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Nic paused in tightening the cinch and looked at him. “I love him, too, Jackson. Now let’s go bring him home.”
And in that moment, Jackson Thorpe knew he’d been very wrong about something.
Not only could he love Nicole Baylor, he did.
Chapter Thirty-One
When her phonesignaled, Nic realized she should have upped the volume. If it hadn’t been for the vibration, she never would have known over the noise of the storm. There was thunder coming from all sides, some a distant rumble with only a lighting of the clouds, some a ferocious crack too close on the heels of a sizzling, jagged streak of pure white across the sky.
She pulled Sass to a halt and yanked it out of her pocket, a little difficult given she’d swear even the inside of the pocket was wet. Once she had it, she saw it was a text from Shane Highwater, and called out to Jackson.
“It’s Shane. He didn’t find Jeremy yet, but he found Pie.”
“Where?” He said it calmly enough, but she was attuned to him now, and heard the undertone of rising tension in his voice.
“Over near the chute.”
His jaw tightened. “He likes that spot.”
She wasn’t surprised. She’d loved it herself as a kid, that little narrowing of the stream just before it reached the sharp-edged drop-off of the small stone plateau. It was only about four feet tall, but it had all the dynamics of a big waterfall, only kid-sized, as her father used to say. The problem was that now, in this storm, the cheerfully flowing, safely shallow stream that crossed the ranch would be a torrent. It would be bigger, faster, and in particular at the chute, quite possibly dangerous if Jeremy got too close or tried to splash in it as she’d often done.
He wheeled Shade around and headed west at a faster pace than she was comfortable with under the circumstances. But the thought of Jeremy out here in this—maybe hurt, if Shane hadfound Pie roaming loose, although she didn’t want to plant that idea—was like a spur jabbing her side, too, and she kept even with him, trusting Sass’s steadiness.
They were nearing the chute when she spotted another rider coming in from the north. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the area long enough for her to see the big palomino, and she knew it had to be Chance’s Dorado.
She pointed him out to Jackson. “Chance.”
“The dog guy?”
“Yes. His horse makes him pretty unmistakable.”
“Flashy,” Jackson said.
She laughed, making it light intentionally and purposefully. “Yes. We rag on him all the time, such a flashy mount for the unflashiest guy around. But he’s a good, solid ranch horse, for all his beauty. And count yourself among the few people who have seen Chance actually wearing a cowboy hat. He usually sticks to baseball-style caps, like you do. But there’s nothing like that full brim in the rain.”
She was chattering on purpose, trying to distract him. And in the next flash, she saw him looking at her, and knew he knew that. She also saw the palomino change direction, heading for them. Apparently, Jackson either saw or sensed it, too, because he turned to look.
“Did you see what looks like a big backpack he’s wearing?” she asked. “It’s something the military uses, if they have to carry their K9s.”
“Looks occupied,” he said, with a credible effort at matching her tone.
“Yes. He wouldn’t want the dog trying to keep up in this. Saves energy for the search.”
She couldn’t even see him in the darkness between flashes, but she still knew he’d tensed up again. She supposed just the idea of a dog in this search made it that much more real.
By the time Chance pulled the big palomino to a halt, she could see the dog’s head over his shoulder. It was almost the same shade as the golden horse.
“Your new boy?” she asked.
The lean, wiry man nodded. “Maverick. My friend had started him in SAR training before he had to leave.”
“Oh!” She hadn’t known that. “We brought Jeremy’s pajamas.”
“Good call,” Chance said approvingly, and like most who knew the man, his approval truly meant something to her.
“Won’t the rain have wiped out any scent?” Jackson asked as she dug the plastic bag they’d put them in out of her saddlebag.
“Depends on how hard it’s been raining and how long. Light or short rain can actually help. It’s heat and dry that destroys scent the quickest. This has been heavy, but not for too long.” He shrugged. “We won’t know until we know.”
