Calder Storm (20 page)

Suddenly the tracks disappeared. On impulse, she reversed direction and headed back the way she came. When she arrived at the first dim trail that branched north, she took it. She hadn't traveled very far before it, too, vanished. Again she backtracked and took the next one.

Just like the others, it led nowhere, but it took longer to get there. This time Sloan ignored the lack of a trail and drove on, striking out across the open country. The decision had seemed to be a sound one until she came to the bank of a ravine that was much too steep for the truck to safely navigate. Frustrated, she switched off the engine and got out of the pickup.

The land beyond the ravine was rugged and broken, with cut banks and coulees, rising into full-scale hills in places. The sight of it drew a sigh of discouragement from her.

“I guess they call this Broken Butte for a reason,” she murmured to herself and sighed again. “So what now?”

Then she remembered Chase mentioning the ranch cook would be bringing out a noon meal. All she had to do was return to the pasture gate and wait for him to arrive. Buoyed by the thought, she scrambled into the truck and started up. Automatically she glanced at the dashboard clock. A frisson of shock went through her when she saw it was already a few minutes after one.

Certain that the cook hadn't passed her, Sloan could only conclude that he had arrived at the pasture before she did. Her best bet was to drive back to the gate and catch him before he returned to the Triple C headquarters. When the hunger pangs struck, she was glad Cat had insisted she take a packed lunch with her.

 

Well over a century old, the timbered barn cast a long shadow onto the ranch yard, shading the stock trailer parked in front of it from the glare of the late afternoon sun. One by one the saddled
horses were unloaded, each rider claiming his mount as it came off.

When a sweat-caked red dun backed out of the trailer, Trey stepped forward to catch its reins. At almost the same instant, his side vision registered the familiar shape of his mother crossing the ranch yard toward him. Hot, dusty, and tired after all day in the saddle, he grudgingly led his horse to the side and waited, knowing she would want a report.

“I thought you'd be back an hour ago,” Jessy said when she reached him. “What took you so long?”

“I didn't want to hurry them in this heat. They walked off enough weight as it was,” Trey stated with a certain bluntness that came from fatigue.

“That was wise.” She made it a statement, not a compliment.

When he noticed the way she scanned the trailer, Trey assumed she was looking for Laredo. “Laredo's in the barn putting his horse up.”

She nodded absently. “Where's Sloan? Didn't she come back with you?”

Thrown by the question, Trey frowned. “What are you talking about? I haven't seen her since this morning. Isn't she at the house?”

“No.” It was Jessy's turn to look confused. “She told Chase she was driving out to Broken Butte. She wanted to take pictures of the cattle being gathered and trailed to the new pasture. Are you saying she never showed up?”

“No.” An uneasiness flickered through him. Almost of its own volition his gaze scanned the main road that led west, the one Sloan would have taken. Annoyance replaced the uneasiness when he thought of the camera. “Knowing Sloan, it doesn't take much to distract her when she has a camera in her hands. She's probably out there somewhere right now waiting for the sun to shift to the right angle. Hell, she could even be waiting for a sunset scene.”

“Maybe,” Jessy conceded. “Just the same, I can't help thinking that she hasn't been here long enough to know her way around the ranch. One wrong turn and she could easily get lost. And if we
need to search for her, I'd much rather do it while there's some daylight left.”

“Let's don't throw that loop until we need to,” Trey replied. “She'll be back, you'll see.”

Moving off, he led his horse into the barn, unsaddled it, grained it, and gave it a good rubdown before turning it out in the corral with the other horses. But there was still no sign of Sloan, and the sun sat on the lip of the horizon, flooding the western sky with a spectacular mixture of crimson and coral. Trey knew it was just the sort of thing that would appeal to Sloan.

He started for the house, then veered sharply to the ranch pickup, his jaw clenched in anger, certain he was worrying without cause. Yet Trey also knew it wouldn't be the first time a newcomer to the Triple C had become the subject of a search party.

When he pulled away from the barn, he spotted Laredo and rolled the window down to call to him. “Let my mother know that I've gone to look for Sloan. Either she forgot to take her cell phone, or she's turned it off, but I couldn't raise her. Tell Mom not to do anything until she hears from me.”

Without waiting for a reply, he drove off.

Nowhere along the road back to Broken Butte did Trey find any trace of Sloan. Along the way he'd met one pickup, but Sloan hadn't been behind the wheel of it.

As twilight settled over the land, thickening its shadows, he switched on the headlights and started to reach for his cell phone, then changed his mind, deciding to check one more stretch of road before ordering searchers out. When he arrived at the intersection with the main road, Trey turned right, acting on the assumption that Sloan had missed the turnoff.

With the headlight beams on high, he drove slowly over the next five miles, constantly scanning the ditches on either side of the road on the off chance Sloan had driven into one of them. Reluctantly, Trey took out his cell phone and flipped it open. In the next second, he spotted something just beyond the reach of his headlights.

Sloan trotted into view, frantically waving an arm to flag him down. The sight of the camera case, firmly clutched in her other arm, brought his teeth firmly together. He braked to a stop and made his phone call.

When his mother answered, he said somewhat tersely, “I found her. She's fine.”

“Thank God—” Trey flipped the phone shut, breaking the connection as Sloan pulled open the passenger door, flooding the cab's interior with light.

“Trey. Am I ever glad to see you.” Relief was in her voice, made a little breathless from the sprint to the truck. But it was the radiance in her expression that had him wondering if it was for him or the afterglow of a satisfying day spent with her camera. She scrambled onto the passenger seat and slumped in weariness. “I had just about decided I would have to walk all the way back.”

“What happened? Where's the truck?”

“Back there.” She pointed into the darkness. “The left rear tire went flat, and I couldn't find a jack to change it.”

“I've got a jack with me. We'll go change it.” Trey put the truck in gear and continued down the road. “Why didn't you call? Isn't your cell phone working?”

“I didn't bring it. Can you believe that?” Sloan said in disgust. “I had it laid out with all the rest of my equipment, but somehow it didn't end up in my bag.” She sat up, her attention focusing on the road ahead of them. “Take a right at the next turnoff.”

Trey slowed the truck to make the turn. “I thought you were on your way to Broken Butte. How did you wind up here?”

“Obviously, I turned onto the wrong road.” She seemed completely untroubled by her mistake. “There's a pasture gate about three miles farther. That's where the truck is.”

“Are you telling me it took you all day to figure out you were in the wrong place?” His gaze narrowed on her in disbelief.

“Not hardly,” she scoffed. “I stopped a bunch of places to take some pictures, so it must have been close to noon before I got here.” She turned sideways in the seat, her expression all earnest
and curious. “There were all these dim trails crisscrossing the area. I must have driven over every one of them thinking I'd find you—or someone. Finally I went back to the gate. Chase had mentioned they would be bringing out a noon meal. So I thought I'd catch whoever it was when he left. It was probably after three before it sunk in that I wasn't at Broken Butte. Right after that, I discovered I had a flat tire. But I couldn't figure out why there are so many old trails that didn't seem to lead anywhere. Was that a former site of one of your outlying camps?”

“No. You were wandering around the old oil field. Those trails are what's left of the roads Dy-Corp used to service the wells.” The pickup's headlights illuminated the pasture and exposed the pickup's dark shape just beyond it.

“There's oil on the Triple C?” Sloan said in surprise.

“There was.” Trey pulled up to the gate. “The wells have been capped for years.”

Leaving the engine running and the lights on, Trey piled out of the cab and retrieved the jack, then unlatched the gate and walked to the rear of the other truck. Sloan wasn't far behind him, but she stopped to stow her camera bag inside the disabled truck before she joined him at the back.

Trey never looked up from his task or said a single word, just went about the business of removing the flat tire and replacing it with the spare in briskly efficient fashion. Sloan was confused by his continued silence. When she thought back over the short ride, she realized he had been a bit cool and abrupt with her.

“Were you worried about me, Trey?”

He shot her a cutting glance, then went back to tightening the wheel nuts. “What do you think?” He continued tightening the wheel nuts, grim and tight-lipped

“I was fine,” Sloan replied in easy assurance. To her that made all the difference.

With the spare tire in place, Trey removed the jack and stood up, his hard gaze connecting with hers only briefly. “I know.” He brushed past her. “You're all set. I'll follow you back.”

He walked to the gate, swung it open, then climbed back in his pickup and reversed it onto the road. As soon as Sloan drove through the opening, he got out and closed the gate while she waited for him.

Trey followed her taillights all the way back to The Homestead and held the front door open for her. “I can't decide what I'm looking forward to the most,” Sloan declared as she walked by, “hot shower or food. I'm starving.”

Trey had no opportunity to respond even if he had been so inclined. Seconds after they walked in, the entire family descended on them. Never breaking stride, Trey continued straight to the staircase, leaving Sloan to field all their questions.

The hat came off the minute he entered the master suite. He gave it a fling at the couch in their newly redecorated sitting room and walked straight into the bedroom, pushed by a nameless anger.

In short order he stripped out of his trail-stained clothes and stepped into the spacious new shower. He scrubbed away the day's caked grit and sweat with rough impatience and emerged from the shower in no better mood than when he had stepped under the spray.

With a towel wrapped around his middle and his wet hair finger-combed into a semblance of order, Trey padded into the bedroom just as Sloan entered it, still toting the camera case. His glance flicked over her.

“The shower's yours.” He continued on his way to the tall bureau.

“Thanks,” Sloan murmured absently and set the camera case on a chair cushion, then slipped off her cap and shook loose her hair. “Your mother just told me that she was getting ready to organize a search party to look for me. I never realized everybody was so concerned when I didn't show up at dinner time.”

“We've had experience with people getting lost before.”

She gave him a look of mild reproof. “I wasn't lost, Trey. I just took a wrong turn.”

He turned from the underwear drawer, eyeing her with cool
challenge. “You not only didn't know where you were going, but you didn't know where you were. If that isn't lost, what do you call it?”

Stung by the sharp bite of his voice, Sloan glared at him in annoyance. “That isn't true. I knew where I was going. Cat gave me directions. And I can assure you I would have made my way back if that tire hadn't gone flat.”

“That's all that matters to you, isn't it?” Temper claimed him, rooting him to the spot. “You don't give a damn about who might have been worrying about you.”

“Of course I do. How can you say that?” Sloan stiffened in indignation.

“Actions speak louder than words. I noticed you managed to pack all your camera equipment.” He flung a hand in the direction of the case. “Yet you forgot to take your phone.”

“You make it sound deliberate. I told you it was an oversight. Why are you so angry?” she demanded in frustration, upset and confused by his attack.

“Why?” The word exploded from him, and Trey had to make a conscious effort to rein in his anger. But it lay tight in his voice. “It couldn't be because you took off—with no good idea of where you were going—and ended up in the wrong place. And what do you do? You go driving across broken country—by yourself—without a soul knowing where you are. You ended up with only a flat tire, but you could just as easily have rolled the truck and been knocked unconscious or worse. And God only knows where-all you went with that camera. You could have been snakebit or stepped in a prairie-dog hole and broken a leg. Do you have any idea how long it might have taken us to find you?”