Page 31

Yet . . . he missed them, and hoped that, perhaps, they missed him too. At least a little. Ah, well. Time would tell.

Everett scooted back the desk chair in his chamber and rose to his feet. He checked the time on the clock on the dresser top behind him and groaned. He was late. Forty minutes late. It was nearly time for dinner, and he hadn't made an appearance in the library for their reading date.

Fool. She probably thinks you're avoiding her.

A growl rumbled in his throat as he snatched his copy of Allan Quatermain from his bedside table and charged from the room.

He should have paid better attention to the time.

How could he woo Callista if he neglected their friendship?

He'd thought the letter would only take a short while to compose, but he'd obviously underestimated the time it would take to fish the right words out of the murky pond of his own hurt and regret.

Everett pounded down the stairs then took a few seconds to calm his pulse and find a smile before striding into the library.

"Sorry I'm la—"

Callista wasn't there. His chest tightened as the emptiness of the room threatened to spread inside him as well.

Calm yourself. She hasn't left you. Not yet. She's simply not in the library.

He spun and hurried to the kitchen. "Mrs. Potter!" His growing sense of urgency fed his volume. "Have you seen . . . What is it?"

Mrs. Potter, Lightfoot, and Timens all stood huddled by the back door, eyes wide, conversation frantic.

Lightfoot separated himself from the others. "Thank God you're here, Griff. I was just about to fetch you."

Everett's gut clenched as he dropped his book and letter onto the table and moved forward to intercept his valet. "Callista?"

"She decided to take a walk before dinner."

Mrs. Potter hurried forward, hands strangling the corner of her apron. "I told her to take Spartacus with her, but he must not have heard her call. When the dog showed up at the back door without Miss Rosenfeld in tow, I feared something had happened. I sent Mr. Lightfoot out right away."

Everett's temples began to throb. "Ray?"

"I walked down to the creek to check on her. That's her favorite spot, you see, but it's possible she walked elsewhere. We can't know for sure."

"What did you find? Spit it out, man!"

"She wasn't there, Griff. But I found something else. Boot prints. Large ones. Hoof prints too."

Everett's world tilted, and he had to grasp the table edge to steady himself. A man and a horse had been on his property without his knowledge. Watching his house. His people. Watching Callista.

He shoved away from the table, his hands fisted and ready for battle. "He took her." The very idea scalded his heart like boiling oil.

"Who?" Timens asked.

"Batton." Everett stalked past his butler and grabbed the rifle from above the back door. "I'm going after her."

"But you don't know where she is," Lightfoot said.

Everett turned and speared his friend with a glare. "Then I'll tear the entire town of Graham apart until I find—"

Spartacus's bark at the front of the house cut off his sentence. Everett ran through the house, gun in hand, and threw open the front door.

A boy in his teens stood a few steps away from the porch, quivering, his gaze locked on the Mastiff.

"Please don't let your dog eat me."

"Spartacus, heel."

The dog obeyed, trotting over to flank Everett at the base of the porch. When the dog retreated, the kid turned his attention to Everett, taking in not only his face but his fury.

"Who are you?" Everett demanded.

"Wade Poindexter, sir. I-I work with my pa at the coaching inn. I-I think M-Miss Rosenfeld is in trouble."

Everett strode forward, his glare hot. "What do you know?"

Wade backed up a step but lifted his chin. "S-She told me you were a good man. That y-you weren't the b-beast everyone says you are. But maybe she was wrong."

Maybe she was. Everett sighed and relaxed his stance, then turned and handed the rifle off to Lightfoot who had come to stand beside him.

"Sorry, kid. We just found out she was missing, and .

. . I'm a bit . . . on edge." More like completely over the cliff and plummeting.

He needed a lifeline, and he might have just alienated the one person willing to throw him a rope.

"You did right coming here. It was a brave thing to do, considering my reputation.

I want to find Miss Rosenfeld and make sure she's safe. What makes you think she's in trouble?"

Wade leaned forward. "I'd just delivered a package to the Conroe place and was back on the road when I caught sight of a man riding through the trees to my left.

Recognized his horse right away. Only one big palomino like that in the area, and Mr. Batton rented him the day after he arrived.

I wouldn't've paid him much mind except there was something big draped across his lap.

Something that moved. I only got a quick look, but I'm sure it was a woman's legs kicking through white petticoats.

I know Miss Rosenfeld doesn't care for Mr. Batton or his advances.

I heard her tell my ma that she wished he'd leave her alone.

That peacock don't seem the type to take no for an answer, though.

Makes me worry he might have decided to take what he wanted whether she was willing to give it or not. "

God protect her!

Everett swallowed the quickly swelling lump in his throat. "Which way was he headed?"

The kid turned and pointed. "North. He rented Henderson's hunting cabin when he first came to town. Probably heading there."

"Will you show me the way?"

Wade hesitated for a heartbeat then gave a sharp nod. "I'll do it. For Miss Rosenfeld."

Thank you, God.

Everett glanced over his shoulder. "Timens, saddle a second mount for the boy. I'll ready Enbarr."

Timens hesitated. "Shouldn't we report the abduction to the sheriff?"

"No time. Every minute she's in Batton's grasp increases the chance that harm will come to her. I won't risk her well-being."

And he wouldn't stand around arguing, either. Everett claimed his rifle from Lightfoot then took off at a jog, surprised when Wade matched his steps.

"I know my way around horses, sir. I can saddle my own mount."

Everett nodded, appreciating the kid's speed.

Every second counted, and he didn't want to waste a single one.