from me?
“You’re going on to Fort Worth?” Kate asked, hoping the relief didn’t show on her face.
“Thought I would. Unless you don’t have plans for tomorrow. I know I sprang this on you, but—”
“I do,” Kate heard herself say. And knew with a wave of guilt that he’d caught the mistruth the way he always had. Except that day I stuffed my clothes and a photo of Mom into a backpack and told you I was staying overnight with a friend . . . “I need to be somewhere tomorrow. But I thought of something we could do today—outdoors. We’re both dressed for that. And it’s such a pretty day.”
“Despite cedar fever.” One corner of her father’s mouth tugged toward a smile.
“Yes. Thank heaven for antihistamines.” Kate sighed with relief as the waiter arrived with their steaming plates. “Anyway, there’s a search-and-rescue demonstration today. Dog training, swift-water experts, a helicopter, equipment displays . . .” Kate spread her napkin in her lap, trying to remember all she’d read in a desperate 2 a.m. web search. “I know the man who is heading it up, and he’ll have his horses there. It sounded kind of fun. They’ll be on-site until three, so we could still catch some of it.”
“Sure. I’m game.”
Kate smiled at her father, thinking she might have just set a record for telling multiple fibs in a short span of time. She didn’t have cedar fever, she had no plans for tomorrow, and the search-and-rescue demo sounded like anything but fun. She’d suggested going for the same reason that she met her father at Shady Grove instead of home: more distractions and less opportunity to talk. Her father’s new interest in her life was the last thing she wanted to encourage.
So, in that respect only, she was willing to let Wes Tanner rescue her today.
- + -
“Imagine,” Wes explained to the group of assembled Scouts, “someone lost a toy soldier and thought maybe it fell into a playground sandbox. When you start looking for it, you scrape the sand around hoping it will show up. Your probability of finding it might be 25 percent. When that doesn’t work, you dig a little deeper, look harder, but still have no real plan. Or established routine.” He smiled as Dylan passed by, walking Hershey on a leash. “Now you’re 50 percent sure the toy isn’t in the sandbox. So you search a third time. But this time you plan it out. You draw linesin the sand to divide it up, run your fingers through each ‘grid’ in a planned manner. When you come up empty, you’re—”
“You’re 75 percent sure it isn’t there,” a Scout offered, shielding his eyes against the sun.
“That’s right.”
“I’d get my mom’s noodle strainer,” another boy suggested. “Start shaking the sand around in it. Like you do at the beach for seashells.”
“Bingo!” Wes grinned. “You got it. Divide the area into smaller blocks and refine the search. Sift each block. And then you find the soldier that was there all along.”
“Is that how you found Mrs. Braxton?” one of the mothers asked.
“No.” Wes thought of the excitement on Gabe’s face that morning and wished he were here now. “We found her using what we call a hasty search. Because time was of the essence—it was dark and cold and Mrs. Braxton is elderly and in fragile health. And especially because my searchers lived close by and could get there in minutes. The idea of a hasty search is to move quickly through an area, first checking the most obvious places and biggest hazards. For instance, on Mrs. Braxton’s property there’s a barn, a ditch, an old cistern, and an abandoned well.” He was grateful no one mentioned the shotgun lashed to a tree or the vengeful lunatic in a trailer. “We’ll move over the area listening for sounds, checking for footprints and broken branches. Those kinds of things.”
“Tracking signs.”
“Exactly,” Wes agreed, lengthening the rope on Duster’s halter so the gelding could
“You’re going on to Fort Worth?” Kate asked, hoping the relief didn’t show on her face.
“Thought I would. Unless you don’t have plans for tomorrow. I know I sprang this on you, but—”
“I do,” Kate heard herself say. And knew with a wave of guilt that he’d caught the mistruth the way he always had. Except that day I stuffed my clothes and a photo of Mom into a backpack and told you I was staying overnight with a friend . . . “I need to be somewhere tomorrow. But I thought of something we could do today—outdoors. We’re both dressed for that. And it’s such a pretty day.”
“Despite cedar fever.” One corner of her father’s mouth tugged toward a smile.
“Yes. Thank heaven for antihistamines.” Kate sighed with relief as the waiter arrived with their steaming plates. “Anyway, there’s a search-and-rescue demonstration today. Dog training, swift-water experts, a helicopter, equipment displays . . .” Kate spread her napkin in her lap, trying to remember all she’d read in a desperate 2 a.m. web search. “I know the man who is heading it up, and he’ll have his horses there. It sounded kind of fun. They’ll be on-site until three, so we could still catch some of it.”
“Sure. I’m game.”
Kate smiled at her father, thinking she might have just set a record for telling multiple fibs in a short span of time. She didn’t have cedar fever, she had no plans for tomorrow, and the search-and-rescue demo sounded like anything but fun. She’d suggested going for the same reason that she met her father at Shady Grove instead of home: more distractions and less opportunity to talk. Her father’s new interest in her life was the last thing she wanted to encourage.
So, in that respect only, she was willing to let Wes Tanner rescue her today.
- + -
“Imagine,” Wes explained to the group of assembled Scouts, “someone lost a toy soldier and thought maybe it fell into a playground sandbox. When you start looking for it, you scrape the sand around hoping it will show up. Your probability of finding it might be 25 percent. When that doesn’t work, you dig a little deeper, look harder, but still have no real plan. Or established routine.” He smiled as Dylan passed by, walking Hershey on a leash. “Now you’re 50 percent sure the toy isn’t in the sandbox. So you search a third time. But this time you plan it out. You draw linesin the sand to divide it up, run your fingers through each ‘grid’ in a planned manner. When you come up empty, you’re—”
“You’re 75 percent sure it isn’t there,” a Scout offered, shielding his eyes against the sun.
“That’s right.”
“I’d get my mom’s noodle strainer,” another boy suggested. “Start shaking the sand around in it. Like you do at the beach for seashells.”
“Bingo!” Wes grinned. “You got it. Divide the area into smaller blocks and refine the search. Sift each block. And then you find the soldier that was there all along.”
“Is that how you found Mrs. Braxton?” one of the mothers asked.
“No.” Wes thought of the excitement on Gabe’s face that morning and wished he were here now. “We found her using what we call a hasty search. Because time was of the essence—it was dark and cold and Mrs. Braxton is elderly and in fragile health. And especially because my searchers lived close by and could get there in minutes. The idea of a hasty search is to move quickly through an area, first checking the most obvious places and biggest hazards. For instance, on Mrs. Braxton’s property there’s a barn, a ditch, an old cistern, and an abandoned well.” He was grateful no one mentioned the shotgun lashed to a tree or the vengeful lunatic in a trailer. “We’ll move over the area listening for sounds, checking for footprints and broken branches. Those kinds of things.”
“Tracking signs.”
“Exactly,” Wes agreed, lengthening the rope on Duster’s halter so the gelding could
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