Dare to Dream (7 page)

“Where?” she mouthed.

“Where are we going?” She nodded. “Easier to show you.” Charlie opened the door and Will carried her through, across and off the porch and onto a well-worn trail around back. He stood her on her feet in front of the outhouse hoping everything would become clear.

* * * *

An outhouse? Seriously? Well, she supposed the primitive toilet was better than the alternative. She’d already had an internal hissy fit when the thought occurred to her one or both of those men had been
seeing to her needs.
She had wanted a cup of coffee but had been afraid to ask, fearing the results. Will unwound the blanket. The thought of him touching her—there—while she slept sent flames blazing from her toes to the roots of her hair. The most scorching heat centered at the apex of her thighs. He grinned at her when he freed her legs, and the blush grew hotter. Damn, the man had a devastating smile!

“Need a hand?” he asked huskily.

Meghan shook her head and moved through the little door as quick as possible without tripping over her feet. Once the door closed, she leaned against the rough wood, waiting for her eyes and nose to adjust. If the place smelled this foul in cold weather, how could they stand it in the summer? A good dosing of lime was sorely needed. Well, the sooner she did her business, the sooner she’d get out. She hitched up the shirttail and sort of hovered over the hole.

“Everything all right?”

She damn near fell in! Now how the hell was she supposed to answer the handsome idiot? She opened her mouth and managed to make a mouse-like noise. Frustrated, she slammed a fist into the side wall.

“Just checking.”

She scowled at the crescent moon in the door. If he peeked in, she would poke him in the eye. Where the hell was the toilet paper? Very little light came through the cut-out making it difficult to see anything, but she saw nothing that resembled a roll. What she did find was the remains of a catalog hanging from a leather thong about six inches from where she had slammed her fist. Oh, good grief! Who did they think they were, Grizzly Adams? She thumbed through the pages trying to find a soft one. Finally, she gave up and tore one out.

She squinted at the paper, no, that couldn’t be right, probably a kid’s toy. It was a good price. Twenty five dollars for a replica of a Conestoga Wagon. She crumpled the sheet in her hand, hoping to avoid a painful paper cut. Once she climbed off her perch, and let the shirt fall to her knees, she made a mental note to murder Donna when she came back with help. Realization hit her. When did she decide this wasn’t a dream? Meg put a hand on the wall to steady herself as a wave of dizziness swept over her. When her head cleared, she opened the door.

Will stood waiting with the blanket, a frown fixed between his eyes when his gaze raked over her. Lord knew what she looked like. She leaned into him as he wrapped her in the cocoon then fitted her head to his shoulder when he lifted her in his arms. She felt his lips brush her hair.

A lump lodged in her throat. Who was this man? How had she come to be here? Where was Donna? Why couldn’t she speak? The sob welled from deep within and broke the surface as a wail. He stopped walking and held her tightly as she cried into the warmth of his neck. After her sobs subsided, he silently continued the trek toward the cabin.

The sun had risen higher now. Meghan squinted against the glare. Her surroundings seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps she hadn’t been completely unconscious when Donna brought her here. She didn’t remember anything except the old lady’s place, the wonders of the barn, and the mutant spider that tried to kill her.

* * * *

Poor little thing near broke his heart with her tears. He should have made a curtain and brought in the slop jar. No need to be pushing so hard because she seemed a bit better. Charlie had said head wounds were tricky. Maybe some more birch tea. Had she seemed warm when he wrapped her back up? She’d sure been flushed earlier.

He fought his conscience all the way back toward the house, ignoring Spirit’s whinny even when the girl raised her head to stare. Her pleading eyes were his downfall. He angled away from the path to the house until his feet trod the one to the corral.

Spirit danced along the fence line like he did when Will brought him a mare. His head held high, silver tail flagging, all snort and blow. The show seemed to work for this filly, too. She took her arms from around Will’s neck and held them out to the stallion, a broad smile lighting her face that moments before had been wracked with sobs. More surprising was the horse’s response, he hung his head over the top rail and nuzzled her face, nostrils flaring to catch her scent.

Will propped his foot on the lower rail and her butt on his knee, using one arm to steady her as she stroked Spirit’s thick neck and made cooing noises like a mourning dove. The stud’s ears flicked forward to listen, a rumbling nicker his answer to whatever she said. She kissed his nose, rubbing her cheek against the velvet muzzle.

Now that was just plain sad. He was jealous of his horse.

He’d never seen the stud respond to anyone this way. He tolerated Charlie because he sometimes fed the stock when Will was away. Will had fought to earn the horse’s trust and broke him slow and easy to keep it. What about this girl drew them both in and held them tight?

“We best get you in before Charlie takes a razor strap to me.” He waited while she gave the horse another kiss and a scratch behind his ear, slipped a hand under her knees, and turned toward the house.

One of these days Donna planned to find out how Bob acquired his pull. Sure he was a District Court Judge in Arkansas, but this kind of power didn’t come with the title. When they had Meghan back safe and sound, Donna would make a point to find the skeletons in his closet, but in the meantime, his need to flaunt his power could be useful.

Donna sat on the tailgate of the truck where she had been instructed to remain—or get locked in the CSI van. The convoy had arrived at the farm a couple of hours after dawn and turned the place into a veritable ant colony. FBI types scurried to and fro with cameras and sample cases filled with God knows what. They had allowed Donna to go into the house to point where everyone had sat and whose cup belonged to whom. They repeated the same procedure with the barn. She hadn’t been in the loft, but she pointed where she and Meg stood. Most of what she had touched remained in the trailer at the sheriff’s station where yet another team searched for clues. Dan had stayed behind to oversee their progress and report back to his dad.

The team dusted for prints and searched for trace evidence, but as she feared, any tire tracks or footprints had been washed away in the deluge. More than seventy-two hours had passed since Meghan vanished.

She was not dead! No matter what the statistics said, Donna would know if Meghan had ceased to exist. Until they produced a body, no one would convince her otherwise. The pitying glances and hushed whispers already curdled her stomach.

Walkie-talkies squawked, cell phones rang, and the forensic teams went about their business. Donna swung her legs back and forth off the tailgate, arms at her side, hands pressed against the metal. Like a runner waiting for the gun, she was poised ready to spring into action if anyone shouted they had found something.
Where are you, Meghan?

A loud throat clearing snapped her back to attention, and she turned to find the head honcho and Bob standing next to the truck. He introduced himself as Gresham and wasted no time telling them he was “no relation.” Donna didn’t know if he meant to the author or the TV
CSI
guy, and frankly, didn’t give a rat’s ass. Bob said he was the best, and she held him to his word, a relief since the man looked more like Colonel Sanders, especially in his white coveralls.

“Did you find something? What did you find? Say something!”

Bob clamped a hand on her shoulder and gave her a stern frown. Gresham held out a red sequined cell phone case.

“That’s Meg’s!” Donna leaped from the tailgate only to have Bob snatch her back up and plop her butt back down—hard.

“Stay put.”

Donna took a moment to glare at him, bad enough he’d made Dan stay with the trailer in town. “Where did you find it?”

“Beneath some moldy hay on the barn floor.” He glanced from Bob to the toe of his paper booties. “Did you happen to notice the broken top rung of the ladder?”

“No…it can’t be. Meg climbed the ladder and lowered the saddles over the side. If the rung had broken, I would know.”

“It’s broken now. You claim you heard a scream—”

“I
heard
a scream. I took no more than ten seconds to get inside afterward. And I am pretty damned tired of repeating myself. What are you driving at?”

The two men shared a glance before Gresham continued. “We’ve found some inconsistencies in your story.”

“No,” Donna said decisively. “My story has been the same every time. Y’all just need to get the peanut butter out of your ears.”

The man curled one corner of his lip at her insult. “That’s not what I meant Mrs. Andrews. What I meant to say is, you claim your GPS didn’t function and your cell phone had no signal. This phone shows full bars, and all our equipment is working perfectly.”

Donna shrugged. Gresham’s demeanor suggested he held something back. “A storm front moved in. Maybe the weather caused the interruption. I don’t know, that’s your area not mine. What else did you find?”

Bob shot Gresham another look, and she wanted to kick him—so she did. “Listen, you piece of shit, let him tell me what he has or thinks he has, and let’s get this show on the road!”

The judge rubbed his shin and opened his mouth, but the other man beat him to the punch. “We found blood on the main support post. Possibly, the rung broke, and your friend fell and hit her head. Where did she carry her phone?”

Donna growled, “Clipped to her jeans as you well know. You saw the clip on the cover. She wore her jeans too damn tight to get the phone in her pocket. Stop wasting time trying to trip me up! Are you saying she hit her head and wandered off?”

“Not in ten seconds.”

So, he’d reached the punch line at last. They thought she got the timeline wrong. Had she? Donna retraced her steps in her mind. She went from the house to the trailer at a trot to get the saddles under cover. They weighed a ton and were hard to move, so that took maybe two minutes, three tops. She had been lowering the door when Meg screamed, and she broke and ran. Donna leapt from the tailgate and ran, calling over her shoulder, “Time me!”

She skidded to a stop just inside the barn door. “Well?”

The two men slid to a halt behind her as she froze to the spot she had on the day Meg disappeared.

“Eight point four seconds, but I took a couple more to hit the timer. I’m willing to call it ten,” Gresham allowed.

“How kind of you. It seemed darker than now, probably later in the day and because of the storm. I remember a flash of lightning, but I couldn’t see her. I called and called, but she never answered. I didn’t look up.” She did so now. The broken rung was barely visible in the gloom. “I wouldn’t have seen the break then even if I tried.”

“How did she sound?”

“Terrified, and Meg doesn’t scare easy.” Goose bumps crawled across Donna’s back and down her arms. She moved into Bob when his arm circled her shoulders, hating herself for wanting his comfort.

“She must either have screamed in the loft or as she fell. Even if the blow didn’t knock her unconscious, the landing would. We measured twenty-four feet from the loft to the floor.” Gresham voiced his thoughts. “She couldn’t jump up and run after a fall like that, even if she didn’t break anything, which is highly unlikely.”

Donna’s knees gave way, and Bob made a grab to hold her up, catching her under her arms. He eased her to the floor and pressed her head between her knees.

Heart pounding in her ears, Donna could barely hear her own question, “So, you think someone carried her off?”

“It seems the most likely scenario. We’ll take a blood sample, of course. Is her type on file anywhere?”

“Yeah, at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Little Rock. She told me she had an emergency appendectomy when she was thirteen. They should still have it in back file.” Meg would try to get away if she wasn’t too injured to move. Donna choked back her sob and took a deep breath. “No vehicles were nearby, or we would have heard them. We didn’t pass anyone on the way up the mountain. It was real quiet until the storm rolled in. They must have been on foot. You need to get the dogs in here.”

He took her hand and she allowed him to help her to her feet. “I made the call, Mrs. Andrews. I’m good at my job.”

“So I’m told, Mr. G. I’d hate to call my father-in-law a liar, so you find my friend and you find her fast. You really wouldn’t want me on your bad side.”

“I don’t suppose I would.”

This time she got his full smile. Perhaps he was stronger than he looked if her threat didn’t bother him—or stupid. She didn’t think he was stupid, and for Meg’s sake, she hoped she was right.

* * * *

The dogs went crazy inside the barn. Their handlers didn’t know what to make of their behavior. They caught the scent easily enough from Meg’s dirty clothes which Donna provided. They ran a pattern from where the truck sat to the house and back to the barn, but no further. They had three different handlers each with a different breed of scent hound: bloodhound, blue tick, and redbone. All had multiple rescues under their collars, but still ended up singing to the ceiling in the barn. Their mournful howls, eerie in the twilight.