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“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.”
