Page 72 of One Golden Ring
Seeing the situation from J.B.’s perspective has my blinders off, and I know that what her father and I did was unspeakably wrong and I’ll probably never stop being sorry for it. I just hope she’ll let me tell her so, even if she never forgives me.
The lodge appears out of the snow at last and Derek opens the front door for me, his chivalry so much a part of him even at a time like this.
But when we step inside, Michael is alone at his little table by the fire with the chess board set up and ready.
Though the lobby is relatively full of guests chatting and sipping cocoa, J.B. is nowhere to be seen.
“Where is she?”Derek demands.
Michael shakes his head mutely.
The other guests and staff have stopped what they’re doing to see what’s going on, and suddenly my heart is pounding harder than it was on the run here. I’m sweating but my blood is running cold.
If J.B. isn’t here, then where did she go?
“What’s happening?” Michael asks, getting to his feet.
“She said she had to think,” Derek says.
For a moment, I’m lost. But then it hits me. There is one place I know that J.B. likes best on Angel Mountain when she wants to think.
“The peak,”I yell, and Derek nods.
“What happened?” Michael asks. “Why did she need a place to think?”
But I’m already running for the door again.
“Stay here,” Derek tells his grandfather. “We’ll explain everything as soon as we’re back with J.B. safe and sound.”
The snow is coming down so hard outside that it’s work just to get around the side of the lodge. By the time I get to the barn I’m squinting against flakes that are slanting down in a sheet and clinging to my eyelashes.
We open the barn door, inhaling the sweet scent of hay and the relative warmth as I move past the stalls.
Nutmeg, the feisty mare J.B. rode this morning is here, so J.B. must have taken a different animal, which is odd.
But it’s also good because I’ve got the sense that Nutmeg isfast.
I watched the groom prepare the horses when we went for our ride this morning. So when I see that no one is here to attend us, I sprint for the tack room and grab Nutmeg’s saddle and bridle, saying a silent prayer of thanksgiving that each horse’s gear is clearly marked.
By the time I get back to the horses, Derek is heading to do the same thing.
I lead Nutmeg out of her stall and tack her up quickly. I hate taking her out cold like this, but it’s an emergency. In this weather on a trail alone J.B. could get into real trouble, especially when she’s distracted.
“We have to find J.B.,” I tell Nutmeg softly as I check her bit.
The mare seems eager. Her ears prick up like she’s trying to understand the mission and I can feel the coiled energy in her when I stroke her neck.
I tighten her saddle and leap on, urging her to move quickly before we’re even out of the barn.
“Whoa,” I hear Derek exclaim from behind us. “How did you do that?”
Right.
“I’ll tell you later,” I yell back to him, figuring my confession that I was a Wilderness Girl isn’t really a priority right now.
When we get outside, I wheel Nutmeg around to face Derek and Frankincense. The trail is a loop, and there’s no way to tell which way she took. The snow has erased any sign of tracks.
“I’ll go up this way,” I yell through the snow. “You go the other way, so we can’t miss her.”
