“I know.” He rammed his arms into the sleeves. “I’m going after her.”
Wyatt leaned on the doorframe. “Going after her? Did you two have a fight?”
Ryder ignored him, turning to Sarah. “Ellie?—”
“Don’t worry about Ellie.” Sarah squeezed his arm. “I’m off tomorrow morning. She can stay here as long as you need.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed his keys.
Caleb caught his arm, slipped a small box into his hand.
“Emergency kit,” he said, as if he were handing over a flashlight or a spare set of keys. “Don’t say I never look out for you.”
Ryder blinked, then swore under his breath as he recognized the box. “Jesus, Caleb.”
Caleb didn’t so much as blink. “Just practical.”
Ryder pocketed the box like it might burn a hole through his palm. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mmm.” Caleb’s tone stayed maddeningly neutral, but he winked at Wyatt. “You can thank me later.”
“You’re an ass,” Ryder muttered, but there was no weight to it. His mind was already out the door.
“Be careful out there,” Wyatt called. “Road’ll be hell.”
Ryder lifted a hand in acknowledgment and yanked the door open. Arctic air slapped him in the face. The porch steps were slick, but adrenaline drove him down them two at a time, overriding caution.
Ivy was out there.
Alone.
And nothing on earth was going to stop him from finding her.
Snow whipped around him in stinging spirals once he cleared the covered porch. The type of cold that punished every exposed inch of skin. Weather that could turn fatal for anyone caught unprepared.
Anyone driving a piece-of-shit rental car on roads they barely knew.
Fuck.
His truck was a hulking silhouette under its layer of fresh snow. Sliding into the cab, he cranked the ignition. The engine rumbled awake on the first try, the heater roaring to life, gauges flicking steady.
Thank fuck.
As he backed out, the headlights carved twin beams into the whiteout, catching the indent of Ivy’s tire tracks. Already half-filled, faint lines led away from warmth and safety.
Away from him.
Not for long.
Visibility was down to fifty feet at best. Powder skimmed over a treacherous base of ice—he felt it in the way the tires shifted under the frame. He tapped the temperature gauge with one knuckle. Dropping fast.
He set his jaw and eased the truck forward, engaging four-wheel drive with a satisfying thunk. He pushed on through drifts that would swallow Ivy’s crappy rental whole.
He rolled damp palms on the steering wheel.
Every instinct honed through combat and fatherhood screamed danger. He leaned forward, shoulders tight, scanning for the glow of her taillights. Nothing. Just the empty road stretching ahead, bordered by pines sagging low with snow.
Nothing passed him. Anyone with half a brain was tucked safely indoors, waiting out the storm by a warm fire.
