Читать книгу A Texas Rescue Christmas - Caro Carson - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Becky peered through the gray haze of winter weather at the endless county road. She spotted another gate for a ranch up ahead. Two posts and a crossbeam in the air, that was the standard ranch entrance in Texas. She’d already turned her rental car into two properties that weren’t the James Hill Ranch. At the first, she’d gotten flustered and made the tiny car’s engine produce horrid sounds as she put it in Reverse. After she’d driven through the second wrong gate, which had clearly been labeled the River Mack Ranch, making her feel like an idiot, she’d tried to make a U-turn to avoid the reverse gear. The U-turn had worked, but all her belongings had been thrown around as the car bounced over rough ground before making it back onto the road.

Becky could make out a letter J on the fence beside the upcoming gate. If the J stood for James, then she hadn’t gotten lost after all, although the clunky GPS system, emblazoned with the rental car company’s logo and bolted onto the car’s dash, had gone silent many miles ago. She was officially out in the middle of nowhere on a two-lane road that had no name, only numerical digits the GPS voice had rattled off before losing its satellite connection.

Her phone, however, still had a signal. It rang again, shrill after being jarred out of the leather purse Becky had stuffed it in. Her mother was calling. She should answer.

Becky gripped the steering wheel. She couldn’t answer the phone. She rarely drove anywhere, and she’d never driven this kind of car, so she had to concentrate. Snow had been falling, rare enough in December, apparently, to make it the sole topic of conversation in the Austin airport. The snow was beginning to look more wet, like sleet.

She would not panic. She’d just keep two hands on the wheel, and she would not answer the phone. I’m twenty-four years old. I can drive a car in bad weather.

She hadn’t wanted to. At the airport, her request for a taxi to the James Hill Ranch had been met with so many chuckles and “you’re not from around here, are you?” responses, she’d given up and gotten in line for the first rental car desk she saw.

Too late, she realized that her mother would be able to use the credit card transaction to find her. Becky had never seen a credit card bill, but she knew her mother could check it, somehow, almost immediately. She hadn’t dared to use her credit card without permission since she was twenty-one. That year, her mother had placed her in a ski school in Aspen with teenagers who belonged to the Right Kind of Families. When her fellow students had learned Becky was actually of legal drinking age, they’d convinced her to buy the booze to go with their energy drinks. The next morning, her mother had asked her to produce the liter of vodka that she’d purchased in town at precisely 8:19 p.m. the evening before. Becky had been confined to her hotel room the rest of the trip—and she’d learned a valuable lesson about credit cards.

The phone rang once more. Her mother had probably tracked her credit card already. Why did you rent such a low-budget car? Look at you, arriving at the Cargills in a rental car like a poor relation. You could have at least taken a limo, for God’s sake.

Becky hadn’t gone to Daddy Cargill’s mansion. She read more sections of the newspaper than her mother did. Outside of the society pages, there’d been a featured real estate listing for the infamous mansion. Photos of the outrageously tacky décor had accompanied the article. Patricia no longer lived there, and obviously had not for years.

Patricia was getting married at the James Hill Ranch. That was Becky’s destination. Her best hope for sanctuary.

“Shoot!” Becky realized she was driving right past the gate. She hit the brakes and turned the wheel, but the snowfall had become ice, and the car spun wildly. Her seat belt held her in place, but her head thunked against the side window before the car came to a halt, facing the wrong way.

I will not cry.

The car’s engine made that awful sound as she put it into Reverse.

I will not cry.

Everything in the car—up to and including her teeth—rattled as she traveled over a cattle guard on her way through a second, more elegant gate of wrough iron and limestone pillars.

I will not cry.

She presented herself at the door. She’d never before seen a housekeeper who answered a door while wearing jeans. She’d never been greeted by a staff member with “howdy” instead of “good morning, miss.” Becky requested that Miss Cargill be notified that her sister, Miss Cargill, had arrived.

“Sure, uh-huh,” said the older woman in jeans. “Come in, sweetheart. It’s freezing out there.”

Too late, Becky surmised that this was not a housekeeper. She’d probably just given orders to a relative of the groom. The woman did not introduce herself, however. She just launched right into a conversation as if they were acquainted.

“If you’re here for the wedding, I’ve got some bad news. It’s been cancelled. Didn’t you get a message from your sister? I swear, she called a hundred people yesterday herself.

“The pastor was afraid to drive, and the caterers were in a tizzy. Luke and Patricia, they decided they didn’t want to miss their honeymoon, what with the airports closing and all. They’re taking some gigantic sailboat from Galveston all the way around Florida to the Bahamas. Anyway, they took their license to a justice of the peace first thing this morning and got married. Now Luke’s parents are driving them all the way to the port to make their boat on time. But we’re supposed to cut into their cake and send them a video of us doing it, so stick around, honey.”

Patricia was gone.

Becky’s cell phone rang, shrill.

“May I use your powder room?” Becky asked, smiling sweetly, although her pink lip gloss had faded away hours ago.

She locked herself in the bathroom, and she cried.

* * *

“Why, it’s James Waterson the third, as I live and breathe! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? I swear, you are even taller than your brother. What are you now? Six-three? Six-four?”

Trey steeled himself against the onslaught. He hadn’t had a chance to scrutinize the woman’s face, yet she was hugging him and patting him on the cheek, treating him like he was a growing boy when he’d just passed his thirty-first birthday. Clearly, she knew him, but he did not know her. If she’d just hold still and let him look at her face for a moment—but she chatted away, turned and dragged him from the door.

He hadn’t had a chance to look about as he’d come in. He preferred to pause and get his bearings when he entered a new building, but this stranger gave him no chance. Trey looked around, consciously choosing to focus on what his eyes could see and deliberately ignoring the sounds hitting his ear. He was tired from the strain of travel, and he could only take in so much.

The woman pulled him into the high-raftered great room, and Trey, still concentrating on visual information, immediately focused on the fireplace. It was decorated for a wedding with a swag of fluffy white material and silver Texas stars, but he knew what it would look like without all that. He knew that fireplace.

Massive, its limestone edifice rose from floor to ceiling in a severe rectangle that would have been boring if the limestone variations hadn’t been unique from stone to stone. Trey had lain before roaring fires, staring up at the limestone, idly noting which were white and beige and yellow, which were solid, which were veined. From infancy, he’d done so, he supposed. He last remembered doing it with a girl while in high school, drinking his mother’s hot chocolate before sneaking his sweetheart out to the barn for some unchaperoned time.

Yes, he knew that fireplace.

Suddenly, the whole room fell into place. Hell, the whole house made sense. Trey knew where he was. It was effortless. The kitchen was through there. The mudroom beyond that. His bedroom was down the hall. The dogs needed to be fed outside that door, every morning, before school.

There was nothing confusing about it.

God, he knew where he was. Not just how to navigate from here to there. Not just enough to keep from looking like a fool. He really and truly knew where in the world he was.

“Can you believe they ran off like that? I mean, you can’t blame them with the storm coming and everything, but...” The woman squeezed his arm conspiratorially. “Okay, I blame them a little. I think most women would want the wedding. You could always take a trip some other time. I mean, it’s the bride’s big show with the white gown, being the center of attention, the flowers, the cake, you know? But Patricia, she’s some kind of sailboat nut. I don’t even know what you call those people. Instead of horse crazy, are they boat crazy? Anyhow, you would have thought your brother had never wanted anything more in his entire life than to get on a sailboat and go visitin’ islands.”

With a woman? Someone he loved enough to pledge his life to? Trey didn’t find that so hard to understand. It sounded as if Luke had made the choice between wearing a tux for one day or spending a month on tropical seas with the woman he wanted the most. His little brother had never been stupid.

Then again, once upon a time, Trey hadn’t been stupid, either. Now, he didn’t recognize the person he was talking to. He tried to place the woman’s face as she chattered on.

“Luke’s always been a cattle rancher, not a sailor. I guess people do crazy things when they’re in love. I hope it lasts. Lord knows, none of my marriages have. I don’t blame you for not coming to any of them.”

Trey had been invited to her weddings? That sick, sweaty feeling started between his shoulder blades.

The sound of the mudroom door slamming centered him once more. It was a sound Trey hadn’t heard in ten years, yet it sounded utterly familiar, instantly recognizable without any effort.

The man’s voice that followed was new to him. “No luck, sugar,” it boomed.

“Oh, dear. Trey, come meet your new uncle.”

Uncle. That meant this woman was his aunt. Trey looked at her, and suddenly it was so incredibly obvious. She was his mother’s sister, his aunt June. How could he have forgotten that he had an aunt June?

He felt stupid.

The kitchen, however, he remembered. He hadn’t stepped fully into the room, hadn’t put both boots on the black-and-white-checkered floor, when he felt that utterly certain feeling once more. His brain worked for once. He didn’t just recognize the kitchen, he knew every inch. This drawer held the silverware, that cupboard held the big pots, and the cold cereal was on the bottom shelf of the pantry. He knew all that without trying, and it made him realize how little he usually knew about other rooms. He’d been adrift in every room he’d been in for the past ten years.

His new uncle shook hands, then shook his head at Aunt June. “No sign of her, sugar.”

Another woman, younger than Aunt June, came in from outside. He could see her through the doorway to the mudroom, stamping her boots and smacking icy droplets off her jacket sleeves. “It’s turning into sleet out there, bad.”

He didn’t know her.

She knew him. “Ohmigod, Trey! I haven’t seen you in ages.” She dumped her coat on the mudroom floor and came rushing at him, arms open. They closed about him in a hug, unfamiliar in every way.

Don’t panic. Think. Aunt June has daughters. Think of their names.

Aunt June patted his arm and started laughing. “I don’t think he recognizes you, Emily. It’s been ten years, at least. You were in pigtails and braces last time he saw you.”

He had a cousin named Emily, of course.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Just to prove that he knew something, he opened the correct cabinet to pull out coffee mugs. His brother hadn’t moved their mother’s traditional coffee machine. It sat on the same counter it had always sat on. Trey knew the filters would be in the cupboard above it.

“Can I make y’all some coffee?” he said, his voice sounding gruff to his own ears. He owned a third of the house, and he had company. He ought to make some attempt to be a host.

“That’s a good idea,” Emily said. “I need to warm up before I keep looking.”

And...he was lost again. The emotions of these three people were hard for him to keep track of. Everyone was happy one moment, worried the next.

“What are you looking for?” he asked, determined to make sense of the world. He started counting scoops of coffee into the filter basket. One, two, three, four—

“This girl named Becky disappeared.”

Six, seven—crap. He’d lost count. Trey decided the amount of coffee looked about right, shoved it into place and hit the power button.

“You gonna put some water in there, sugar?” Aunt June asked, laughing.

Damn it.

But everyone was happy again for a moment, chuckling about old age and forgetfulness.

Then, they weren’t happy. As Trey filled the carafe with water, his aunt started explaining who was missing. A young lady had arrived for the wedding, Patricia’s sister, or so she’d said. They hadn’t known Patricia had a sister.

“Just as sweet as can be,” his aunt said.

“Pretty as a picture,” his uncle said.

“She seemed nervous to me,” Emily said. “Then she stood in a corner, and I saw her listening to something on her cell phone. She just put on her coat and mittens and hat, and walked out the door. I thought she was going to her car to get something, but she never came back.”

Aunt June looked out the picture window above the kitchen sink, angling her head so she could cast worried looks at the sky. “It’s been hours.”

The coffeepot was brewing perfectly, making soothing noises. The scent of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. Trey knew where he was. He knew who everyone was around him. He ought to be content, but apparently, the part of him who’d been born a cowboy wasn’t dead. Someone on the ranch was unaccounted for, and that meant trouble.

“No one has seen her for hours?” he asked, and he looked at the sky with a rancher’s eye. The storm, as bad as it was, looked like it was just getting started. “You’re sure she didn’t leave for a hotel in town? Maybe hitch a ride with some other guest?”

“This is hers.” Emily held up a lady’s purse. Even Trey knew a woman wouldn’t leave without her purse. Emily handed him a Massachusetts driver’s license. “Here’s what she looks like.”

Her signature was neat and legible. Rebecca Cargill. A pretty woman. Brown hair, with thick, straight bangs. As Trey took a moment to let the image settle into his brain, something about the expression on her face resonated with him. There was strain beneath that smile, a brave smile for the camera. I know how you feel, darlin’. I was afraid I wouldn’t pass the damned exam, either.

She could have been stressed over any number of things, of course. It was fanciful of him to imagine he knew what the look on her face meant.

“I’m sure she’s found shelter by now,” Aunt Jane said.

Trey looked up from the driver’s license in his hand. “If she hasn’t, she’ll die tonight. It’s too cold to survive without shelter.”

Aunt Jane made a horrified little sound, and Trey cursed himself. He hadn’t always been so blunt. Hell, people had called him charming in high school and college. Now he had to work not to blurt out every thought that passed through his thick head.

His new uncle put a protective arm around his wife. “She’s probably fallen asleep in the hayloft in the barn, and she just hasn’t heard us calling for her. She’ll be fine.”

Emily darted a look at her mother, then pressed a cell phone into Trey’s hand. “Here’s her phone. It’s not password protected. I didn’t want to be nosy, but I thought there’d be more photos of her.”

Trey started sliding his thumb over the screen, skimming through the photos stored on the phone. They weren’t very personal. Seascapes of some rocky shoreline that looked nothing like the Texas coast. Distant children wading in the surf, silhouetted against a sunrise. A couple walking away from the camera, holding hands.

Finally, he saw a more typical snapshot of a woman holding a mutt. Trey was able to mentally compare this woman with the one in the driver’s license. Not Rebecca Cargill.

He slid his thumb across the screen once more. The next shot was also of the mutt, but this time, it was held by the woman on the driver’s license. Same pretty face. Same brown bangs. Same strain beneath the smile.

“She looks so young,” his aunt said, looking over his shoulder. “I can’t believe her license says she’s twenty-four, can you?”

Emily was looking over his other shoulder. “I thought we could use that photo if we needed to call the sheriff.”

That snapped Trey into action. He handed Emily the phone as he addressed his aunt and uncle. “You haven’t called the sheriff? Dark’s coming. There isn’t much time to get a search party out here.”

“Your foreman, Gus, he’s got the ranch hands doing the searching. They’ve been stomping all over the grounds. She couldn’t have gone that far on foot.”

His foreman? Trey didn’t have a foreman. Luke did. Trey hadn’t set foot on the ranch in a decade. With his parents traveling ten months out of the year as retirees, Luke was the Waterson who ran the James Hill Ranch. Luke had decided to promote their longtime ranch hand, Gus, to foreman. Trey had only agreed over the phone. He supposed it was just by virtue of being a Waterson that Aunt June addressed him as if he were still part of the James Hill.

Trey turned to Emily. “The sheriff’s got helicopters. We don’t. Call them.”

She ran to the house phone, the one that still hung on the kitchen wall as it had for the past twenty years or more.

His aunt patted his arm. “Honey, even the big Austin airport has been closed for hours now. They aren’t puttin’ anything up in the sky while ice is coming down out of it.”

“That may be true, but we’ll let the sheriff’s office make that decision. I’m not a pilot. I’m just—”

He stopped himself, then turned on his heel and headed back to the front door, past his father’s arm chair, past his mother’s lamp, the one he and his brother had broken and glued back together. He picked up his sheepskin coat where he’d left it and shrugged it on.

Aunt Jane followed him. “You’re just what?”

He chose a Stetson from the few hanging on pegs by the door. Whether his father’s or his brother’s, it didn’t matter. The men in the family were all built the same. It would fit.

“I’m the only Waterson around here right now, and I’ll be damned if a young woman is going to die on this ranch on my brother’s wedding day.”

He crammed the hat on his head, and headed out the door.