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Shifting my hand, I tilted her head and leaned in, inching so slowly that she had every opportunity to pull away—but she didn’t. Just as my lips brushed hers—someone pounded on my door.
Yanking away—the spell was unequivocally broken—I went to the door and ripped it open, completely unhappy with being disturbed. I opened my mouth to demand why I was being bothered when Sarah's look of utter distress made me snap my lips tighter. And it was not only her; four of my guys were behind her, and they barged into the room.
“What is going on here?” I asked, angling my body to shield Rayna.
“She’s gone, John,” Sarah said.
“Who is gone?” I asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Samantha is gone, John,” Ben said tightly. “Sarah checked the whole house, and the guys and I looked over the ranch. She ain’t here. Samantha ran away.”
“What?” I shouted, fear crippling my whole body. “Jesus.”
Every thought of finding a private place with Rayna, I was still profoundly attracted to her, flew out the window. I had to find Sam; anything else would come after.
ChapterEight
Rayna
The shift in John’s demeanor told me that this man loved his children more than himself and that God would have to help anyone who might have taken Samantha. My gaze snapped to a few of the guys, two of whom were trading looks at each other while shooting a few sneaky ones at me.
I knew they had questions, but those could wait until later when we found Samantha.
“You’re sure she’s gone?” John demanded, and I could see the protective parent and the boss in him coming out. “Could she be hiding in the stables or the petting zoo?”
“We checked…” an older man said gruffly, “…all her favorite places. We were just about to call the cops but came to see you first.”
John rubbed a hand over his face. “I suppose that is the only option we—”
“No, wait,” I stopped him, and every eye in the room flew to me. I swallowed, my mind working furiously. “Maybe we can find her. You said you checked all the places she used to go, right, places she can walk there? What about places she can ride? Does she have a bike or a horse?”
“She has both,” John replied.
“Her horse is here,” one of the men replied. “I checked the stables. Ricky is munching away on hay as cool as he can be.”
“Okay, but where would she go?” I asked. “The town’s library or the park? The local ice cream shop…” I began to think over the options; the last one had me wincing. “John, do you think she could have gone to—”
“The cemetery,” he said grimly. “It’s a possibility, but still, Ben, you, and Jake go check the library, Carlos and Dusty, the park, and Micah, handle the ice cream place. Rayna, come with me, please. Sarah, please stay here in case she comes back.”
I nodded and rushed with him to the front, where many vehicles were parked. We got into his truck, and John turned, then sped out from the front drive like a bat out of hell. I kept silent as he drove, noting the tension in his arms and the ticking muscle in his jaw.
He’s angry and worried but can’t determine which wins.
The graveyard was not that far—or maybe it was, seeing as John was breaking every speeding limit known to man—and we got there at the other end of town in record time. John parked the car quickly, and we jumped out. The medium plot, about an acre and a half big, had neat rows and headstones, and we passed a square that was being prepared for another casket. I didn’t know what it was about graves, but the air always felt silent and still over these dearly departed souls.
We passed a few graves with scattered flowers; one even had graffiti on it—how disrespectful—and a few with headstones so faded and weathered the names were gone. John was striding firmly to a plot up a hillock and toward a spreading oak tree where I assumed his late wife was resting.
A dingy sneaker poked out from around the tree as we broke the hillock, and John broke into a sprint. I followed quickly and saw when he collapsed, his hand slamming on the earth while his head bowed.
He didn’t have to say or shout a word; even ten paces behind him, I could feel the relief washing over and through him. I got to the top and saw him there, and Samantha curled up on the ground before her mother’s gravestone—completely asleep, her bike beside her.
I slapped my hand over my mouth as tears slipped from John’s eyes on seeing his missing child. My heart lurched to the side, and I swallowed thickly. This was what a father who would give his life to his child looked like.
I got to his side as he dashed the tears away, then went to lift Samantha from the ground gently and into his arms. Samantha stirred, and her eyes opened a little. “Daddy?”
“I’m here, baby,” he replied, and I heard a crack in his voice. “I’m here.”
Stepping away, I watched as he carried her down the hillock, and I felt the tight knock of tension in my belly begin to fray out. Thank God I followed my instincts and thought this was where she could have come. I grabbed the bike and rolled it down behind them.
