“All of this is getting us nowhere,” he growled. “We’re wasting time when we ought to go back and follow the tracks we uncovered—before the herd passes over them.”
“You found tracks?” Summer tried to hide her distress by focusing on facts.
“Trace, the herd’s moving slow but steady. You take them and this calf in alone. Summer and I will return to where we found the tracks. Maybe if I let Lancelot down this time, he’ll be able to follow them. Oh, and I’ll phone Virgil before we leave. He may as well scare up a rescue crew. If we’re lucky and we find Rory before the neighbors assemble, we’ll let Virgil know.”
Summer turned to Colt. “Virgil will want to come along on the search. Tell him I need him at home to take care of things. Audrey can make coffee and dispense the food our neighbors’ wives will be bringing in.”
“You’ve done this before,” Colt noted, reining Spirit.
“Twice. Never in weather this horrid. And never my son. This is all my fault,” she said dully. “I never should’ve let him go. But he was crying, so I—”
“Stop beating yourself up, Summer. It won’t help.” Colt transferred the calf to Trace’s saddle. Taking the lead, he delivered instructions to Virgil over the telephone as rationally as possible. Inside, his turmoil probably matched Summer’s.
She didn’t listen about not beating herself up. Talking kept her from imagining worst-case scenarios. When she caught up to Colt, she said in a shaky voice, “It wasn’t snowing nearly this hard when I agreed to let Rory go. We were only a mile out, and it’s a straight shot to the ranch. I trained his little gelding myself. Darn, I should have sense enough to know any horse can shy or buck in blowing snow.”
“A mile out. So, you weren’t far from where we intercepted you.”
“No. When the storm got bad, I couldn’t get those steers moving. Oh, I see why you’re asking. You think we’ve got a better chance of locating Rory because of timing?”
“Exactly. Summer, he can’t have been on foot for more than half an hour. We met his horse before he reached the barn. How warmly was Rory dressed? Did he have any food with him?”
“He’s wearing long underwear, jeans, a flannel shirt and sheepskin-lined jacket. I told him to put on two pair of socks. I assume he did. He has gloves and hat. No food…oh, I think he stuffed two ham-and-cheese biscuits in his pockets after breakfast. I can’t remember if his gloves were clipped to his belt. He never goes anywhere without that belt you gave him.” Her voice softened briefly before sinking into despair again. “God, he’s only seven, Colt. And to be out here all alone…”
Colt dredged up a smile, hoping to bolster her in what had to be her worst nightmare come to life. “Rory was raised on this ranch, Summer. He’s probably absorbed more practical skills than you realize. Kids’ minds are like sponges. Haven’t you read about young kids performing daring rescue feats?”
“A few.” The gold had disappeared from her eyes today, Colt noticed. Predominately green, they shimmered with unshed tears.
“We’re going to find him, Summer,” he said resolutely. “At the rail yard, the tallyman said this storm’s supposed to blow through fast.”
“Yard. Tallyman. Lord, Coltrane. I have to notify Frank.” She tightened up on her mare’s reins, making the horse crow-hop across the snow.
Colt weighed what she’d said against the torrent of fright settling over her face. Instinct made him want to shield her from her ex-husband’s certain fury. But common sense brought with it a sense of caution. Expelling a stream of warm breath that curled around his hat, Colt grimaced. “If you know Frank’s number off the top of your head, you’d better phone him now.”
“My cellular! It’s packed on the mule I left back there with Tracey.”
Colt shifted Lancelot again, and after a few moments, handed her his phone. He dropped back to give her privacy. He didn’t need to hear what she said to know she’d reached Frank Marsh and that the conversation wasn’t going well. Summer’s body language told him that much.
The instant Colt realized she was finished, he nudged Spirit close again. “You got through?” he asked innocuously, plucking the phone from her limp hand.
Tears she hadn’t shed openly now spilled from her eyes and froze a trail on her cheeks. “Frank didn’t say anything I haven’t said to myself. That I was a fool to excuse Rory from school. A fool to take him on a cattle drive alone. I was doubly irresponsible for allowing him to head back to the ranch without me.”
“I hope you told Frank twenty-twenty hindsight is a common affliction among blowhards.”
“When I’m guilty on all counts?” She sucked a trembling upper lip between her teeth before turning her face away.
“You’re doing it again, Summer. Accepting blame for an accident. So, stop it. We’re at the place Tracey and I think something happened to make Rory get off his horse, and maybe lose control of him. I need you to focus on what you see, and on Lancelot’s reactions. Look, he’s already fighting me.”
“The only tracks I see are adult bootprints. Probably yours and Tracey’s.” Having scrubbed her eyes with a snowy glove, Summer blinked away the crystals left clinging to her lashes.
“Tracey swept off several layers of snow.” Colt stepped from his saddle, passing her the dog. “Hang on to him until I clear the area again. I don’t want to risk letting him dig up the only clues we have.”
“Hush, Lancelot,” she ordered the thrashing dog. He stopped barking but continued to whine deep in his throat.
Colt skirted the area and broke off a branch of sage. Using the feathery end, he dusted the newest layers away. He took care to step in his and Trace’s former tracks in order to leave the original site untouched. It was tedious work. Colt was soon puffing and his breath rose in the frigid air to circle his head like smoke rings.
“The wind’s dying down, and the snow’s slackening,” Summer told him after a few minutes. “I can see farther. The herd isn’t in view yet, but if the clouds lift a little more, the herd and the outer perimeter of the ranch will be visible.”
“Good,” Colt grunted. “Here, see what you make of this mess.”
Summer studied the pattern fanning from the area Colt had exposed. “It is a mess, Coltrane. Does Tracey wear round-toed boots? Those aren’t your prints, nor are they Rory’s. His boots are square-toed, like yours but smaller.”
“Tracey’s are like mine, too. We initially thought these were your prints. A couple are clear. The rest are overrun by hoof tracks and paw prints.”
For the first time, Summer examined the injury to the dog’s leg. “Maybe in the scuffle, Rory’s horse kicked Lancelot. Normally he’s agile enough to escape flying hooves.”
“Put him down. Speculation’s getting us nowhere.”
The dog briefly ran in circles, then shoved his nose in an area not cleared and sniffed out a trail that headed away from the ranch.
Summer and Colt watched the dog sniff his way north and a little east in an unwavering path.
Colt tossed aside the branch, then bent to retrieve it again. “Anything out in that direction? A shelter closer than the ranch?”
“No. At the treeline there’s a fire road the Fish and Game people cut a long time ago for my grandfather. He built a small line shack on the bluff. We used it when Dad was alive and we had a full crew of wranglers. Not since then.”
“Has Rory ever been there?”
“Last year. I decided to see what shape the cabin was in. We rode up. It was pretty much a disaster, and we spent the afternoon cleaning. Rory went out there the next day with Frank, to stock the cabinets with emergency supplies. I felt it ought to be available if our wranglers ever needed it.”
“Huh. Then I guess it’s somewhere a kid might go in a pinch. He must’ve gotten turned around in the storm—maybe he ended up at the shack. Lancelot may be on to his scent. It’s obvious he wants us to follow. I hope to heaven he’s not leading us on a rabbit chase.”
“Let’s go. That dog may n
ot look like much, but he’s devoted to Rory. Besides that, he’s sniffed out mired cows in bogs I never knew existed. I trust his instincts.”
She had several lengths’ head start on Colt, who had to remount. He didn’t rush to catch up, and climbed down every once in a while to scrape away snow around Lancelot’s tracks. Twice he unearthed a sort of waffle print more typical of a partial tire tread than a boot. He couldn’t believe anyone had been driving on private land during a raging snowstorm, so he didn’t bother showing them to Summer. Especially as doing so would cause further delay.
She and Lancelot were some distance ahead of him. Colt tossed the branch away for good and galloped to close the gap. “The dog definitely seems to be on a trail,” he said, after catching up.
“I know. He goes fast, then slows down wherever the snow has drifted. I feel bad about letting him do this when it’s so cold, and he’s already injured. But…but I’m worried sick about Rory. Why would he wander away from the ranch? Could he even walk this far?”
“The dog hasn’t wavered. He’s on a straight course for those trees. I couldn’t see them at first. Not until the clouds lifted. Who knows, snow could have distorted Rory’s sense of direction. I’m in favor of carrying Lancelot from here to the trees.”
“Okay. If you think that’s best. I’m beyond thinking clearly.” And Summer did look thoroughly shaken, Colt noticed.
He rode past her, jumped down and captured the panting animal. “Hey, guy. We think you’re on to something, but you’ve gotta pace yourself.” Dusting off the dog’s snowy nose and feet, Colt handed him up to Summer, who wrapped him in her down jacket. At first Lancelot struggled, but when they galloped along in the same direction, he settled down and snuggled against her.
“Out of curiosity,” Colt said, breaking five minutes of silence. “Why did you and Rory go into the gorge alone? Trace and I thought you were meeting us, and after the north pastures were clear, we’d all sweep the gorge.”
Suddenly, Phil Eubanks’s gossip concerning Colt’s meeting with a nameless stranger in the park seemed absurd. Colt had to be dog-tired, yet he’d saddled a fresh horse and ridden out again to help her. Now he was tirelessly trying to find Rory. In light of those facts, she had a change of heart. “Lois Gettleman told Audrey that Two Bears advanced his snow warning. I only half believed it, but figured the more stock we brought in, the better off we’d be if the weather broke. If you only knew how sorry I am not to have waited for you and Trace.”
“I do know, Summer. You love Rory, and you’re a good mother.”
“Thanks,” she said weakly. “I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to him.”
Colt’s cell phone bleated, interrupting Summer. Colt ripped off his glove, feeling his heart skip erratically—especially when he saw the fright crossing Summer’s face. “It could be good news,” he declared optimistically. “Hello? Ah, Virgil. The first neighbors have arrived? Here, I’ll let you speak to Summer.” Colt handed her the instrument.
She appeared even more fragile when she closed the phone and gave it back. “Frank’s regaling anyone who’ll listen with stories about my neglect of Rory. He’s apparently livid.”
“If Frank really gave a damn, he’d be here helping to find his son.”
“We will find him, won’t we?” she asked bleakly. They’d reached the trees. Snow coated the outer branches and drifts lay white and unbroken around the trunks. A few patches here and there were bare, where the wind had obviously blown through. Nowhere was there any sign that a human—a child—had passed this way.
Colt dismounted and reached up for Lancelot. Carefully placing him on a bare spot, Colt knelt to examine the ground. The dog dug first in one compass direction, then another. His jerky movements seemed frantic. He made guttural noises in his throat, mixed with high, keening sounds.
Summer’s heart was sinking. She felt her best hope trickle away and die as Lancelot ran in almost mindless circles. “A dead end. Coltrane, it’s useless to waste precious minutes here. This snow’s undisturbed. My baby’s lost somewhere out there in miles of drifts. He could’ve fallen. Could be covered. He may be…d-dead!” Summer’s thin control snapped. Unmistakable hysteria rang out in her voice.
Colt strode to her side, pulled her out of the saddle and crushed her so tight in his arms, her cries couldn’t escape. “This isn’t like you, Summer. You’re tough. Shh, sweetheart. It’s not over.”
She burrowed gloved hands under the layers of Colt’s outer clothes. The strong, measured beat of his heart served to right her out-of-control world as nothing else had. She emerged from a haze of pure panic to a cacophony of loud barks.
With his face buried in Summer’s hair and his eyes closed as he shared her pain, Colt was slow to realize that Lancelot had left them and disappeared deeper into the forest. “Summer, listen.” Colt gripped her tense shoulders. “Maybe he’s found Rory.”
“Probably a squirrel,” she said dully, emerging from Colt’s warmth.
“Maybe. But maybe not. Look back at our tracks. We’ve come in a straight line from where Rory got off his horse.”
Countering Summer’s mild resistance, Colt grabbed one of her wrists. She barely had time to snatch up her hat and the reins to their horses as Colt crashed forward, pulling her through dense underbrush in pursuit of the barking dog.
About fifty yards into the trees, they stumbled on a narrow clearing; it angled back in the general direction they’d come and it also ran deeper into the trees.
“This is the fire road. I thought we’d missed it completely,” Summer gasped. “Turns out we weren’t very far from it.”
Colt released her and bent to inspect the areas between clumps of snow. “Come here a sec. Am I seeing things, or are these fresh tire tracks?”
“You must be seeing things. I doubt anyone’s been up here in at least a vehicle in a year.” Still, she waded through snow to peer at what he’d found.
“Holy cow!” She fell to her knees, gaping at the tracks, then at Colt.
“Exactly. On the flats, a couple of times, I thought I’d uncovered tire treads. I ignored them, thinking it just wasn’t possible. But I’m not so sure. Just how far are we from that line shack?”
“Maybe a quarter mile or less.” Standing, Summer brushed mud, snow and pine needles off her hands.
Colt whistled for the horses they’d left outside the thicket of pine trees.
“It’s bound to be a wasted trip,” Summer muttered. “These tracks might just look fresh because of the wet snow.”
“No. I think a vehicle’s come this way since it started snowing.” Colt waited impatiently for her to mount the mare. He swung into his saddle, indicating she should lead. “We’ve come this far. I’m not turning back without checking out that cabin.”
Neither spoke after that. They concentrated on listening for Lancelot as they rode. His barking was often deadened by the snowy foliage.
The roadbed, though eroded by time and lack of care, proved easy to follow. They caught up to Lancelot in time to see him bound up a set of rickety steps leading to a sagging porch. No vehicle sat near the structure.
“Lancelot may remember this place from having been here with Rory and me.” Summer made no attempt to mask the defeat she so obviously felt.
“I’m sorry, I—” Colt swallowed his own disappointment. To avoid having her witness the tears gathering in his eyes, Colt discreetly scrubbed the back of his glove over his face as he dismounted. “I’ll go fetch the dog and take a quick look inside.” He couldn’t disguise the gruffness of his voice.
At the door, he scooped up a dog who didn’t want to be contained. Trying the door, expected it to be swollen shut, Colt pitched forward when it gave easily. Lancelot scrabbled past him, hind legs almost knocking him flat. Colt glanced around the cabin’s interior. A stone fireplace. An old chrome kitchen table and chairs. An iron bedstead, on which a child lay huddled—still as death.
A strangled cry exploded from Colt’s lungs.
>
Summer heard. She sprang from her saddle and fought her way past Colt, leaving him lurching across an uneven plank floor.
Rory stirred faintly as his weeping mother flew to the bed and hauled her missing child into a hug.
Rory appeared both frightened and dazed. He clung to his mother and to Lancelot’s soggy fur.
Colt tried unsuccessfully to separate mother and child. “Summer, be careful. There’s blood clotted on his forehead and his hair. I know you’re happy beyond belief to see him. But take it easy. You’re scaring him half to death.”
Summer, who’d landed on her knees beside the bed, eased back marginally. “I don’t want to leave him for a second, Coltrane. There’s a first-aid kit in my saddlebag. Would you bring it, please?” She did—just—manage to loosen her grip.
Pausing for one gentle squeeze of her arm, Colt rushed out. In his haste, he dropped the kit in the snow. The only other time he’d felt so giddy was the day he managed to escape from his jungle prison. That memory, as nothing else, sobered him enough for old training to kick in.
Before heading back inside, Colt phoned the ranch. “Virgil? Good news. Rory’s at the old line shack. We’ll be bringing him down shortly. He’s alive, but suffering from the elements and a bump on his head. Ask Tracey to warm up one of the pickups. Have him meet us on the highway at the corner of the east pasture. I’ll drive Summer and the boy to the hospital. Trace can bring our horses and Lancelot back to the ranch.” Colt signed off, knowing his request would be handled promptly.
Inside again, Colt watched Summer minister gently to her son. “He has a huge swelling on the back of his head and neck,” she murmured. “And a wound in the center of his forehead. It’s caused most of the bleeding, I think.”
Rory’s lashes fluttered. If he recognized them, it wasn’t readily evident.
Colt dropped his voice to a near whisper as he informed Summer of his conversation with Virgil. “He’s calling off the search. The best we can do for Rory now is get him to the hospital asap.”
Wide Open Spaces (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 21