Chapter 23 Lara #2
At one time, there’d been a river that cut through Stonewall Ranch, gouging a trench in the mountains and leaving behind, as its only remnant, an oblong lake I matched to the map in Calder’s RV: Lima Bean Lake.
Underneath a small shelter was a rack of canoes and paddleboards, and for a second, it struck me how many thousands upon thousands of visitors came to the Tetons every year and filled up Jenny Lake, paying for the exact same activities that the Stone family had grown up enjoying in privacy.
Colby scanned the perimeter with binoculars and pointed to the far side, the third clue tethered to a fishing hook on the farthest pebbled shore.
The lake led to a stretch of boulders, the boulders led into the fields, and the field turned us back into the forest.
For two hours, we followed Creighton’s clues, searching for Colby’s missing pet. Along the way, I was introduced to some of the celebrities framed in her room. Boris, the one-eared bunny; Minx, the three-legged cat; and Cy, short for Cyclops, Minx’s brother. You could guess how his name came about.
The search took us to what felt like the far ends of the ranch property, though realistically, we couldn’t have walked more than a few miles.
She pointed out Callum’s house, not realizing I’d already been there, and a rock wall she told me they called Free Fall, which led into a rambling story about how they’d all trained to climb it, as reaching the top was a rite of passage in the Stone family.
Then there was a tree house she’d built with Cassius, and an old barn that housed a few horses and, apparently, her brother Colton when he didn’t want to be found.
“It had to be the Doritos,” Colby muttered, stomping through the brush toward some tree the final clue referred to.
“Doritos?”
“Donnie’s weakness is Doritos, and I’ve tried to hide that from Creighton, but he must’ve figured it out, because he’s tried to catch Donnie before.
Many times. But Donnie knows Creighton is enemy number one.
” She sighed, stepping over a fallen tree trunk.
“The only way he would’ve been caught is Doritos. ”
“A duck that likes Doritos?”
“We all have our weaknesses.” She winked at me, and my throat felt strangled shut.
I wished my weakness was Doritos and not her oldest brother.
“Aha!” She jogged over to some brush and pulled off the next clue, tacked to a tree trunk.
“Is this the tree?”
“No, but we’re close . . .” She trailed off, and when she held the paper to me, I saw the fumes coming from her ears.
Trees are tall.
Creighton is the winner.
Colby is too small.
To save Donnie from becoming dinner.
My brows popped up. The tone of his clues was devolving.
“He won’t really eat him,” Colby assured me . . . and maybe herself, too. “But once we find Donnie . . .” She flew a hot stream of fury through her lips. “I’m going to burn his little black book on a pile of his expensive tea leaves.”
She angled toward the sky, shading her eyes with her hand.
“Black book?” I followed.
“Where he keeps track of all his booty calls.”
“Men still do that?”
“Creighton isn’t ‘men.’ Creighton is . .
. a moron. Brilliant. Eccentric. But one hundred percent moron,” she informed me, her narrowed eyes swinging from treetop to treetop.
“I don’t understand how women are attracted to him.
” She winced. “I guess I don’t really want to, either, but that book has all the information on women who want to be his booty calls. ”
“How do you even know about it?”
She sighed. “Well, one time, I wanted Donnie to steal Creighton’s diary from his room, but I didn’t realize the black book wasn’t his diary until Donnie stole it.
Unfortunately, I was so grossed out by what I was not expecting to find that I immediately threw it back into Creighton’s room rather than swallowing down the urge to vomit and using the information for an elite prank. ”
It didn’t take much imagination to think of all the ways Colby could’ve wreaked a little havoc on her brother’s love life with the contact information of his “booty calls.”
“Donnie!” Colby screeched and sprinted over the hazard-laden forest floor like it was paved flat until she reached a towering pine about twenty feet ahead of us.
My gaze climbed the trunk. Higher. And higher. And higher. Sure enough, from one of the top-most branches hung a large cage housing a very cranky duck, who squawked with what sounded like recognition on hearing Colby call his name.
Walking around the entirety of the trunk, she turned back to me and blurted out, “Shitballs.”
It would’ve been funny if there weren’t a duck hanging from a tree.
“Do you have to climb to get him?”
She shook her head. “No, but that’s what he wanted me to do first. Jerk,” she muttered under her breath and then pointed to the knot of rope securing the wooden cage to the thick branch above.
“He cut the rope. So even if I climbed to the top, I couldn’t lower the cage safely to the ground, and I won’t be able to reach to open the latch.
” Following the movement of her finger, I saw that the hook keeping the cage closed was on the side farthest from the tree.
“So how does he expect you to free—” I stopped because she was already reaching into her backpack.
“I’m going to shoot the latch.” She grinned and my mouth fell open.
“You’re going to shoot that tiny little hook?” And not hit the duck?
Her smile stretched wider as she moved into position. “Creighton knows I’m the best marksman in the family.” She raised her handgun and closed one eye. “It annoys him, but that’s why he set this up this way. A test to prove I’m still the best.”
Well, I was glad she was sure—I flinched when her gun fired and the cage went spinning. Donnie didn’t like the Tilt-A-Whirl, but she ignored his quacks. When the cage slowed, she mumbled a curse. Her shot had nicked the latch but not enough to open it.
I looked back at Colby, and she murmured softly, “Always fire between breaths.” I watched her exhale depress her upper body until there was nothing left but pure stillness.
This time, I didn’t jerk when she fired at the cage. It spun again, but now with success. Her shot hit the latch and the bottom of the cage dropped out and Donnie took to the skies.
Or at least, he coasted through the trees, slowly descending as he reached the edge of the woods.
“Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. I left a whole bag of Doritos out for him back at his pool.” She holstered her weapon and returned it to her backpack.
“I can’t believe you made that shot,” I murmured, severely impressed.
“Thanks.” She beamed and we started in the direction of the escaped duck. “If you’re sticking around, I’m happy to teach you. Even Calder will tell you I’m the best shot in the family.”
I swallowed an instant surge of bitterness. She had no idea just how little her oldest brother actually wanted to tell me.
As soon as we cleared the trees, Colby held up her hand. “Wait.” Her head cocked. “Do you hear that?”
I listened, and then, hearing nothing, closed my eyes and listened again.
“Come with me.” She didn’t leave me much choice before taking off in a direction that was kind of close to the way we’d come.
I caught up and kept close. Donnie waddled off as soon as we reached the fields, and that was when I heard what Colby was talking about. A rhythmic sound that echoed to the tune of a heartbeat. Thump, thump. Pause. Thump, thump. And it was coming from the partially restored barn.
“Colton?” Colby called, jogging toward the structure and disappearing inside for a solid minute before I reached the open barn door, stopping to catch my breath.
Or so I thought.
As it turned out, there was going to be no catching of breath, when inside the barn was a shirtless, sweaty Calder, one wrapped hand resting on top of a punching bag that hung suspended from a thick beam, the heavy weight still swaying from the impact of his last punch.
Biceps brachii. Triceps brachii. Deltoids. Pectorals. Rectus abdominus. This time, the Latin left clues that brought me right back to where I’d started: dangerously attracted to my sister’s ex-boyfriend.
“You shouldn’t be boxing with a stab wound,” I said, watching him go still.
Calder straightened his spine and his shoulders to roll back. He swiveled his head to me, and his jaw locked familiarly into place. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his short hair glistened in the lowering sunlight that filtered through the distorted planks of the barn.
“It’s a cut, and it’s still sealed shut,” he ground out, sounding like he had just as much experience exerting himself while injured as I had in treating emergency wounds.
His chest rose and fell rapidly from exertion, the pace just as quick as when he’d held me. Touched me. Kissed me.
At my side, my fingers twitched, itching to ground themselves to him. To slide over muscle and sinew, ligaments and bones, and absorb every inch of the man who looked as chiseled as if he’d been carved from his namesake.
A horse neighed.
“I know, Achilles. I know I should’ve brought treats,” Colby murmured, walking over to the closest stall and letting the horse nibble in her hand as she glanced at the neighboring empty stall.
“I guess Colton isn’t back.” She returned to her interrogation, worry marking a blip in her brow, obviously having hoped to find a different Stone inside the barn, pummeling the heavy bag.
“No.” Calder reached down and grabbed his water bottle, downing several swigs as I approached. “What are you doing out here?” He grabbed a towel and began to pat himself down.
“Creighton duck-napped Donnie, so we were—” Colby stopped short, realizing the question hadn’t been directed at her, then noticing the way Calder was looking—glaring—at me. “You know what, I’m going to check the back pasture for Colt and Ajax.”
“He’s not—” Calder tried to stop her, but there was no point; she was already gone. And it was just the two of us again.