by Amy Frazier
“Thanks, Geneva, but you go straight home. Put your feet up. I’ll call headquarters and ask those on patrol to be on the lookout.”
“I won’t relax till you call to tell me that boy is home safe and sound.”
“I know.” He shouldn’t have bothered her.
Ringing off, he phoned the department. The dispatcher said she’d get the word out. Told him not to be concerned, that the sap was always rising in middle schoolers. Which only made him worry more.
A further hunt around Rory’s room showed Garrett that his son’s backpack was gone. But his favorite baseball cap, his iPod and his electronic game collection were still there. Rory never traveled without those. It looked as if he planned to come back. But when? And where was he now?
Garrett suddenly remembered that this summer Noelle had sent their son to Applegate with a skinny, top-of-the-line cell phone with all the bells and whistles. At the time Garrett had thought it conspicuous excess for a twelve-year-old. Now, not seeing the phone anywhere in the room, he scanned his own listings for Rory’s number. When it appeared, he hit Call, then paced the room as the dial tone rang once, twice, three times before switching to voice mail. He didn’t bother to leave a message.
The cruiser was the next step. Downstairs he checked the back porch to confirm his suspicion that the bike was gone.
There was nothing to do but ride around, looking for his son. Even on a soft summer night, very few establishments were still open on Main Street at ten. Among them, the sheriff’s department. The Piggly Wiggly. The Dairy Queen. The bowling lanes. As Garrett drove slowly and scanned the small clusters of kids, Rory was nowhere to be seen.
And then Garrett remembered something Geneva had said. About how, this evening, Rory had talked a blue streak about Whistling Meadows. Could he have gone there? Why? Concern for an animal? Garrett remembered how one summer Rory’d begged Garrett and Mack to let him sleep in a stall on the Whittaker farm to await the birth of a calf. But there had been no secrecy, no stealth that time.
He turned the car around and headed out to Samantha’s place.
When he pulled into her drive, he was relieved to see a light downstairs in the old farmhouse. It was difficult enough involving her in a personal problem without rousting her out of bed in the process. As he crossed the yard and climbed the steps, he failed to see Rory’s bike anywhere.
“No need to knock. I’m over here.” Samantha’s voice came unexpectedly from the far end of the porch. “Is something wrong, Sheriff?” Wrapped in a sweater, she was curled up on the porch swing, nursing a cup of tea. Looking at her, he suddenly realized how cool the air had gone.
“Have you seen Rory?”
“Not since dinnertime.” She rose, then walked toward him out of the shadows, concern written on her face. “What’s happened?”
“He sneaked out of the house. I thought there might be something going on with your llamas. Any of them sick? About to calve?”
“They’re all healthy. And male.” She furrowed her brow and seemed to be thinking. “Maybe Red or Mack know what’s going on. I thought I interrupted the three of them this afternoon. Discussing something serious.”
“What?”
“I have no idea. Let’s go ask Red. Mack’s out.”
He didn’t like hearing that. Didn’t want to have to start worrying about his buddy as well as his son.
Samantha seemed to pick up on his thoughts. “It’s okay. He’s at an AA meeting. Sometimes he doubles up.” She headed down the porch steps.
Garrett followed. “You don’t have to come. I can take it from here.”
“Nonsense. Heads together, and all that. Let’s check the barn on the way. Has Rory run away before?”
“No.” But he’d never been twelve-almost-thirteen before.
“He seems like such a levelheaded kid,” she said, stepping into the barn and switching on the lights to reveal gleaming tack and organized containers of food. “Just look at this place. It was never so organized before and Rory’s been responsible for all of this. I wonder what got into him tonight.”
So did Garrett, but he couldn’t help feeling pride despite his concern. Pride at his son’s diligence. “Rory?” he called out. “You here?”
When they looked in all the unused stalls and found nothing, Samantha cut the lights. No sooner had they left the barn than they were met by Red hurrying down the hill. “What’s going on, Sheriff?”
“Rory’s gone missing. You have any idea where he might have headed?”
“Damn.” Stopping in front of them, Red glanced guiltily at Samantha. “We didn’t want to involve you, Duchess. And I sure didn’t think the kid would take matters into his own hands.”
“What are you talking about?” Samantha looked as confused as Garrett felt.
“Mack, Rory and me think someone’s trying to sabotage your business.”
“Sabotage my business? What are you talking about?”
“Stupid stuff. Starting with the garbage in the pasture. Some fence damage. Signs pulled down around town. Juvenile crap but a pain in the butt nonetheless.”
“Who would want to upset my little operation?” Samantha folded her arms and hugged them to her chest as if stifling a shiver. “Do you really think it’s more than just random acts?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Red scowled. “I think I know who could be behind it, but I got no proof.”
Garrett could guess the culprit, too. Tanner. If for no other reason than he’d want to jerk Samantha’s chain because she’d cut off his ATV access. “But how does this involve Rory tonight?”
“Most of the stuff has taken place after dark. Rory suggested spying on Tanner and his sons. It wasn’t a bad idea, but Mack and me told him to leave it to us.”
“If he’s acting lookout,” Samantha said, “I know where he is. The old apple orchard that runs right up along the line by Tanner’s house.”
“Bingo!” Red headed for his truck. “You two head across the meadow. No lights and no callin’ out, though. We don’t want Tanner or his boys discovering Rory. Who knows how they’d make his life miserable for the rest of the summer.”
“Where are you going?” Garrett asked.
“I’m the decoy. I’ll drive right up to Tanner’s. Say I’m looking for some tools I think they mighta borrowed.”
“But it’s after ten.”
“Hell, they reckon I’m half-senile as is. They won’t think anything’s out of the ordinary.” The old man took off, looking almost gleeful. As if he were playing out some scene from a rural Mission: Impossible.
Garrett began to doubt the wisdom of letting Rory spend his days hanging out with this crew.
“Come on,” Samantha said, sensing some unspoken antagonism in Garrett. “Let’s go look for your son.”
“You don’t need to come. Especially if Tanner’s involved.”
“Oh, yes, I do. It’s my property. And my employee. I feel responsible.” She headed around the far side of the barn toward the outer pasture. The moon hadn’t risen yet, making it difficult to see what was underfoot.
“We’re not going to run into those animals of yours, are we?” he asked as she let them through the gate.
“No. They’re secured in the inner pasture. Besides, they’re not aggressive.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m getting the feeling you’re not keen on this plan. Is there some department procedure you’d rather we followed?”
“I’m here as a father, not the sheriff.”
Aha, she thought. And there lies the problem. You don’t want me in the middle of your personal business. Her irritation quickly dissipated when she realized she’d feel the same in his shoes. “I understand—”
“No talking. Red was right. We don’t want Tanner to know Rory was ever near his property. If that’s actually where he is.”
Okay. She needed to concentrate on her own feet, anyway. Tall grass and rocky hummocks made the going rough as they climbed the rise that led to
the orchard. The stars in the moonless sky seemed to hang low overhead, but shed no light. An owl hooted nearby. The scent of honeysuckle drenched the air.
She stumbled twice. Although he was but a few steps away, Garrett didn’t reach out to help her. She got the feeling he was angry—but at his son for this adolescent stunt or at her? She didn’t get it. Didn’t get him.
They were coming to the crest of the rise. She could tell because the breeze kicked up. The old apple orchard was over the hill, then below in a sheltered hollow.
With a screech something passed overhead, so close Samantha could feel the beat of wings. The thought of an owl’s sharp talons drove her to her knees, stifling a cry. Seconds later she was hauled to her feet.
“Dammit, you’ll get us shot,” he hissed, grasping her wrist and pulling her down the hill into the sweet-smelling dell and off the skyline.
When the first of the two dozen apple trees that Red’s grandfather had planted appeared as ghostly shadows, Garrett stopped abruptly, causing her to slam into him. He gripped her shoulders, then leaned close to her ear. For a moment she became disoriented in the dark—disoriented by his sheer bulk, the warmth of his cheek, his masculine scent—and only heard part of his rasped command. Something about staying close. When he moved away, she reached out for him. He grabbed her wrist again and pulled her along as if she were some suspect in his custody. She tried to catch her breath.
There were only three rows of trees—the narrow valley wasn’t wide enough for more—and Garrett headed for the line closest to the fenced boundary. She could see the back of Tanner’s ramshackle house, silhouetted by what must be the porch light out front. Red’s truck was nowhere to be seen, but the faint sound of men’s voices drifted on the night air.
Garrett headed for the tree that would afford the best view of the Harris’s yard. When the dogs started barking—were they chained or loose?—Samantha felt him stiffen, although he didn’t slow his pace through the tangled undergrowth. It surprised her that, for such a large man, he moved easily and with almost no noise.
The old trees were gnarled and low, with some of the branches scraping the ground. Easy for a kid to climb. But difficult to maneuver around. Garrett stopped. She could sense him listening. The moon began to show itself above the crest of the rise. Not good. More light upped the chances of discovery. She inhaled sharply. Pressing his hand over her mouth, he pulled her hard up against him at the same time he reached for what looked like a dead branch hanging from the tree.
The “branch” turned out to be a leg, the leg attached to Rory, who dropped with a thud from above. In an instant, Garrett let Samantha go and was on his son, covering the boy’s mouth as he’d done hers. Although no one had spoken, the dogs—free and running behind the boundary fence not twenty feet away—sensed their presence and renewed their baying.
Silhouetted human forms rounded the house. “Whatya got there, boys?” Tanner’s voice rang out loud and cheerfully menacing. “Mountain lion? I’ll take care of ’im.”
“Leave it be!” That had to be Red. “There’s too many dogs for it to come closer.”
A shotgun blast shattered the night air.
“Stay low,” Garrett growled as he crouched and hauled both Rory and Samantha behind him. “And run.”
He cut a path, not up to the ridgeline where they’d be outlined in the moonlight, but into the trees then down the hollow that abutted Tanner’s property. Although they were concealed, the dogs knew where they were and ran the length of the fence in a frenzy while raucous male laughter trailed them. Samantha felt her heart might burst from her chest.
As the dell widened into the lower pasture, they were still a long way from the farmhouse. Garrett pulled them toward the fence that ran along the county road, where headlights bobbled crazily toward them. “That’ll be Red.”
“How do you know—?”
“Hush.”
“Dad, hold up!” These were the first words Rory had spoken.
“Not before we clear the fence.” Garrett practically tossed his son over, and for the first time Samantha could see the boy was weighted down by binoculars around his neck and a backpack that now hung by one strap from his shoulder.
Garrett turned to her, but she’d already decided she wasn’t going to be pitched like a sack of feed. She clambered over the rail just as Red pulled his pickup to a stop on the road’s shoulder.
Without being told, Rory climbed into the truck bed, followed by Samantha, then Garrett. Red took off before the three had a chance to settle in, and Samantha slid the length of the gravelly bed on her thigh, coming to a stop only as she slammed into Garrett. Despite her sturdy khaki hiking pants, she’d have one enormous road rash come morning.
“Do you think you and your llamas are worth all this?” he snapped as she tried to extricate herself from his grasp.
Even if she weren’t bruised and shaken, she wouldn’t have attempted to explain to him that she had nothing to do with the night’s excitement. His face in the moonlight told her he wasn’t in any mood to listen. Instead, she crawled toward the cab, where Rory was slumped against a bale of hay. “You okay?” she asked.
He nodded but didn’t look at her. He and his father seemed locked in a glaring match.
Red came to a halt in front of her house. “I don’t know about y’all,” he said as the three piled out of the back of his truck, “but I could use a drink. Sorry, Duchess, but that’s the truth.”
“Another time.” Garrett clapped a hand on Rory’s shoulder and propelled him to the cruiser.
“Is he going to catch hell from his father?” Samantha asked Red as she watched them drive away. She had a sudden urge for a drink as well, and knew she’d be calling her sponsor as soon as Red left.
“Catch hell? You bet. But nothing physical, don’t worry on that score. Garrett’s not that kind of a pa.”
“Can you tell me what’s going on? Why would Rory pull such a stunt?”
“The kid was just trying on his shining armor.” When Samantha shot him a thoroughly confused look, Red added, “You hadn’t noticed in addition to really digging those llamas, Rory’s got a huge crush on you?”
She sighed deeply. This was not the small town involvement she’d envisioned.
GARRETT DIDN’T WAIT TO GET home to begin the interrogation. “Please, explain to me why you were in a tree outside Tanner Harris’s house. In the dark.” Hands gripping the steering wheel, he shot a glance at his son’s chest. “With my night binoculars.”
Rory didn’t answer.
“Red already said you and he and Mack suspected Tanner had been vandalizing Whistling Meadows. Why didn’t you talk to me?”
“Because we didn’t have proof,” Rory mumbled.
“So you thought you’d take the law in your own hands and run a stakeout.”
“To get proof, yeah. I was going to get a picture with my phone and e-mail it to your office.”
“Did you not take one second to consider who you’re dealing with? Tanner Harris. Almost every resident in this county owns a gun, yes, but Tanner has an arsenal. As you saw tonight, he doesn’t hesitate to shoot first and ask questions never. You could have been killed.”
Pain squeezed Garrett’s chest. This wasn’t some juvenile delinquent he was trying to scare straight. This was his son, and he didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to tragedy.
“Whatever possessed you to do this yourself?” he continued in an effort to regain a semblance of control. “Samantha Weston is an adult.” He thought about how determined she was to be right in the thick of things—tonight and with Mack a week ago. Why? Was she one of those women who had to have men falling all over themselves in her wake? “Looks like she can take care of her own affairs.”
“Red says looks can be deceiving. Says we need to watch out for her.”
“Rory, you’re being paid minimum wage to help with the llamas. You’re not Samantha Weston’s security guard.”
“I was helping with
the llamas, Dad. Red says Tanner doesn’t treat his dogs like living creatures but like property. Don’t you see what an easy step it would be from vandalizing Samantha’s property to hurting the llamas?”
“She needs to file a complaint with the department, then.” He pulled into their driveway. “And you need to find another job. One where you’re not stuck in the middle of a brewing feud.”
“You can’t be serious.” Rory’s whole body language changed. From a scared kid huddling in the corner to a feisty bantamweight boxer itching to get in the ring and fight.
“I’m stone-cold serious.” His son might feel mature enough to take on his father, but he had to understand who was still in charge. Garrett clutched the wheel and looked right into Rory’s eyes. “I’ll drive up to Whistling Meadows tomorrow to explain why you won’t be coming back to work.”
Rory was the first to look away. “You’re the one who’s always saying, ‘Don’t be a quitter.’” His voice cracked with emotion.
“This is different, son. This situation could turn ugly. And dangerous.” And this was his only child.
“You’re ruining my life!” Rory shouted as he hurtled from the car and escaped into the house.
Garrett’s cell phone rang. It was Noelle. “Where’s Rory?”
“We just got home. He’s…in the shower.”
“Why hasn’t he answered my messages?”
“Noelle, this is Applegate. Life’s a little more unplugged here.”
“I was worried about him.”
“Don’t be. He’s fine.” At least he would be as soon as Garrett pulled in a few favors to find his son a job away from Whistling Meadows.
CHAPTER SIX
WHO KNEW HE’D HAVE TO MAKE an appointment with Samantha to talk about his son?
Earlier in the morning when Garrett had driven Rory to Whistling Meadows—Rory had insisted he wasn’t going to leave Samantha high and dry without advance notice, and, as he cooled down, Garrett could see his point—he’d found Samantha gone. To AA with Mack. Rory had looked at the schedule that hung in the barn, which indicated that when she got back she had a lunch trek with the Optimist Club from Sapphire Lake. While she was out, he and Red were going to clear some brush from the inner pasture. Shouldering heavy pruning equipment, his son shot Garrett a look that brooked no argument. As if to say Rory was a man, and that was that.