"Definitely. Later, Cat."
"Bye, Carter." I hang up with Carter, then hop out of the truck and round the front end. When I pop the hood, a billow of black smoke pours out. "Damnit." Throwing my hand in the air, I look up at the sky. "Really? You couldn't cut me some slack for even one day!" With a frustrated growl, I pull my phone from my back pocket, intending to call either Easton or my grandfather, when a beige sedan slows and pulls off to the side of the road right behind my truck. Lifting my hand, I shield my eyes from the blinding sun to see a figure step out of the car and make its way toward me.
"Car trouble?" a somewhat familiar voice calls out.
"Yeah, the darn thing just gave out on me. Thanks for…" My words die on my tongue when the figure stops in front of me, blocking out the sun, and I get a good look at who it is. "What are you doing here?"
My question goes unanswered because something hard comes down on the side of my head in the next second, and everything goes dark.
13
EASTON
I'm stretched out on the bed, with a notebook lying beside me and the guitar on my lap. I've been staring at a blank page and haven't strummed a single chord in over an hour. All I can do is look at the phone. I sigh. Setting the guitar on the bed, I stand and walk across the room with the phone in my hand and stare out the window. Once again, I dial Cat's number. It rings several times then goes to voicemail. "I don't like this." I hang up. Something isn't right. My girl is a creature of habit. You can set your clock by her routine, and she is never late getting home from work.
My phone rings and I think finally, but it's not Cat calling, only my sister. "Hey, Em." I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.
"I've had this nagging feeling to call you for the past couple of hours. Is everything okay?" Emerson asks.
I look up at the ceiling. "Cat's late."
"As in pregnant?" my sisters ask.
"No, Em. She hasn't made it in from running errands, and all of us here at the ranch are getting worried."
"Is this out of the norm for her? Maybe she simply stopped at the store or is visiting with friends." Emerson gives valid explanations, but none of them fit the mold.
"Maybe," I reply, but I don't believe that is the case.
"Do you feel differently?
"I have a knot in my stomach that is convincing me otherwise," I admit.
"Then listen to your gut, East. With all this stalker business, you shouldn't risk ignoring anything."
"You're right." I tell her and can hear the smirk on her face when she replies.
"I know. Anyway, keep me updated, and if you need anything—" Emerson pauses for a second, then says, "Love you."
"Same here." And I end the call. Needing fresh air, I step outside and take a deep breath. Relax. Maybe Emerson is right. It's only been two hours. I try my best to push the worry aside, but it's not working. Twenty minutes later, I find myself pacing the front porch.
"Any luck?" Arthur asks. I turn my head to find him taking a seat in his rocking chair. A few feet from him, David and Steve stand, both leaning against pillars, staring into the darkness.
"Straight to her voicemail," I say, then step off the porch.
"She could have broken down. The damn truck has given her fits here lately," Arthur states.
I step off the porch. "I'm going looking for her." I start heading toward my vehicle.
"Hold up," Arthur says, standing. I stop and look back. He walks into the house, only to emerge a minute later, holding a shotgun in his right hand. "I'm coming with you." He looks back at Steve and David. "Keep an eye on things. Let us know if my granddaughter calls."
"You got it." Steve nods.
The two of us climb into my truck. "You think there could be trouble?" I put the key into the ignition.
"Got to be prepared for any situation," Arthur says.
It's pitch black on the twenty mile stretch of two-way road between town and Callaghan Ranch. I feel the silence all around me as the humidity in the warm air sticks to my skin. Suddenly, my headlights reflect off the chrome bumper of a vehicle on the opposite side of the road. It's Cat's truck. My gut clenches, and frantic, disjointed thoughts race through my mind. Why wouldn't she have called? Did she get out and start walking home? What if she's hurt? What if…?
