Calder Storm (Calder Saga 10)

“Let’s don’t throw that loop until we need to,” Trey replied. “She’ll be back, you’ll see.”

Moving off, he led his horse into the barn, unsaddled it, grained it, and gave it a good rubdown before turning it out in the corral with the other horses. But there was still no sign of Sloan, and the sun sat on the lip of the horizon, flooding the western sky with a spectacular mixture of crimson and coral. Trey knew it was just the sort of thing that would appeal to Sloan.

He started for the house, then veered sharply to the ranch pickup, his jaw clenched in anger, certain he was worrying without cause. Yet Trey also knew it wouldn’t be the first time a newcomer to the Triple C had become the subject of a search party.

When he pulled away from the barn, he spotted Laredo and rolled the window down to call to him. “Let my mother know that I’ve gone to look for Sloan. Either she forgot to take her cell phone, or she’s turned it off, but I couldn’t raise her. Tell Mom not to do anything until she hears from me.”

Without waiting for a reply, he drove off.

Nowhere along the road back to Broken Butte did Trey find any trace of Sloan. Along the way he’d met one pickup, but Sloan hadn’t been behind the wheel of it.

As twilight settled over the land, thickening its shadows, he switched on the headlights and started to reach for his cell phone, then changed his mind, deciding to check one more stretch of road before ordering searchers out. When he arrived at the intersection with the main road, Trey turned right, acting on the assumption that Sloan had missed the turnoff.

With the headlight beams on high, he drove slowly over the next five miles, constantly scanning the ditches on either side of the road on the off chance Sloan had driven into one of them. Reluctantly, Trey took out his cell phone and flipped it open. In the next second, he spotted something just beyond the reach of his headlights.

Sloan trotted into view, frantically waving an arm to flag him down. The sight of the camera case, firmly clutched in her other arm, brought his teeth firmly together. He braked to a stop and made his phone call.

When his mother answered, he said somewhat tersely, “I found her. She’s fine.”

“Thank God—” Trey flipped the phone shut, breaking the connection as Sloan pulled open the passenger door, flooding the cab’s interior with light.

“Trey. Am I ever glad to see you.” Relief was in her voice, made a little breathless from the sprint to the truck. But it was the radiance in her expression that had him wondering if it was for him or the afterglow of a satisfying day spent with her camera. She scrambled onto the passenger seat and slumped in weariness. “I had just about decided I would have to walk all the way back.”

“What happened? Where’s the truck?”

“Back there.” She pointed into the darkness. “The left rear tire went flat, and I couldn’t find a jack to change it.”

“I’ve got a jack with me. We’ll go change it.” Trey put the truck in gear and continued down the road. “Why didn’t you call? Isn’t your cell phone working?”

“I didn’t bring it. Can you believe that?” Sloan said in disgust. “I had it laid out with all the rest of my equipment, but somehow it didn’t end up in my bag.” She sat up, her attention focusing on the road ahead of them. “Take a right at the next turnoff.”

Trey slowed the truck to make the turn. “I thought you were on your way to Broken Butte. How did you wind up here?”

“Obviously, I turned onto the wrong road.” She seemed completely untroubled by her mistake. “There’s a pasture gate about three miles farther. That’s where the truck is.”

“Are you telling me it took you all day to figure out you were in the wrong place?” His gaze narrowed on her in disbelief.

“Not hardly,” she scoffed. “I stopped a bunch of places to take some pictures, so it must have been close to noon before I got here.” She turned sideways in the seat, her expression all earnest and curious. “There were all these dim trails crisscrossing the area. I must have driven over every one of them thinking I’d find you—or someone. Finally I went back to the gate. Chase had mentioned they would be bringing out a noon meal. So I thought I’d catch whoever it was when he left. It was probably after three before it sunk in that I wasn’t at Broken Butte. Right after that, I discovered I had a flat tire. But I couldn’t figure out why there are so many old trails that didn’t seem to lead anywhere. Was that a former site of one of your outlying camps?”

“No. You were wandering around the old oil field. Those trails are what’s left of the roads Dy-Corp used to service the wells.” The pickup’s headlights illuminated the pasture and exposed the pickup’s dark shape just beyond it.

“There’s oil on the Triple C?” Sloan said in surprise.

“There was.” Trey pulled up to the gate. “The wells have been capped for years.”

Leaving the engine running and the lights on, Trey piled out of the cab and retrieved the jack, then unlatched the gate and walked to the rear of the other truck. Sloan wasn’t far behind him, but she stopped to stow her camera bag inside the disabled truck before she joined him at the back.

Trey never looked up from his task or said a single word, just went about the business of removing the flat tire and replacing it with the spare in briskly efficient fashion. Sloan was confused

by his continued silence. When she thought back over the short ride, she realized he had been a bit cool and abrupt with her.

“Were you worried about me, Trey?”

He shot her a cutting glance, then went back to tightening the wheel nuts. “What do you think?” He continued tightening the wheel nuts, grim and tight-lipped

“I was fine,” Sloan replied in easy assurance. To her that made all the difference.

With the spare tire in place, Trey removed the jack and stood up, his hard gaze connecting with hers only briefly. “I know.” He brushed past her. “You’re all set. I’ll follow you back.”