by Janet Dailey
“What’s the temperature for meat loaf and potatoes?” she asked.
“Three-fifty should do it,” Muriel said. “Put in enough for Henry. He’ll be hungry after working in the cold.”
And Shane? But Kylie knew better than to ask. Even as she thought of him, the sound of shoveling stopped. A moment later, she heard his pickup roar to life and drive away.
The plowed road was slippery with packed snow. But the pickup had four-wheel drive and good tires. Shane had no trouble making it back to the graveled lane that cut off to his ranch. From here the going would be slower. But the earlier run with the snowmobile had broken a track. Gearing down, he eased the truck forward.
The crawling pace and the white silence outside gave his mind the freedom to wander—too much freedom, given where his thoughts took him. He’d already replayed the confrontation with Kylie too many times. The last thing he wanted was to go there again.
Kylie might be a widow and a mother, but some things never changed. Little Miss Perfect still thought she was too good for him—and that he was a bad influence on her son. Except for the children involved, it was like high school all over again. He’d given up his wild ways, run the ranch for his father, and earned the respect of most people in Branding Iron. But to Kylie none of that counted. He was still the boy who’d gotten busted for stealing a beer from a convenience store and never lived it down.
Well, what of it? He didn’t need her approval. He would go about his business, be distantly polite to her and her children, and hope the sale of the ranch would soon set him free. He would miss Henry and Muriel; but with Kylie there, and a boy who was getting strong enough to help with chores, they should be fine.
Up ahead he could see the house and outbuildings. Everything looked peaceful. He’d fed the animals that morning, so he could wait a little to go out to the barn. Right now, his first priority was the house. Now that the power was on, he needed to get some heat in the place, check the pipes, and open his e-mail.
Maybe he ought to phone Holly back. A few drinks and a mindless roll in the sack might help him forget his troubles with Kylie for a few hours. But it would be, at best, a temporary fix—the sort of fix that would prove what Kylie had implied about him was true. In the long run, seeing Holly would only make things worse.
Since there wasn’t much he could do to avoid Kylie, he would just have to be polite to her and keep his distance from her kids. Too bad about that. He was getting to know and like Hunter and Amy. But now that he knew where he stood with their mother, the sooner he could pack up and leave, the better.
When he turned up the thermostat, the furnace responded with a blast of warmth, which prompted him to take off his coat. The pipes, too, were all right. In the alcove that served as a home office, Shane sat down at the desk, switched on his computer, and brought up his e-mail.
Few of his messages were worth reading. He scrolled down, deleting most, until he came to one that caught his eye. It was from Helen Floyd, an old friend of his mother’s. After her husband’s death, Helen had become a real estate broker. Shane had listed his ranch with her, not only because of the friendship, but because Helen was a sharp saleswoman who knew how to use nationwide Internet marketing.
Hi, Shane, I just may have found a buyer for your ranch. A couple from Michigan took the photo tour and contacted me. The wife has fallen in love with your Craftsman home, especially the view from the front with those stately pines flanking the porch.
The husband likes the investment potential and having a place where their family could ride horses most of the year. I did some checking. They’re financially solid and shouldn’t have a problem raising the cash. They want to fly down after the holidays and take a look. If they like the place, they’ll make you an offer. Keep your fingers crossed, Helen
Shane stared at the computer screen, his heart thudding in the stillness of the empty house. This outcome was what he’d wanted, what he’d planned for since his father’s passing. He should be doing handsprings down the hall. What he felt, instead, was a sense of unreality. He’d lived his whole life on this ranch, sweated and bled for it, cared for it, hated it, loved it.
Maybe the sale would fall through.
But what was he thinking? If these people didn’t buy the ranch, somebody else would. He had to face the reality of what was going to happen. If he wanted to be free, he had to prepare himself to let go.
Only now did he realize how painful that letting go might be.
Outside, the setting sun had turned the clouds to fire. Hues of flame, saffron, violet, and indigo streaked across the sky, reflecting soft rose gold on the quiet snow. Standing at the window, Shane watched the colors deepen and fade. Then he slipped on his coat and walked out to the barn to take care of his animals.
While the meat loaf and potatoes baked in the oven, Kylie sat at the table and helped Amy and Muriel mend the broken ornaments. Lost in the delicate task, Amy had forgotten her tears. The little figures were coming together nicely.
“See, I told you we could fix them,” Muriel said. “The secret is to know what you’re doing, and to do it carefully.”
“And they do look almost as good as new,” Amy said. “They’ll be nice enough for the Christmas tree—when we get a Christmas tree.” She turned to her mother. “I was thinking, Mom, we could have Shane take us out on the snowmobile. We could find a pine tree, cut it down, and drag it home. That’s how people got Christmas trees in the old days, isn’t it, Aunt Muriel?”
“Well, yes,” Muriel said. “But things have changed since I was a little girl. These days, if we cut down a tree on somebody’s property, we could get in trouble. Sadly, all the land around here is somebody’s property.”
And, thanks to your mother, Shane won’t be taking anybody out in the snowmobile.
Kylie kept that comment to herself. She’d already begun to regret her clumsily spoken words. But Shane would remember them, and he would keep his proud distance.
Amy worked in silence for a moment, pressing a wing onto the miniature airplane and holding it steady so the glue would set. “How come you never got married, Aunt Muriel?” Amy asked. “You must’ve been pretty.”
She is still pretty, Kylie thought, like a dainty little silver bird.
“My goodness!” Muriel sounded flustered. “I thought we were talking about Christmas trees. Where did that question come from?”
“I just wanted to know,” Amy said. “So, how come you didn’t?”
“Well, for one thing, my father was sick and I had to take care of him.”
“And why else?”
“Maybe . . .” Muriel paused, lost in thought. “Maybe because the right man never asked me.”
“Well”—Amy set the airplane on the table—“I was thinking you could marry Henry. He’s old like you and he’s nice. If you got married, he could live in the house with us, and not in that old trailer. Maybe you could ask him.”
Muriel’s pale cheeks flushed pink. “Heavens, child, where did you come up with that idea? In my day, it was always the man who did the asking—and I’m still an old-fashioned girl!” She sniffed the kitchen air, as if scrambling for a diversion. “Goodness, I do believe the meat loaf and potatoes are done. Let’s clear this project away and set the table for dinner. We can finish later.”
Kylie put the mended treasures and the glue in the box and put it in an out-of-the-way corner. “Amy and I can set the table,” Muriel said, rising. “Kylie, maybe you can go out and tell Henry it’s almost ready. Where’s Hunter?”
“He’s in his room. He said you gave him time-out.” Amy was carrying five plates to the table. “Can I tell him to come down and eat, Mom?”
“Finish setting the table. Then you can go get him.” Her son had been punished long enough, Kylie decided. If he apologized, he might even get his phone back.
Slipping on Muriel’s coat, she went out the back door and followed the shoveled path to the machine shed. She found Henry gazing morosely down at an array o
f bent, broken motorcycle pieces spread out on the concrete floor.
Guilt punched her like a giant fist, but she decided not to ask questions.
“Muriel sent me out here to invite you in to dinner,” she said. “It’s almost ready.”
A smile flickered across his face. “She didn’t need to do that. I’ve got TV dinners I can heat up in the microwave.”
“Not tonight. Your place is already set at the table. I hope you like meat loaf.”
“You bet I do.”
“Then I’ll see you inside. Don’t be too long.”
Leaving him, Kylie hurried back to the house. By now, it was getting dark, the sunset no more than a pale streak above the western horizon. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve, and she had nothing for the children, no tree and no presents. What was she going to do?
As she entered the kitchen, Amy came down the stairs, worry written all over her face.
“What’s the matter?” Kylie asked, alarmed. “Where’s Hunter?”
“He wasn’t in his room or anywhere upstairs,” Amy said. “I can’t find him anywhere, and his coat is gone. Mom, I think he’s run away.”
It took seconds for the words to penetrate. Then it was as if the air had been sucked from Kylie’s body and replaced by an awful dread. It was almost dark, and deadly cold outside. Hunter wasn’t used to the weather, and those old borrowed clothes and boots he had on weren’t all that warm. If he was out there now, he could be in real danger—and it was all her fault. If she hadn’t pushed him about Shane and ruined the only good time he’d had since his arrival here, he wouldn’t have talked back to her. She wouldn’t have given him time out, and he wouldn’t be gone now.
“Maybe he’s just holed up somewhere,” Henry said. “I’ll take the flashlight and check the sheds. I’ll check my trailer, too. At least he’d be warm in there.”
Muriel handed him the flashlight. “Be careful. It’s icy out there. You could slip in the dark.”
“I’ll go with Henry,” Kylie said, sensing Muriel’s worry about the old man. “Amy, you search upstairs. Look anywhere he might be, even the attic. Muriel, you might want to wait here in case somebody calls us.”
“All right. I can’t do much more except say a little prayer.”
Dinner forgotten, they scattered to look for Hunter. Shivering in Muriel’s quilted coat, Kylie steadied Henry’s arm as they went down the steps and crossed the yard. The machine shed had a light. Henry slid the door open and switched it on. Everything was quiet. There was no sign of Hunter.
In the vehicle shed, they shone the light into Kylie’s station wagon and Henry’s Jeep. They found nothing there, and nothing in Henry’s trailer.
“I’m getting scared,” Kylie said as they walked back toward the house. Her feet felt like ice lumps in her thin sneakers. “What if he’s lost? What if he’s freezing?”
“Hunter’s a strong boy, and he’s not a fool,” Henry said. “I know you’re worried, but he’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Henry, I hope so.” Kylie knew the old man was trying to calm her fear, but his words weren’t enough. Forcing her cold-muddled brain to concentrate, she tried to put herself in Hunter’s place. If she was an angry young boy who’d been punished by his mother, where would she go?
Only one answer made sense.
Chapter Eight
Shane had settled down with a cold beer to watch the evening news when the phone rang. He was surprised to see Kylie’s name on the caller ID display. Earlier that day, she’d behaved as if she never wanted to talk to him again.
“What’s up, Kylie?” He tried to sound casual.
“It’s Hunter.” He could hear the strain in her voice. “He’s missing. We’ve looked everywhere for him, even in the sheds and in Henry’s trailer. Could he be at your place?”
“I haven’t seen him. Have you tried calling his cell phone?”
“I took his phone away to punish him. He doesn’t have it.”
Shane took a breath to weigh what he’d heard. He’d only meant to be kind, befriending Kylie’s son. But if he’d left well enough alone, the boy might not be missing now. “I’ll take a look around and call you back,” he said, rising. “Okay?”
“Yes. Thanks.” She drew a ragged breath. “I don’t know how long he’s been gone. He was upset when I sent him to his room this afternoon, but we didn’t realize he’d left until dinnertime. Shane, it’s so cold out there, and Hunter’s a California boy. He doesn’t understand the danger. If he’s in trouble somewhere, he could freeze.”
“I’ll check the barn. He liked the pups I have out there. Maybe he’s with them. Hang on, I’ll call you back.”
Flinging on his sheepskin coat and grabbing a flashlight, he strode outside. It was almost five miles from Muriel’s to his place. Men and animals had been known to die from the brutal cold that followed a blue norther. If Kylie’s son had made it to the barn, he’d likely be all right. But if he’d fallen down on the way or stopped to rest . . .
Shane didn’t want to finish the thought. Hunter had to be found before it was too late.
It was dark by now. Through the trees, a paper-thin crescent moon etched patterns of light and shadow across the snow. Shane followed the shoveled path to the barn. He found the animals undisturbed, with no sign of the boy anywhere.
Back inside the house, he called Kylie again. “He’s not here. Stay put. I’m heading to your place in the truck. I’ll take it slow and check both sides of the road. If he’s out there, I’ll find him.”
“Thanks.” She paused, her breathing sharp and shallow over the phone. “I’m worried sick. Hunter’s never done anything like this.”
“We’ll find him, Kylie. If he shows up, call my cell. I’ll do the same for you.” Shane ended the call, got his keys from the house, and then started the pickup. The moon didn’t give much light, but the snow was diamond white. If Hunter was anywhere near the road, it shouldn’t be too hard to spot him.
He drove less than fifteen miles an hour, his eyes scanning the white road ahead and the snowy landscape on either side. He could imagine what Kylie must be feeling. She’d already lost her husband. To lose her son, too, would be unthinkable. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.
In the distance now, he could see the lights of Muriel’s house. Eyes searching, Shane drove at a crawl, but there was no sign of Hunter.
Kylie was waiting in the yard, with Muriel’s quilted coat clutched tight against the cold. Her frightened eyes met Shane’s through the side window. He shook his head and reached across to open the door on the passenger side.
“No sign of him? No tracks even?” Her teeth were chattering as she climbed in and turned in the seat to face him.
“Nothing. I searched every inch along that road. Is there anywhere else he might’ve gone?”
She gave a little lift of her shoulders. “Not that I—”
“Wait!” Shane’s fist thumped the dash as he remembered. “He asked me if there was someplace in town where kids went to hang out. I told him there was a burger joint with arcade games. It’s called Buckaroo’s.”
“You told him that? And you didn’t think he’d try to get there?”
“Hell, the place is ten miles away. And with two feet of snow on the ground—”
“You don’t know Hunter. His middle name should be ‘Determination.’ ” She turned away from him, reached for her seat belt, and fastened it with an angry click. “Let’s go.”
“Hang on a minute. I want to check for tracks.” Shane shifted into neutral and left the engine running to warm the cab. Taking his flashlight, he climbed to the ground and knelt to inspect the shoveled drive. It took him a few minutes to find the prints of what he knew to be Hunter’s old rubber boots. They were leading out toward the road.
“Find anything?” she asked as he climbed back into the cab.
“You know your boy, all right. Looks like he was headed for the road to town.” Shane fastened his seat belt and put the truck in gear.
“But how could he expect to make it that far, in this cold, without freezing?” Her voice held a mother’s terror.
“Hunter’s a smart kid. He’d have sense enough to know he couldn’t walk that far. But people have been driving into town since the road was plowed. It wouldn’t have been that hard for him to hitch a ride.”
“Hitch a ride? But Hunter’s never been allowed to hitchhike! We need to call nine-one-one! He could’ve been grabbed by some predator, some monster who’d—”
“Relax,” Shane said. “This isn’t California. There are plenty of good folks out here who’d stop and give a boy a ride to town and not think twice about it. The kind of predator you’re talking about would find pickings mighty slim around here, especially since anybody who harmed a youngster would be tracked down by a posse of armed citizens.”
“You’d better be right!” With a little huffing sound, she settled back into her seat.
“We’re going to find your boy and he’ll be fine,” Shane said. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“Or maybe you’re just feeling a touch of what Muriel calls ‘rheumatism.’ ”
Her wry humor tugged at Shane’s heart. Under that fussy, perfectionist exterior was a woman of amazing courage, he reminded himself. She’d been through living hell and was still holding her spunky little head high, struggling to keep her wounded family safe and happy.
“I’ve been wanting to apologize for what I told you earlier,” she said. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
“You were just being protective. I understood.” It was only a half-truth. At the time, her words had stung like lye. But now, seeing her fear and concern, he knew better. She was like a feisty little mother cat, defending her kittens against all comers. And he’d felt the prick of her claws.
They were on the main road now. Shane drove at a crawl. The frozen surface was slick. He didn’t want to slide, and he didn’t want to miss any sign of Hunter.
