Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

It was difficult not to be irritated with his spoiled sister. With all the trouble he had on his hands now, the last thing he needed was for her to pull a disappearing act just to gain his attention. But he also saw it was a sign of insecurity, a silent cry for someone to let her know they cared about her. At sixteen, all the feelings were so intense—pain, pride, love, hate. With their mother’s death and now Nanna Ruth’s, their father in the hospital for God only knew how much longer, Tara walking out on them, and he, admittedly, too busy lately to give her much of his time, she probably felt completely alone, unwanted and unneeded.

Ty studied the note again. “Since she wants you to meet her tonight, she must be hiding out somewhere. More than likely, she’s gone to the same place she went the last time.”

“O’Rourke’s?”

“When did he leave here?” Ty asked.

“About the same time Cat did—right after the sheriff took you away this morning. He hasn’t been back since.”

“Come on.” Ty returned the note and pushed away from the truck. “We’re going over to his place and get her.” With luck, things would stay quiet here until he got back.

No time was wasted in the drive to the Shamrock Ranch. They traveled as fast as the condition of the roads would permit. The setting sun was firing the horizon with a cerise hue that grayed to purple where the land met the sky. O’Rourke was on the front stoop to meet them when the truck roared into his ranch yard.

“Tell Cathleen we’ve come to take her home,” Ty announced with firm conviction while he climbed out of the truck.

“Cathleen? She’s not here.” The denial was startled out of Culley. “The last time I saw her, she was at The Homestead.”

“It’s no use covering for her, Cuiley,” Ty declared impatiently. “We know she’s here. She sent Repp a note, telling him she was running away and asking him to meet her. This is the only place she could hide out.”

“I swear she didn’t come here.” His hand made a vague raking scratch of his head. “She wouldn’t run away,” he insisted, speaking his thoughts aloud. “Not when she was so worried about what Dyson might do to you while you were in jail. She wouldn’t have run.”

“In her note, she referred to the plane crash—” Repp

arted to ask if her uncle knew what she was talking about.

“Did she tell you about that?” His gaze jerked to the cowboy.

“What about it?” Ty demanded.

“About Stricklin tampering with the oil line,” Culley answered, then realized neither man had known anything about it. “Oh, no,” he groaned suddenly. “You don’t suppose Stricklin or Dyson found out she knew what they’d done?” There was a wild sawing of his gaze, racing back and forth. “They’ve got her.” He glanced at Repp. “And they’re figuring you saw him, too, that night in the hangar.”

“I think you’d better start at the beginning,” Ty advised, trying to separate the man’s wild rantings from fact.

With the windows boarded shut, the room was pitch-black. Cat’s silent, tearless sobs of frustration and self-pity were noisy breaths that stirred the gritty dust caking the floor where she lay, tied hand and foot. Her limbs ached with a tingling numbness from being forced to hold a single position, and the hard floor bruised her bones. Worse, she could feel things crawling all over her.

Floorboards creaked as footsteps approached the door. She held her breath, her heart suddenly leaping with fear. The door opened and a flashlight beam nearly blinded her. She blinked and tried to turn her head away from the glaring light. Stricklin entered the room and bent down to begin unknot-ting the rope that bound her.

“Your boyfriend will be here shortly.”

She had tried everything from shouting and cursing to pleading and reasoning, but nothing had reached him. This time, Cat tried silence.

When she was freed of the ropes, Stricklin helped her to stand up. Her muscles were so sore and stiff she couldn’t walk without stumbling. He guided her through the rooms to the front door, the flashlight showing the way. The fresh air smelled sweeter than she remembered as she took her first step into the moonlit night. She drank it in, her senses coming alive to savor the sensation of coolness on her skin and the chirrups of crickets in the weeds by the house. Such simple things. Such beautiful things.

“We’ll wait by the truck,” he told her. “And when your boyfriend comes, don’t get any ideas.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the movement of his hand that accompanied the warning. A second later, she caught the sheen of metal in the moonlight and realized he had a gun. A tiny run of panic tautened her nerves. Sometime during those long hours she’d been left tied in the house, he’d acquired a pistol.

As they stood in the shadows of the truck, Cat prayed Repp wouldn’t come. Her hearing seemed to become more acute, the night sounds appearing to be louder—the rustle of grass from some scurrying animal, the flap of wings overhead, and the shrill music of the crickets and buzzing night insects, all joining the cacophony, and over it all the pounding of her heart.

When she heard the hum of a motor, she tried to pretend it was a vehicle passing on the highway, but a pair of headlight beams grew steadily brighter as they approached the abandoned buildings. Desperately, Cat tried to think of some way to warn him; then she felt the hard circle of the gun’s muzzle pressing into her side. She stiffened and watched helplessly as the truck rolled to a stop. Its headlight beams had swept the pickup truck they stood beside but never once invaded the shadows that concealed them.

There was the grinding of metal against metal as the truck door swung open on its hinges, then pushed shut. Cat opened her mouth to shout a warning to him, but the indrawn breath became lodged in her throat when the gun muzzle jabbed her ribs for silence. Footsteps crunched on gravel.

“Cat?” His call broke the silence. “Cat, where are you?”

Stricklin pressed his mouth close to her ear. “Answer him. Tell him to come over here.”

Her teeth were clenched together in a mute protest before she finally complied. Between the gun and the brutal grip he had on her arm, she felt helpless to resist.