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“That,” Keller said, his tone icy and his gaze the same, “is taking this silly hostility between you and Britt too far. Way too far.”
Cody gave a sharp shake of his head, stung by his usually slow to rile brother’s reaction. “It’s not that. It’ll take too long. Changing the drone, I mean. And I think I—” He cut himself off. He didn’t want to say what he thought, what he suspected, in case his gut was wrong. So he said instead, “I’ll cover the ridgeline. She rides up that way a lot. I’ve seen her before.”
“Steep climb,” Ry said. “On uneven ground.”
“I can understand her doing that, it’s good balance conditioning for a horse,” Mom said, seeming to have forgiven him for his abrupt refusal. Or at least not making an issue of it now. “All right. First aid kits, everyone.”
“And make sure you’ve all got a weapon and ammo in case she’s in a bad cell spot,” Keller said as they turned to go. “Two quick shots if you find her. Three if it’s a mistake.”
“Why two or three?” Lucas asked as they headed for the door.
“In case you have to take out a snake or coyote with one.” Leave it to Keller to think of that. Cody ran back to his lair to switch to his boots and grab his own slicker. At least his brother was thinking; he couldn’t seem to.
He couldn’t think of anything beyond what his gut was screaming at him. Because what he’d said was nothing less than the truth. Britt did ride the ridgeline. Regularly. And it was a half-hour ride, give or take a minute. And his drone had crashed a little over that half hour ago.
And his gut was screaming that yes, he’d been in the ozone long enough that the out-of-control drone could have slid across the boundary into Roth airspace.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it hadn’t. Or maybe she hadn’t been there at all today. Maybe something else had spooked the easily spookable Ghost.
Maybe.
Too bad he couldn’t convince his roiling gut.
Her getting tossed and ending up with a bruise was one thing.
Her getting tossed and ending up being unable to control her horse—Britt Roth, the toughest rider he knew after Keller and probably his mother—was something else altogether. She would never, ever let her precious Ghost loose like that if she could stop her.
Which meant she couldn’t.
Which meant she was in trouble. Bad trouble.
Trey looked at him as if he were crazy when he mounted up and headed out into the rain. He gave the horse a pat. “Yes, I mean it,” he muttered. Trey snorted, shook his head, but stepped out of the barn as ordered.
He wasn’t a cowboy hat kind of guy, but he’d borrowed an old one of Keller’s at Mom’s insistence, and as the rain was directed down the back of the slicker he’d put on instead of the back of his neck, he definitely saw the point.
“Sorry, buddy,” he said to the horse who was already wet. “At least it’s not too cold.”
He took the shortest route he knew, straight to the ridge. There were a couple of spots that were very rocky and got slick in the rain, but he hoped they’d get through that before it got too bad.
When he reached the stream it still looked fairly normal. Depending on how much rain this storm dumped, it could be a mess before it was over, and he hoped Mom stayed safe. But she knew this land they loved better than any of them, so she’d be okay.
He rode up the other side and made the swing toward the ridge. He didn’t dare guess at where he’d lost his mental focus, he had to start at the spot where he knew the drone had begun following the limestone wall. He had to go slower than he wanted to so he could look in all directions. And the rain wasn’t helping any, but at least there hadn’t been any lightning nearby. Yet. He’d heard a rumble a minute ago, but it was still well distant and muted. Not that Trey’s head hadn’t come up sharply.
“I know, boy. It’s still okay,” he murmured to the horse. For a while longer.
If the storm built and the lightning got closer, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
He guided Trey onward along the ridge. It was an exertion for the horse to walk sideways on the hillside, but Trey was the most sure-footed horse on the ranch, except for maybe Latte, their beginner’s ride.
He went on, getting wetter. And on, worrying about Trey not just getting even wetter but slipping now and then as the footing got worse. And on, finding nothing, not a trace of Britt, nor any debris from the downed drone.
He stifled a groan when he saw they’d reached the fence line. Unless the drone had gone off course, it could have indeed crossed over the boundary. It could have gone down on Roth property. He could only hope it hadn’t taken a Roth down with it.
I should just quit. Give up on the damn things. It’s an impossible goal anyway. There’s no way to make a packable drone that’s both long range and silent.
He’d never entertained the thought before, but it haunted him now as they neared the fence. If they’d been on level ground he would have just jumped Trey over the fence, but here on this slope he couldn’t risk it. He needed the horse with him, so he dug in his saddle bag, down past the first aid kit Mom had made sure they all had—and the basic knowledge to go with it, always a need in ranch life—and pulled up the small pair of wire cutters. He dismounted and made quick work of the fence; they’d repair it later.
He remounted and sent Trey forward again, and the willing horse went through the gap without even a sideways look. It was almost as if he sensed now this was Not Normal, that there was something serious going on that didn’t deserve one of his snorting observations that Cody was being stupid.
