The name meant nothing to Reeves, but not many did here in Wyoming. He’d bought this farm about five years ago as a retreat for himself, and the more he’d come here, the more pieces of himself he’d discovered, and the more he’d realized how abusive his father had been.
He’d finally cut ties, and he’d been happy here, though he could admit he didn’t have many friends—at least not in person. Millions followed him online, and all he had to do was log into his video channel and read their hundreds of comments to know how much he was loved.
His phone buzzed again with Betty saying,Oh, her daddy is Graham Whittaker. Here’s his number. You should call him.
She sent a number, and Reeves tapped on it, and then the phone icon, his heartbeat suddenly pulsing in the back of his throat. “Calm down,” he coached himself. “You’ve delivered plenty of bad news before.”
And besides, this wasn’t bad news. Bailey was breathing, and from what Reeves could tell, she was also warming up nicely.
Graham’s phone rang and rang, and he didn’t pick up. Reeves cursed the storm, then the whole state of Wyoming, as reception was sometimes spotty on sunny days.
Then he took a deep breath, set a timer for ten minutes, determined to call and call and call until Bailey’s father picked up.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Graham Whittaker gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles tight. “I don’t know about this,” he said, something he’d been thinking for the past twenty minutes. They’d made it out of the canyon, and for whatever reason, the snow intensified the further north he went, where usually they got hit hard up at Whiskey Mountain Lodge.
“We’re almost there,” Laney said, and Graham wanted to argue with her. Instead, he poured his energy into making sure he didn’t slip sideways around the curves through the apple orchards on their way to the northern highway. It ran east and west, and acted as a border between Coral Canyon and Dog Valley, though the actual city limits were a couple of miles past it.
Bailey had purchased a property on that highway in the midst of several other farms, and one of Graham’s good friends, Ames Hammond, owned his canine dog training facility on the same highway.
When he had to turn his windshield wipers on double speed, he thought about pulling over and calling Ames to go help Bailey. But he’d only thought about it, and he’d actually kept driving.
“The storm wasn’t supposed to be this bad,” Eli said, and Graham only gritted his teeth. His phone rang, and his eyes flitted to the screen of the truck, just for a moment to see who it was.
“It’s an unknown number,” his wife said from the passenger seat.
“Why does it say they’ve called three times?” Graham said. “My phone hasn’t rung.”
“Maybe they called while we were coming down the canyon,” Laney said, the weight of her gaze on the side of his face.
“Answer it.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Laney said.
“Answer it,” Graham said again, raising his voice this time. “It could be one of Bailey’s friends or a neighbor.” He glanced over to his wife and immediately put his attention back on the road. “Area codes come from anywhere these days.”
Laney reached out and tapped the screen to answer the call. “Let me deal with it,” she said, her tone turning a bit grumpy, as if Graham had summoned the snow on the day their daughter was returning to Coral Canyon after an eternal absence. “Hello?”
“Hey,” a man said. “Praise the Lord, you finally answered.”
Graham exchanged another glance with his wife. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“My name is Reeves Durham,” he said. “And I’m with your daughter.”
Graham’s heartbeat started to thrash against his ribs.
“What’s wrong?” Laney asked.
“I found her passed out in the driveway,” Reeves said. “She was covered with snow, and I managed to carry her inside and get a fire built.”
“Did you call nine-one-one?” Graham asked.
“I wasn’t sure they’d be able to make it through the snow,” he said. “It’s coming down pretty thick. You might not be able to make it either, but I don’t know…I felt like you should know.”
“Yes, of course,” Laney said. “We’re on our way.”
