Chase nodded, swallowing. If the cops were looking for Wade, he had backup. He could call the police, let them know he had reason to believe a fugitive was in the area, and Rick Platt or someone else would come out and get him.
“I’ll call,” she said. “You have to go tell her. She’s free.”
Chase put a hand to his forehead and leaned against the counter behind him. He could bring Lacey good news. He could let her know the nightmare was over. She’d be happy. She’d smile. Maybe she’d put her arms around him and kiss him.
“And then you have to tell her how you feel about her.” Pam was in bossy big sister mode. “You have to, or she’ll leave.”
She was right. Lacey was free to go now. Not again, he told himself. I’m not going to lose her again.
Tossing the paper on the counter, he headed for the door.
“Take the paper with you so you can show her,” his sister said. “And tell Cody to take you. He can get there faster than you. He’s down in the kitchen.”
Chase wasn’t about to tell Cody anything. According to the article, Wade Simpson was a wanted man now. A desperate man. He couldn’t stop Trent now, but he might not know that. And even if he did, he might still hurt Lacey for some kind of twisted revenge.
He galloped down the stairs, glancing through the kitchen door as he passed.
The room was empty. Cody was gone.
Cody, who was evidently friends with Janice, who was here with Wade Simpson, who was looking for Lacey.
Cody, who might have heard Annie’s comment about Lacey being in the woods.
Chase swore. There weren’t a whole lot of trees in this part of the world, and there was nothing within a twenty-mile radius of Grady that could be called a woods other than the little copse of trees on his land. If Cody had heard Annie, then he knew where Lacey was.
Slamming out the door, Chase hiked himself up into his truck and squealed out of his parking space. He’d just have to hope his truck could catch up to Cody’s Jeep before the guy could get to Lacey.
Chapter 40
Lacey stood back and gave Captain a critical look. She’d fitted the splint to his leg and wrapped the tape around it, being careful to keep it smooth and wrinkle-free so it wouldn’t irritate his skin. The big horse had stood patiently through the entire process, seeming to sense that she was trying to help him. The only problem was Sheba, who had insisted on observing the process closely—so closely that she nearly got her curious muzzle taped to Captain’s leg along with the splint.
“Git,” Lacey protested as the pony crowded against her. She’d overcome her panic, but annoyance at Sheba’s antics had quickly taken its place. “I’m almost done.” She smoothed the tape one last time, then patted Captain’s shoulder. “Good boy. You’re a great introduction to horses for newbies, aren’t you? Unlike your little friend here.” She gave Sheba a playful swat, and the horse backed away, snorting.
“Let’s see if you can walk.” She took the reins just below the bit like Chase had shown her and led Captain a few yards down the trail. He was slow, but he seemed to be in less pain than before.
Maybe she should start toward the ranch. Chase had told her not to, but he’d also told her she was safer out on the plains than in the forest. And it would feel good to do something other than sit and wait for an unknown fate.
She clicked to the other horses, but it wasn’t like she needed to tell them to follow; Captain was evidently the leader of the pack. Sinclair brought up the rear, his plumed tail waving. She felt like the grand marshal of a rodeo parade. All she needed was a sparkly hat and a whistle to clear the way.
But it was a very slow-moving parade. By the time they cleared the edge of the woods, Captain was obviously in pain. He hobbled gamely on, but his head was held low and his steps were slow.
“You’re not going to make it, are you, buddy?”
They were out of the woods, but once again the vast space of the plains made her feel vulnerable and exposed. A faded moon was rising, casting a feeble glow that felt more spooky than safe, and a faint breeze rattled the dry grass, making a sound like skeletons dancing in a Halloween graveyard.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered to herself. “Get a grip.”
She cast a covetous glance toward Galt’s off-limits cabin. It loomed in the darkness, pale and dim, the only feature on the stark, barren plains. It was almost full night now, and there wasn’t a single light in sight. Galt’s trailer was apparently over a rise, or behind a rock. He’d never know she’d trespassed.
“And even if he did, what’s he going to do?” she murmured to Captain. “Shoot me? Grump me to death?”
He might shoot the horses. He’d shot a cow, after all. But it seemed to her there was a pretty good chance he’d never know they were there. Tugging at Captain’s bridle, she urged him across the shallow stream. The other horses followed, their progress making faint splashing sounds, then a series of irregular thumps as they mounted the bank and headed toward the cabin. Captain had trouble climbing the shallow grade, and she felt cruel tugging at his head, but instinct told her the horses would be safer in the shadows of the cabin, and she knew she’d feel safer inside.
When they got to the cabin, the horses milled around in the yard, stamping and shaking, their blankets slapping against their sides. Lacey sighed. She wasn’t done fighting dragons yet.
“You guys want to take those off, don’t you?”
Fortunately, the blankets had Velcro closures and slipped easily off the horses’ backs. She tossed them on the step and walked into the cabin, figuring she’d better learn her way around before the last moments of daylight slid into darkness. The place had two rooms: a big, main one and a little lean-to on the side that seemed to have served as a kitchen. The big room had a bed in one corner and a rusty wood-burning stove in the other. Sinclair had already found the bed and curled up in a ball at the foot of it, as if he was waiting for her to join him. It was a metal frame with a blue-ticked mattress on it. The thing was lumpy and looked like it was stuffed with straw. It probably had mice inside. And bugs.
The kitchen had a tin sink, a few wooden cabinets with the paint peeling off, and a rickety, handmade table. There had evidently been wallpaper once, but now it hung in strips and tatters from the wall, making the place look like it had a bad case of mange.
She cranked the faucet.
Nothing.
She wondered who had lived here. Was it just a line shack where cowboys stayed when they were watching their cattle? Or was it someone’s home? She looked at the window above the sink. The tattered remnant of a lace curtain hung in one corner, and there was a colored glass bottle on the windowsill—a touch of prettiness in this starkly practical building.
A woman must have lived here once. Lived here, and tried to make it a home—probably for the sake of a man. Surely no woman would choose to live in such an isolated, barren spot.
Opening a cabinet over the sink, she found a few cans of tomato soup and baked beans. A drawer held spoons but no can opener, and there was a ripped-out hole where the stove should have been, so the food wouldn’t do her much good. Not that she was hungry. Her stomach was so roiled up with fear and worry, she couldn’t even think about food.
But there was a light—a sort of camping lantern thing. She flicked the switch, and a bright LED bulb lit up the cabin. Nice.
She took it out and set it on the woodstove. Somehow, just having the place lit up made it look more like a house and less like a deserted shed. Mice didn’t like lights, did they? Neither did bugs. Sinclair looked up and thumped his tail.
“Annie’s spoiling you, isn’t she? You want attention all the time now.” She patted his head, then went back outside, where the horses stood in a loose semicircle around the cabin.
“Shoo.” She flicked her fingers. “Go home.”
They trotted off a ways, all but Captain, who stood gazing at her expectantly. Or was it adoringly? She’d fixed his leg. Maybe he was grateful, like that
lion in the Aesop fable. That would make her the mouse, which was pretty damn appropriate. She was like a mouse, skittering around, scared of everything.
Then again, maybe he just wanted her to take the saddle off. How could you tell what a horse was thinking? They seemed to have two expressions—this one, stoic and unblinking; and the one where they freaked out and pulled their lips back, making all the veins stand out in their faces.
“You want that off, boy?” She moved to his side and stared at the saddle, trying to remember how Chase had put it on. Flipping up the stirrup leather, she found a metal ring with a strip of leather wrapped around it. The cinch, he’d called it. Remembering how he’d tugged at it, she picked at the knot until she managed to undo it, then lifted the saddle off and set it on the cabin’s front step.
She unbuckled the bridle and let the bit drop from Captain’s mouth. What she ought to do was put it on one of the other horses and ride back to the ranch, but what if she put it on wrong? Riding was hazardous enough without the saddle falling off or the horse balking at a poorly-fit bit. Besides, that would mean leaving Captain alone and defenseless. Even with the splint, he couldn’t move very fast.
She scooped up the horse blankets she’d tossed on the porch and paused, listening. A breeze rattled the dry branches of the lilac bush by the door and ruffled the prairie grass. The only other sound was Captain’s soft breath. No mountain lion. No engine noise. It was as quiet as it had been that night under the stars with Chase.
She looked up. The stars were barely visible, the sky not yet dark enough to put them in high relief. She could see the moon rising, a pale disc just over the horizon, and a bright star next to it. She wondered if Chase was looking up too.
Clutching the blankets to her chest, she brought them inside, tossing them on the bed. Sinclair immediately climbed on the pile and nosed himself a cozy nest.
“Hey, I’m using those,” she said. “Move over.”
She snuggled next to the dog, grateful for the company. Even the musky horse scent rising from the blankets seemed comforting, a reminder of Chase. The lantern cast its cold white light over the interior of the cabin, making spooky shadows where the peeling strips of wallpaper swayed in the slight breeze.
That was when she heard the engine approaching, distant but distinct in the quiet night.
Chase. Finally.
She stepped out on the porch and started to wave at the approaching vehicle. He probably couldn’t see her yet, but she was so glad to see him, she couldn’t contain herself.
The headlights rocked as the vehicle plowed over rocks and ruts.
Wait a minute. He’d said he’d bring the trailer. There was no trailer.
She remembered the note. Wade was here. He left, but he’s been watching.
Watching. And she’d been fool enough to light the lantern, letting it beam from the cabin like a beacon announcing her location.
Stay safe, the note had said. She had a feeling it was too late for that, but better late than never. She ran inside and flicked off the lantern, plunging the cabin into darkness.
Chapter 41
Chase flicked off the radio and tapped his fingers meditatively on the steering wheel, barely registering the scenes from his everyday commute as the truck ate up the miles. He was surprised he hadn’t caught up to Cody yet. Maybe his friend—his former friend—hadn’t gone looking for Lacey.
But he didn’t trust Cody any more. The guy was hiding something. Chase had always known that. He’d had reservations about his sister dating Cody, but Pam had insisted he was a good guy and there had never been any evidence that he was anything but a straight shooter until the thing with Janice. Chase didn’t know who the woman was, but she was with Wade Simpson—and that meant she was definitely trouble.
Meanwhile, it was getting dark, and Lacey was still in the woods. He wondered if she’d gotten the note. If she’d splinted poor Captain’s leg. He was tempted to turn off the ranch road and take a shortcut through the pasture. Hell, he’d been tempted to drive overland, taking a shortcut across Galt’s ranch, but the old guy hated four-wheelers with a passion. Chase had flicked his headlights on ten minutes ago, and if Galt saw a vehicle on his land, he was liable to come running with a shotgun. Besides, if Wade and Janice were still watching, he’d be lighting a trail straight to Lacey.
Instead, he passed the turnoff to the house and drove another hundred yards, then hung a left and drove toward the hill where he’d seen her pursuers last. There was an old two-track that was barely visible in the near dark, but he managed to navigate far enough to see the side of the hill where Annie had spotted the sedan an hour earlier.
There was nothing there but tire tracks. They must have given up for the night. Revving the pickup over stones and through a shallow stretch of alkali, he swung around the far side of the hill and sped up the ranch road.
They were gone. He could finally rescue Lacey.
He hoped she was okay. He really shouldn’t have scared her with all that talk about bears and mountain lions. He just couldn’t believe she’d thought the wooded area was safer than the plains.
The plains were far more safe. You could see what was coming from miles away, and they never changed. Winter might toss a blanket of snow over the dry grass, and spring might turn the yellow hills to green velvet for a week or two, but you could always count on the unchanging landscape. Since he’d moved to Wyoming, their permanence had been a comfort and a touchstone—a promise that he could depend on the land forever.
But maybe change wasn’t such a bad thing. Spring would come, and with it a new year. New flowers would bloom, and new calves would be born.
He wondered if Lacey would be there to see it.
***
Lacey glanced around the cabin, wondering if she should hide under the bed, run into the kitchen, or jump out the window. The first two options would leave her trapped inside the cabin; the third would put her out on the plains with no place to hide.
She heard footsteps crunching on the dirt of the cabin’s parched yard and waited for the familiar hitch in her breathing, the dizziness, the helpless thudding of her heart. If ever there was a reason for her to panic, this was it—but to her surprise, her lungs continued to function, her heart kept its normal beat, and she didn’t feel dizzy in the least. In fact, her mind felt oddly alert.
The interior of the cabin was lit by a slash of light where the headlights of her unexpected guest shone through the window. Everything in the light seemed unnaturally clear—the dry floorboards with their grain raised by a century of summer heat and winter cold, the chipped white paint on the iron bedstead, the torn shreds of wallpaper dripping from the walls. Metal scraped on metal as the rusty doorknob turned, and she dodged behind the door and pressed her back against the wall.
The door flew open and gave her a full-frontal smack-down, skinning her toes to slam against her body and knock her head into the wall behind her. She blinked away the stars and planets whirling inside her head and saw a hunched figure stomp into the room raising a shotgun to his shoulder. He was backlit into a silhouette against the gleam of the headlights.
She screamed without thinking, loud and long. Why did her lungs have to work now? If the panic was going to steal her breath, why couldn’t it happen when she needed to be sneaky?
The sheer volume of the scream made her gun-wielding assailant stagger backward. Sinclair let out a high-pitched bark and the man swung the gun toward the dog. Lacey dove to the floor and grabbed the intruder’s ankles, knocking him off-balance so he fell backward. Later, she wasn’t sure if she’d been heroically protecting her dog or just trying to avoid being shot, but the net effect was to make the man tighten his finger on the trigger. He blasted both barrels at the cabin’s peeling ceiling, sending a shower of plaster and paint chips onto the floor.
Sinclair let out another bark and ran outside, his tail plastered between his legs. Lacey scrambled up on her hands and knees. Grabbing the barrel of the gun, she pushed it aw
ay and looked down into the face of Fletcher Galt. The old man looked shocked for just an instant before his sagging, wrinkled face hardened and twisted. His eyes squinted up at her with a malevolent glare.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
“Oh, this is your house?” She’d play dumb—it was her only hope. She tried to look confused and helpless while still stiff-arming the gun. “I thought it was Chase’s.”
The man clenched his face like a fist, wrinkling his nose, scowling, and lowering his brows so that all his features squinched into the center of his face. “This is my house. Caldwell might think he owns the whole county, but he don’t own this. It’s mine. Should have been my boy’s by now.”
Great. Mentioning Chase was probably the worst thing she could have done. “Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”
“Bastard stole my land, you know. Stole it.”
“He did?” Lacey was so surprised, she let the gun go and sat up on her heels, letting the old man scramble to his feet.
“Came in here and took advantage when I was grieving,” the old man said.
“You’re kidding. Chase did that?” She knew she should feel disillusioned and disappointed, but the idea that Chase might not be the blameless, morally perfect model of a man he seemed to be was strangely gratifying. Wait until she saw him again. Just wait. “I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible. I had no idea Chase would do a thing like that.”
The man still clutched the gun, but his features were starting to relax. Instead of looking ornery, he just looked craggy and tired. She gave him her best flirty smile, but he was apparently immune to her charm because suspicion crept back into his eyes again as if he’d realized he’d let down his guard. “So what are you doing in my house?”
“Hiding.”
“What, is he beating you? That bastard. I’ll…”
Tall, Dark and Cowboy Page 26
