Renegade: A Taggart Brothers Novel (26 page)

“I know, sweetheart.”

He absorbed the sensation of her pressed against him, to inhale the sweet floral scent of her perfume. Then he released her.

“Get your coat, some slick-soled shoes, a hat, and some gloves if you have them.”

“Okay.”

“Let Annie know what’s going on and text Kari so she doesn’t walk into this mess unaware when she comes home. I’ll hook the trailer onto my truck and be back for you.”

She hugged him one more time, then ran toward the house.

It took nearly thirty minutes for Jace to return to the ranch and load everything up. The whole time he kept an eye on the sky, which was growing more ominous. Since he was afraid he and Bronte might get caught in the weather, he packed more heavily than he would have if he were heading into the mountains on his own, adding extra food and water to the items Elam had already gathered. By the time he’d taken his place behind the wheel, he was anxious to be underway.

Jace heard the latch hit home on the trailer, then Elam rounded the back to approach his window.

“You’re going to be out of cell service halfway up the canyon,” Elam said. “After that, coverage is intermittent.”

Jace nodded. “I know. I’ll get word to you as soon as I can.”

“Despite his disability, he’s a smart kid, Jace. You’ve taught him well. If a storm breaks, he knows how to get out of the weather.”

“I hope so. If he or Lily gets hurt . . .”

“Don’t borrow trouble before it comes on its own. You know how much he loves that little girl. He’d never do anything to intentionally harm her. Remember that and trust him to do the right thing.”

“If I could trust him to do the right thing, he wouldn’t have run off like this in the first place.”

Elam touched his shoulder through the window. “Look at it from his point of view. His friend has been in pain and he made a promise to take her up to the poppy grove when her butterfly emerged. He’s not thinking about us.”

“Obviously.”

“He’s thinking about her.”

Jace knew Elam was right, but he still couldn’t help thinking that if he’d stayed to watch Barry get on the bus, if he’d waited a few more minutes before beginning his own hectic day, he would have seen Lily approach.

But with the hay broker arriving and his own tight schedule, would he have canceled everything and helped
Barry? Probably not. He would have made him wait until the weekend. Or longer.

Maybe that was the reason Barry had decided to take Lily to the summer pastures on his own. Not because he was flouting authority, but because he didn’t want to bother Jace when he was busy. After all, he’d followed the same procedure he would have used if he’d saddled his horse and gone for a ride to Elam’s cabin or to Annie’s. He’d left a note, clearly explaining where he was going and when he would be back. He simply hadn’t realized how far away the poppy grove really was.

Elam slapped him on the shoulder.

“He’ll be all right, Jace. They both will.”

Jace nodded. He had to think that. Otherwise he’d go crazy.

His phone rang, and after seeing it was Bronte, he answered with, “I’m on my way to your place now.”

“Good. Because someone at the school took it upon themselves to call the sheriff’s department. I didn’t pick up my phone in time and they left a message that they’d be stopping by as soon as they could to investigate the situation.”

“Oh, hell.” Jace reached to start his engine. Then, lifting the phone away from his mouth, Jace said, “Someone called the police.”

Elam scowled.

Bronte’s voice rose in panic. “Jace, I don’t want to wait that long. Not with the weather closing in.”

“Tell Bronte to send them to the Big House,” Elam said. “I’ll answer their questions so the two of you can get going. In the meantime, I’ll keep my eye out for Peña.”

“Bronte?”

“I heard.”

Shifting the truck into gear, Jace shot his brother a look of gratitude, then slowly eased away from the yard.

“Hang on, Bronte. I’ll be there in less than five minutes.”

*   *   *

AS
soon as Jace rolled to a stop in front of Annie’s house, Bronte dodged out of the door. Thankfully, Kari had
returned from school in time for Bronte to explain that she and Jace were going to try to intercept the children. Kari had wanted to come as well, but Bronte had taken her to the side and explained that, because Annie tired quickly, Bronte needed Kari to man the phones and help her grandmother until Bronte could return.

The truck hadn’t even come to a complete stop before she was hopping into the passenger seat. Then Jace was putting the truck in gear and heading for the dirt service road.

Immediately Bronte became aware of the addition of the trailer. The truck handled differently, especially as they climbed up the road leading to Elam’s cabin. When the horses shifted, Bronte felt the truck shudder slightly.

“Are you sure we can pull the trailer up such a steep slope?”

Jace smiled reassuringly. “This is nothing compared to what we usually pull.” He lifted the center console and motioned for her to take the center spot. “Come on over here. We’ll take this track up into the hills as far as we can, then we’ll have to make the rest of the trip on horseback.”

“How long will it take?”

“We’ll have to take the switchbacks up the canyon at about twenty miles per hour, so . . . twenty or thirty minutes? Then about an hour on horseback, maybe a little more.” He leaned forward to peer out the window at the clouds that piled one on top of each other. While Jace had been talking, they’d changed from gray to an ominous black.

Bronte felt as if a hand had begun to squeeze the breath from her body. Ninety minutes? Maybe more?

“Are the kids going to get caught in the storm?” she asked worriedly, trying to remember what Lily had worn to school that morning. Was she dressed in long sleeves or short, trousers or leggings, a jacket or a sweater? But her mind was whirling with so many thoughts and fears, she couldn’t remember one day from the last.

Jace draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I know it’s not much comfort, but Barry has been trained to take a jacket and a bedroll if he goes out of sight of
the ranch. It was a rule that was established early on, and one he’s been good to follow. Judging by the fact that Lily’s quilt is gone, it sounds to me like he insisted that Lily do the same.”

Bronte nodded, but with the storm looming overhead, she knew that such precautions would provide minimal protection in bad weather.

“What if it rains?”

Jace squeezed her arm. “Hopefully, that doesn’t happen until we find them. But if they left this morning, they’ve got a massive head start on us. The ideal scenario would be for them to have already reached the summer pastures—which is entirely feasible. If they’ve made it to the poppy grove, there’s an old sheepherder’s cabin we use when we move the cows. It’s a sturdy building with a good roof and solid walls. Inside, they have everything they need—matches, some dry wood, a kerosene lantern, and even some basic food supplies.”

Bronte touched his thigh, needing the solid strength to be found there to ground her.

“They’ll be okay, Bronte,” Jace said.

She had no choice but to believe him.

*   *   *

JUST
as Jace had surmised, they reached the end of the service road just shy of the half-hour mark. A large metal gate with a padlock signaled the unofficial end of “civilization,” as Bodey was fond of saying. The land beyond was a mixture of privately owned parcels and those governed by the Forestry Service. A dozen yards away, television and telecommunication towers added a slightly alien quality to a sharp, steep cliff. Beyond that were a series of jagged peaks and shallow valleys thick with pine and aspen.

This high up, the foliage was lusher, greener than it was in the valley below. Stepping from the truck, Bronte was able to look far, far down to where Bliss appeared like a scattering of children’s blocks against a brown and green crazy quilt of farm fields and pastures.

She zipped her jacket up to her chin. A chilly, gusting wind had begun to drive the clouds to the east. The air was
heavy with moisture and now and again, Bronte felt a stray drop hit her cheek.

“Do you have a hat?”

She shook her head.

Jace reached into the back of his truck, lifting the bench seat to reveal a storage space beneath. He grabbed a baseball-style cap with
TAGGART QUARTER HORSES
embroidered on the front. He tightened the strap at the back to make it smaller, then closed and locked the door, moving toward her.

“Here.”

“I don’t need a—”

“Wearing something on your head helps to conserve body warmth.” He settled the hat over her hair and pulled it low over her brow. Then, for several long seconds, he studied her with a strange light in his eyes. One that made her feel warm and pretty despite the fact that she shivered in front of him, gripped with an almost overwhelming fear.

“Besides, you look cute with it on.” His voice dropped, “I like having my name on you. It subtly claims that you’re mine—even if that makes me sound like a caveman.”

Bronte knew that as a modern woman, she should object to such a statement, but instead, she loved the idea of being claimed by Jace Taggart.

“How long has it been since you’ve ridden?” Jace asked as he took her hand and led her toward the docile mare that he’d tied to the side of the trailer. Bronte could tell by her sleepy eyes and placid disposition that the animal had been chosen for her calm manner.

“Too long for me to admit,” Bronte grumbled under her breath.

Jace checked the fit of her saddle one more time, shortening the stirrups, then tightening the girth. “If that’s the case, I’m going to give you control of the reins, but I’m going to tie the lead to the halter around my pommel. That way, you won’t have to worry about anything but staying on your mount. Snowflake will follow my horse no matter the terrain.”

“That sounds good.”

“Up you go.”

Holding on to the pommel, Bronte hopped slightly as she tried to get her foot into the stirrup. Then she attempted to haul herself into the saddle.

She’d made it only halfway when Jace planted his hands under her butt, causing her to squeak in surprise. But his boost was enough to help Bronte swing her leg over the broad back of the animal.

Jace made sure her feet were settled securely into the stirrups and the saddle was perfectly positioned.

“How’s it feel?”

“O-okay.”

“Good girl.” Jace cupped her knee with his broad hand. “I’m going to push us as fast as I think you can handle. But if you feel yourself falling, or something doesn’t seem right, you tell me right away.”

Bronte nodded, then pushed her nervousness aside. She refused to slow them down.

“I’m ready.”

He squeezed her knee one last time in encouragement, then walked around the back of her mount and tied her lead rope firmly to his pommel. “Don’t be afraid to hold on to the horn until you get used to the rhythm of the horse. The only thing that persuades Snowflake to move with any real intensity is a barn and a waiting scoop of oats. If anything, you might need to encourage her to pick up the pace.”

“Okay.”

He took the reins of both animals and led them to the gate. It was only then that Bronte noticed that the padlock was for show. The chain had only been looped around the gate rather than firmly fastened.

Once they were on the other side, Jace closed the gate again and replaced the chain in the same manner. Then he swung onto the horse that he called Greystoke.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

He spurred his own animal into motion. For a split
instant, Snowflake refused to move. But then, when the lead rope grew taut, she finally deigned to follow.

At first, Jace kept the pace to a quick walk, allowing Bronte to get used to riding again. She was secretly grateful. Although she’d briefly ridden behind Jace the night of the meteor shower, she’d forgotten that, alone in the saddle, the ground seemed even farther away.

A wave of panic shot through her as she had visions of falling, falling. But Bronte forced herself to keep her gaze directly between Snowflake’s ears. In time, she had no real choice but to adapt. Soon, her body began to adjust to the rocking motion of the animal’s gate and her grip on the pommel eased.

“I’m going to quicken the pace, okay?”

She nodded, then nearly regretted agreeing with Jace when the horses moved into a jouncing trot. But when she was able to keep her seat, he eased the animals into a lope. The added speed offered her a moment of terror and she reached for the pommel again. But soon, she was able to hold on with only one hand, allowing the other to loosely hold the reins as she’d once been taught.

Unfortunately, as her fears about staying on the horse eased away, her worry about the children resurfaced. The wind was growing worse, cutting through the padded layers of her jacket. With the heavy clouds, light was fading, and she worried that if the storm hit in earnest, they might be forced to slow their pace.

It was clear that Jace knew the way. He rode confidently. While she concentrated on the terrain, he was more mindful of the brush, scouring the bushes and trees for any sign of the children. About twenty minutes after they’d begun, Jace drew back on the reins, allowing the horses to rest as he took a pair of binoculars from the pack that held some of their supplies.

“Any sign of them?”

“Maybe.” He lowered the glasses. “There’s some trampled underbrush up ahead. Let’s go take a closer look.”

B
RONTE’S
heart knocked against her ribs.

Please, please let it be a sign of the children.

As he neared the spot, Jace slowed, then dismounted from his horse altogether. Keeping his reins in one hand, he neared a copse of trees, where he found a long strand of coarse hair that had been snagged by a tree branch.

Bronte’s heart sank. Lily’s hair was baby fine.

But when Jace turned to show her, he was grinning. “It’s from a horse’s mane. A quarter horse.”

“That’s a good sign?”

“That’s a great sign. With the wind like this, it can’t have been here for long.”

He was about to get back into the saddle when he paused.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Do you hear that?”

“What?” she breathed.

A bear? Moose?

Bronte couldn’t hear anything but the wind and rustling grass.

He moved back into the copse of trees, his head cocking
slightly as he caught whatever noise had alerted him. Then he bent low, pulling aside the tall grass and laughing softly. When he straightened again, he held up a pair of foil wrappers with colorful cartoons of apples and bananas and strawberries on the front. Bronte instantly recognized it as the same brand of squeeze pouches filled with applesauce that she often gave Lily and Barry to snack on after school. Jace had caught the almost imperceptible sound of them rattling together in the wind.

“It’s them,” Bronte said eagerly. “That’s got to be from them.”

Jace grinned. “I’d bet money on it. Ever since you started feeding them to Barry at your house, we’ve been going through an applesauce cycle.” He turned the packet over. “It’s not weathered and . . .” He unscrewed the lid and squeezed and was rewarded with a small squirt of pink puree. “It’s fresh.”

A gust of wind threatened to tear the evidence from Jace’s hand, but he jammed the garbage into his pocket.

“Let’s go.”

“How much farther?” Bronte asked as he swung back onto his horse.

He squinted against the gathering gloom. “About ten miles. Maybe more.”

“Can we make it?”

“We’re sure as hell going to try,” he said grimly.

Now that they had a good idea that the children had come the same way, Jace kept to the faint trail that Bronte was beginning to see had been trampled into the grass. But as the slope increased, growing rocky and slippery, they were forced to ease their pace. Even worse, what had been only a few isolated drops soon became a drizzle.

Bronte pulled her hat as low as she could over her brow and hunched down into the collar of her coat. But she wasn’t about to complain. Now, more than ever, she needed to know that both of the children were warm and safe.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature seemed to have other ideas. Overhead, an ominous roll of thunder began to rumble,
grumble. Flashes of lightning made the gathering darkness even more pronounced.

Frantically, Bronte tried to remember. She knew she was supposed to count to determine how near the storm might be, but was she supposed to count from the lightning to the thunder, or the thunder to the lightning?

But as the weather roared in, harder and faster, it soon became apparent that there was no need to count at all. The flashes of lightning increased. At first it snaked down from the sky with jagged fingers. Then the streaks became less distinct and the slope was illuminated entirely. Worse yet, Bronte was sure that she could feel the very air begin to sizzle.

The horses must have sensed the same thing because they danced nervously, balking at Jace’s control on the reins. Finally, he was forced to turn and shout over the force of the wind.

“We’re going to have to find shelter! The cabin is located about five miles beyond that next rise, but we’re bound to get electrocuted if we try to get over it now. We’ll hunker down, then begin again once the worst of the rain has passed over.”

Bronte nodded. Much as she would like to move on, she knew such efforts would be foolish. Even if they weren’t struck by lightning, the horses were growing increasingly anxious and likely to bolt.

She saw Jace squinting as he studied the nearby landmarks. Rain dripped from the brim of his cowboy hat to darken the fabric of his jacket. He pushed himself up in the stirrups, then twisted, raising an arm to point.

“There. We’ll backtrack about forty yards. There’s a depression in the rock face over there. That, combined with some fallen boulders has created a nook. It will be a tight squeeze, but we should be out of the rain.”

Another crack of thunder was followed almost simultaneously by a snake of lightning that had the hair on Bronte’s body standing on end.

Jace spurred his mount and backtracked along the trail they had taken. Then he headed up a slope so steep that
Bronte had to grab the pommel with both hands. As the wet ground gave way beneath the horses’ hooves, she feared that they wouldn’t be able to reach the scant shelter that was being offered. But then, Jace’s gelding lunged upward and Snowflake was forced to follow.

As soon as they’d reached the cliff face, Jace jumped down and reached for Bronte.

“Get in there! Far as you can!” he shouted against the noise of the wind.

Bending low, Bronte wriggled past the largest of the boulders where she could see a niche that sank a few yards into the side of the mountain. As Jace had predicted, there wouldn’t be much room—barely enough for the two of them to sit with their backs against the wall. But even in the dim light, Bronte could see that the ground was dry and littered with a cushion of leaves. Using the side of her boot, she swept away the scattered rocks, sticks, and other debris until she had made the space as comfortable as possible.

Jace crowded in behind her, holding the pack and bedroll that had been attached to his saddle.

“I’ve tied up the horses for now. With luck, the storm will blow over in a few minutes. Then we can finish our ride.”

Now that they had stopped, Bronte was becoming more and more aware of the icy rain that had seeped down her collar and soaked her jeans.

Jace handed her the woolen bedroll.

“Set this on the ground.”

Shivering, Bronte did as she was told.

“Sit down and wrap yourself in this.”

He handed her a silver space blanket and carefully tucked it around her shoulders.

“We’ve got enough of a natural vent near the opening to start a small fire if you’re cold.”

She shook her head. As much as she might crave the warmth, she didn’t want to do anything that would delay them once the weather passed.

“I . . . I’m okay,” she said, even as a shiver wracked through her body.

It was clear from Jace’s expression that he didn’t believe her.

Bronte sank onto the ground, gripping the tinfoil-thin blanket around her shoulders, sure that it wouldn’t offer much warmth, but needing whatever comfort it might give. Now that she was still, the cold seemed to seep into her bones. She was hardly aware of Jace’s movements as he gathered stray sticks from their hideaway and placed them over a pile of the leaves she’d brushed to the side.

“A little blaze isn’t going to slow us down. It will help to dry your clothes off.” He gestured outside. “I’m going to get a larger piece of wood, but I’ll be right back.”

Bronte nodded, pulling the blanket even tighter around her shoulders.

She wasn’t sure how long Jace was gone, but she soon became aware of the snap and hiss of a lighter, then the tang of burning wood. Looking up from her perch, she saw Jace crouched near the opening of their shelter. A flickering flame was licking at the pile of kindling, and as it caught and grew, Jace added a small log.

The wet wood had a tendency to smoke, but Bronte didn’t care. Even from a distance, she could feel some warmth wafting her way.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Jace placed it near the fire to dry out, then took another lighter jacket out of his pack.

“Come on. Out of your coat.”

Bronte wasn’t sure if she wanted to surrender its scant protection, but she did as she was told. Jace quickly wrapped her in the windbreaker and zipped it up to her chin.

“It won’t take long for things to heat up. You’ll see.”

He settled onto the ground beside her, propping his back against the granite at their backs. Then he dug into the pack again and withdrew a thermos.

“Please tell me that’s coffee.”

He grinned. “Cocoa. I brought it in case we found the kids along the way.”

Jace unscrewed the top and poured the dark liquid into the cup-shaped lid, then handed it to her. “Here. Drink.”

She didn’t need a second urging. Her first sip was taken gingerly, but finding that it was comfortably warm, she then drank deeply and handed the cup back to him.

Jace reached into his pack and withdrew a power bar. “Eat this.”

While she tore the wrapper open, Jace poured another cup of the warm cocoa, drinking half, then handing the rest to her.

“Shouldn’t we save some for the kids?”

He shook his head. “Judging by where we found the wrapper, they had plenty of time to get to the cabin. Like I said, there are supplies there for them to use. As soon as we can, we’ll head that way and make sure the two of them are okay.”

Bronte nodded, draining the rest of the cup. Not only was the liquid warm, but it was sweet and comforting, stilling her jitters and her shivers.

“You’d better drink the rest,” she said, when she handed the cup back. Judging by the size of the flask, there wouldn’t be much left. Turning her attention to her power bar, she took tiny bites, more to calm herself than anything.

By the time she ate the last piece, she was feeling much calmer as well as warmer. The fire had stopped smoking, and the heat was seeping into their shelter.

Jace cocked his head, listening to the storm, but even to Bronte’s inexperienced ears, it hadn’t abated.

He reached into his magical pack again and handed her a bottle of water, then grabbed one for himself as well. “You need to keep hydrated, so drink up.”

She nodded, but took small sips.

As soon as Jace had finished his own power bar, he slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tightly against him. With each minute that passed, Bronte’s worry increased.

“What if the rain doesn’t pass before it gets completely dark?”

“Sunset isn’t for another”—he glanced at his watch—“three hours. It seems later because of the cloud cover. Hopefully,
this is a typical spring storm. It will bluster like hell for a little while, then the wind will blow the clouds away and we’ll have sunny skies again.”

Bronte scowled. “You don’t have to paint a best-case scenario, Jace. I can take the truth.”

*   *   *

IN
an instant, Jace was undone. Bronte looked up at him with such fire in her eyes that he couldn’t tear his own gaze away. Yet, beneath that blaze of independence, there was still a trace of vulnerability. One he would do anything to protect.

They’d known each other now for what . . . a little over a month? But he couldn’t imagine going a day or more without some form of contact. She had become as necessary to him as breathing.

The thought should have surprised him. No. It should have terrified him. Jace had always been a loner. Even growing up, while Elam and Bodey had gravitated toward their friends, Jace had preferred to spend his time alone. His idea of fun had been grabbing a fishing pole and heading to the creek, or taking his horse up into the mountains. Once he’d begun to concentrate on his artistic pursuits . . . well, he could lose himself for hours in sketching or painting. Maybe that was how he’d managed to spend two years backpacking Europe. He’d been more than content to establish his own itinerary and his own pace.

When he’d returned home to Bliss, his biggest worry had been that he wouldn’t be able to fold himself back into the family unit. He was sure that once he’d assumed responsibility for Barry, he’d go stark, raving mad if he had no time of his own. So when he’d become itchy and anxious for a change, he’d assumed that he needed to disappear for a few months, go away, leave everyone behind.

But he knew now that he’d been wrong. Even if he’d managed to leave the ranch for the most exotic of vacations, he would have found himself just as unhappy. Bronte had shown him that he wasn’t searching for solitude. What he’d
really needed was an intimate connection with another human being—one that went beyond mere physical desire.

Since meeting Bronte, he’d felt a peace in his soul that he’d never experienced before. The restlessness, the discontent, the longing for something new had disappeared.

But she was right in her assertion that she could handle more than half-truths. She was strong enough to make decisions for herself.

“Okay . . . here’s the worst-case scenario. Barry is a good horseman. He’s been riding since he was a baby—and the horses have been a big part of his recovery. But, there’s always a chance that he could have wandered off the track. Or, the horse could have been startled and thrown them off.”

Bronte bit her lip, but didn’t interrupt.

“But I’m pinning my hopes on the fact that they made it to the cabin. Although the lightning seems to have eased, the storm still hasn’t blown over.” A glance at his watch told him that they’d been hunkered down in their makeshift shelter for more than twenty minutes. “I don’t know. Maybe we could go ahead and push our way through. But this high up—and with lightning still a very real threat—the idea is foolhardy. We can’t go anywhere on horseback until we have a little more light. I could never endanger a mount by making it travel blind over wet, unfamiliar ground that way. One misstep could cause a horse to break a leg or worse. We could proceed on foot—not an impossible hike—but if the storm decides to quit in the next ten or fifteen minutes, we’ll be stuck hiking when, if we’d been patient, we could have ridden and made it there faster.”