She nodded, blushing as she threw an embarrassed glance at Tanner. “Is Dodger okay?”
“Dodger’s fine, honey. He’s a survivor if I’ve ever seen one.” Turning to Trace, he added, “Though it beats the hell out of me how he knew something was going down.”
“What do you mean?” Trace demanded.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, brother.”
“Try me.”
Tanner shrugged. “Okay. I was working in the barn, talking to myself out loud because it soothes the horses. I was talking about needing a few days alone. Dodger shows up in the doorway, going crazy—jumping around, barking to wake the dead, and running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
Patience had never been Trace’s strong suit, and he sure as shit didn’t have any right now. “Could you speed this up?”
Tanner gave Trace a middle finger salute. “I started talkingthrough all the places I could go, and when I mentioned the cabin, Dodger stopped cold and started whining. “So, I packed my stuff and headed to the cabin. I’d just built a fire and stoked the stove and, all of a sudden, Dodger was scratchin’ at the door. He kept acting like he wanted me to follow him again. Like he was some Lassie wannabe. I was headed back inside when I heard a shot ring out. The way this day was goin’, I grabbed my rifle and hopped on the four-wheeler to follow Dodger. I figured he was headed toward the sound.”
Trace just stared at his brother. What. The. Fuck.
Then he remembered what Chance had said about Dodger leading him to Joy when everything was going down last year. It was too much to wrap his brain around right then, but he made a note to leave out an extra steak or two for the wolfdog when he got home.
Boone walked in, followed by Griffen Turner, Dutch Hallowell, Ryker DeGroft, and Kai Beckett, four men who worked for Wilder Security.
“Did you find anything?” Trace wasted no time in asking.
Boone knelt by the fire and held out his hand to warm them. “The shooter was long gone. It looks like he never came onto Wild River Ranch property. We found footprints in the snow just shy of our fence at the top of the ridge on the Three Eagles land. Griff and Kai followed the footprints. They led to tire tracks. The tire tracks led to the highway, and they lost them once the guy hit the highway.”
“Damn it.” Trace felt this guy slipping away from him.
Boone wasn’t done. “We looked at the trees. There were three shots fired there. The shooter hit two trees. One of them veered high, probably because of the wind. Based on the bullet casings, I’m guessing he used a 308 Winchester, which gives us shit because every man and his uncle has one of those around here. Running that down is probably useless, but we’ll try anyway since we havethe casings. That way, if we ever do find the bastard, we have something to prove the gun that was used.”
“Well, hell,” Trace gritted out. “Did you find anything useful?”
“Maybe,” Boone answered. “We picked up some Marlboro Red cigarette butts at the fence. I’ll get Griff on chasing that down, too. See if we can get any DNA evidence. But I’m thinking we aren’t dealing with a professional. Leaving the butts was sloppy.”
“At least that’s something,” Trace was wound so tight he thought he might snap. Every muscle coiled, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. He needed to get on top of it so he could take care of Kip, but he couldn’t shut off the rage and fear for Kip thrumming through his veins.
He stood behind his girl, white-knuckling the back of the chair. And then he came to a decision. “Tanner, I need the cabin. Can you take Goldie back to the lodge? Give her a good rub down and a treat. She was a good girl today.”
“You got it.” Tanner nodded and slapped his thigh. “Come on, Goldie-girl. Let’s get back to the house.”
Boone walked up to him, Trace, and got in his face. “Listen to me, Trace. We will find them. I have some more info to share—” he glanced down at Kip “—but now’s not the time. But hear me say it. We. Will. Find. Them.”
Trace held Boone’s gaze for a long time. Seconds ticked by. He knew Boone meant it. Hell, he even knew he would do it. But he’d almost gotten his little girl killed. His emotions were burning him up inside.
Kip must have sensed it. Reaching behind her, she put her still trembling hand on his.
As much as he wanted her touch, shame scalded him. He didn’t deserve her comfort. Didn’t deserve her.
Trace needed to take care of his little fox, but first, he had to get control of himself. The killer was out there, ready and able to do it again. His mind kept replaying what had happened bark blewapart right by Kip’s head. The shock that morphed into terror in her eyes. He hadn’t seen accusation in them, but he should have. It was all his fault. He’d put his little fox in danger and almost gotten her killed.
But now, he needed to pull himself together. She’d just had one of the worst moments in her life. Why wasn’t he by her side when she needed him? What in the hell had ever made him think he could be her Daddy?
She was so damn gorgeous, but that wasn’t what had made him fall in love with her. She was kind and sassy, but also so damn sweet he couldn’t help but love her. Made him want to make her his Little. He wanted what Boone and Chance had. But he’d just proved he wasn’t suited to have a Little depend on him.
He should have stuck to heading to The Red Barn when he had the urge to play. Having an occasional night in the local BDSM club was all he deserved. He was a great fun Daddy for a night of play. He should never have tried for more.
He shifted in front of her. “Babygirl, I’m going to make everything right. I promise. But I need a minute. I brought something for you.” He reached for the satchel on the couch and pulled out a stuffed fox. It had her blue eyes, and he knew it would be the perfect stuffie for his Foxy.
“I found this in Snugglebugs the other day and knew it was yours. Can you hold this and feel safe for a few minutes?”
