Chapter 9
Londyn hadn’t criedwhen her grandfather had died, nor had she cried at his funeral. She’d held it together through it all, though it had hurt like someone had ripped her heart out of her chest.
Throwing herself into the spring roundup had allowed her to postpone her grief. She’d worked from early in the morning to late at night, falling into bed too exhausted to think. Then, learning she might lose the ranch had occupied her mind so completely that she wouldn’t let herself think about the empty room at the end of the hall in the ranch house.
She hadn’t slowed down long enough to process her loss until Butterscotch ran off.
Her grandfather had given her Butterscotch as a newly weaned filly six years ago. They’d worked together to train her. He’d been so proud of how she’d cared for the mare and how well she’d trained her.
Losing Butterscotch was like losing her grandfather all over again.
Because she’d had to take on the responsibility of the ranch, managing the everyday activities and the annual roundup, she hadn’t been able to afford appearing weak in front of the ranch hands.
Now, away from LJ Ranch, away from the ranch hands who expected her to be strong like her grandfather and cocooned in Nash’s arms, Londyn couldn’t hold back. The grief of losing Gramps, the fear of potentially losing her home and the stress of performing for the first time in her life all came to a head with the loss of Butterscotch.
For a handful of minutes, she ugly-cried, her tears soaking Nash’s T-shirt.
He stood still, his arms around her, holding her until she’d cried herself out.
Yeah, she could have cried longer, but crying wouldn’t get her horse back.
As she surfaced from her grief, she lifted her head. “How?”
He looked down into her eyes, still holding her close. “How what?”
“How are we going to find her?”
He looked over her shoulder in the direction the mare had run. “We need to get to the rancher who owns this place. He would be the best one to help as he’s the most familiar with the land and places the mare might go.”
She nodded. “And he might have horses or ATVs we can use to search.”
“Exactly,” Nash concurred. “Let’s get to the owner and back here as soon as possible. The longer we’re away from this location, the further the mare can go.”
Londyn nodded. Still, she hesitated, looking up into his eyes. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
Her mouth twisted into a wry grin. “For letting me soak your shirt.”
“It’ll dry.” He brushed his thumb across her damp cheek. “Are you okay now?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“Then let’s get moving.” He brushed his lips across hers, then stepped back, took her hand and walked to the truck with her. He opened and held the passenger door.
She frowned for a moment.
“I’ll drive so you can be looking out for Butterscotch,” he said.
She nodded. “Right.” Londyn climbed into the passenger seat and stared out at the vast grasslands. “She could be anywhere.”
“We’ll find her,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “We will.” She spoke the words, hoping it would happen if she said them often enough.
Nash closed her door and walked the long way around to the back of the trailer.
In the side mirror, Londyn caught glimpses of Nash as he closed the metal door of the horse trailer and secured the latch.
A sob lodged in Londyn’s throat. Butterscotch was gone. Gramps was gone.
Who next?
She shook her head and was still shaking it when Nash climbed into the driver’s seat.
He glanced her way, started the truck’s engine and shifted into drive. “I looked in the back of the trailer and didn’t see anything that would’ve spooked the mare that badly.”
Londyn stared ahead. “I’ve never seen her do anything like that. It was as if she’d temporarily lost her sanity. It’s not like her to lose her shit in the trailer or anywhere else. I raised her from a baby. She’s the calmest horse I’ve ever worked with.”
“Once we locate her, we’ll have to get a vet to check her out.” Nash pressed his foot to the accelerator, easing the truck and trailer forward on the gravel road, slowly increasing its speed.
A mile and a half later, they pulled up next to one of the production equipment trailers.
A group of people had gathered around a tall man with salt-and-pepper gray hair who was wearing blue jeans, a chambray shirt and a cowboy hat.
Nash shifted into park and climbed down from the driver’s seat.
Londyn met him at the front of the truck. “That’s the rancher, Dan Mitchell. I met him when he came to the set a few days ago to talk with Haynes.”
“Good,” Nash said. “We’ll speak with him first thing.”
They marched to the group of people, stopping in front of the rancher.
“Mr. Mitchell,” Londyn said. “We met a few days ago. I’m Londyn Tyler-Lovejoy. We need your help.”
He nodded. “I remember you. How can I help?”
After Londyn explained what had happened, Mitchell called out to one of his ranch hands. The man hurried over to him. They led Londyn and Nash to a barn, pushed open a large sliding door and strode inside.
Londyn stepped into the semi-dark interior of the barn, allowing her vision to adjust to the limited lighting.
Mitchell walked to a line of ATVs parked at the back of the barn. “Hop on. We’ll need to find the mare before that storm gets here. It’s moving faster than the weatherman predicted. Fortunately, your director postponed the cattle drive until tomorrow.”
Londyn pressed a hand to her chest, where her heart thundered against her ribs. At least she didn’t have to worry that she was holding up the film schedule. She slung a leg over the nearest ATV, studied the controls for a moment and then pressed the start button. The engine chugged several times and then engaged, roaring to life.
Nash mounted the ATV beside Londyn’s and fired up the engine.
Mitchell and his ranch hand were first out of the barn.
Londyn followed the ranch hand, and Nash followed her.
Mitchell led the way back down the gravel road they’d arrived on.
Londyn drove her ATV up to ride abreast of the rancher. When she got to the spot on the road where they’d opened the trailer, she rolled to a stop and pointed. “Butterscotch is a buckskin mare. She went that way.”
Mitchell nodded. “If she goes far enough, she’ll run into a creek where she can get water.”
“She was acting strange,” Londyn said. “Butterscotch is usually well-mannered and calm. It was as if she’d gone berserk.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Let’s find her. Then we can figure out what happened to make her run.”
The four riders spread out and raced across the huge field of gently rolling hills. At about the point Butterscotch had disappeared, the slope dipped down into a narrow valley, explaining why the horse had disappeared so quickly.
Mitchell arrived at a creek bank, stopped and dismounted.
Londyn and Nash pulled their ATVs up to Mitchell’s.
Mitchell’s ranch hand drove further down the creek bank before he stopped and dismounted.
The rancher dropped to his haunches beside the creek and stared at the ground. “We need to look up and down the length of the creek for hoof prints. As dry as the pastures are, it will be harder to see them there.”
They spread out, walking several hundred yards up and down the creek bank.
Nash stuck with Londyn, heading upstream.
Mitchell worked his way back toward where the ranch hand had parked his ATV.
The further they walked, the more desperate Londyn felt. “What if we don’t find hoof prints? The T-Bar-M Ranch is over ten thousand acres. It could take days to locate her.”
“We’ll keep looking.” Nash reached for her hand and held it as they walked along the creek.
Londyn appreciated the strength in his touch and the confidence in his tone. But what if they didn’t find Butterscotch?
“Over here!” A voice called out in the distance.
Londyn let go of Nash’s hand and spun.
The ranch hand waved his arm.
Mitchell squatted at his feet, staring at the ground.
Her heart pounding against her ribs, Londyn ran toward the two men.
Nash kept pace, his gait hampered by a bit of a limp.
When they made it to their ATVs, they mounted and continued toward Mitchell and his ranch hand.
As they approached Mitchell, he straightened to his full height and glanced across the creek.
Londyn slowed to a stop, killed the engine and jumped off the four-wheeler. “What is it?” Londyn asked.
Mitchell pointed at the mud at the edge of the stream. “Hoof prints.” Then he pointed to the opposite side of the stream where the bank rose sharply. More hoof prints, some of them smeared as if the horse slid on her way up the bank.
Londyn glanced beyond the opposite bank to more pastureland, empty of animals. Especially empty of one buckskin mare.
Her heart squeezed hard in her chest.
Nash touched her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s cross.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
“Go on,” Mitchell said. “We’ll catch up.”
Londyn turned and mounted her four-wheeler.
Nash crossed the creek first, gunning the throttle to make it up the steep bank on the other side. He pulled far enough forward and waited for Londyn.
Familiar with ATVs on her own ranch, she drove down into the streambed, splashing water up on both sides. Then she twisted the throttle, giving it enough gas to blast up the other side. Near the top, the back wheels slipped sideways in the mud.
Londyn leaned forward and pushed on. The front tires grabbed the rim of the bank and launched her over the top. Her heart racing, she slowed as she neared Nash.
“You okay?” he called out.
She nodded and kept going, heading across the grassland with no idea where the mare might have gone.
Mitchell caught up with them and pulled ahead with the ranch hand. He waved his arm to the side, indicating that they should spread out as before, covering a wider swath of land than if they went single-file.
The grassland seemed to extend a long way, with a massive hill rising in the distance. Trees lined the base of the hill and climbed the sides.
If Butterscotch was in those trees, they’d have a hell of a time seeing her. Londyn hoped that whatever had gotten the mare so upset would have worn off by the time she reached the hill. Maybe then, she’d come when she heard her name called.
Clouds built on the western horizon, roiling upward, blocking the bright sun they’d started the day with.
A flash of lightning lit up the clouds from within.
Londyn couldn’t hear thunder with the roar of the four-wheeler engine in her ears. Time was running out. If they didn’t find Butterscotch soon, they’d be caught out in the storm. If that were the case, Londyn wouldn’t give up.
She might be forced to stop her search when darkness made it impossible to go on. Already, daylight had been cut down to a faded dusk with the clouds blocking the sun. Once the sun actually set, they’d be thrown into the blackest of nights with no stars or moon to light their way.
They’d either have to call it a night and head back to the ranch soon or hunker down and survive the storm in place. None of them were dressed for cold, wet weather. If hypothermia didn’t kill them, there was always the chance of being struck by the wicked amount of lightning that accompanied storms on the Wyoming prairie.
If they were forced to postpone the search, what would happen to her mare?
As close as they were to Yellowstone National Park, they were that close to the packs of wolves that had been re-introduced to the area. They had better night vision than humans. A lone horse might be easy pickings for a healthy pack.
Tears welled in Londyn’s eyes. No. Absolutely not. Butterscotch couldn’t spend the night alone, unprotected and terrified.
There was no other choice.
They had to find her mare in the next thirty minutes.
Londyn leaned forward, pushing the ATV as fast as she could manage on the bumpy ground. As they neared the tree line, movement caught her eyes.
Dusk made it difficult to distinguish the movement in the dark shadows of the trees. A flash of cream appeared and then disappeared.
“There!” she yelled and took her hand off one handle long enough to point at the position where she’d seen the flash of cream. Londyn gripped the handle and gunned the throttle, shooting forward at breakneck speed. Every bump she hit threatened to unseat her. Twice, she was nearly thrown from her seat. Twice, she regained control and remained on course.
As she neared the tree line, she slowed, peering into the shadows. The flash of cream was nowhere to be seen.
Deep disappointment hit the pit of her belly.
A flash of lightning was quickly followed by a rumbling thunder that reverberated for several seconds.
Londyn stopped her ATV, killed the engine and walked to the edge of the trees. “Butterscotch!” she shouted.
The other ATVs stopped short of the tree line several hundred yards from where Londyn stood. Their engines made it hard to hear anything. If Butterscotch actually heard Londyn’s call and responded, Londyn wouldn’t hear her answering whinny.
Nash killed his engine, leaped from the seat onto his feet and hurried over to where Londyn stood. “Did you see something?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Londyn frowned. “I think I saw a flash cream in the tree shadows.” She shrugged. “I could be wrong.”
“Call out her name,” Nash urged.
“I did, but she might not be able to hear it over the noise of the other engines.”
“Keep calling,” Nash said.
“Butterscotch!” Londyn yelled and then shook her head. “I can’t hear anything. The other engines are echoing off the hill.”
“I’ll take care of that.” Nash ran toward the other two men who sat on their ATVs, looking up at the tree-covered hillside. “Hey!” he yelled, waving his arms.
When Mitchell finally turned toward him, Nash stopped and sliced his hand across his throat. “Cut the engines!” he yelled, knowing they couldn’t possibly hear him. He made a slicing motion across his throat again.
Mitchell turned off his ATV.
The ranch hand followed suit.
Lightning flashed overhead.
Londyn counted in her head.
One thousand and one... One thousand and two... One thousand and three... One thousand and four... One thousand and?—
Thunder cracked the sky and rumbled on for several long moments. The lightning had struck almost a mile away. They were definitely in the danger zone of being struck by lightning.
Nash hurried back to her. “We need to get out of here.”
“You’re right,” she said. “You should go and take the other two with you. It’s too dangerous to be out in a lightning storm.”
He frowned. “What about you?”
She shook her head, her gaze combing through the shadows beneath the trees. “She’s in there. I’m not leaving without her. But there’s no reason for you three to stay.”
“The hell there isn’t,” Nash said. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”
“Just stand away from me,” she said. “You’re taller than I am. Lightning is drawn to taller targets.”
Nash snorted and chuckled. “You’re a piece of work, Miss Tyler-Lovejoy.”
“And this is news to you?” she said with a cocked eyebrow. “I’m surprised my mother didn’t tell you what to expect.”
“Oh, she did,” he said. “Your horse’s name is Butterscotch?”
She nodded.
“Butterscotch!” he yelled and paused to listen.
Londyn heard nothing.
“Maybe she’ll come to your voice,” he suggested.
She nodded and yelled, “Butterscotch!”
Again, nothing moved in the shadows.
Lightning flashed.
Londyn counted. Four seconds.
When Nash drew a deep breath to yell again, Londyn laid a hand on his arm and shook her head.
“Let me try something that works when she’s out in the pasture.” She raised her fingers to her lips and emitted a long, piercing whistle.
They stood for a long moment, listening for the thunder of horse’s hooves.
The only thunder Londyn heard was from the sky.
Another flash of lightning nearly blinded them. Thunder followed immediately.
Nash cupped her elbow. “Come on, Londyn. We need to get back to the ranch before we’re struck by lightning.”
She pulled free of his grip, shaking her head. “You go. I’m not going anywhere until I find my horse.”
“I have no way to protect you from?—”
“Shhh.” A sound captured Londyn’s attention. She touched Nash’s arm. “Did you hear that?”
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
Londyn strained to hear anything. The sound came again.
“There,” Londyn said. “Did you hear that?”
“Maybe,” he said, his brow furrowing.
Her pulse whipped into high gear as she peered into the tree line. Something moved in the shadows. “Did you see that?”
“Yes.”
“Butterscotch!” Londyn yelled. “I’m here, girl!”
She started toward the trees.
Nash caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “What if it’s not the horse? It could be a wolf or a bear.” He pulled his pistol out of the holster beneath his jacket.
“That won’t stop a bear,” Londyn said. “And it’s Butterscotch. I just know it.”
“You’d bet your life on it?” he asked, refusing to release her arm.
She nodded. “It has to be her.” Londyn lifted her fingers to her lips again and blew out another sharp whistle.
An answering whinny echoed through the tree trunks.
Moments later, Butterscotch raced down a hillside and out from beneath the trees, running straight for Londyn.