Making A Texas Cowboy (Home at Last Texas #1)

Chapter Thirty-One

W hen her phone signaled, Nic realized she should have upped the volume. If it hadn’t been for the vibration, she never would have known over the noise of the storm. There was thunder coming from all sides, some a distant rumble with only a lighting of the clouds, some a ferocious crack too close on the heels of a sizzling, jagged streak of pure white across the sky.

She pulled Sass to a halt and yanked it out of her pocket, a little difficult given she’d swear even the inside of the pocket was wet. Once she had it, she saw it was a text from Shane Highwater, and called out to Jackson.

“It’s Shane. He didn’t find Jeremy yet, but he found Pie.”

“Where?” He said it calmly enough, but she was attuned to him now, and heard the undertone of rising tension in his voice.

“Over near the chute.”

His jaw tightened. “He likes that spot.”

She wasn’t surprised. She’d loved it herself as a kid, that little narrowing of the stream just before it reached the sharp-edged drop-off of the small stone plateau. It was only about four feet tall, but it had all the dynamics of a big waterfall, only kid-sized, as her father used to say. The problem was that now, in this storm, the cheerfully flowing, safely shallow stream that crossed the ranch would be a torrent. It would be bigger, faster, and in particular at the chute, quite possibly dangerous if Jeremy got too close or tried to splash in it as she’d often done.

He wheeled Shade around and headed west at a faster pace than she was comfortable with under the circumstances. But the thought of Jeremy out here in this—maybe hurt, if Shane had found Pie roaming loose, although she didn’t want to plant that idea—was like a spur jabbing her side, too, and she kept even with him, trusting Sass’s steadiness.

They were nearing the chute when she spotted another rider coming in from the north. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the area long enough for her to see the big palomino, and she knew it had to be Chance’s Dorado.

She pointed him out to Jackson. “Chance.”

“The dog guy?”

“Yes. His horse makes him pretty unmistakable.”

“Flashy,” Jackson said.

She laughed, making it light intentionally and purposefully. “Yes. We rag on him all the time, such a flashy mount for the unflashiest guy around. But he’s a good, solid ranch horse, for all his beauty. And count yourself among the few people who have seen Chance actually wearing a cowboy hat. He usually sticks to baseball-style caps, like you do. But there’s nothing like that full brim in the rain.”

She was chattering on purpose, trying to distract him. And in the next flash, she saw him looking at her, and knew he knew that. She also saw the palomino change direction, heading for them. Apparently, Jackson either saw or sensed it, too, because he turned to look.

“Did you see what looks like a big backpack he’s wearing?” she asked. “It’s something the military uses, if they have to carry their K9s.”

“Looks occupied,” he said, with a credible effort at matching her tone.

“Yes. He wouldn’t want the dog trying to keep up in this. Saves energy for the search.”

She couldn’t even see him in the darkness between flashes, but she still knew he’d tensed up again. She supposed just the idea of a dog in this search made it that much more real.

By the time Chance pulled the big palomino to a halt, she could see the dog’s head over his shoulder. It was almost the same shade as the golden horse.

“Your new boy?” she asked.

The lean, wiry man nodded. “Maverick. My friend had started him in SAR training before he had to leave.”

“Oh!” She hadn’t known that. “We brought Jeremy’s pajamas.”

“Good call,” Chance said approvingly, and like most who knew the man, his approval truly meant something to her.

“Won’t the rain have wiped out any scent?” Jackson asked as she dug the plastic bag they’d put them in out of her saddlebag.

“Depends on how hard it’s been raining and how long. Light or short rain can actually help. It’s heat and dry that destroys scent the quickest. This has been heavy, but not for too long.” He shrugged. “We won’t know until we know.”

“Here.” She handed the bag to the man whose service had put that touch of gray in his dark hair.

Chance took it with a nod and then looked over at Jackson. “We’ll find your boy.”

He wheeled Dorado around before either of them could answer, and continued in the direction they’d been going. Ten minutes later, they all reined in as they reached the area below the small falls.

“Try yelling for him first,” Nic suggested to Jackson.

When he did, Nic drew back slightly at the volume. Clearly, the man knew how to harness the power of his voice, something she guessed he’d had to do in his work on occasion. But it was unleashed now, projected out so boomingly it had her wondering if he’d ever done stage work. And feeling a little silly that she didn’t know. But they’d spent most of their time together... together. Discovering new things, not lingering on the old.

There was no answer that they could hear. By then, Chance had dismounted, ground-tied Dorado, and freed the dog he’d been lugging from the sling on his back. He opened the plastic bag and held it level with the head of the dog—who appeared to be a golden retriever, not one of the more severe and lethal breeds Chance usually dealt with, and she realized this must be the one Maggie had mentioned.

The dog’s head dipped, then he practically buried his nose in the cloth of the pajamas. Chance said something she didn’t catch, other than it was in a tone of command. The dog spun around and started off, sniffing fiercely, seemingly at both ground and air. He seemed to be working in a pattern, back and forth before moving forward, along the edge of the now-rushing stream.

They followed a few feet back, to stay out of the dog’s way. She noticed Jackson was still searching visually, his head constantly turning as he looked from side to side. When it came to his son, he obviously wasn’t putting all his eggs in any one basket. So it was Jackson who spotted the other rider coming toward them from upstream, above the chute.

“Pie,” he said, his tone sharp.

She looked up and saw the pony, its markings visible even in the dark of the storm, being led toward them. And the stature and easy grace of the man in the saddle confirmed his identity—Shane Highwater. He was making some sort of hand gesture upstream, and she realized he was making it for Chance, who had probably spotted him long before they had.

“Shane,” she said to Jackson. As she said it, the rider veered slightly away from the stream, away from them. She sensed Jackson’s reaction and said quickly, “He must be making sure he doesn’t get in the dog’s way.”

“It looked like they were communicating,” he said, his eyes darting from one man to the other.

“No doubt. In whatever cop-to-military sign language there is.”

Jackson looked back to where Chance Rafferty was barely visible in the darkness and rain, but the golden dog stood out. And then Shane was there, and she could see the pony was wet, and muddy from hooves almost to knees. But only there, which was a relief. Whatever had happened, he’d kept to his feet.

“Found him just above the chute,” Shane said. “He’s not hurt, and it doesn’t look like he went down.” He looked at Jackson. “We’ll find your boy. If we haven’t in”—he glanced at his watch—“the next thirteen minutes, we’ll go to the next stage, which is calling out the full team.” He switched his gaze back to Nic. “Maggie and your mom are standing by to make the calls. Sean’s already out with your dad, and Elena’s ready to open up Valencia’s if we need to feed a crew.”

She nodded, then glanced at Jackson. He looked a little stunned. And she thought she knew why. “Welcome to Last Stand,” she said softly.

Another flash lit the sky. But the thunder rolled this time, not cracked, and the time between told her it wasn’t as close as it had been. Then a piercing whistle cut through the night. Shane wheeled his horse around, saying only, “Stay back a little until we know what we’ve got.”

Jackson was already started after him, but Nic repeated Shane’s warning. “There’s been enough rain that three horses tromping through could cause a problem. I know how you feel, truly, but give Shane time to check.”

“Ask the impossible, why don’t you?” Jackson muttered. But he reined in a little.

“Why not? You’ve already done it for me once.”

His head snapped around. “Done what?”

“The impossible. You made me fall in love with you.”

For an instant, time seemed to freeze. Jackson was just staring at her, and in the next flash of lightning, she saw his expression. It was a tangle, as if he couldn’t believe she’d chosen now—which figured, because neither could she—and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.

And as they rode on, she wondered if that was because the man in the fancy car had won, and he had decided to go back.