Without taking his eyes off the moving shadow, Ryan fumbled for the rope hanging off his waist, hurriedly tied together a lasso, then pulled on Bella’s reins to quickly maneuver her into position.

“Easy does it, girl. Easy does it . . .”

Edging closer, his hands shaking from adrenaline, Ryan sat up straighter and began swinging the rope in a wide clockwise motion high above his head. He knew he wouldn’t get too many shots at this. Just finding her wasn’t enough—if he messed this up, if he couldn’t land his throw, Little Dipper could bolt and he might never see her again. Every move was critical.

“We can do this,” he whispered to Bella. “Please, whatever you do, just stay very, very still.”

Once in striking distance, Ryan readied himself and took a deep breath.

The first two attempts failed miserably. One throw fell woefully short, the other got caught by a blustery gust of wind and flew straight into the side of Little Dipper’s stomach. The third, however, much to Ryan’s relief, sailed through the air with perfect aim and fell cleanly around her head.

Before Little Dipper had a chance to react, Ryan jerked on the rope, snagging the neck of the noose tight, then coiled his end of the rope around his forearm and looped it up and over his wrist, tethering him to his frightened horse. Little Dipper spun around at once, nostrils flared, eyes white with panic.

“Whoa, easy girl. Relax. It’s okay, it’s me . . .” Ryan raised one hand in the air, desperately trying to calm her, while his other hand kept a deathlike grip on the rope. “I’m here to help, Lil’ Dip. I’m here to get you home.”

•••

How Ryan managed to do that, though, he honestly couldn’t say. Riding one horse while wrangling another was difficult enough, but add a storm, the dark of night, and three miles of impossibly dense ­forest—it was a miracle they made it back at all.

When the ranch finally appeared through a clearing in the trees, Ryan let out an exhausted sigh of relief. He dismounted, led the two horses into the barn, showed them to their stalls, set them up with some food and water, then dashed straight to the house, where he knew his father would be nervously waiting and no doubt wondering where he had been.

All the lights were off except in the kitchen, which was where Ryan found him, sitting in a chair with the telephone gripped in his hands.

“Son! Thank God, you’re okay!”

“Everything’s all right, Dad.” Ryan rushed over and gave him a hug. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“What happened?”

“You wouldn’t believe it . . .”

Ryan made a pot of tea, pulled out two mugs, then sat down and told his father an elaborate story—not about rescuing Little Dipper, but instead a complete fiction about his truck breaking down.