by Diana Palmer
He turned off the trail and eased his mount up a small rise, looking back to make sure Meadow was following.
Her legs were already sore and her hands were freezing, but the only thought in her mind was that she had to find her dog. Oh, Snow, she thought miserably, please, howl, bark, do something to let me know where you are! I can’t lose you. I can’t!
Harry noted her worried expression. He had the same thought she did, that Snow might be caught in a trap. If she was, and they couldn’t find her . . . Well, it was better to think positively.
“I wish we had more people looking,” he commented. “All the men are out checking on cattle, except me.”
“We’ll do what we have to,” she replied.
“You could call Dal and ask for help,” he said.
She tautened all over. “I’d rather ask the devil himself for aid.”
He raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t comment.
Just as they started down another snow-covered hill, her cell phone went off.
Chapter Six
Meadow recognized the phone number on the call. She’d just used it. The temptation to just let it ring was great, but her fear for Snow was greater.
“Hello?” she said curtly.
“Have you found her?” he asked.
She swallowed. Her lips felt numb. “No.”
“Where are you looking?”
“Harry and I are riding down to Mr. Smith’s place,” she said, and knew he’d understand why without being told.
“Smith’s gone to Oregon for the holidays,” he said. “He’s not home.”
She drew in an icy breath. “His traps will still be there, even if he’s not,” she said shortly.
There was a pause. She heard the feminine voice again. It chilled her heart, as the snow chilled the skin that was exposed to it.
“When did you see her last?” he asked.
“This morning, at breakfast. She went out just before I went to work. I never thought she’d run away . . .” She had to stop. Her voice was choking up.
“I’ll send some of my men over to look around the river bottoms,” he said curtly. “There have been reports of wolves there and near Smith’s place, so watch your step. Are you armed?”
She bit her lip. “No.”
“Is Harry?”
She looked at the man beside her, noted the rifle in its case, and said, “Yes, he is.”
“Tell him to be careful. We’ll start searching.”
“Thanks,” she bit off. She fought tears. “She’s the only family . . . I have left.” Her voice broke. It humiliated her to have him hear that weakness. She just hung up.
“Dal sending men over?” Harry asked.
She fought to stop her voice from cracking again. She swallowed, hard. “Yes. He’s sending some men to help. He says they’ll search the river bottoms.”
“Lots of wolves down there,” Harry said. He noted her fear. “Wolves don’t usually attack without provocation, even when humans go near them,” he said. “They’re part of the circle of nature. We could legally kill them, but we don’t. They belong here. Like the mountains.”
She managed a smile for him. “You don’t think they’d hurt Snow?”
“Not unless they were starving. And there’s still game around.”
“Okay. Thanks, Harry.”
He nodded, pulled his hat lower to protect his eyes from the driving sleet, and rode on.
* * *
The longer they searched, the more Meadow’s spirits drooped. There was no trace of Snow.
Her cell phone rang. “Where are you?” Dal Blake asked.
“Have you found her?” she countered with helpless concern.
“Not yet. But we’re getting Jerry Haynes to bring old Redhide over. Do you have something of Snow’s that he can get her scent from?”
“Oh, thank you!” she said, almost crying with relief. “Yes, there’s her blue blanket that she sleeps on. It’s just inside the back door.” She hesitated. “It isn’t locked. I forgot. I was so scared . . .”
“It’s all right.” His voice was oddly gentle. “We’ll give Redhide the scent and I’ll keep you posted. We’ll find her,” he added with such confidence that a little of the fear left.
“Okay,” she said. She hesitated. “Thank you again, for helping.”
“She practically lives with me,” he said, and he didn’t sound angry. “I feel some responsibility for her. I’ll be in touch. Is your phone fully charged?”
Oh, if only he hadn’t asked that. She looked at it. One bar left. She ground her teeth together. “Sort of,” she confessed.
“Ask Harry if his is charged.”
She did. Harry chuckled and nodded.
“Yes.”
“Give me his number.”
Harry called it out to her and she relayed it to Dal.
“I’ll call him when we know something. Got your gloves on?”
She bit her lip, hard, and didn’t answer. “We’ll keep going toward the traps,” she said instead.
“All right.”
She hung up. They rode on.
* * *
The snow and sleet increased so that it was hard to see even a few feet ahead. Meadow was worried that Harry might say give it up until the storm abated, but he didn’t. He kept going without a single complaint.
Meadow thought of Snow when she’d rescued her, of how much company the dog had been, of the happy times they’d shared. Snow had been her comfort when the world fell on her. A sweet, gentle soul who loved her mistress. She couldn’t lose Snow. She just couldn’t!
Harry glanced at her. “We’ll find her,” he said. “Old Redhide can track anything. He’s famous. Even the FBI used him once to track a fugitive who ran to our county to hide. Flushed him out of an old mine within minutes of getting his scent.” He chuckled. “If we’ve got that bloodhound, your dog is as good as found.”
“Thanks, Harry,” she said softly. “I’m just scared, that’s all. Snow had such a hard life until I got her from the shelter . . .”
“Have to have faith,” he said. He smiled. “It does work wonders.”
“I’m trying. Really.”
They rode on. Meadow was freezing, but she tried to hide it from Harry. The men all knew she was a tenderfoot, rancher’s daughter or not. Her legs were killing her, too. But if she could just find Snow, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.
“That’s where he sets traps,” Harry said, noting a stretch of woods. “Have to go on foot out there, Miss Dawson. And watch every step. He sets bear traps, too.”
“I hate traps,” she muttered.
“It’s how he makes his living, trapping fur. Long years ago, it was big business out west. Trappers went far and wide getting hides for the companies back east.”
“I guess so.” She swallowed down her fear. “Do the traps kill things fast?”
He hesitated. But he wasn’t used to lying. “Not usually.”
“Damn,” she said under her breath.
“When he’s here, he checks them periodically all day long,” he continued. “He finishes off whatever he finds fairly quickly.”
“Fur.” She glanced at him. “I don’t own a single piece of fur. Well, except for what’s on Snow,” she added with a forced smile.
“Watch where you walk.” He handed her a stick. “Just in case. If the stick trips a trap, it won’t bite you.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
They walked through the long patch of wood, but there were, thankfully, no animals in the traps. There was also no Snow.
It had been two of the longest hours of Meadow’s whole life. She knew Dal and his men were searching, that the bloodhound was on the trail, but what if Snow was . . . She swallowed down her fear. Harry was right. She had to believe her dog would be all right.
As she processed the thought, Harry’s phone rang.
“Did they find her?” Meadow asked in anguish.
Harry glanced at her, grimaced, spoke
into the phone. “I’ll tell her. We’ll be right there.”
“Is she alive?” she asked quickly. Better to know at once.
“She is,” he replied. “Caught herself in a barbed wire fence and couldn’t fight free, with all that fur. I know where it is.”
He led the way. Snow was alive. Snow would be all right. She felt tears pouring down her cold cheeks, and she didn’t even try to check them. Thank God, she thought, for everyday miracles.
* * *
When they got to the fence, Dal was on one knee with a pair of wire cutters, getting the last of the wire away from Snow’s thick fur while she licked his hand. It was evident that she loved the tall rancher, even though her mistress avoided him like the plague.
Meadow’s legs were so numb that she almost fell getting off the horse. She stumbled to the fence.
“Oh, Snow,” she whispered, choking as she went down on both knees in the snow to hug her dog. There were traces of blood on her fur. “Snow!”
The big dog’s blue eyes laughed at her, as if to say, Silly human, of course I’m all right, my other master saved me!
“Your hands must be frozen,” Dal commented as he handed the wire cutters to another cowboy. “Don’t you have gloves?”
“I have two pair, actually. They’re in my house.” She was too busy hugging Snow and getting licked to care about the criticism.
“And your jeans are soaked,” he continued. “Let’s get you both home.”
“Snow needs to see the vet,” she said.
“My vet makes house calls. He’s on his way to your house.” He didn’t add that the vet was on retainer, or that Dana had been irritated that Dal left her to go hunt for Meadow’s dog. That had irritated him. He loved animals. Dana didn’t.
A young man with red hair joined them. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Jerry Haynes.” He introduced himself. “And this is Redhide.” There was a huge bloodhound beside him, panting even in the cold.
“Hi, big guy,” she said softly and extended a hand for him to smell. “Thank you for saving my baby.”
Jerry chuckled. “He’s a marshmallow,” he commented when the big dog climbed on her bent legs and licked her face. “He loves women.”
“He’s wonderful.”
Jerry grinned.
“We’d better go,” Dal said curtly. “I’ve got the truck over here. I’ll carry Snow for you.”
“Thanks,” she said softly.
He gave orders to his men, thanked Jerry, lifted Snow, and carried her to the truck.
“I’ll hold her,” Meadow said quickly when she opened the passenger side of the truck and climbed in.
“She’s got blood on her fur,” he said.
“It’s just clothes,” she replied. “Please?” Her green eyes had him almost hypnotized. He slid the big dog onto her lap and closed the door with a jerk.
“Snow, my baby, my poor baby,” she crooned, hugging her dog close.
“Seat belt,” he said.
“I’ll try.” She reached for it and managed to get it around her waist under Snow.
“I’ll do it.”
Dal reached for the seat belt and found her hand instead. Even through his leather gloves, he could feel the chill. “Your hands are like ice,” he said.
“They’re okay,” she said. “Just a little numb.” She hugged Snow close. “I was so afraid that we’d find her in one of Mr. Smith’s traps.”
He had been, too, but he didn’t say so. He started the truck. “You need to find a way to close that dog flap at night so she doesn’t wander. Or put a high fence set in concrete around the house.”
“I’ll buy a helicopter for the Bat Cave while I’m about it,” she muttered.
He gave her a curious glance.
“I work for the sheriff’s department,” she pointed out. “My budget is much more Walmart than Park Avenue.”
He frowned. He hadn’t considered her situation. She was probably hurting for money, or she wouldn’t be working at all. Pity she knew nothing about ranching. If she had, she’d at least have enough money to fence her yard.
He turned into her long driveway. “You need to sell the ranch to someone who knows what to do with it,” he said bluntly.
“Your tact always amazes me.”
He glanced at her. “I don’t have any tact.”
“And I am not surprised,” she pointed out. “But thank you for saving my dog.” She averted her eyes. “She’s all I have.”
He felt the pain of those words like a blow. He understood them. His big Lab, Bess, had been his only family. Her loss, despite the company of Jarvis, his cat, had left him bereft. Dana hadn’t understood why he kept the dog dishes in their place in the kitchen. She’d started to throw them out, and he’d jerked them out of her hands. She’d laughed. What a silly, sentimental thing to do, she’d commented.
That had led to some harsh words that Meadow’s phone call had interrupted. He and Dana argued more and enjoyed each other’s company less. Dal really wasn’t much for families and Dana was. It would end soon, as all the other brief affairs had ended. He didn’t trust women enough to stay with one.
He got out of the truck at Meadow’s front door and carried Snow inside for her, waiting while Meadow got two thick bath towels to spread on the floor to catch the droplets of blood.
“Let me see your hands,” Dal said.
She left Snow long enough to show them to him. He grimaced as he touched them. “Red and raw, but no frostbite. You were lucky. Don’t go out without gloves again,” he instructed.
“Don’t give me orders,” she returned. “I don’t belong to you.”
“Thank God,” he said with faint sarcasm, his eyes disparaging on her face. “I like my women soft and feminine.”
She smiled sweetly. “How fortunate for you that you’ve got Dana, who’s both.”
“Yes. Lucky me.”
He searched her eyes longer than he meant to. She felt the jolt of pleasure all the way to her toes and averted her eyes quickly to keep him from seeing. Her heart was racing like mad. She hated the effect he had on her. He was all but engaged to the florist, after all. She shouldn’t even be thinking of him like that.
He was doing some thinking of his own. He was an experienced man. He knew the signs when a woman found him attractive. Meadow always had. Even at seventeen, her heart had raced when he came close. He’d been cruel to her, to make sure she didn’t get close enough.
Now she was older, and she was beginning to get to him. He’d thought her hard, cold, all business. But she was vulnerable and sensitive, and she loved that dog. It was a side of her that he hadn’t seen, and it touched him deeply.
But he remembered that she went to church every Sunday and she’d never had an affair. That lost her points. He might be in the market for a few nights in her bed, but he didn’t do forever after.
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and glared down at her from under the wide brim of his Stetson. His dark eyes were expressive.
“You still want me,” he drawled, and with distaste. “No go, honey. You’re still not my type.”
“Want you?” She drew herself up to her full height and her green eyes snapped at him. “Why, you arrogant, smug, self-righteous cow puncher! Were you always this conceited, or did you take lessons?”
He pursed his lips. “Were you always this nasty tempered or did you take lessons?” he shot back.
“I get along great with most people!”
“They must be blind and deaf.”
“Excuse me?” she asked huffily.
“Not to see the horns and pointed tail or hear the sound of brimstone churning when you show up,” he said with a vacant smile.
Her cheeks flushed even more than they had from the cold. “Now, you just listen here . . . !”
The knock on the door saved him. The vet, Dan Johnson, was tall and blond and pleasant. He examined Snow, pronounced her wounds superficial, and gave Meadow instructions for her care for the next few days.
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“I’ll leave this with you,” he said, handing her a topical solution for the wounds. “I’ve given her an antibiotic shot. It will take care of any infection that might set in. Keep her close for a couple of days. If you see any unusual redness, swelling, that sort of thing, get her to me.”
“I will. Thank you so much. I was so scared,” she said, and laughed self-consciously.
“They do get next to you, don’t they?” he asked, grinning. “I like German shepherds. I have two, both female, and they sleep with me.” He shrugged. “I guess they’re why I never married. Not much room left over in the bed,” he added, chuckling.
She shook hands with him. “Here, I’ve got a business card. Can you have your bookkeeper send me the bill?”
He glanced at Dal, who telegraphed a message with his eyes.
“Sure, I will,” he told her, taking the card.
“Thanks again,” she said.
Dal knelt down to pet Snow. “I hope you get better, you bad girl,” he said. “Stay out of barbed wire, okay?”
Snow licked him.
He got to his feet and followed the vet to the door. He turned. “You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I’m just cold and sore. I’ll be fine,” she said. “Thanks again,” she added a little stiffly. “Sorry I had to bother you.”
“It wasn’t a bother. I was just having a hell of an argument that you interrupted. No big deal. See you.”
He went out, leaving her curious about who he’d been arguing with. Surely not Dana, who obviously adored him.
* * *
Gil had received the bill of sale from the antique dealer in Kansas City, but it didn’t contain any information that was helpful. When he tried to trace the owner of the pipe organ, he hit a wall. It became obvious that the man listed as the pipe organ’s most recent seller was a man who’d been in a cemetery in Billings for some twenty years.
“How cool,” Gil remarked. “A dead guy can still buy and sell antiques. Who’d have known?”
“Isn’t Billings an odd choice of places to look in cemeteries?” she wondered aloud. “Do we have anybody around here with relatives in Billings? Maybe somebody’s cousin or aunt or uncle who died recently was buried there?”
Gil smiled. “You’re a wonder. That’s a great idea. I’ll start checking.”
