Cheyenne squeezed with the other hand and received more milk, this time on her arm. “Ugh! What does it take to get this right?”

  Bertie chuckled. “Practice, honey.”

  The next stream of milk caught Cheyenne in the chin, and Dove turned to look at her.

  “Shut up,” Cheyennemuttered. “I bet you never tried to do this.”

  At last, she got the hang of it. When she finished with Dove she looked around to see Bertie milking another animal on the second stanchion.

  “What now?”

  “Pull the trough back and let her go on out the other side. I’ve got…I’ve got Red’s little sweetheart waiting in the wings.” Bertie pulled off her glasses, and dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her denim shirt. “Can’t think where he’s gotten to, Cheyenne. I just can’t stand to think about what might’ve happened.”

  “Neither can I, Bertie.” She couldn’t mention what she thought might have happened. What if Red had suffered a heart attack? She’d warned him about it last Thursday.