Desert Ice Daddy. Dana Marton

He’d long ago learned to rise above things like that. “Let me get you a drink.”

      There had to be a hundred men out there already, combing the ranch. He could afford to wait with her until his security force got here and they rode out to meet Flint and join in the search. Christopher would be found. He would see to it.

      Why would anyone take the kid? Who? If he could figure that out, they might have a better idea where to look. Which brought him to his next question. “Got a map of this place?”

      “Right on the Web site.” She sat on a bar stool next to the kitchen counter, her troubled gaze settling on the fridge that was covered with crayon drawings of horses, and got up almost immediately again to pace the floor along the windows that looked toward the back.

      She accepted the glass of water he brought her, but didn’t drink. The cops minded their own business. Seemed their orders were to stick to the house and wait, which they did with the efficiency of furniture.

      Akeem strode to the PC on the kitchen isle—Lucinda, Flint’s housekeeper, was addicted to online recipe swaps—and shot straight to the Diamondback home page.

      Taylor paused in her pacing. “Flint called you?”

      He nodded instead of going into his investigation on murder and the sabotage and bomb parts at Diamondback and how they might be related to his auction house, which he’d come to talk over with Flint. He didn’t want to discuss that subject in front of the cops.

      He set the form to print fifty copies then pushed the OK button. He wanted to have the maps ready to be handed out when his men arrived.

      She was pacing again. Tension grew in the air with every second. He needed something to do. And so did she. “Want to walk through the outbuildings with me?”

      She shot him a blank look as if her thoughts were a million miles away. “We already looked there.”

      Her pain was a tangible presence in the room, like the thick, wet mist of winter mornings that settled into the lungs and made it hard to breathe. He wanted to take her into his arms again, wasn’t sure how she would react. Looked like movement was what she needed now to burn off all that nervous energy.

      He strode toward her. “We’ll look again.”

      “If there’s a call…” Officer Mills frowned.

      “Every outbuilding has a phone. If someone calls, she can pick it up from anywhere.” He held his hand out to her.

      And after a moment of hesitation, Taylor’s slim fingers slipped into his palm as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and his hand closed around hers.

      He cleared his throat. “Bunkhouses first?”

      She nodded and followed him out of the kitchen, slipped barefooted—golden polish on the sexiest toes under the sun, which he should definitely not have noticed at a moment like this—into a pair of worn snakeskin boots by the back door.

       Eastern rattlesnake and a black leather top with fancy stitch.

      Recognition flashed through him and lodged an odd feeling in the middle of his chest. The boots were spoils of a long-ago riding contest between the two of them.

      She didn’t look as if she remembered. She didn’t look as though she could think of anything but getting her son back. And he would help her. As soon as his security team got here—the best of the best—they would be putting together a plan.

      “How did it happen?” Maybe if he kept her talking, she would have less time to worry.

      “He wanted to go out to the horses before breakfast.” She drew a deep breath as they stepped outside and the heat hit them. “I didn’t think much of it when he didn’t come back for a while. He’s always losing track of time when he’s around animals. This place has been like a wonderland to him…” She trailed off as they crossed the yard to the first bunkhouse.

      “Christopher, honey?” she called while he systematically searched the place—a manly mess—looking under every blanket, under every bed, in every chest, in every wardrobe.

      “Not here. Let’s check the next.”

      She looked up to the sun as they stepped out of the bunkhouse, her face tight. He knew what she was thinking. If her son was out there in this heat, every minute counted.

      “And then?” he asked.

      “I went looking for him, asking the guys. He’d been out to the colts, but not for long, they said.”

      “Who saw him last?”

      “Nobody’s sure. It’s busy around here in the mornings. Everyone has a million chores to get done before the heat hits and makes work twice as difficult. Eyeryone’s always rushing around.”

      They entered the next bunkhouse.

      “Christopher?”

      He repeated the search, then they went through the same routine again and again with the next building and the next.

      His phone rang—Deke Norton, a close friend to the Aggie Four and a trusted business associate. They had a meeting later that afternoon to discuss some mutual investments.

      Akeem answered. “Hey, I’m glad you called. I might not make it to our meeting later on.”

      “Everything okay?”

      “Flint’s nephew is missing. Probably wandered off.”

      “Don’t worry about the meeting. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

      “You bet. Thanks, Deke.” He ended the call to focus on the task at hand.

      “Flint has every man out there looking,” Taylor said on her way to the new quarter horse stables that had been built recently to replace the one that’d been burned to the ground.

      “The police are helping, too.” From the way she said the last sentence, it was clear she was putting her faith in her brother. Smart woman.

      “He’ll be found.”

      She had always been nearly as tough as her brother, but as she stopped and turned to him to offer a tremulous smile, she looked fragile and lost all of a sudden. Like she needed him.

      His heart flipped over in his chest and he couldn’t help getting lost in her cornflower gaze for a moment. She had the clearest blue eyes of any woman he had even known.

      He missed them as soon as she turned from him again.

      A few horses raised their heads and gave their greeting nicker when she stepped into the barn, clearly recognizing Taylor. Others snorted a warning at Akeem. It had been a while since he’d been out here. Flint brought in new stock all the time. Since the ranch had grown by leaps and bounds, Akeem no longer knew all of the animals.

      The smell of hay and feed immediately enveloped them in comfort, but this once he couldn’t fully melt into it, and judging by the tight set of Taylor’s shoulders, neither could she. Nothing would make her relax until her son was safely back in her arms again.

      But she did seem to draw strength from the animals and strode forward with new purpose in her steps, her boots clicking on the stone floor. “Christopher?”

      He personally searched every stall. Came up with nothing. “This is going to sound…Have you checked with Christopher’s father?” He couldn’t bring himself to say the guy’s name or even call him her ex.

      “First thing.” She opened the cabinet doors in the tack room. “And the police went over there, too, to talk to him.”

      Good. That saved Akeem from having to do it. The thought brought mixed feelings of relief and disappointment.

      Her cell phone rang on the way to the new business offices. She picked up the call on the second ring. The way her face went white within the first second, Akeem knew they had trouble.