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“Here.” She handed the bag to the man whose service had put that touch of gray in his dark hair.
Chance took it with a nod and then looked over at Jackson. “We’ll find your boy.”
He wheeled Dorado around before either of them could answer, and continued in the direction they’d been going. Ten minutes later, they all reined in as they reached the area below the small falls.
“Try yelling for him first,” Nic suggested to Jackson.
When he did, Nic drew back slightly at the volume. Clearly, the man knew how to harness the power of his voice, something she guessed he’d had to do in his work on occasion. But it was unleashed now, projected out so boomingly it had her wondering if he’d ever done stage work. And feeling a little silly that she didn’t know. But they’d spent most of their time together... together. Discovering new things, not lingering on the old.
There was no answer that they could hear. By then, Chance had dismounted, ground-tied Dorado, and freed the dog he’d been lugging from the sling on his back. He opened the plastic bag and held it level with the head of the dog—who appeared to be a golden retriever, not one of the more severe and lethal breeds Chance usually dealt with, and she realized this must be the one Maggie had mentioned.
The dog’s head dipped, then he practically buried his nose in the cloth of the pajamas. Chance said something she didn’t catch, other than it was in a tone of command. The dog spun around and started off, sniffing fiercely, seemingly at both ground and air. He seemed to be working in a pattern, back and forth before moving forward, along the edge of the now-rushing stream.
They followed a few feet back, to stay out of the dog’s way. She noticed Jackson was still searching visually, his head constantly turning as he looked from side to side. When it came to his son, he obviously wasn’t putting all his eggs in any one basket. So it was Jackson who spotted the other rider coming toward them from upstream, above the chute.
“Pie,” he said, his tone sharp.
She looked up and saw the pony, its markings visible even in the dark of the storm, being led toward them. And the stature and easy grace of the man in the saddle confirmed his identity—Shane Highwater. He was making some sort of hand gesture upstream, and she realized he was making it for Chance, who had probably spotted him long before they had.
“Shane,” she said to Jackson. As she said it, the rider veered slightly away from the stream, away from them. She sensed Jackson’s reaction and said quickly, “He must be making sure he doesn’t get in the dog’s way.”
“It looked like they were communicating,” he said, his eyes darting from one man to the other.
“No doubt. In whatever cop-to-military sign language there is.”
Jackson looked back to where Chance Rafferty was barely visible in the darkness and rain, but the golden dog stood out. And then Shane was there, and she could see the pony was wet, and muddy from hooves almost to knees. But only there, which was a relief. Whatever had happened, he’d kept to his feet.
“Found him just above the chute,” Shane said. “He’s not hurt, and it doesn’t look like he went down.” He looked at Jackson. “We’ll find your boy. If we haven’t in”—he glanced at his watch—“the next thirteen minutes, we’ll go to the next stage, which is calling out the full team.” He switched his gaze back to Nic. “Maggie and your mom are standing by to make the calls. Sean’s already out with your dad, and Elena’s ready to open up Valencia’s if we need to feed a crew.”
She nodded, then glanced at Jackson. He looked a little stunned. And she thought she knew why. “Welcome to Last Stand,” she said softly.
Another flash lit the sky. But the thunder rolled this time, not cracked, and the time between told her it wasn’t as close as it had been. Then a piercing whistle cut through the night. Shane wheeled his horse around, saying only, “Stay back a little until we know what we’ve got.”
Jackson was already started after him, but Nic repeated Shane’s warning. “There’s been enough rain that three horses tromping through could cause a problem. I know how you feel, truly, but give Shane time to check.”
“Ask the impossible, why don’t you?” Jackson muttered. But he reined in a little.
“Why not? You’ve already done it for me once.”
His head snapped around. “Done what?”
“The impossible. You made me fall in love with you.”
For an instant, time seemed to freeze. Jackson was just staring at her, and in the next flash of lightning, she saw his expression. It was a tangle, as if he couldn’t believe she’d chosen now—which figured, because neither could she—and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.
And as they rode on, she wondered if that was because the man in the fancy car had won, and he had decided to go back.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jackson couldn’t believeit.
Leave it to Nicole Baylor, the queen of impeccable timing, to hit him with that now. Well, if she’d wanted to distract him from his worry—okay, near panic—about Jeremy, she’d sure as hell done it.
But before he could think of a thing to say, something he should perhaps be grateful for, he heard a string of barks that even the fading roll of the last thunder couldn’t drown out. Barks that sounded... triumphant. His head snapped around as he tried to pinpoint the direction they’d come from. Another string of barks came, the same number and rhythm, and for a split second, he wondered if the dog had been trained to it. But now he knew the direction and he didn’t hesitate. He put his heels to Shade and headed toward the barking.
Another flash, more diffuse now as the storm finally moved away, and he caught a glimpse of movement, up the nearest rise, but low to the ground. A spot of lighter color against the darkness.
The dog.
