Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1

by AE Rought

  Driving mostly on autopilot, Slade ignored the scenery. He knew the path home all too well. The Dodge dipped south on the hill she’d most likely slid down. He steered around the pine stretching over the drive while he fished out her cell phone. It must be fairly new, shiny, hardly a scratch on it, no consistent wear marks. When he rounded the bend in Rancher’s Row, he lifted it close to read the display screen and the same floral perfume drifted up.

  The scent conjured images of the girl in his mind. Vulnerable and blonde, she was like sunshine in the blizzard. The lost look in her eyes in the ER had touched him. She was scared. He read it on her face. Other victims had been equally scared, sometimes hurt worse, but Slade had lingered with this one, staying longer than he would for any normal call.

  Why the hell did I stay?

  To comfort her. Even though she’d only said a few words, something about the girl spoke to him and he knew she needed him to be there.

  He clicked through phone’s menu and found her contact list. There were only two numbers. Ilene Rogers, with an area code he easily recognized—Gillette, Wyoming. And, Susan Nelson, with an area code he didn’t recognize. Going by the warped license plate on her car, he had a good guess where the number would ring. Must be a Michigan number…

  The screen flickered with each click when he exited the contacts list and found the I.C.E. information she had been smart enough to program in. There was no home address, no phone number. Only a name.

  Kally Jensen.

  “What are you doing so far from home Kally?”

  Of course the girl couldn’t answer. She was sound asleep in the hospital.

  The ranchers’ drive was dark and quiet, just like it should be. Only a swirling snow devil moved through the cattle pen. The herd wouldn’t be brought onto the house range until closer to Christmas. Everything was in order, considering the late hour. Then, his headlights shone through the gap in the barn door. Slade might ignore a pretty hill, but he never missed details like a door ajar, or an open window. Dad must’ve forgotten to latch the door.

  He put the Dodge in neutral and dashed for the door. Jack whinnied in the shadows, and his mother’s horse shook her mane. Nothing else moved. There were no new scents. Satisfied nothing was amiss, Slade stepped out in time for the rotten-tempered orange barn cat to shoot through his boots and around a bale of hay. “Damned cat.”

  The tabby peered from the shadows, his yellow eyes luminous in the starlight. Slade had the distinct impression the cat was thinking, Fuck you, human.

  Feuding with a cat might be stupid, but the tabby had hated him from birth. Slade closed the door, got back into the truck and puttered up to the house. He rolled the last few feet without power or lights in case his parents were sleeping, and stepped lightly across the porch to keep his boot heels from thumping.

  His mother met him in the foyer, however, her foot tapping and her arms crossed. “So, how is she?”

  Slade dropped his boots onto the plastic tray by the wall and then piled the laundry and other items into his mother’s arms. She followed him into the main room and Slade knew by her quick breathing she was itching for more information. “She didn’t talk at all, just laid there with this scared expression. I would have stayed longer. Leanne told me she’d be fine and chased me out. I sat in the waiting room until I got word they’d put her into a private room.” He hung his Stetson on the antler peg next to his father’s white Resistol hat and headed for the stairs.

  “Well, I’m going to go down there. The poor girl shouldn’t have to stay in a hospital in a strange city alone.”

  You’re a stubborn one. You could convince a rattler it needed mothering. Slade knew enough not to argue with her much though. “It’s past visiting hours.”

  “I know.” His mother nodded. “I also know her doctor, so I’m going to go and sit with her. Do me a favor and fetch the quilt in the bedroom next to the bathroom please. It might do her good to have a little homey comfort.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hustled up the stairs, ducking into the room two doors down from the stairs. The quilt was one of his mother’s better projects, based on scraps of his flannel works shirts over the past few years and accented with other shades of white and blue.

  She stood in the foyer, boots and jacket on, waiting. “Thank you, Slade. Please help your father pack tomorrow morning before you come back to the hospital.”

  Slade tilted his head. “How’d you know I was going to go back?”

  She just smiled. “Because I know you, son. The look on your face, the way you held her…”

  He stood, gaze locked with his mother’s, but the girl and her meager belongings flashed through his mind. Kally had nothing, and they were in a position to help. “Mother, I didn’t find a wallet on her and no purse or ID cards at the scene. I think the Fourth Moon should cover her medical bills. I mean,” he kicked at fuzz on the rug, “we did find her on our property, after all.”

  She patted his shoulder before slipping out the front door. “Of course, son. I think it’s right and proper. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Mother.”

  His room sat on the second floor, spanning its width, at the far end of the hall he’d pulled the quilt from. The ceiling vaulted to the rafters. The top half of the outside wall was glass, a framed wildlife image of a soft Wyoming night, the tree line was deep in shadow and the hilltop he knew was behind it was obscured by the snowfall.

  Slade turned his back on the view, chucked his shirt into the woven wicker hamper and then pulled his range bag from the closet floor. He removed the paddle-style holster from the waistband of his jeans and pulled his service gun from the molded leather. Following safety protocols, he pressed the release button, popping the mag out of the gun, pulled back on the slide to verify there wasn’t a round in the chamber and then put them both into pockets in the bag at his feet. He knew there was a loaded rifle kept in both the house and workshop, but after years on the force, he preferred keeping his sidearm handy.

  Better safe than sorry.

  Pacing in front of his bedroom windows, Slade debated on whether or not to call her contacts. They needed to know what happened to her. The authorities should have been notified too. For some reason, he hesitated dialing the station. Sucking up his doubts, he pressed the number to call her Wyoming contact, Ilene Rogers.

  The phone rang twice, and then a groggy female voice filled his ear. “Kally? Where’re you? Why’re you calling so late?”

  I wish this was just a police call, then it would be easy. This, however, wasn’t going to be easy. “Ms. Rogers, this is Slade Carlson. I hate to have to tell you this—”

  “Who the hell are you and why are you using Kally’s phone? There’d better be a good reason you’re calling me in the middle of the damned night.” Good Lord. She went from groggy to grumpy in nothing flat.

  “Ma’am, I apologize for calling you this late, but Kally has been in an accident—”

  “Accident?” The irritable tone was gone, replaced with panic. “Oh my God! What happened? Is she okay?”

  “Her car rolled over. I found her on my parent’s ranch. She was hypothermic and banged up.” He paused, Kally’s pale face in his mind. “I was scared we’d lose her, so I brought her to the hospital in Sundance. The nurse assured me she’ll come out of it fine.”

  “Oh my.” Ilene broke into tears. “The poor girl…after everything’s she’s been through…”

  The faded purple bruises on her neck. Maybe this was a chance to get an answer about those marks, his curiosity, his need to solve the case overtook his sense of caution. “If I may ask, what did happen to her? I was very concerned when I noticed bruising around her neck. Those marks aren’t consistent with a car accident.”

  She was quiet for a long time, and Slade wondered if she’d hung up. Her voice was soft and measured when she spoke. “It’s not my place to say. If the accident hasn’t been reported, please don’t. Some elements of her past don’t need to resurfac
e in her future.”

  His mind was locked on the girl’s mumbled pleas for mercy. “I’ll do what I can. I’m sure Miss Jensen would appreciate a visit from you. You’re only one of the two contacts in her phone.”

  “I’ll be there in the morning. Thank you for letting me know, and for taking care of my friend.”

  “No thanks necessary, ma’am.”

  “Oh no, trust me, there is. Kally needs kindness. So, thank you, Mr. Carlson, and good night.”

  “G’night, Ms. Rogers.”

  He disconnected the call, clicked back to the contacts menu and dialed the second number. He held his breath, knowing it was even later in Michigan. Another woman answered the phone, but sounded like she’d been stalking it, waiting on the ring. “Hello? Kally? Where the hell are you? I thought I told you—”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Nelson, this is not Kally. My name is Slade Carlson, I’m calling to let you know Kally has been in an accident. She’s in the hospital in Sundance, Wyoming.”

  Silence was his only answer. Then he heard a strangled sob. “I knew something happened to my sister. I just knew it.” She lost it then, like so many other victims’ family members had.

  “Please don’t be upset, Ms. Nelson.” He wanted to comfort her, hated to hear a woman cry. “Kally has some bruising and was hypothermic, but I got her to the hospital in time.”

  She snuffled and then squeaked out a “thank you”.

  “I do it gladly, ma’am. I was a police officer, and when I canvassed the accident site I noticed she had no wallet.” What was he doing? His brain mouth filter was broken. “So, our ranch will be covering her medical bills.”

  “I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Carlson.” Her tone was tense. “Please just send me the bills and we’ll take care of them.”

  “I don’t mean to argue with you, Ms. Nelson.” Yes, I do. She displayed the same argumentative traits his sister Joeley had honed to a fine art. “I insist. I’m the one who found her and I want to help her back to well.”

  “It’s awfully kind of you, but I’m not comfortable with a stranger paying her bills.” It was a battle of wills now. What is it going to take to get her to listen? “And I’m sure Kally won’t be either.”

  “I’d probably feel the same way, ma’am. I assure you we only want the best for her. My mother’s gone to sit with her tonight, and I’ll go back up tomorrow. How about we let Kally decide about the bill?”

  He could nearly hear the arguments churning in her, then she surprised him. “Okay, Mr. Carlson. Kally’s trying to make a new life. I think she has the right to start making her own decisions.”

  “So, it’s agreed. I will call you when I have any updates on your sister.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carlson.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She hung up the phone, and he was almost relieved. She must wear the pants in her family. Kally’s two contacts were both very concerned about her. Past that, the women seemed to be polar opposites. One concerned, caring about keeping her safe, and one who wanted to take control and mother the girl. And something in her sister’s voice told him Kally had had a hard time of things in Michigan and was out West to escape.

  The pieces were falling together in a puzzle not turning out pretty. Slade shook his head. His concerns hadn’t quieted down. They had escalated after speaking to Ms. Jensen’s contacts. Her friend had said, “Some elements of her past don’t need to resurface in her future.”

  What would chase a girl six states away?

  There must be monsters in her shadows.

  A horror in her past made sense. Why she fascinated him did not.

  Slade’s jeans fell to the floor with a jerk of his belt and a few snaps of his fly. He hooked his toes under the rumpled denim and kicked them into the hamper, then rolled his socks into a ball and threw them on top before climbing into bed. He tossed and turned, but couldn’t sleep.

  Her face, tinted an eerie pale blue and framed with blonde hair, haunted his mind.

  Morning sunlight poured in the window. The heat bathed the side of my face. The comforting caress was welcome. I’d hardly slept at all after a night full of numerous visits by phlebotomists and nurses. And chills still crept along my skin even though the warm air blankets had done their job, bringing my core temperature back to near normal. An odd, fatigued dizziness swam behind my eyes and I wanted desperately to sit instead of lie. My fingers fumbled over the buttons of the bed controls and then it lurched to a less-than-upright position.

  My shoulder throbbed with the new elevation. Groaning, I rolled to my side and the pain in my shoulder wrenched a cry from my lips. I flopped back onto the mattress, defeated and sniveling. Clothes rustled and a faux leather chair squeaked, alerting me to the presence of someone else in the room. I sucked up my tears and wiped at my nose with my good hand.

  The woman with the kind face and pale blue eyes from the night before skirted the curtain beside my bed. She wore denim and corduroy from head to toe, and the clothes were creased with a night’s worth of rumples. Her cheeks were tanned, and though wrinkles framed her eyes, she had a youthful appearance. She came to the side of my bed, looking down at me like I often looked at Samuel when he was sick in his crib. “Are you in pain, dear?”

  I didn’t know what to say. Yes, I was in pain, and her sitting in my room left me dumbfounded. Only family and friends sit with people in the hospital.

  “If your shoulder hurts, you can ring for the nurse to bring you something.” She stepped closer to the bed, her hand alighting atop the blankets over my forearm. My gaze fell to where her thin fingers rested over a patch of delft blue on the quilt. Its weight rivaled the comfort of the sun coming through the window. “And if you’re wondering…my name is Bonnie.”

  “I-I’m fine, Bonnie.” I lied. My shoulder hurt like hell. “I don’t want meds. I can’t afford this hospital stay.” Sudden tears burned my eyes. I buried my face in my hands. Bonnie stood beside the bed, silent and comforting when she stroked my neck and back.

  “Hush now, dear. Don’t worry about the hospital bill. Fourth Moon is taking care of it.”

  “What’s the fourth moon? Wh-why—”

  Bonnie’s soft finger on my lips silenced the deluge of questions. She reached around the curtain and pulled the chair close before she sat. She slipped her hand under the side of the blanket and placed her fingers over mine. “The Fourth Moon is our ranch. It’s where my boy Slade found you dripping wet and freezing to death. And, to answer your question of ‘why’ the ranch is covering your bills, well, Slade insisted. He feels responsible since he found you.”

  Sick guilt gnawed at my guts. I wouldn’t question her words or his feelings. A reason deeper than an accident had brought me to their ranch and Slade to my rescue. I believed coincidences were nothing more than the universe moving in unexpected ways. I nodded my head in mute understanding.

  Bonnie shifted her weight in the chair, leaning closer to me. “Do you have any more questions, dear?”

  My guilt grew a voice. “What can I do to pay you back?”

  “It isn’t necessary. We can just call it a gift.”

  “Forgive me for arguing, but it’s an awful expensive gift. I don’t want to start out my new life indebted to anyone.”

  She tipped her head, an unreadable expression on her face. “There is a vast difference between a gift and a debt. If you insist on repayment it will be between you and Slade to settle. We are leaving for an extended business trip overseas.”

  “Leaving?” How could I pay him back if they were leaving? “Is Slade going too? When will I be able to talk with him?”

  Just then, Slade peeked around the doorjamb. Bonnie’s face lit up with a smile and she squeezed my fingers. “Right on cue, my son.”

  “Good morning, Mother.” He tipped his hat. “Morning, Miss Jensen.”

  My heart fluttered at the sight of him. His sheepskin-lined denim jacket covered a body I knew was lean muscled with wide shoulders. His Wranglers were
tight on his butt and loose in the thighs just like I like them. I forced my mind to focus on speech, on dealing with the issues at hand and not drooling over a cowboy in my hospital room. “How do you know my name?”

  He produced my cell phone from his jacket pocket. “I found this by the wreckage of your car. I checked the I.C.E. you’d programmed in. Smart girl to fill it out in case of emergencies.” He placed it on the table over my bed, then reached into a gift bag he carried and pulled out my orange teddy bear. “I found him too. He was a tad muddy, being in the bottom of the culvert, so I washed him off. Thought he might be important if he came all the way from Michigan with you.”

  Oh, how considerate. This guy was melting my heart. I bit my lip to cap a fresh fount of tears, then nodded and reached a hand out for my orange companion. I wrapped the stuffed animal to my chest, tears falling into fur wonderfully smelling of the same herbal scent as the quilt over my hospital blankets. Finally, I mumbled a “thank you” through the arch of his ear.

  “You’re most welcome.” Slade placed the gift bag beside me on the bed, and then walked to the far side and stood next to his mother. I sat there and looked at the bag, feeling like an emotional baby for clinging to a stuffed animal. “Go ahead, girl. It’s for you.”

  “You don’t have to give me anything. You’ve done so much already.” I looked up into his brilliant blue eyes, so honest and unguarded. There was a familiarity between us normally only shared by longtime friends, and his presence and jovial attitude buoyed my spirits.

  “Don’t argue with the gift bringer, darlin’.” He screwed up his handsome face into a façade of ornery toughness and then waggled a finger at me. “I might not bring you another.”