Chapter 40 Colton

CHAPTER 40

Colton

"HEY, MOM," I say, tucking the phone receiver between my shoulder and my ear.

"Colton Mitchell Walker, you scared the bejesus out of me. Riding into a stampede, of all things."

"I didn't have much of a choice, Ma." My hip rests against the desk in the operations office, which is scattered with bills, inventory lists, and reservation info. "It was either that or watch Riley get trampled." My voice hitches when I say her name, the dread of what could have happened sending my heart thumping around in my chest. I cough, hoping Mom didn't pick up on the tell. I'm not ready for her well-intentioned, yet completely awkward, questions about Riley just yet.

"Riley?" Mom says, her voice dripping with piqued interest.

"She's one of the passengers. Ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Papers rustle on the other end of the line. "I have the manifest right here. Riley Thomas, seventeen, no known allergies. There's a note in here about lost luggage. Poor girl's having a tough time of it this week."

"You have no idea," I say.

"Sounds like she found a friend in you."

"You could say that." I'm pretty sure I'm securely out of the friend zone at this point, but Mom doesn't need to know that just yet.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Mom," I warn. "She's a passenger. And she lives in California."

"Okay, okay," Mom sighs. "Just tell me, does she make you smile?"

The corners of my mouth lift automatically. "Yeah."

"All righty, then." I can picture her clapping her hands together.

"Mom, I've gotta run. But I love you and I'll see you soon."

"I love you, too, Colton. No more stampedes."

I set the phone back into the cradle and glance at my watch. Mack should be just about finished looking over Chance. In the meantime, I have some paperwork to finish up in the office.

Twenty minutes later, I stride into the barn with my saddlebag slung over my shoulder. There's a definite spring in my step, which can be directly attributed to a steaming hot shower, fresh clothes, and the prospect of spending two more days on the trail with Riley.

As I near Chance's stall, I make out the murmured voices of Mack and…"Dr. Vitello," I say, stepping inside.

This can't be good.

Dr. Vitello glances up from her clipboard, where her pen is poised over a veterinary chart. "Howdy, Colton." She gives me a firm handshake. "Heard you and Chance had quite the adventure yesterday."

"You could say that." I scratch at my stubble and try to sneak a peek at the notes she's written in his file.

Mack leans against the far wall, feet crossed at the ankles. "I noticed a bit of tenderness in his right flank when I was checking him over. Doesn't seem to be anything worrisome, but I thought it would be good to get a second opinion," he explains.

"He's not favoring it and doesn't seem to be in any real pain," Dr. Vitello says. "So I don't think he has anything more than a slight muscle strain, which is nothing a little TLC can't cure."

Just then, Dad pokes his head in. "Can I borrow you for a second, Colt?"

I duck out. "What's up?"

"Wagons are rolling out in about fifteen minutes. Are you and Chance up for hitting the trail?"

"I am. But he's not." I frown. "It's nothing serious, but it looks like I'll have to bring him home in the trailer."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Dad says, patting me on the back. "Dr. Vitello knows her stuff. I'm sure Chance will be fine."

It stinks that time with Riley will have to wait, but I can't just leave him here while I ride off with the excursion. I'll have to catch her before the wagons depart to explain everything.

"I'll call your mom to let her know what's going on," Dad says. "See you soon, son."

I nod and enter Chance's stall, my good mood deflating fast. "How long will he need to rest?" I ask.

Dr. Vitello runs her hand over Chance's flank and bobs her head in thought. "A few days, most likely, but I'd give it a week before saddling him up, to be on the safe side." Chance nuzzles her arm as she packs up her veterinary bag. "It doesn't seem to be bothering him now, without a saddle or extra weight, but if he starts limping or shows signs of discomfort, we can get him on some muscle relaxants or set him up for an acupuncture appointment. Who's his regular vet?"

"Dr. Freeman."

"Want me to give him a call?"

I brush my fingers through Chance's mane and shake my head. "Nah. We'll keep an eye on him. I'm sure he just overexerted himself."

"Good to see you, Chance," she says, slipping him a sugar cube. "Colton."

I tip my hat to her. "Thanks for coming."

The door to Chance's stall latches closed behind her. Dr. Vitello's laugh echoes through the stable as Mack walks her out to her truck.

I brush my hand down Chance's muzzle and rest my forehead against his. "I'm sorry you got hurt saving Riley, but thank you for being there for me. I owe you big-time."

Chance sniffs at my hands, looking for more treats. When I flip them over to show him they're empty, I happen to glance at my watch. It's already 2:00 p.m. Dr. Vitello was here longer than I thought.

Oh crap.

It's two o'clock.

"Be right back," I call to Mack as I race past him on my way out of the stable. My heavy work boots thud against the dusty lane that leads toward the center of Fort Bellows. I dart between two groups of tourists, dodge a stray chicken, and twist out of the way to narrowly escape a collision with a wobbly toddler. Dad's high-pitched whistle pierces the air just before I round the corner.

My boots skid to a stop in front of the general store. There are more tourists and little kids here now than when Riley and I rode in a little over an hour ago. Where did they all come from?

As if to answer my question, a woman to my right holds up a bright orange flag and says, "Junior Adventurers Troop Eight, eyes on me."

I bob and weave through the crowd, but I don't seem to get any closer to the wagons. Or to Riley. With growing frustration, I watch the supply wagon pull through the open gates, the caboose of our wagon train. My lungs burn in my chest from sprinting here from the stable but also from the sinking feeling that Riley has just slipped through my fingers.

"Dammit," I huff, kicking up a cloud of dirt.