A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (23 page)

It'd be just a matter of time before they came after her, hopefully on foot. If they were on foot that would buy her more time. But eventually, their pursuit could involve highly-trained search and rescue teams on horseback, K-9 units, and possibly even air surveillance.

Her thoughts raced as she mentally zoomed through the hours of online videos she'd watched on escaping and disappearing. At some point she needed to locate mud--and lots of it--for the purpose of covering her scent and providing at least some protection from possible infrared thermal imaging cameras now used by police as well as the military.

Another shiver ravaged her body at the thought of rolling in wet mud with these near-freezing temps. The creeks and stock tanks around here were used to water cattle and horses. And wherever there was a livestock watering hole, there was also manure.

She forced her mind from the unpleasant prospect and back to the matter at hand. Because of her sprint away from the farmhouse, her breath came in short, painful bursts, and deposited wisps of white smoke in front of her face. At some point she'd hopefully find a place to hole up and lay low for a few days. A place where no one could find her. A place of safety.

She shook her red mane in the darkness. This chance at escape was slim to none, but what choice did she have? A sudden sense of hopelessness and discouragement filtered through her veins, sagging both her shoulders and their heavy load. Had she made it to the safe haven of Miller's Creek only to be returned to Kane's evil hands?

Oh, God, help me. I had to take this route to protect them, but I can't do this without You.

The resulting silence was deafening, the only sounds were her boots against the ground, her erratic breaths, and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. Everything in her wanted to turn around and run back to the safety of the farmhouse, but she stumbled on. Hopefully, this would remove potential danger for Chance and her other friends.

After what seemed like hours, Dakota reached a dirt road several miles south of the farmhouse, one she'd seen many times on her way to Morganville. The lights of a farmhouse winked at her from the right, so she crossed the road far to the left. She'd barely made it across the road and into the underbrush before a police car passed slowly, shining a big light into the field where she'd just stood.

Her heart pounded as she knelt behind a cedar bush, its powerful scent pungent in the cool night. Her skin itched from the bush's burrs. Thankfully, the spotlight traveled past where she hid and moved on down the road. She breathed a sigh of relief. Close call.

A few minutes later she stumbled upon the dreaded stock tank. Time to do the unthinkable. She grabbed handfuls of the cold mud and manure combo from the banks of the water and coated her backpack with the mixture, careful to protect the bag's contents. Her nose wrinkled at the gosh-awful smell.

Once the backpack was completely coated, she followed suit with her clothing, starting at her feet and working her way up to her hair and face. Twice she gagged and heaved, but somehow managed to keep the meager contents of her stomach in place. Well, at least K-9 unit dogs wouldn't be able to detect her scent beneath the stench that now surrounded her.

With a quick swig of water from her bottle, she hoisted the backpack back onto her aching spine. Now to find a place to hide.

Minutes drug into hours, her feet heavier by the second, partly from fatigue, partly from cold numbness invading her bones. At least the shivering had stopped. Maybe her body had finally adjusted to the cold.

Her eyelids grew even heavier than her mud-laden boots. Sleep. She needed sleep. Still she trudged on.

Two tiny lights appeared, and in her weariness, seemed to bounce in tandem. Her eyes widened. Those weren't lights. They were eyes. The shivering returned, but not from cold. She moved away from the lights, but they followed no matter which way she turned. A coyote? Or possibly a big cat of some kind?

A wildfire unleashed inside, propelling her legs to a stumbling run, her lungs exploding from exertion and freezing air.
Come on, Dakota.
She forced her weary, unwilling muscles past their limit, and they screamed in protest.

Steps. She heard footsteps. Dakota dared not stop to uncover their source, but continued to stumble forward. Then, out of nowhere, she ran headlong into something big and wide and hard. Or was it someone?

Exhausted, she fell in a heap on the ground, unable to move.

Two big hands reached out of the darkness and grabbed her by the shoulders.

Her feet drug the ground, and as even the dark night faded away, her last despairing thought was that Kane had finally caught up to her.

Chapter Twenty-One

H
ow dare the sun to shine. Chance squinted against its brilliance as he moved eastward toward the bridge, still questioning his decision to spend the day at the farm. While part of him wanted a distraction from his constant worried thoughts over Dakota's whereabouts, another part longed to be near her. At the moment, with her still missing, his best way to keep her close had been the farm, in spite of the memories it brought to mind.

"C'mon, Daisy." He jammed his fingers in his jeans' front pockets and whistled over his shoulder.

Daisy just ambled, head to the ground, sniffing for clues. She'd moped around ever since Dakota's disappearance, barely eating anything and constantly whimpering or whining. For someone who hated dogs, Dakota had done a good job with her, teaching Daisy to sit patiently by the door before an outing in order to easily secure the leash.

An unexpected smile came to his face as he remembered Dakota's initial response to the dog.

Oh, Lord, keep her safe, and bring her home soon.

The ache in his chest returned. The prayer had become his constant mantra. Very few minutes slipped by without the words throbbing in his heart, mind, and soul. How had she managed to vanish without a trace, and where had the week gone? Now it was Thursday. Thanksgiving Day. A day of gratitude to God. A day to spend with those you loved.

In his right pocket, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and checked the screen. Matt. "Hey, bud."

"How you doing, my friend?" The voice held the familiar sincerity Matt was known for.

Chance froze in place, unwilling to glimpse the bridge while on the phone, uncertain of his ability to maintain control of his emotions. "Been better, actually."

"Still no word?"

"Nope." The word pretty much summarized the hopelessness swirling in his gut.

Silence sounded on the other end for a brief moment. "You still think she ran away?"

"Yeah, and as crazy as it sounds, that's what I'm hoping for." Compared to the alternative, anyway.

"Don't give up believing, Chance."

"Trying." But with each passing day, the trying was harder to do.

"Someone will find her."

A scared laugh fell from him. Yeah, but who would find her first?

"Listen. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone today. We're all headed over to Mama Beth's mid-afternoon. I know there'll be plenty of food, and I know she wouldn't mind you being there."

No. He couldn't. For one thing, his current disposition would just bring everyone else down. Besides that, seeing everyone with their mates was more than he could bear at the moment. "Thanks for the invite, Matt, but I'm going to try to get some more work done around the farm while I'm off work."

Silence again. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where we'll be."

"Thanks."

Once the phone was re-deposited in his pocket, Chance resumed his walk to the creek, Daisy still lagging behind. Not long afterwards, they arrived at the broken-down bridge, memories of the past and the present mingling together.

He blinked back sudden tears and raked both hands through his hair, air whooshing from his lungs.
Please let me have another chance.

A twig snapped to his right, and he jerked his head around to see the new neighbor standing nearby. How had the guy managed to get so close without giving away his presence?

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." The man smiled, an open friendly smile.

"It's okay. My mind was elsewhere."

A frown knitted the guy's eyebrows into a wiggly line above his hooded eyes. "Don't mean to pry, but I noticed all kinds of sirens and lights at your house earlier this week. Everyone okay?"

Dakota's suspicions of the man rose like bubbles in water. How much should he reveal? "Yeah, just a minor incident."

"And your lady friend? She okay?"

Every muscle in Chance's body stiffened and forced his spine into a tense upright position. He stared at the man--what was his name again?--through narrowed eyes. "Why do you ask?"

The guy shrugged. "Just curious." He took a step backward. "Well, I best be going."

Chance acknowledged his words with a head nod, suspicions weighing heavy in his chest. Did the guy know something? And why had he asked specifically about Dakota?

Once the man disappeared from view behind a clump of bare-branched trees, Chance scratched Daisy behind the ears. "Let's go back home, girl."

Not too many steps from the creek, his phone vibrated again. The screen revealed the caller as Mama Beth. He released an exasperated sigh. Sometimes his friends just didn't know how to take no for an answer. "Hi, Mama Beth. What's up?"

"My ire, for one thing."

Chance raised his eyes to the sky and gave his head a shake, an immediate close-mouthed smile on his lips. Typical response. "Oh?"

"I understand Matt invited you to our Thanksgiving dinner, and you refused."

"Well, that's putting it a little harshly."

"I know you're missing Dakota and worried about her. We all are. That's exactly why you need to come over." He could almost picture her finger wagging in the air.

"Don't much feel like celebrating right now."

"Which means it's exactly the time you need to celebrate. Remember the story of Paul in prison? He was locked up, but singing praises to God. That's what set him free." She rattled off the words in machine-gun fashion.

She did have a point, but he just couldn't. Not today. Not without Dakota. "Well, thanks, but I'm still gonna decline." Without giving her a chance to argue any further, he clicked the off button and shoved the phone back in his pocket.

A few minutes later, he and the dog stood just inside the front door of the old farmhouse. Daisy resumed her whimpering whine.

If the truth be told, he felt like joining her in her lament. Everywhere he looked he saw Dakota. In the new crown molding that lined the ceiling, the fresh paint, the gleaming woodwork and floors. Not one room in the house had she left untouched. Once the kitchen was completed, the inside portion of their joint project would be finished, leaving only the mending of fences, plowing of fields, and the restoration of the bridge and outbuildings.

Then what? A sick feeling landed in the pit of his stomach at the realization of their almost-completed work. Would Dakota want to stay around? And even if she did, would she want him in her life?

With a sudden vigor that surprised him, Chance bolted out the front door and slammed it behind him. Enough of this. If and when Dakota did come back, he wanted her to see how committed to this project he was through what he accomplished in her absence. Wanted her to understand that the commitment extended to her, in spite of the hurt and betrayal and resentment that had kept them both bound in chains for far too long.

For the rest of the morning and into the sunny afternoon, Chance scraped paint from the house's exterior. Though the constant back-and-forth movement made his arm muscles protest, it worked wonders for his disposition.

A little before two, his stomach grumbled. He climbed down from the extension ladder and moved up the steps to find something to eat, but the sound of approaching cars caught his attention. Chance clomped down the steps and out into the driveway, his hand over his eyes to shield them from the mid-afternoon sun. A whole passel of vehicles paraded down the drive. Only when they came to a halt and the passengers disembarked carrying dishes laden with food did he understand.

He hadn't joined their Thanksgiving Day celebration, so they'd brought the celebration to him.

For the first time all day, in spite of his concern for Dakota, gratitude swelled in his heart and fully worked its way to his face.

* * *

A shaft of sunlight fell across Dakota's closed eyes. She grimaced and groaned, then rolled onto her left side. Her eyes slowly opened, dry and gritty from too much sleep, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Gradually her surroundings came into focus, dark, menacing, and unfamiliar. Where was she? And how did she get here?

She attempted to push herself up on one arm, but her head swam to the point that her stomach joined in. Instead she rolled onto her back once more, her gaze immediately focused on the only window in the room. The wallpaper, which displayed gigantic roses and swans, made her feel as though she'd taken a step back in time--maybe to the 30's or 40's? Her ears honed in to detect any sound, but only a deathly quiet pervaded the room.