Douglas, the teddy bear, slipped in an aside. “And you made more sense than Ted.”
“But not enough to overcome him being a man.” Robert licked frosting off his finger. “This election is close, even if there was no kid missing.”
Sarah nodded. “I know I said you had it won, but I was only trying to give you confidence. Robert is right. You can’t make a wrong move now or it’s over.”
Fighting them was futile, but I’m a sucker for a lost cause. “I’m telling you, there is no missing kid. Ethan’s uncle isn’t so upset he can’t flirt with me, for heaven’s sake. After everyone is worried and out there looking, Ted is miraculously going to find Ethan where no one else thought to look. He’ll be the hero.”
Their faces told me that if belief was an ocean, their faith in me wouldn’t fill a thimble.
Michael spoke, the pit bull sinking his teeth in. “You’re deluded, obviously. But let’s say you’re right. You still need to go through the motions or you look bitter.”
Douglas never agreed with his twin, except now. “That’s what you’ve been trying to avoid. Why we had to suffer through that awful wedding.”
“I don’t care if I win or lose.” Which of course was a lie. “But I’m not playing Dahlia’s game.”
An eruption of arguments, cursing, guilt-tripping, and even some name-calling from childhood couldn’t change my mind. With some dismissive flicks of hands, some raspberry blowing, and general annoyance of my unreasonable stubbornness that, according to them, had been my dominant personality trait since infancy, they slammed out the door to rescue a child who, no doubt, sat in comfort somewhere playing games on his phone.
I hoped.
I watched them leave, then turned to Twyla, who sipped a steaming cup of coffee behind the bar. “Where is Louise? I thought she was going to help you with refreshments.”
Twyla huddled around her mug, probably fighting her daily hangover. “My guess is she couldn’t stand to be around someone so dug in they can’t listen to reason.”
I appealed to my last supporter. “You know Dahlia. This reeks of her conniving.”
Twyla set her cup on the bar. “I saw that boy here last night. If there’s any risk he’s in trouble, I’d say you need to go find him.”
“The only trouble he’s in is being corrupted by Ted’s mother.”
Twyla swiveled on her heel and disappeared into the kitchen.
The Kate Cakes and I remained in the dim bar, watching the clouds sink lower over the icy morning, giving full warning of the snow heading our way. A whoosh of wind rattled the window, and I shivered. Ethan’s puckish face taunted me. He didn’t deserve to be used like this. I’d been offended when Tony had employed Ethan as a babe magnet, if you could even call me a babe, but this duplicity was worse.
In the wintery gloom outside the window, a pickup sped down the highway. Tricked out with lights along the interior dash and outlining the hood. Dahlia’s royal coach, the rig that usually caused my gut to tighten with dread.
I grabbed my coat and ran out the door, determined to find out where she was going.
Following Dahlia might be tricky, since I’d driven my beloved ’79 Ranchero, Elvis. I’d bought Elvis before I was old enough for a driver’s license. I’d spent more than I could afford to repair his crushed back fender from the night Ted had been shot. It was the only thing I could fix about that night. Since my failed marriage, Elvis was the deepest and most lasting love in my life.
Dahlia headed east in gathering fog, and I took a guess she’d turn south on the highway, making her way to Frog Creek. Without the benefit of seeing her, I turned and set a slow pace for the five miles to the ranch turnoff. Ted and Roxy would have traveled the dirt road from the ranch that morning, but there could be extra tracks in the damp sand.
I knew Dahlia was finagling. Even if her smug face and crafty edge didn’t give her away, my gut told me. But that didn’t mean my tracking skills had brought me to the right place. And even if Dahlia was at Frog Creek, it didn’t mean Ethan was here or that I’d get any confession from Dahlia Dearest.
What else did I have? Hanging around the Long Branch and getting hated on by family and foe? Going back to Mom and Dad’s and pouting? Sure, I could join the search, go through the motions, and maybe salvage the election, but when Ted produced Ethan, safe and sound, he’d be the hero, and the votes would pile up in his favor.
Gritting my teeth, I pulled Elvis onto the lane and headed down the familiar road to my old home.
Elvis and I had traveled this road so many times I could probably let him take the wheel. Each hill tugged at my heart, the reds and golds, deep browns, and faded green of the fall grass popped in the damp gray of the morning. We didn’t have lots of trees or the weather patterns that bring vibrant leaves, but autumn brought a special beauty to the prairie that seeped deep into me. I didn’t want to, but I missed Frog Creek with a longing that clogged my throat.
I rounded the last hill heading down into the headquarters and the ranch house where Ted and Roxy now shared bliss. Chalk one up to my detecting skills, Dahlia’s ostentatious pickup idled out front. I gunned Elvis down the lane and pulled him up, nose to nose. He had seen more miles, wasn’t shiny and new, didn’t have the horsepower, four-wheel drive, or heated seats, but Elvis had style and quality Dahlia’s ride would never achieve.
So weird to walk up those wooden porch steps and stand in front of that door and not be able to reach out and turn the knob, walk in, and be home. I hesitated, unsure whether to knock or pound, or simply open the door and holler from the threshold. Instead of doing anything, I glanced through the window in the door and looked all the way through the living room and dining room to the warm glow of the kitchen. The ranch house had that shotgun shack layout. Dahlia passed by the opening in the kitchen holding a coffee cup. She laughed and said something.
I hadn’t expected Roxy to be home. I figured she’d be side by side with Ted, where she’d stayed since he’d been shot at the Bar J, the night I discovered their affair.
Dang. That past was not relevant here. With a whoosh of cold air to fill my lungs, I landed the heel of my hand on the door twice and turned the knob. Holding back any emotion I did or didn’t feel, I raised my voice to travel across the house. “Hello.”
Dahlia jerked, sloshing coffee on her leg. She faced me with a horrified expression, mouth hanging open.
Roxy poked her head around the kitchen corner, surprise, confusion, and something like delight flashing all over her. “Kate? Oh my God, Kate!”
She flew from the kitchen and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me into the living room and shutting the door behind me. “What are you doing here? I mean, I’m so glad you came. I want you to always feel like our door is open to you. This was your home for a long time and just because—”
I tried to keep my mind riveted on Dahlia and let Roxy wax on without really listening, but a part of me noticed that while most of the room looked the same as when I’d lived there, new artwork graced the walls, and couch pillows, a couple of end tables, and new lamps made the whole place homier. That hurt.
Didn’t Roxy ever breathe? “—tell Ted that I came home. He thinks I’m helping Louise, but, honestly, I’m so tired from the wedding and reception that I thought I’d take a quick nap and be back before—”
Dahlia closed her mouth and hesitated only a second before heating up like a branding iron in the fire. She slammed the coffee cup on a counter hidden by the side of the entryway and strode toward me. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
Roxy’s chatter dribbled off.
I steadied myself and faced Dahlia down. “Where is Ethan?”
Dahlia’s disdainful laugh didn’t convince me of her innocence. “What are you talking about? Ethan who?”
Roxy edged toward Dahlia. “It’s okay. I don’t mind Kate coming here. It’s time we get to be friends. Ted always said we’d really like each other if we gave it a chance.”
I stare
d at Dahlia. “There’s a storm coming, and all those people out searching don’t need to suffer through it. Let’s call the game and get the kid back.”
Dahlia flung her arm out with such force it was surprising it didn’t fly out of her socket. “Deb’s grandson is out there somewhere. Why aren’t you searching for him?”
A light came on in Roxy’s dim expression. “That’s right. You should be helping the search.”
If contempt were a dart, I’d have shot it through both their necks. “Are you in on it, too? Does Ted know what you’re doing?”
Snap. Off went the bulb in Roxy’s expression. “In on what?”
I advanced on Dahlia. “I’m going to say you planned this fiasco yourself. I don’t think Deb knows because she seemed sincerely upset.”
Aside from teaching a kid how to lie and manipulate, Dahlia had unnecessarily traumatized one of her best friends. What a gal. “We’ve got freezing rain starting. That means treacherous roads and lots of good people out there. Get Ethan. I promise not to expose you or Ted.”
Dahlia lifted her chin and gazed down her imperial nose at me. “You started this whole fight when you ran for office.”
From my position, several inches shorter than Dahlia, I was tempted to send my fist crashing into her nose and splattering it across her face. Except I had no boxing skills and hadn’t punched anyone since I’d grated my knuckles on my older sister’s braces as a kid.
Dahlia wanted me to leave so she could get Ethan and take him where Ted was sure to find him. Ethan wasn’t at the headquarters, or Roxy would know about it. A gust buffeted the white pine in the yard, and it clicked in my head, my heart slamming into my ribs. “You put him in the line shack on the old Mackleprang place, didn’t you?”
Dahlia stuttered. “Mackleprang? What? Shack? You’re crazy.”
I lunged at her and grabbed her arm, shaking it. “You did, didn’t you?” Another gust smacked into the side of the house, like an eighteen-wheeler on a bridge abutment.
Eyes wide, maybe afraid I would throw that punch I’d dreamed about, Dahlia stayed silent.
Roxy, apparently not as dim as I’d assumed, put it all together. “If Ethan’s at the shack, it’ll be okay. Ted and I were there a few days ago, and the heater works great. It’s a little dusty, but a kid won’t mind that.”
Dahlia still wasn’t talking. And remembering how Ted and I used that shack on occasion, I didn’t want to know what Ted and Roxy were doing there. I still had hold of Dahlia’s arm, and I squeezed. “Except the flue collapsed in a storm last year, and I never got a chance to fix it. If you started the heater, a gust would send the fumes back down into the house. Ethan could suffocate.”
“Oh.” Her mouth worked in silence. Finally, Dahlia found her voice. “No.” Not much, but enough.
I spun around and dashed for the door, across the porch, heading for Dahlia’s four-wheel drive. Footsteps hit the wooden steps behind me, and before I got the pickup in gear, Roxy threw herself into the passenger seat.
Moisture-heavy clouds had shuffled into the valley while we’d been inside, and a combination of rain and ice gathered on the windshield. I cranked on the defrost and backed from Elvis, more than a little irritated to have Roxy riding shotgun. “What are you doing?”
She adjusted the temperature controls to allow maximum heat. “You might need help or something.”
I swerved around rough patches in the road, knocking her into the door. “You don’t even have a coat.”
Roxy flung herself to her knees and rummaged behind the bucket seat of fine Corinthian leather. Triumphant, she whipped out a black down coat complete with fur-lined hood. “Dahlia always keeps a spare coat for emergencies.”
Most Sandhillers’ emergency gear consisted of used outwear one step away from the dump. Roxy pushed her arms into a brand-new down coat and zipped up, covering her masterpiece of a cleavage, a clear sign she took this seriously. “Besides, I needed to get away from Dahlia so I can process what she did.”
Rocks pinged on the underside of the pickup as I sped down the gravel. Not sure what to think of the nugget Roxy dropped. I figured she and Dahlia thought with one mind, their hearts beating in rhythm to their adoration of Ted. Across one Autogate, I made a quick right on a two-rut trail road.
Roxy clutched the “oh shit” bar above the door. “It would be faster if you go out to the oil strip and come in from that side.”
As if Roxy knew Frog Creek better than I did. “Smoother doesn’t mean faster. The cut-across is best.” Dang. “Do you have your phone?”
She propped her other hand on the dash for support. “No.” She turned to me. “Do you?”
“It’s in Elvis.”
Rain gave way to ice pellets that popped against the windshield. The sky dropped farther, dulling everything in a shroud of gray. The wind rocked against the pickup, a constant reminder that Ethan might be passed out or worse in a cabin filling with fumes.
I fought the wheel, keeping the tires in the ruts and giving it as much gas as I dared. “You and Ted had nothing to do with this?”
Her voice cracked, exaggerated emotion being her superpower. “You know Teddy loves kids. He’d have thought about the broken flue. He’s so smart like that.” She sniffed. “Like you.”
“If you knew anything about your own place, you’d know about the flue.” Disbelief charged through me so that I banged on the steering wheel. “What was Dahlia thinking pulling a stunt like this?”
Roxy umphed when I hit a bull hole in the road. “I love Dahlia, I really do.”
There was a but following this, and I felt some vindication for all the years I’d had to put up with Dahlia’s machinations.
Roxy sighed in admiration. “I know she did this out of love for Ted. I hope I have that kind of tiger love for my kids when we have them.”
I’d let my hopes rise that underneath all that … Roxy, there was a decent human being. When would I learn?
I wrestled Dahlia’s Flashmobile through the pasture, only stopping long enough to make Roxy dash to open gates.
Ice pellets gave way to sleet, sloppy and cold, smashing on the windshield and bringing the ever-welcome moisture to the hills. The clouds seeped low enough I might as well call it fog. It brought out the reds of the grass.
Even though it seemed like it took us as long as a moon circling Jupiter, we finally spotted the line shack across the hay meadow. The Sandhills used to be home to Indians, outlaws, and stray cattle lost on epic drives from Montana to Texas. Then a few brave or desperate souls tried their hands at homesteading. Though I didn’t know much about the Mackleprangs, all of them long gone by the time Dad was a kid, their lost hopes and dreams nestled along the west edge of a tall hill. Cottonwoods and dying elms shaded a two-room house.
Ted’s family had added a used stove and heater, secondhand furniture, and provided minimum maintenance to house a hired man or summer hay help if they needed it. From time to time they’d rented it out to deer hunters, but mostly, it remained empty.
I roared up to the house. The scruffy yard hadn’t been mowed this year and looked only slightly more domesticated than the prairie surrounding it. Tracks ran along the dirt road to the east, with the oil strip just over the hill. The strip zagged its way to the highway.
Roxy and I jumped out and ran. She was closer to the house and made it to the front door first. She burst in, with me close behind. Both of us shouted, “Ethan!”
Our voices bounced back to us. It took two seconds to see Ethan wasn’t in the house. Another two more to realize how toxic the air smelled.
I shouted at Roxy, “Open the window!”
The heating unit attached to the wall was the distinguishing mark between the kitchen and the sitting room. I dove for it and shut it off.
Roxy and I stood in the middle of the house, cold air working its way through the cramped space. “What now?”
I zipped my barn coat and pulled my cap from the pocket. “Find Ethan.”
R
oxy glanced at the fancy cowboy boots she’d worn to town but didn’t say anything. She pulled the hood up, shoved her hands into the pockets of Dahlia’s coat, and marched out the door ahead of me.
The sleet kept driving down. Maybe the fog saved us a degree or two, but the temperature probably hovered around thirty. How long had Ethan been out in this? Did he wear his outdoor hunting gear? How long before a little guy with no meat on his bones succumbed to hypothermia?
Ethan’s big brown eyes, that shock of silky hair, the cute grin. Where are you?
Even though Roxy was willing to brave the cold, I had insulated coveralls and hiking boots, more suited to time outside. “You take the pickup and drive to the top of the hill. Maybe you can see him from there.”
She beelined for the truck. “See? That’s what I mean. You’re like Ted was this morning at the Long Branch. Thinking it through, making a plan.”
Except Ted had sent gobs of people into the storm for no reason. There was only me and Roxy to find Ethan. I took off at a trot following the track road to the east, toward the oil strip. It seemed the easiest trail for a kid to take. I shouted into the fog, my voice falling to the prairie ground.
I strained to see anything moving. The constant yelling scraped my throat. I jogged a few steps. Stopped. Listened. Started again. The gravel road behind me showed old tire tracks but no sign of my footprints. If Ethan came this way, he wouldn’t have left evidence.
The rumble of the pickup was the only sound. Not even birds wanted to be out in this weather. The road formed a wide arc around the hill, and in about two miles, it connected with the oil strip.
What if Ethan hadn’t taken the road? What if he’d wandered across the pasture? Taken one of dozens of cattle trails? The usual way to find him would be to get Chester McManus, Grand County old-timer, into his Cessna to fly the hills. But nobody was going up in this weather.
I ran harder, yelled louder. The image of Ethan curled up on the prairie, those wonderful eyes closed forever, that adorable smile never lifting his lips again, urged me on.
With no sign of Ethan, I came to the oil strip. The turnoff to the Mackleprang house sat in the dip between two hills to the north and south. I hesitated. Disoriented by fog, would Ethan turn south? Would he know north led the way to town?
Close Enough Page 3
