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“One job down, twenty-million more to go,” Skylar said, but her voice was no longer cynical, and it held a lighter note, which hadn’t been there before. Julie had obviously worked her magic.
Skylar decided she wanted to make the royal icing for the wedding cake—because it had to be perfect, of course—and Julie and Bindi had just set to work making the pepperberry crackers, when Mack bust into the kitchen.
“Madonna and Melody have escaped again,” he said breathlessly.
“What?” Bindi looked up from where she was turning out the dough onto a floured board, ready to be rolled really thin and cut into squares.
“I was just up at the stables. One of Daisy’s friends left her jacket up there yesterday after their ride, and I went up to see if I could find it. As soon as I went through the entrance, I noticed that Madonna’s stall was wide open. There’s no sign of either of them.”
“Shit,” Bindi swore, and the other two women stopped what they were doing and looked up. “Have you told Steve?”
“No, he’s gone to Cairns with Daniella, Dale, and a raft of Daisy’s family, so they can pick up the best men’s rental tuxedos and buy any last-minute items they need before the wedding. They won’t be back until late this afternoon.” Mack’s face was flushed, as if he’d run all the way down the hill and straight to the lodge. It’d been two days since that fated kiss on the sofa. Two long, torturous days, where Bindi had avoided Mack as much as she could. Which hadn’t been hard, as they were both being run off their feet. She hadn’t even had time to ask him how his arm was doing; if his stitches were healing okay. But something had been bothering him, she could tell by the tense little lines around his tawny eyes. She’d caught him and Dean in deep conversation yesterday morning, but they’d broken apart as soon as she’d stepped foot on the veranda, Mack giving her a guilty smile. Come to think of it, Dean had looked decidedly edgy yesterday, too. But Bindi didn’t want to know what was going on, she was over all this drama. Her mind went back to the task at hand.
“Shit,” Bindi said again. “We need to find them before they get too far away. Steve would hate to lose his prize horses.”
“I know,” Mack replied. But he seemed to be waiting for her to say something, as if he were unsure what to do next. Today he was wearing faded blue jeans and a blue Stormcloud shirt, set off by his brown work Stetson, which he’d forgotten to remove in his rush to come inside. He looked gorgeous, and it was all Bindi could do to keep her mind on what he’d just said.
Bindi glanced at Skylar, who swiped a strand of blond hair away from her face and stared back. Then, with a scowl and a nod of her head, she said, “You two had better go look for them. Julie will have to finish up the crackers on her own.”
“I can manage,” Julie sang out, but Skylar ignored her.
“I thought Dale was going to fix the stall, so that damned mare couldn’t pull these Houdini acts,” Skylar added. “This is the last thing we need today.”
“So did I,” Bindi shot back, already washing the last of the dough from her hands under the kitchen faucet.
“I told Steve and Dale about these new latches we’ve been using at Stargazer,” Mack said, almost apologetically. “I think Steve ordered some, but they haven’t arrived yet.”
“We’ll have to do something to fix them temporarily before then once we get them back. Even if we have to padlock the stable door shut,” Bindi huffed. Joining Mack in the doorway, she grabbed her Akubra off a hook near the door and said, “I think we should take the horses. We can track them easier that way.”
“I agree.” Mack gestured for her to precede him to the door.
“Don’t forget to take a radio each,” Skylar called after them, and Bindi gave her a wave and took two radios and two shoulder holsters out of the cupboard just inside the door. It was Dale’s job as leading hand to make sure all the radios were returned every day, as well as keep them charged up and ready for use, so at least she knew these radios would be in perfect working order.
Their conversation was non-existent as they raced up to the stables, slipping into the shoulder holsters as they went, Bindi trying to figure out which way the mare could’ve gone. She saddled Sahara quickly, while Mack did the same with Picasso. Then she led Sahara out of the saddling yard and studied the ground in front of the main entrance. The earth was dry, the rust-colored dust churned up with all sorts of footprints. She couldn’t tell if any belonged to Madonna, or her filly. Would the mare take off in the same direction she’d gone the last time? Toward Dimbulah. Bindi walked down the gravel roadway, leading Sahara behind her. If she had gone toward town, then she should be able to find footprints farther down. But here was nothing, and Bindi wasted precious minutes investigating the earth on both sides of the roadway for any signs. Mack stood, waiting for her without a word, Picasso’s ears flicking forward and back as he also waited for the word to get going. Mack had tied a couple of lead ropes and a spare bridle to his saddle, Bindi noted. At least one of them was thinking straight.
On a hunch, she led Sahara around the back of the stables. Two trails led off almost at right angles from here, one toward the old gold mine, and one following the ridge of low hills, then winding upward onto the top of the escarpment. Dale and Julie had taken a contingent of wedding guests up onto the escarpment yesterday, but no one had ridden out to the gold mine in nearly a week. Most of the time, they took the ATVs to the mine; it was easier and quicker, and you could carry more supplies—like lunch—on the back of the little four-wheel-drives.
Bindi walked slowly down the track, head down, eyes trained on the red dirt, with Sahara trailing obediently after her. There. A single hoof print. Smaller than any of the others. Made by the little filly, if she wasn’t mistaken.
“Over here,” Bindi sang out, mounting up. Mack, who’d been hanging back, so he didn’t mix his own footprints in with the ones she was studying, rode up behind her.
“Which way?” he asked, tawny eyes intent and focussed.
“Toward the old mine.” She raised a hand and pointed. “Although, I’m not sure why Madonna would head in that direction. There’s very little feed, all the pasture areas are back toward the road.” It was confusing. But then, who knew exactly what went through the mind of a horse? Mack had yet to visit the mine, which might put him at a disadvantage. She gave him a quick rundown of the layout as they walked briskly along the gravel path. Hopefully, they’d spot the two runaway horses well before they made it to the mine. Bindi kept her eyes on the ground in front, making sure they were still following the horse’s hoofprints.
Hang on. Something was wrong. Bindi leaned down in her saddle, slowing Sahara so she could double-check the marks on the path. There were Madonna’s hoof prints, with little Melody’s smaller ones, showing her trotting dutifully alongside. But there was another set. Slightly larger than Madonna’s.
Bindi sat back in her saddle, just as Mack said, “Do you see three sets of prints?”
“Yes,” she agreed. But what did that mean?
“Did someone steal Madonna?” Mack voiced her fears, even before she could properly form them.
Surely not. “Why would anyone do that?” she asked, incredulous.
“You told me yourself that she and her filly were worth a pretty penny,” Mack replied.
She pondered that for a few seconds. He was right. But a horse thief? Way out here? The idea bordered on the ridiculous. Especially during the middle of the day, and with all the people around for the wedding. But then, maybe the thief was counting on them being distracted, and had chosen his time more carefully than she first thought.
