sunny day. After all that rain yesterday, he probably did.
“Damn, Dusty,” Craig said, “women cause a lot of trouble. You know that? No, how would you know that? They gelded you before you had a chance to find out.”
Dusty snorted but didn’t break stride.
“I mean, Sky is a grown, capable woman, right? So why the hell should I be worried? She went out to paint, the way she was doing before she even met me. She was doing just fine on her own without me. She even has combat experience and training, something most women don’t have. So I’m stupid to be all worried, right?”
Dusty didn’t answer. Of course.
“Just because something weird is going on over at Buddy’s doesn’t mean she’s in any danger. Hell, Don saw those guys playing their little games in the woods, but there’s absolutely no reason they should go beyond that, not unless they’re hunting for some serious trouble. Are they that stupid? I doubt it.”
Again no answer from his companion. Talking to a horse had its advantages, in that he didn’t get any back talk, but sometimes it was seriously unsatisfying.
Then he asked himself probably the most important question of all: Would he be nearly as worried about any of this if Sky weren’t in the equation?
The answer: no. Most definitely no. He had confidence in his ability to deal with damn near everything that life delivered his way. So why shouldn’t he give the same courtesy to Sky? She might not know the forest the way he did, but she sure as hell knew a lot of other stuff that could be useful, even out here. She was trained, damn it. She hadn’t just walked off a street like a lost lamb.
That settled him down some and he eased up on the pedal a bit, giving Dusty a breather. Not much farther now to where Sky usually parked.
Her car was still there. Good sign? Bad sign. He cussed, parked right behind her and got out to saddle Dusty. Dusty stood perfectly still for him, his flanks almost quivering in anticipation.
Craig patted him. “You like a good ride, don’t you?”
Of course he did. It wasn’t just running around and working off energy that Dusty liked. Craig had long since figured out that the horse liked feeling useful, too.
When he was sure he had everything, he mounted Dusty and headed along a narrow deer track that would take him to the place where Sky liked to paint. Overhanging limbs kept him from moving too fast, and his heartbeat seemed to increase with every little delay.
If Sky thought someone needed help, she wouldn’t hesitate. He was sure of that, as sure as he was of anything about her. She dove right in, wanting to be helpful and part of any solution. Wanting to protect. That seemed to be as strong in her as it was in him.
He hoped like hell that she’d listened to Lucy about the possibility she’d heard a mountain lion. They didn’t make the sound often, but he’d heard it on occasion: it sounded just like a man screaming, very different from their usual roars and growls. It could fool someone who hadn’t heard it before.
He worried, too, because an experience like Iraq seemed to burn most normal fears and cautions out of people. Well, of course it did. You had to do things that ordinary folks would never do. You had to learn to stifle spine-chilling fear in favor of action. And then it just seemed to burn out, as if you grew dead to it.
So she wasn’t going to stand there wringing her hands and she clearly hadn’t returned to her vehicle.
He swore quietly and watched Dusty’s ears prick. Leaning forward, he patted Dusty’s neck. “Not you, boy. Not you.”
It seemed like a lifetime passed before he reached the clearing, and what he saw jumped his concern into high gear. Her painting kit lay in the grass. Her radio was gone as was her tarp, and maybe some other stuff. She had evidently taken off to investigate the scream.
It was exactly what he would have done, so he couldn’t blame her.
From horseback he couldn’t see any signs of where she had gone. Dismounting, he scanned the area around her painting supplies and couldn’t glean anything either. Grasses full of water sprang back quickly, and on this slope the water had drained too fast to leave muddy ground that would record depressions.
He cussed again and reached for his shoulder microphone. “Sky? Sky,