The Cowboy on Her Trail Read online

  He hadn’t wanted for female attention, however. There’d been a different girl on his arm every other time he showed up in town. In between each new girl, there was always Melanie.

  Melanie Pruitt of the Pruitt Ranch. It was public knowledge back then that Melanie had her sights set on the eldest Chisholm, Sloan. But while the girl waited for Sloan to come to his senses and fall in love with her, she told her troubles to Caleb, and ran around with Justin. Melanie and Justin were a two-some as often as not.

  If anyone had asked Blaire, she would have said Melanie was out of her mind to pine after Sloan when Justin was there and available. Not that there was anything wrong with Sloan, but Justin…well, be still, her heart.

  By the time Blaire finished high school she’d conquered her shyness, and set her puppy love for Justin Chisholm aside. That man wasn’t about to go anywhere without his best friend Melanie.

  It seemed to Blaire there might be a lot more going on between those two than mere friendship.

  Blaire had gone with other boys, moved away to college, found a good job in Oklahoma City, had a full life.

  Then her mother had broken her arm and Blaire had come home. She would never forget that first day back in town, standing in the middle of the feed store office, where her mother normally ruled, staring in shock at the mess her father had made in the few days her mother had been out.

  She’d heard the bell over the store’s front door jingle, announcing a customer. She needn’t worry; her father was out there to take care of business.

  Then she’d heard that voice, so deep and smooth and clear. She hadn’t realized she had been carrying his voice around inside her all those years, but there it was. Justin Chisholm was in the store.

  She had sworn to herself that she was not going to peek around the door frame. She would have been entirely too mortified to live if he caught her.

  It hadn’t been too many weeks, however, before she realized he was eyeing her, checking her out. She’d been astounded. Delighted. And suddenly shy again, the insecure new kid.

  It wasn’t lost on her that he and Melanie were, as always, the closest of…companions.

  That being the case, Blaire hadn’t for a moment thought he meant to pay her any serious attention, so she had swallowed her shyness and played it cool. If every girl in town fell at his feet—and they did—and if he had Melanie for backup—Blaire would play hard to get.

  Not that she thought for a minute that it would get her anywhere with him, but it might keep her from ending up with a broken heart.

  She’d been wrong. About several things.

  Melanie, it seemed, was never in love with Justin, nor he with her. She’d given up on Sloan some time in the past, and early in December had up and married Caleb, the middle Chisholm brother.

  Justin did not seem in the least heartbroken. In fact, he seemed pleased.

  Since that was the case, Blaire had decided to stop playing so hard to get. She let herself be caught.

  Now she carried his child, and he wanted to marry her for all the wrong reasons. She was bound to end up with a broken heart, one way or another, before they settled things between them.

  He’d said he would call her tomorrow. If he ran true to form, he wouldn’t call, he would show up at the door. If she ran true to form, she wouldn’t be there.

  Chapter Seven

  Eventually they both ran true to form.

  Blaire left Sherry’s apartment before it was light, headed to Stillwater, just over forty miles south down the two-lane blacktop, to her cousin Gayle’s. The grass was covered with snow, and the white stuff was starting to stick to the pavement.

  But she had only forty miles to go. No problem.

  She pulled out of Sherry’s parking lot and went on her merry way. Sneaking out, again, like a thief in the night, running away from a man she thought more and more might be the one she should hold on to.

  Justin saw the snow when he got up. He shrugged. Not enough to worry about, especially since he would be taking the interstate most of the way home.

  It was too early to call Blaire, so he walked across the street to the restaurant for breakfast. Afterward he went back to his room to check in with Sloan, noticing on the way that the snow was getting heavier.

  At home Sloan said that the snow was heavy and piling up fast.

  Justin swore at himself. He should have gone home last night, damn his hide. He would call Blaire, as he’d promised, then head back.

  Simple plan.

  Not so simple in application.

  Blaire was gone.

  Dammit, why hadn’t he seen it coming?

  “Did she say where she was going?” he asked Cousin Sherry.

  “The note she left said she was going to stop in on Gayle before heading home. Is something wrong?”

  He glanced out the window of his motel room at the snow that was starting to swirl in the increasing wind.

  “Have you looked outside lately?” he asked tersely.

  There was a rustling sound, then the slight clink made when someone shifted a few slats of window blinds up or down. “Oh, my,” she said. “There must be two inches already, except the wind’s blowing it sideways, so it’s hard to tell. Wow.”

  “Sherry,” he snapped. He had the feeling if he didn’t stop her, she’d go on and on about the snow for another ten minutes. “Blaire? What time did she leave?”

  “Oh. Blaire. I don’t know, really. We were going to sleep late, so that’s what I did. I woke up just a few minutes ago. She could have been gone an hour, or three. But she was only going to Stillwater. I’m sure she got there before things got this nasty.”

  “Will you do me a favor and call this other cousin and see if Blaire made it? Or give me the number and I’ll call.”

  “Oh, I’ll call. I can tell you’re worried, so I’m getting worried, too. Call me back in five.”

  The line went dead in Justin’s ear.

  Four minutes later he redialed Sherry’s number.

  “What did they say?” he demanded.

  “Okay,” Sherry said. “Now I’m worried. She isn’t there yet. In fact, nobody’s there. There was no answer, and Blaire hasn’t called or anything.”

  “Wouldn’t she have called Gayle before going down there?”

  “No. Not calling, that’s no big deal. We show up on each other’s doorsteps all the time in this family. But it’s less than an hour’s drive from here to Gayle’s. Maybe Blaire stopped to eat on the way. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “Does she have a cell phone with her?” He could have kicked himself for not making that his first question ten minutes ago.

  “Blaire’s one of those Neanderthal throwbacks, meaning she doesn’t have a cell phone. How anyone can function in this day and age—”

  “Sherry.” The girl was nice enough, but she had the attention span of a gnat. “Tell me how to get to Gayle’s. The way Blaire would go.”

  He got the directions and address from Sherry and said he would let her know when he found Blaire.

  “Do you think she’s all right?” Sherry asked, concern plain in her voice.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” he said, not sure at all. “She’s a smart lady. She can take care of herself.”

  “That’s right,” Sherry said. “She’s real good at that. But still, I’ll feel better when I hear from her, or you. You promise you’ll call?”

  “I promise. As soon as I find her.”

  Justin wasn’t worried about negotiating the snowy roads in his pickup. His tires were new, and he carried an extra four hundred pounds of sandbags in the bed all winter just for such occasions. That weighed him down enough that he didn’t slip and slide as much as a pickup with an empty bed.

  But he didn’t have as much confidence in Blaire’s little red compact. That thing was a tin can on wheels, and he had no idea how much tread she had on her tires. Hell, a good gust of wind, and there were plenty of those today, could blow her off the road.

  He d
rove the distance between Ponca City and Stillwater via U.S. Highway 177, the route Sherry said Blaire would take. There was considerably more traffic than there should have been, considering the weather, and it was creeping along at a snail’s pace. Except for the idiots who passed them going eighty on snow-slicked roads, sending up a rooster tail of snow and slush flinging across each windshield they passed, effectively blinding every driver for long, long seconds.

  Justin thought longingly about the shotgun he’d left at home. He was sure the other drivers on the road would vouch for him that it was justifiable homicide.

  He passed three vehicles off in the bar ditch, but they all looked abandoned, and none was a little red two-door with the mother of his unborn child huddling inside.

  All in all it took him an hour and a half to drive the forty miles from cousin number two to cousin number three. If anyone asked his opinion, he would have to say that the north central part of Oklahoma was being hit now by a full-fledged blizzard. The snow was razor sharp and blowing sideways.

  Judging by the condition of the snow on the ground, Justin was the first person to drive on Cousin Gayle’s street in some time.

  He told himself that if Blaire had left early enough this morning, she could easily have gotten here before the storm worsened.

  He pulled up at the house whose number matched the one Sherry gave him and felt his hopes fade. No little red car sat in the driveway.

  When you visited a cousin, did you park in her garage? None of his cousins would have let him take their protected space. In any case, there were no telltale depressions in the snow of the driveway to indicate anyone had driven on it at all.

  He got out and made his way to the front door, where he rang the doorbell, then pounded and pounded and got no answer.

  Back in his truck, he unclipped his cell phone from his belt and called Sherry.

  “Nobody’s home,” he said tersely. “Have you heard from her?”

  “No,” Sherry said. “I haven’t heard from anybody. You say nobody’s home?”

  “No one answers the door.”

  “That’s odd. Is there a green SUV in the driveway?”

  “Nothing in the driveway but smooth snow. Nobody’s driven on it in a while.”

  “Then Gayle’s not there, and if she’s not there, nobody’s there.”

  “Where would Blaire go if she got here and found Gayle gone?”

  “She’d either come back here, or go back to Connie’s, but that’s not likely. She might just go home. She said she was going home tomorrow anyway.”

  Fear was not something Justin felt often, but now it was here and it was huge. Blaire was out there driving around in this damn blizzard in a tin can on wheels, with no cell phone to call for help if she needed it.

  “What are you going to do?” Sherry asked.

  “I’m going to find her.”

  But which way to go? he wondered after disconnecting the call. Back north toward Ponca City, or west toward the interstate? Surely if she headed home it would be via the interstate. It had to have been snowing by the time she made it to Gayle’s. She wouldn’t have stuck to the back roads and two-lane highways in this weather.

  Would she?

  No. He’d told Sherry that Blaire was smart, and she was. He had to assume that she would use her head.

  But since she had left Sherry’s this morning instead of waiting for the call she knew he would make, then she was running partly on emotion.

  Had she been afraid he would show up, as he had at Connie’s and Sherry’s? If that’s what she thought, and she hadn’t wanted to talk to him anymore for the time being, then she would have left without a qualm. Or with only a few qualms, at the most.

  After driving to Stillwater, with bad weather starting, she would have no reason to go back to Ponca City, where she’d known him to be.

  No, he thought, starting his engine and driving out of the quiet, snow covered neighborhood. Blaire was headed home.

  Justin intended to follow.

  Blaire gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles threatened to break through her thin leather gloves. The blinding snow was bad enough without having a car or truck whiz past her in the left lane and stir it all up even worse.

  The road was a solid sheet of ice. Driving conditions hadn’t been this bad just five miles back down the road when she’d left Stillwater and headed west for the interstate. It had apparently been snowing out here longer. Already there were snow drifts along the shoulders.

  She was getting worried about what kind of shape I-35 would be in when she finally reached it. She had only another ten or fifteen miles to go, but it was going to take her forever. Her car was not designed for driving fast under these conditions.

  She was an idiot and a coward. She should have stayed at Sherry’s and let Justin call or show up, whichever he planned. But no, she’d had to run. Again.

  Not wanting to wake Gayle if she’d worked late last night, Blaire had stopped on the outskirts of Stillwater and called. She’d gotten no answer.

  She didn’t know where Gayle was, but Blaire had decided it was just as well that she wasn’t there. It was time to go home. The snow wasn’t bad.

  She would have checked the weather on her radio, but her radio hadn’t worked in months. A bad mistake, not getting it fixed. She knew that now. Knowing that they were in for a genuine blizzard, she would not have left Stillwater, unless it had been to go back north to Ponca City and Sherry’s.

  But she hadn’t known, had misjudged, and now had to fight to keep her car on the road.

  She saw in her rearview mirror the tractor-trailer rig racing up behind her as if she were sitting still. Alarmed, she started easing toward the shoulder.

  At the last instant the semi swerved into the left lane to avoid hitting her.

  It missed hitting her, thank God, but the gust of wind in its wake was enough, when coupled with the slick road and the fact that the tires on the right side of Blaire’s car were on the shoulder instead of the highway, to send her off the road completely.

  Blaire cried out and fought the need to slam on the brakes, which would only make her skid and lose control altogether.

  As if she had any control to lose, she thought with growing panic. The left tires, still on the pavement, had nothing to grip but ice and snow. Her right tires sank in the snow to the muddy grass beneath and pulled her completely off the road and down the slope, sliding nose-first toward a snow-filled ditch.

  She tried to steer away. She tried tapping the brakes to slow her decent. Nothing helped. In desperation she jerked the steering wheel. The action slammed her passenger door against a tree. She jerked the wheel in the opposite direction, knowing even as she did that she shouldn’t.

  The car swerved on the slope, turned completely backward until she was facing back toward Stillwater, but sliding sideways down the slope.

  She came to a crashing halt with her driver’s door slammed against the far side of the ditch, her car tilting at a forty-five-degree angle, driver’s side down.

  Justin drove the main streets through Stillwater on his way to the highway that would take him to the interstate and home. He kept an eye out for Blaire, but didn’t see her. Seeing farther ahead than twenty yards was getting more difficult by the minute.

  Other than a few semis, there was little traffic on the highway heading west out of town, but lack of visibility made the going slow. Justin drove slower than necessary so he could keep a close eye out for any little red car that might have slid off the icy-slick pavement.

  He nearly slid off himself a time or two. He couldn’t imagine driving in these conditions in that toy she called a car.

  The highway here was four-lane divided. He stayed in the righthand lane, but tried to watch the median, too, in case she’d gone off there.

  Of course she might not have had any trouble at all. She might be halfway home by now, or holed up in some snug motel along the interstate, or even at one behind him in Stillwater, althou
gh he doubted the latter.

  A tractor-trailer rig barreled past on Justin’s left, blinding him for long seconds in the backwash of snow kicked up by all eighteen wheels and thrown directly onto Justin’s windshield.

  He almost missed it. Just before the world outside his truck turned completely white, he thought he caught a glimpse of a red fender sticking up out of the ditch at the bottom of a slope off the right shoulder.

  Justin gripped the steering wheel and eased off the highway and to a stop on the shoulder. When the solid cloud of snow generated by the passing semi cleared, leaving only the blizzard—enough of a visibility reducer on its own—he was about fifty yards beyond where he thought he’d seen the red car, but he couldn’t be sure because he couldn’t see fifty yards. He couldn’t see twenty.

  He backed up a few yards, then had to stop when he spotted a cut in the shoulder where a culvert ran beneath the highway for drainage.

  He parked, killed the engine, and after bundling up, hiked back to see if he’d been imagining things.

  He hadn’t been imagining things. There was, indeed, a little red car stuck driver’s side down in the ditch at the bottom of the steep slope.

  Justin’s heart took a leap and lodged halfway up his throat.

  Blaire sat huddled inside her car trying to think positive thoughts. Surely someone would see her car before it became completely buried in snow. Surely.

  But what were the chances?

  Still, she had hope.

  As near as she could guess, she’d been stuck where she was for less than thirty minutes. Cold was seeping into the car, but it wasn’t deadly. Yet. She would start the engine in a few minutes. She was a little hesitant about that, because she didn’t know if her tailpipe was clogged with snow or not. If it was, deadly carbon monoxide fumes would fill the car and she would never know it. She would just get sleepy, then die.

  She would have gotten out and flagged down help, but she couldn’t get out. Her car lay at a forty-five-degree angle, with the weight of it resting on the driver’s side, her door pressed into the bank of the ditch.

  The car was small enough that she could get to the passenger door, but her earlier encounter with the tree rendered the door useless. It was good and dented and stuck. The window wouldn’t roll down, the door wouldn’t open.