Cattle trotted out of Hayden’s way when they saw him galloping closer. Birds swooped in their path, chasing after bugs. Red had a mile-eating gallop, smooth and swift. If Gran had driven off at a speed of thirty miles an hour, Hayden should have caught up to her by now. And yet, he found nothing. Each rise revealed another empty pasture and more tire tracks.
But no red-and-white truck. No Gran.
His mind touched upon all the worst-case scenarios. On a ranch, there were dozens of ways to get hurt. In a vehicle, Gran could drive into a ditch, clip a fence post, stumble out of the truck and into a prairie dog hole, get trampled by a territorial bull. As soon as he found her, he’d need to take preventative measures to ensure her continued safety—siphon the gas out of that truck, let the air out of her tires, hide the keys to all vehicles, even the tractor.
Hayden and Red topped another rise, and finally—finally—the old truck came into view.
Relief shuddered through Hayden, making his hands shake. He gave his gelding a hearty pat on the neck, discharging some of that pent-up tension. “We found her, Red.”
Almost.
Coming closer, Hayden drew the gelding into a slow walk, surveying the scene. The driver’s side truck door was open, and Gran’s battered straw cowboy hat was on the red bench seat. But Gran was nowhere to be seen.
“Gran!” Hayden shouted, scanning the grass around the truck to see if her footsteps had bent the fronds in passing. “Gran!”
“I’m right here. No need to shout.” His grandmother inched her way out from under the truck on her back, looking hale and hearty. “Something’s wrong with the truck. I think it finally gave up the ghost.”
More likely, she ran out of gas.
“I didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Hayden dismounted and flicked Red’s reins over his head, letting them drop to the ground, a cue to the chestnut that he needed to stay put. Then Hayden helped Gran to her feet and gave her a glad-you’re-okay embrace. “Don’t drive off like that. I was worried.”
“I’m fine. No need to fuss,” she said in a small voice that nearly got lost against his chest. “I crawled under the truck looking for oil leaks or dropped transmissions.”
“Right.” Hayden held her at arm’s length, registering the clarity in her brown eyes and the slight color in her cheeks. He picked a few blades of yellow grass from her short white hair. “You’re lucky I—”
“Oh, don’t give me the lucky I found you speech.” Gran returned to the truck and retrieved her straw cowboy hat, setting it briskly on her head. “I know where I am. I’ve been roaming this ranch since before you were born. I could have walked back and made it home in time for lunch.”
Hayden held his tongue and took a moment to try to start the truck. It was a no-go. He faced his grandmother, arms crossed. “What gives, Gran? After your stroke, you’ve wandered about Oak Hill, around town, and now around here. What’s got you roaming?”
“Why…” Her gaze drifted toward the tree line where tall pines moved gently with the wind. “Did you say stroke?”
“Yes. You had a stroke three weeks ago.” It wasn’t the first time he’d reminded her of this.
When Gran’s attention turned back to Hayden, her gaze seemed vacant. “A stroke?”
“Yes, but let’s focus on today.” Something she might remember. Hayden placed his hands on her thin shoulders. “Why did you drive out here?”
“I thought I…” Gran stared toward the pines once more. “You don’t want to hear anything I have to say.”
And nothing he said would convince her otherwise.
Hayden called Roddy and instructed him to drive to them with a truck and a chain to tow the old rig home. If all went well, he hoped to return Gran to the safety of Oak Hill by lunchtime.
*
“Mom, you didn’t turn on the coffeemaker.” Eve checked the time—late—and the insulated travel mug in her hand—empty. Then she pressed the coffee machine’s power button and sighed.
It’s going to be another one of those days.
The distress of her ill-chosen lie to family court cramped Eve’s gut like nausea brought on by bad pork. It clung bitterly to the back of her throat and made her palms sweat. But she refused to panic. Yet.
From the kitchen table came the sound of furious coloring. Katie wanted to make a picture before leaving for preschool. She balanced on her knees in a chair, bent over her work. Today, she’d chosen to wear a blue calico dress over blue jeans.
“I thought I pressed start on the coffee machine.” Mom came to stand next to Eve, holding a coffee mug and staring at the ancient machine as if it had personally betrayed her. “I’m sorry. I usually pour creamer into my mug after I press start. But there’s creamer in my mug so…”
“You were interrupted.” This was nothing new. Mom had always been easily distracted and forgetful. Losing her keys, missing appointments, starting one project only to leave it unfinished to focus on another. When Mom had worked as an intake clerk at the urgent care clinic in Marietta, her ability to switch gears had been an asset. Now that she was retired…
Eve sighed. Her mother’s lack of focus didn’t matter. Mom was Mom. Eve loved her for who she was. The same way Vi and Mom loved Eve for who she was.