Bad Penny (6 page)

“Dad, I need the keys to your truck. Cat isn’t answering her phone, and she should have been back long before now. I’m going to look for her.”

“I’m going with you,” Carter said.

Dorothy glanced at the tree branch through the window. “What about that?” she asked.

“We’ll deal with it when we get back,” Carter said as he palmed his keys. “Get in, Wilson. I’m driving.”

Wilson didn’t care and didn’t argue. All he wanted was to get moving.

His stomach was already in a knot and, as they started up the driveway toward the highway, worry turned to fear. Destruction was everywhere.

“Oh, no…Dad…where the hell is she?” he whispered.

Carter glanced at him once, then gritted his teeth and focused on avoiding the debris on the road.

“Don’t borrow trouble, son. She could have taken shelter almost anywhere.”

“She would have called.”

Carter sighed. It was hard to argue with the truth.

They had topped the hill and started down when Wilson glanced over into the pasture on his right.

“The fence is down, Dad.”

Carter nodded. “It’s okay. I moved the cattle out of there last week. We’ll fix it later.”

As they neared the highway, a news van was coming toward them. Wilson could see the passenger hanging out the driver’s side window filming the evidence of the destruction. Then he heard the familiar whap-whap sound of helicopter rotors and glanced up. Another news crew.

“How do they get out and about so fast?” Carter muttered, more to himself than to Wilson.

Wilson heard his father’s voice, but couldn’t make out the words. His mind was trying to get past the sight of a truck bed sticking out of the north end of the stock pond. He grabbed the dash with one hand and the door handle with the other.

“Stop,” Wilson said.

“What’s up, son?” Carter asked. “Dad! Stop! Now!”

Wilson was already opening the door before Carter hit the brakes, and he was out and running as Carter slammed the shift into Park. Carter was yelling at him to be careful, but Wilson didn’t hear. His heart was

pounding so hard he couldn’t hear himself breathe as he cleared the ditch and kept on running.

Carter cursed beneath his breath. Wilson wasn’t in any shape to be jumping stuff. Dorothy would have his hide if he brought their eldest son back to the house in any condition other than safe. Still, he knew Wilson well enough to know something must be wrong. He shifted into four-wheel drive and drove off the highway across the ditch, then through the break in the fence where the wire was down. He didn’t know the news crew had noticed the same thing Wilson had until he glanced up in his rearview mirror and saw them following.

He frowned, then glanced up at the chopper overhead. “What the hell?”

It wasn’t until he saw the back bumper and part of a truck bed sticking out of the pond that he panicked. God in heaven, it looked like Wilson’s truck.

Catherine!

Wilson didn’t know or care that his hasty exit had started a parade of vehicles trailing him to the pond. But he knew now why Cat hadn’t answered the phone.

The sky was clearing. Patches of blue were showing through the swiftly moving clouds, which seemed wrong. How could the weather be improving when his life was going to hell? Rain had collected in indentations in the ground, and now it splattered up and onto the legs of his jeans as he ran. The body of a steer lay up against what appeared to be a piece of

someone’s roof, but he didn’t give the macabre scene so much as a glance.

Even before he reached the pond, he knew it was his truck. Seeing the plate number only confirmed his worst fear. By the time he reached the water, he was shaking. Without hesitation, he pulled off his boots, dropped his cell phone inside them and went into the water, then began feeling his way along the truck body until he reached the door. He took a deep breath and went under, desperately pulling at the handle, but no matter how hard he yanked, the door wouldn’t budge. It was wedged too deeply into the mud.

God…please don’t do this now…not after everything we’ve been through.

Out of breath, he was forced to emerge. He paused only long enough to take a deep breath, then went back under.

He was feeling his way along the truck body to the other side, trying not to think of the obvious implications. He found the other handle, but that door wouldn’t give, either. He pulled and pulled until his lungs were bursting. In fear and frustration, he shot to the surface.

Carter was in the water a few yards away.

“Wilson! Is she there?” he yelled.

Wilson didn’t answer. He was already going back under, even though he knew too much time had passed. Even though he knew she might not even be inside. Even though…

His mind was racing as he began to move along the length of the truck

again—this time aiming for the hood. He felt the curve of metal, then the place where the windshield should have been. To his horror, it was gone. He pulled himself up and inside the cab, operating entirely on touch. He found the steering wheel first, then felt the back of the seat. Desperate to find her, but dreading the first moment of contact, he kept searching until he realized that she wasn’t inside. Scared out of his mind that she was somewhere on the muddy bottom but also hoping against hope that she might have made it out under her own power, he was forced to surface once again.

He came up gasping for air, then drew a breath and let it out in a roar of pain so pure that tears came to Carter’s eyes. Believing that Wilson must have found her body, he started toward his son, wading as quickly as he could through the muddy pond.

But Wilson wasn’t waiting for comfort. He dragged himself out and onto the bank, then pulled himself upright before looking back into the pond.

Except for the ripples his exit had caused, the surface of the water was almost placid, unlike his thoughts.

Carter came out of the water and ran to him. “Son?”

“She wasn’t inside.”

They both stared at the muddy water, imagining her lifeless body lying somewhere beneath.

“I’ll call the sheriff,” Carter offered.

Wilson covered his face and then dropped his hands to his sides. The sound that came up from his throat was physical heartbreak.

Carter flinched; then his vision blurred. There was only one thing worse than being hurt himself, and that was watching someone he loved suffer.

Wilson grabbed his boots, dumped the cell phone out onto the ground, and then put them on as his father was making the call.

He pocketed his phone, then began talking to himself. “This isn’t happening. I don’t believe this is the way Catherine Dupree is supposed to die. She survived death three times at the hand of man. I do not buy the premise that nature takes her out.”

Carter slid a hand on Wilson’s shoulder.

“The sheriff is already out surveying damage. They relayed the message to him.”

Wilson turned, his anger obvious.

“Relayed? As in…he’ll get to it when he gets time?” Then he hit the sides of his legs with his fists.

Carter was sick at heart. The pain on his son’s face was terrifying. “Wilson…son. We have no control over—”

Wilson turned on his dad, his rage evident. “No! Not like this. Never like this.”

Before Carter could stop him, Wilson started walking. “Wilson, wait! Where the hell are you going?”

But Wilson wasn’t listening. He started circling the pond, looking for anything to give himself hope. With the windshield missing, she could have climbed out of the truck on her own. All he needed were some tracks coming out of the mud at the edge. He was halfway around the pond when he paused to survey the backside of the dam at the far end. Suddenly his heart skipped a beat. A boot! There was a boot down the slope lying next to a rock.

Without caution, he headed down, running and slipping in the wet muddy grass as he went.

Four

Wilson’s stomach knotted. Even before he picked up the boot, he knew it was Cat’s. He’d watched her put her boots on—and take them off—far too many times to be mistaken.

The cold leather and the water inside it gave him a sick, empty feeling. He dumped out the water, then began scanning the land, searching for any sign of the woman who held his heart.

In the distance, he saw something yellow fluttering from the branches of a piece of scrub brush and started toward it, still clutching the boot. The

closer he got, the more certain he was that it was a piece of the shirt she’d been wearing. He took a slow, shaky breath and kept moving, using the small bit of color as his anchor to sanity.

As he trudged through the pasture, it became evident that he wasn’t as fully recovered from his gunshot wounds and surgery as he’d believed. After three dunks in the pond, and now this, the muscles in his legs were beginning to ache. His heart was pounding as he moved closer to the bush. It wasn’t until he picked up the fabric caught on the thorns that the horror of what he was holding began to sink in and he knew for sure. If the storm had ripped the windshield out of the truck, Cat could have gone with it. He couldn’t let himself think of finding her in pieces, as he was finding her clothes.

He brushed the bit of yellow cloth against the side of his face, swallowed past the knot in his throat, and then put the fabric in his pocket and kept on moving.

There had been a small grove of trees about a hundred yards from the dam. They were gone. Ripped up by the roots. He paused, staring down at the holes in the ground like a man in a trance, as if their absence was a clue to Catherine’s whereabouts.

Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn’t feel them. He was numb from the inside out to everything but fear. Finally he looked up and turned around.

Another dead pig lay a short distance away. Already a swarm of flies was beginning to gather. He gritted his teeth as he looked away. Focusing on death wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not until he was faced with the undeniable proof.

A shadow passed across the ground in front of him. He tilted his head, suddenly aware that the news chopper was still there. Then he saw the cameraman waving wildly and saw him pointing out into the pasture beyond where he was standing.

He turned to look, and that was when he saw it. Movement.

In the distance.

His heart ricocheted against his ribcage with a sharp, painful thud. Someone in brown clothing was walking toward him—no, staggering. Suddenly the figure disappeared, and for a moment Wilson thought he’d imagined it. But when the figure reappeared on the horizon, he realized that whoever it was had just fallen down and was in the act of getting up again.

He started walking, his stride long and measured. The closer he got to the figure, the more anxious he became, but it wasn’t until he realized it was a woman and saw her long dark hair that it hit him.

Catherine!

She’d done it again. Survived when the odds were against her.

He dropped her boot and began to run—forgetting that their reunion was about to be caught on tape by the film crew in the air.

The closer he got, the faster his heart beat. She was covered in mud and

leaves, and her hair was plastered to her face and neck. There wasn’t a stitch of clothing left on her body, but she was in one piece, and all he could do was praise God for the miracle. When he got close enough for her to hear him, he began calling her name.

Cat had come to, flat on her back in the middle of a pasture, lying on top of what appeared to be a windshield and staring up at a scattering of clouds partially covering a pale blue sky. She took a breath and then moaned. Everything hurt, but she couldn’t remember why.

When she tried to sit up, the world went crazy, dipping and swaying and turning in circles. She grabbed hold of the only available stability—the windshield on which she was lying—and held on for dear life until the spinning stopped.

When it finally did, she realized that, except for a layer of mud and leaves, she was naked. There were streaks of blood mixed with the mess —which explained the burning sensation she was feeling all over her skin— but she still couldn’t remember what had happened.

It wasn’t until she got to her feet and saw the debris left by the tornado’s aftermath that understanding dawned. She remembered turning off the highway and starting down the long road leading to the ranch when she’d gotten swept up by the storm.

Her thoughts went immediately to Wilson. What if the tornado had hit the ranch?

She needed to find him. She needed to see his face. All she had to do was

put one foot in front of the other, but as soon as she tried, it became apparent that it was easier said than done.

Movement caused pain—and pain caused confusion. She didn’t know which direction to go, or even if she could stay upright. But she had to find Wilson, and to do that, she had to move.

She stumbled through the pasture, falling to her knees more than once. It was the overwhelming need to survive that kept driving her to get back up and keep going. Too dizzy to focus and too determined to stay upright, she was oblivious to everything but the effort needed to keep walking until, in the distance, she thought she heard a helicopter—and beneath that, the sound of someone yelling. Someone calling her. But who? Where? Then she saw movement in the distance.