His Country Girl

by Jillian Hart

  All the time. In the quiet of the night when she should be asleep. In the middle of her shift at the diner when someone from the Granger family came in for a meal. While reading Owen his bedtime story and remembering the cozy togetherness of the evening Tucker had spent with them. Agony surged through her with unbearable force. She plunked another peeled potato onto the cutting board. “Remember how I told you it takes a great man to be better than no man at all? Tucker’s a good man, but that’s it.”

  “Admit it. You love him.” Jeri Lynn softened, a mother wanting her daughter to find happiness and so sure she was right. “You love him and it scares you.”

  “Fine, I admit it. But it’s not like I’m going to marry him. Things are different this time around. I can’t follow my heart. I need someone who will always be there, someone I can always count on. I have Owen.” The agony inside her twisted harder. This could not go on. “Mom, I can’t talk about this anymore. It hurts too much.”

  “So, you love him deeply. It’s as I thought.” Jeri Lynn’s tone gentled. “Don’t you worry. God will work this all out for the best. I have faith He will bring you together.”

  “Mom, this isn’t helping.” A strange sensation skidded down the back of her neck, slid down her spine and burrowed into her stomach. Almost as if something was wrong.

  The topic of conversation was wrong, she decided, and did something about it. She’d made her decision, Tucker had accepted it and there was no going back.

  Regrets haunted her, but whatever they’d had was over. There was no sense debating the might-have-beens. She couldn’t turn back time and remake her decision. If she could, would she have given Tucker a different answer? She might have. “How was your last Ladies Aid meeting?”

  Jeri Lynn launched into an amusing tale as they peeled and sliced and whipped up a white sauce together. The painful tension behind Sierra’s sternum eased as the minutes ticked away. She was setting the table when footsteps padded through the living room and into the kitchen. Her dad stood there in his barn clothes and asked over the blare of the calf roping in the next room, “Where’s Owen?”

  “Isn’t he watching the rodeo?” Sierra slid the casserole into the oven.

  “No. The TV is on, but no little boy. I checked the bathroom. I checked upstairs. He’s not in the barn, since I just came from there.” He scratched the back of his head. “Where did he go?”

  “Tomorrow’s the big day,” Tucker told his companion as he polished off the last of his roast beef sandwich. “I’m ready for it. I’ve missed the challenge. You know I like challenges.”

  A rustle came as his friend nodded in sympathy, red hair ruffling in the slight breeze wafting down the main aisle. The horse barn was busy with folks rushing to finish their work before hurrying off to grab a bite. The rodeo was done for the day. Tomorrow would be his first time in competition. He’d missed it, but coming back here wasn’t the same. These days more than ever he was just passing time. It hurt to think about. He grabbed a carrot stick left over from his salad and gave it to his companion.

  Jack accepted it, his velvety muzzle brushing Tucker’s palm. Jack was a good listener and an incomparable friend.

  “I miss her.” That plain, sorry fact troubled him most. He’d never thought the day would come when he was this tangled up in knots over a woman. A woman he would do anything for, risk everything for and lay down his life to protect if he had to. He rubbed his sternum but the emotional hole remained. He shut the lid on the container before Jack could get hold of one of the leftover fries and stood. Clean straw tumbled off his jeans. “Thanks for the company, buddy. I’ll go fetch my book and a cup of tea and be right back. Okay?”

  Jack whinnied, big chocolate eyes holding a single question.

  “Fine. I’ll bring back a treat. How does an apple sound?”

  Jack nickered in approval, fond of apples, and stomped his foot, nosing the gate as if to say, “Get a move on and hurry back with my treat.”

  Tucker rubbed the gelding’s nose, the bond of friendship deep between them. “All this time it’s been you and me. We’re family. There’s nothing light and easy about that.”

  Jack lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes as if to say, “About time you figured it out.”

  “Right. I know, it took me long enough.” With his hands on the horse’s nose and his guard down, he could feel what Jack’s friendship had taught him. The conversations that mattered most were the ones which came straight from the heart. “I love you, too, buddy. I’ll be back with your apple.”

  He hadn’t taken three steps down the aisle when his cell jangled. He recognized the number on the screen. “Hi, Dad. Are you at the airport?”

  “Didn’t make it there, son.” The grim tone in his father’s usual relaxed manner was warning enough. Something was wrong. “I’ve been tied up with search and rescue. I wanted to tell you before you see it on the news. There’s an Amber Alert out for a missing child. Owen.”

  His knees buckled. He grabbed the wall for support, upsetting a territorial horse in the nearby stall who began neighing shrilly. Tucker slumped against the wood, trying to catch his breath. “It wasn’t Ricky, was it? Owen wasn’t taken, right?”

  “We don’t know for sure. He’s simply missing. We don’t know if he walked away or not.” Dad sounded choked up. “I wanted you to hear it from me. I know you’re close to the boy.”

  “Close?” That wasn’t the word. He hadn’t taken the time to figure it out, but the crash of abject fear hitting his chest like a tsunami was a clue. “Yeah, we’re close. What can I do?”

  “Nothing, from Tulsa. Hold on.” Frank’s voice was muffled, holding the phone to his chest, talking to someone else. There was the snap of grass beneath boots, the rattle of a bridle before his dad came back on the line. “Tucker? I’ve got to go. I’ll keep in touch. Let you know what’s going on.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Combing the fields around the Boltons’ farmhouse.” A horse blew out his breath. Dad must be on his gelding, Rogue. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to call Sierra. She could use some support about now.”

  “She wouldn’t want to hear from me.” He could barely get the words out. His emotional pain could hurt worse than any physical trauma. He sucked in a shallow breath and pushed off the wall. “She and I aren’t even friends, Dad.”

  “Seems to me you never were. You were always meant to be something more. Call her.”

  When he disconnected, Tucker stared at the phone for a full minute. Shock and terror were a strong combination. He thought of little Owen lost, alone, scared, maybe hurting, and it broke him to the quick. Sierra must be half-destroyed and frantic. She loved her son so much.

  “Sorry, Jack.” He bolted to the stall and grabbed his coat and keys. The big red gelding watched him with concern, knowing something was wrong. “It’s Owen. I’ve got to help find him. I’ll bring you that apple later.”

  The horse nibbled Tucker’s hair, an old show of affection.

  “You take care, too,” he said, pushing through the gate. He had a lot to do—ask Calvin to look after Jack, scrub tomorrow’s event and move mountains if that’s what it took to get a seat on a plane home.

  The overwhelming, soul-stealing panic would not abate. Sierra tightened her grip on the high-powered flashlight Sheriff Sherman had given her. Snowflakes hovered in the air, weightlessly dancing on the wind, not deigning to touch the ground, forerunners of the storm blowing in. Slow-moving clouds steadily blotted out the constellations one by one.

  “It’s already twenty-three degrees.” Neighbor Jeremy Miller sidled up to the crowd gathering in the middle of the intersection of Mustang Lane and Deer Brook Road. “It’s supposed to get down to ten degrees tonight. The wind’s picking up, so that means windchill.”

  She couldn’t feel the cold. She couldn’t feel anything as Frank Granger dismounted, gave his big, dark bay a pat and left the horse standing in the road alongside a dozen other horses and riders. “It’s goin
g to start snowing hard. I say we keep looking.”

  “We can’t s-stop.” Sierra sputtered, on the verge of hyperventilating. Frank had been the one to find Owen’s sneaker print in the shoulder of the road a quarter mile down from her parents’ house. “He’s out here somewhere and he didn’t take his coat.”

  “I won’t stop searching.” Frank’s gloved hand settled on her shoulder, a dependable weight. Fatherly concern gentled the rugged planes of his face. “I swear to you, I will not stop until I find him.”

  What he didn’t say, what none of the several dozen searchers on the ground and as many more on horseback wanted to admit, was that it was already dangerously cold for a little boy not dressed for the conditions. After six hours in the elements, Owen could be in serious trouble. She swallowed hard against the horror threatening to take her over. Owen had to be all right. She could not live with the thought of any other option.

  “I won’t stop either,” the sheriff vowed. Ford Sherman had moved from Chicago in November and already he’d fit seamlessly into the community. He was a resolute, caring lawman who had gone to extremes to help her with Owen before. Ford cared, and it shone on his chiseled features as he studied the area map he’d anchored with a thermos and three rocks on the open tailgate of his four-wheel-drive. He aimed his flashlight at the areas searched and the meadows and roads still needing careful exploration.

  “I’ll take Autumn, Merritt, Hal Plum and Scotty.” Frank tapped the map, and exchanged a silent look of understanding with the sheriff. “We’ll do a thorough search here.”

  Of the river. Her strength left her and she stumbled against the side of the vehicle. A strong grip wrapped around her elbow, holding her up. Justin Granger, as impressive as his brother and father, loomed against the night sky, his Stetson speckled with snow. “Easy, there. Maybe you should take a break.”

  “I can’t.” How could she rest for even one nanosecond when she didn’t know if Owen was all right, if he needed her, if he was freezing or hurt or crying?

  “Let me take you home to your mom.” Rori Granger waltzed up, compassion itself, and wrapped an arm around her.

  Sierra shook her head. She couldn’t stand the thought of giving up. She had to do everything she could to find him. Everything. “I just need something to do, so I don’t have to think.”

  “Don’t worry, gal.” Frank had mounted up and swung his gelding around. “We’ll find him. Keep the faith.”

  Yet he was leading the search along the river for a second time. She feared she knew why. They suspected Owen had headed for the dangerously fast and mercilessly cold water, judging by the direction his sneaker track was pointing.

  The darkness swallowed the riders as they trotted off, steeled shoes ringing on the pavement, echoing with a note of hopelessness she could not give in to. She’d prayed so many prayers for Owen since her dad had discovered him gone, but she figured one more plea wouldn’t hurt. Watch over him, Father. Please let him be okay. Please let him be found.

  Something icy brushed her cheek. Snow tumbled earnestly from a pitch-black sky. Headlights cut through the growing storm and rolled to a stop nearby. Cady Winslow and the inn’s manager, Eloise, climbed out of an SUV, bundled well against the cold.

  “We have warm beverages and hot sandwiches,” Cady called as she opened her passenger door and hauled out a huge insulated carrier. “We thought the searchers might need some refueling.”

  “It’s a cold night,” Eloise added, carrying two large dispensers. “This will help keep everyone going.”

  “I will be okay now,” Sierra said to Justin and Rori, who gently let her go. “I can’t believe what everyone is doing for Owen.”

  “In a small town at times like this, we’re all family.” The sheriff stepped in to answer. “Sierra, I’ll put you with the group walking the next field up the road. The mayor is in charge. Report to him, and make sure you get some coffee and something to eat, got it?”

  She nodded numbly, aware of the sympathetic looks everyone gave her. She heard Ford’s radio squawk and adrenaline pumped through her. Was it bad news? She didn’t think she could stand to hear it but strained to listen.

  “Good. At least we can rule out that field,” Ford answered. “Bring your team in. We can get some food and coffee before I send you back out.”

  Relieved it wasn’t bad news and upset it wasn’t good, she tightened her hold on her flashlight and stumbled forward. Cady pressed a paper cup into her hands. As if from a distance, the strong smell of sweetened coffee braced her, but she shook her head to refuse a sandwich. Her stomach lurched, one big, terrified knot.

  “My team, time to go!” Tim Wisener called out as he unwrapped a sandwich. “We’ll eat in the Jeep.”

  Snow mantled the mayor’s four-wheel-drive, and Sierra found herself sitting in the backseat, unsure how she’d gotten there. The cup burned warmth through her insulated gloves and the fragrant steam bathed her face. As the other passengers settled in, doors closed and Tim started the engine, she sipped the coffee, washing the taste of fear off her tongue, but the teeth of it remained, sinking deep into her soul.

  The snow fell harder, obscuring the vehicles pulling up and driving away full of townspeople determined to help. Another band of horses and riders plodded by, heads bowed against the rising wind. She could not stand to think what would happen if they could not find him. She did not think she could stand to lose Owen.

  A pickup rolled to a stop next to the sheriff’s Jeep. Sierra caught sight of the man bounding down from the driver’s seat and her pulse flatlined. Not the darkest night or the heaviest snow could disguise from her the dependable strength of his shoulders or the confident swagger as Tucker Granger strolled into the fall of the battery-powered lantern light.

  He’d come back. She could not believe her eyes. She blinked, but he remained a dark silhouette that the storm could not diminish. As if he sensed her scrutiny, his blue gaze found hers with unerring precision. The weeks of separation, of regret and bereavement, vanished as if they’d never occurred. There was only the leap of emotional connection between them, a bond that would not break. The Jeep took off and carried her away and still the connection remained, her one comfort on a hopeless night.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The snow erased any chance of finding a shoe print or any clue the boy had passed this way. Frustrated, more scared than he’d ever been in his life, Tucker did not take his eyes from the ground as he swept the high-powered flashlight on the pristine snowfall in front of him. The line of folks who walked nearly shoulder to shoulder with him through the fallow cornfield shouted out Owen’s name in intervals.

  No answer. No sign of the kid. All evening through and most of the night had been one long, desperate prayer. Please. Please keep him safe. Please let us find him. Please let him be okay.

  Tucker knocked the snow off his hat and kept going. All through his frantic search to find a way home—one of the rodeo promoters had offered her company jet—the flight to Wyoming and the snowy drive from the airport, one thing had eaten at the back of his mind. Why had the boy left?

  Owen was a polite little guy, so it was hard to imagine him leaving his grandparents’ house without telling his mom. Sierra kept a good eye on the boy. Why had he slipped away and where would he want to go?

  The kid had friends in town. Ford had half the searchers combing the land and roadways heading to Wild Horse, thinking maybe Owen had set off for home or to see someone he knew. Owen did like animals. The Greens’ ranch wasn’t far from here—Tucker’s place now. Would the little guy have wanted to see Cotton Ball?

  A gust of below-freezing wind sliced neatly through his winter wear and he resisted the urge to shiver. He hauled out his cell, squinted at the screen to make sure he had a signal—he saw one bar—and punched in Mr. Green’s number. He’d agreed to lease the main house back to the older couple for a spell to give them plenty of time to find a new home, pack and move. He listened to ring after ring, realizing Mr. Gree
n was probably out here somewhere helping with the search, but maybe Mrs. Green—

  “Hello?” A wobbly voice answered in a rush. After Tucker explained his concern, Mrs. Green offered to make sure Cotton Ball was alone. After fifteen long, anxious minutes his cell rang with the news there was no sign of the little boy, and she’d checked the barn and the horse stable, too.

  The horse stable. Owen might not have realized Tucker had taken Jack with him when he’d left. What if the boy had gone to see his favorite horse? The back of his neck tingled, the way it did when he was sure heaven was watching. The walk from Owen’s grandparents’ house was a few miles—a long way for the tyke, but doable. He could have walked right down the country road, which would explain why he hadn’t left more than a single shoe print. Traffic was haphazard on Mustang Lane since it wove through ranching country, which explained why no one had spotted the boy.

  “Hey, Chip.” He shouted to be heard down the line. “I’ve got to check something.”

  “Go ahead.” Owen’s grandfather paused for a moment. “Do you know where he might be?”

  “I’ll let you know.” He took off at a run, sweeping the flashlight’s beam at the uneven terrain in front of him. Thick snow gripped his boots trying to slow him down, but he kept going. The instant he dropped into the shelter of his truck, he turned the keys and dialed the ranch. No answer in the house, the barns or in the foreman’s cottage. Dad must have pulled everyone for the search.

  Mustang Lane was one long battle of poor visibility and blowing snow, but he gritted his teeth and went on his instinct and rote memory. He’d driven the country road more times than he could count. He kept his eyes peeled for the shadow of a child on the road, although he doubted he would find Owen out in the open. He charged up the driveway, cloaked with snow, frustrated by the slow going. He hopped out to open the cow gate at the side of the garage and left it open, barreling up the service road to the barns. Because of the weather, no animals ran up to the fence to greet him. When he climbed out of the truck in front of the south stable, the eerie silence wrapped around him.