Chapter Three
Early the next morning, Hayden headed toward the barn at the Bennett Ranch. He had some chores to do before returning Gran to Oak Hill.
He paused outside the wide double doors, taking a moment to admire the grand, snow-covered mountain range rimming the valley. There had been no mountains and little snow in Oklahoma. Nothing to remind Hayden how small a man was in the scheme of things.
“Hey, boss.” Roddy, the only ranch hand left, greeted Hayden. The wiry old cowboy with age-bent shoulders lived in the small log cabin behind the barn. It had been part of the original Bennett homestead. “I thought you’d taken the old red-and-white truck out this morning.”
“Why would you think that?” Hayden stopped at Red’s stall, giving the big chestnut gelding a piece of carrot he’d brought from the house.
“Uh…” Roddy removed his straw cowboy hat and scratched at his thin white hair, looking confused. “Because it’s gone. Who else would take the truck?”
“Gran.” Adrenaline pumped through Hayden’s veins quicker than floodwaters filled the gully out back during an overly warm spring thaw. He ran to the barn doorway, surveying the ranch yard for the vehicle Cuthbert had dropped off last night.
Sure enough, the old red-and-white truck Gran had driven into town yesterday was gone. And there were signs in the gravel that someone had taken off in a hurry—deep wheel ruts, curved sharply toward…
Hayden turned.
The back pasture, a mere ten thousand acres.
Gran, what in the world have you done?
“But Irene ain’t here,” Roddy said, still standing near Red’s stall.
“She is.” Hayden shook his head. “She was. Last night.” He hadn’t seen Gran this morning and since it was early, he hadn’t checked her bedroom, assuming she was still asleep.
If she hits her head, it could be game over.
Hayden’s mouth went dry. “I’ll ride out to look for her. You stay here in case she comes back. Keep your phone handy, Roddy. We might need an ambulance.” But he prayed they wouldn’t.
Hayden spent the next hour riding fast along the forest perimeter, following a track of trampled grass left by Gran’s truck tires. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her.
The urgency… The desperation…
It reminded Hayden of a similar ride he’d made after Mom left and Dad died, all in the same year. Hayden had been fourteen, and the Bennett boys had just come to live with Gran and Grandpa. Filled with a volatile combination of grief and anger, the boys quickly gained a reputation as troublemakers.
Hayden’s younger brother, Colt, had the most trouble adjusting. He’d run away one day. No one could find him at the ranch proper. While Grandpa had driven into town to look for him, it was Hayden who’d followed a hunch. He’d saddled up and ridden out on the range. And his hunch paid off.
He’d found Colt near a locked gate leading to the federal forest, tears spent, fists clenched, and shoulders shaking.
Hayden hadn’t yelled or lectured. He’d just gotten off his horse, hugged Colt, and told him, “We Bennett brothers need to stick together. That’s how we get through this.
” Mom’s washing her hands of them and Dad unexpectedly dying.
“Don’t run. Don’t punch. Don’t cuss.” It was the oddest thing.
Hayden hadn’t rehearsed what to say. But after he spoke, he saw it clearly.
No one was going to help them find peace but the Bennetts themselves.
And with their grandparents’ help, the Bennett boys hadn’t turned out so bad.
The wind buffeted Hayden, knocking the past back. Red lengthened his stride up a small rise. The gelding was as sure-footed as a cat. Cats reminded Hayden of kitty cat cake pops, little blond girls in pink tutus, and Evie.
Folks need to get out of their own messes, even folks I’m fond of.
His refusal of her marriage proposal nagged at him, reawakening his need to rescue and care for others, to help them through the hard stuff. Instincts he’d locked away for the better part of a decade, focusing only on himself.
Hayden boxed up those urges, storing them behind layers of scarred-over hurt so he could focus on the task at hand—finding Gran.
Cattle trotted out of Hayden’s way when they saw him galloping closer.
Birds swooped in their path, chasing after bugs.
Red had a mile-eating gallop, smooth and swift.
If Gran had driven off at a speed of thirty miles an hour, Hayden should have caught up to her by now.
And yet, he found nothing. Each rise revealed another empty pasture and more tire tracks.
But no red-and-white truck. No Gran.
His mind touched upon all the worst-case scenarios.
On a ranch, there were dozens of ways to get hurt.
In a vehicle, Gran could drive into a ditch, clip a fence post, stumble out of the truck and into a prairie dog hole, get trampled by a territorial bull.
As soon as he found her, he’d need to take preventative measures to ensure her continued safety—siphon the gas out of that truck, let the air out of her tires, hide the keys to all vehicles, even the tractor.
Hayden and Red topped another rise, and finally—finally—the old truck came into view.
Relief shuddered through Hayden, making his hands shake. He gave his gelding a hearty pat on the neck, discharging some of that pent-up tension. “We found her, Red.”
Almost.
Coming closer, Hayden drew the gelding into a slow walk, surveying the scene. The driver’s side truck door was open, and Gran’s battered straw cowboy hat was on the red bench seat. But Gran was nowhere to be seen.
“Gran!” Hayden shouted, scanning the grass around the truck to see if her footsteps had bent the fronds in passing. “Gran!”
“I’m right here. No need to shout.” His grandmother inched her way out from under the truck on her back, looking hale and hearty. “Something’s wrong with the truck. I think it finally gave up the ghost.”
More likely, she ran out of gas.
“I didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Hayden dismounted and flicked Red’s reins over his head, letting them drop to the ground, a cue to the chestnut that he needed to stay put. Then Hayden helped Gran to her feet and gave her a glad-you’re-okay embrace. “Don’t drive off like that. I was worried.”
“I’m fine. No need to fuss,” she said in a small voice that nearly got lost against his chest. “I crawled under the truck looking for oil leaks or dropped transmissions.”
“Right.” Hayden held her at arm’s length, registering the clarity in her brown eyes and the slight color in her cheeks. He picked a few blades of yellow grass from her short white hair. “You’re lucky I—”
“Oh, don’t give me the lucky I found you speech.” Gran returned to the truck and retrieved her straw cowboy hat, setting it briskly on her head. “I know where I am. I’ve been roaming this ranch since before you were born. I could have walked back and made it home in time for lunch.”
Hayden held his tongue and took a moment to try to start the truck. It was a no-go. He faced his grandmother, arms crossed. “What gives, Gran? After your stroke, you’ve wandered about Oak Hill, around town, and now around here. What’s got you roaming?”
“Why…” Her gaze drifted toward the tree line where tall pines moved gently with the wind. “Did you say stroke?”
“Yes. You had a stroke three weeks ago.” It wasn’t the first time he’d reminded her of this.
When Gran’s attention turned back to Hayden, her gaze seemed vacant. “A stroke?”
“Yes, but let’s focus on today.” Something she might remember. Hayden placed his hands on her thin shoulders. “Why did you drive out here?”
“I thought I…” Gran stared toward the pines once more. “You don’t want to hear anything I have to say.”
And nothing he said would convince her otherwise.
Hayden called Roddy and instructed him to drive to them with a truck and a chain to tow the old rig home. If all went well, he hoped to return Gran to the safety of Oak Hill by lunchtime.
*
“Mom, you didn’t turn on the coffeemaker.” Eve checked the time—late—and the insulated travel mug in her hand—empty. Then she pressed the coffee machine’s power button and sighed.
It’s going to be another one of those days.
The distress of her ill-chosen lie to family court cramped Eve’s gut like nausea brought on by bad pork. It clung bitterly to the back of her throat and made her palms sweat. But she refused to panic. Yet.
From the kitchen table came the sound of furious coloring. Katie wanted to make a picture before leaving for preschool. She balanced on her knees in a chair, bent over her work. Today, she’d chosen to wear a blue calico dress over blue jeans.
“I thought I pressed start on the coffee machine.” Mom came to stand next to Eve, holding a coffee mug and staring at the ancient machine as if it had personally betrayed her. “I’m sorry. I usually pour creamer into my mug after I press start. But there’s creamer in my mug so…”
“You were interrupted.” This was nothing new.
Mom had always been easily distracted and forgetful.
Losing her keys, missing appointments, starting one project only to leave it unfinished to focus on another.
When Mom had worked as an intake clerk at the urgent care clinic in Marietta, her ability to switch gears had been an asset. Now that she was retired…
Eve sighed. Her mother’s lack of focus didn’t matter. Mom was Mom. Eve loved her for who she was. The same way Vi and Mom loved Eve for who she was.
But I really needed coffee this morning.
Because she’d slept fitfully last night, her mind bouncing about, from things she should have said to Steven to things she shouldn’t have said to Hayden, neither of which helped her case when it came to the judge expecting her to be married soon.
If only she could move on emotionally from Hayden being the right choice for temporary matrimony.
I blame my long-ago romantic fantasies for that.
And if only Hayden hadn’t turned down her marriage proposal.
I blame Violet for that.