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dangled out of the back of the baseball cap. When she wore a ridinghelmet, her hair swung loose beneath it. Although her complexion was lighter than her mom’s, her shoulder length hair was the same deep, dark brown. Today, in her hurry to get out of Shane’s truck, she had forgotten the helmet. If her mom discovered her on horseback without it, she would ground her. Forever. She knew her mom would like that.
    Forgetting the helmet was bad, but breaking her iPhone was a zillion times worse, Jesse thought. If her cell phone hadn’t fallen in wet horseshit and then been stomped on by a skittish pinto, she would call her mom now and delay her. Instead, she mapped a new route that went over evergreen and aspen hills, along the crop fields that lay beyond them, and then along the curling, willow-lined Big Tooth River. This route should assure her of reaching her dad’s farm before her mom came to get her.
    Jesse gently scratched Touie along the crest and wiggled in the saddle. She hadn’t been riding enough since school started, and the specialized saddle felt unfamiliar. A variation of the English saddle, it was lightweight and designed so both horse and rider could endure long hours. The saddle even had metal rings for attaching the equipment she would need to compete in the Tevis Cup. The endurance race from the Lake Tahoe area across the Sierra Nevada range lasts a full day and covers one hundred miles ofhigh, hot terrain. Her goal was to enter next year’s race. No, she thought, correcting herself, her goal was to win it.
    Although Arabian horses generally dominated the top endurance races, Jesse was sure her Arabian-Appaloosa mix would be better. Touie’s Arabian bloodline gave him size and stamina; his Appaloosa genes meant good sprint speeds and agility. Appaloosas also were loyal and unafraid to tackle trails, cows, or whatever. Jesse had never encountered whatever . If she did, she would trust Touie.
    Somewhere in the distance Jesse heard the whip-whip-whip of a siren. She turned the horse away from the sound and headed toward a timbered hill. On the other side of it the land would flatten out and skirt the Placett farm.
    Jackson killed the siren when he turned off the blacktop. He barreled through the Double-D Stables archway and down a gravel road that crooked for a half-mile before reaching the ranch house. Deborah Dawson was on her front porch when he pulled up. He had slowed the SUV and eased it to a stop to keep from covering her in dust.
    Deborah was a tall, raw-boned woman with a mass of red curls atop a high forehead. Jackson didn’t know much about her other than she had moved from New York after a divorce and bought the riding stable. He knew Jesse liked her andtrusted her and he suspected confided in her. As soon as he saw Deborah shaking her head, he knew Jesse was gone.
    “Your wife called. I mean your ex,” Deborah said, as Jackson hurried toward her. “I would have gone after Jesse, but Iris thought I should wait for you.”
    “How long ago did she leave?”
    “Maybe thirty minutes.”
    “On Touie?” Jackson stopped at the porch steps.
    Deborah nodded and said, “Uh-huh. Iris said there’s a monster cat loose and that Ed Stevens was … is it true?”
    Jackson hurriedly told her about Ed.
    Deborah’s tanned face turned ash-gray as she listened. “That poor man,” she murmured.
    “I need to find Jesse. Any idea where she went?”
    Deborah shook her head. “Home is all she said.”
    “And there’s no real trail she’ll take?”
    “No. Just through the hills and backroads.”
    “Damn!” Jackson looked off toward the hills. Finally, he said, “You any good at tracking?”
    Deborah frowned. “I was raised to score cheap theater tickets and elbow my way to the counter at Zabar’s. I can read a GPS and a compass. That’s it. But Armando’s not bad at tracking,” she said, referring to her Mexican ranch hand. “I’ll call him.” Deborah picked up a Motorola portabletwo-way