CHAPTER THREE

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(Livingston, Montana)

Elaine “Vandy” Vanderbilt sat on the edge of Lindsay’s bed, looking dour as Lindsay packed her bags.

“I don’t understand, sweetheart,” she said. “Classes don’t start for another three weeks. Why do you need to head to California so soon?”

Lindsay had completed her freshman year at Stanford a few months earlier.

“Mom, I love your ranch here in Livingston,” she replied. “Montana grows on you. You know how I love to ride horses, but this is an important year for me. I want to get back, get settled in, get all my textbooks and really prepare.  I have to declare a major at the end of the year and I’m still undecided.”

“I get that,” Vandy replied, “but three weeks? It seems like we hardly got to spend any time with you at all.”

“Bullshit, mom,” she replied. “We’ve spent almost every day together for two and a half months. Use the time to get reacquainted with your new husband. He’s fantastic.”

Vandy smiled, “He is, I know. I’m so happy you think so, too.”

Lindsay smiled, too, “Honestly mom, Sam Steele is more than any woman could hope for. I’m so glad you found him.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Of course, I do,” she said. “I should be so lucky to find a man like Sam. I love the guy.”

“He loves you, too,” she replied. “Are you . . . ready to start dating again?”

She shrugged. After the kidnapping ordeal, Lindsay had taken an extended period of time to recover. She managed to stay away from boys in any setting other than in large group gatherings. It was also quite the buzzkill when two bodyguards accompanied her just about everywhere.

“I don’t know,” she said. “We’ll see.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Vandy said.

“I know, mom.”

“Can I ride with you to the airport?” she asked.

“Of course,” Lindsay said.

“Sam is going to be so disappointed he wasn’t here to see you off,” Vandy told her.

“When does he get back from his fishing trip?”

“Sunday night,” she said. “Can’t you wait until then?”

“Mom, I’ll be home for Thanksgiving. That’s less than three months away.”

“I know. I know.”

Vandy talked nearly non-stop on the ride to the airport. Lindsay seemed distant and distracted, only half-listening. After a while, Vandy noticed. She hit the button to raise the privacy window between the front and back seat, so Lindsay’s two bodyguards sitting up front could not hear them.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?’ Vandy asked. “You seem like you’re in another world.”

“I just have school on my mind,” she lied. “It’s going to be a tough year.”

“Are you worried about any one particular class?” Vandy asked.

She shook her head, “No, not really.”

Lindsay brightened up and smiled, changing the subject, “Tell me about this trip you and Sam have planned.”

Vandy’s eyes lit up, “Italy, then France. It’s going to be amazing. We leave next month.”

“Tell me all about it,” Lindsay said.

For the remainder of the drive to the airport, Lindsay stared blankly at her mother as she happily described all the details of her upcoming European trip. Hardly any of it registered with Lindsay—her mind was on other things.

“Lindsay? Are you listening?” Vandy asked, as they pulled in front of the airport entrance.

“I’m sorry,” Lindsay replied. “What?”

“I asked you about your bodyguards at SJC,” she said.  SJC was the call letters for the San Jose airport, the closest airport to Stanford University.

“Yes, of course,” Lindsay said. “I’ll call them from the airport to pick me up.”

“I called them myself,” Vandy said. “They told me you had not informed them you were coming.”

“I’m sorry mom. I’m distracted,” Lindsay said. “I forgot all about it. Thanks for making the call.”

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Vandy asked, a look of concern forming on her face. “Do you like them? Your bodyguards in California, I mean?”

“Rob and Ray?” she replied. “Oh, yeah, they’re great. I like them a lot.”

“Ok, we’re here,” Vandy told her. “Do you have your ticket?”

“Yes, mom,” she replied, rolling her eyes. She pulled it out of her purse and showed it to her.

“Give me a big hug,” she said. “Call me when you get there.”

“I will,” she promised.

Lindsay hugged her mother. One of the guards had her bag ready and accompanied her to the security line. The guard waited patiently as he watched Lindsay make her way through security.  Once she retrieved her bag and slipped on her shoes, she nodded at the guard. He offered a short wave of acknowledgement and walked away.

Lindsay looked up at the electronic reader board. She glanced passed the line reading San Jose, and fixed her eyes on the line below, Flight 909 to Sherwood, Montana. She smiled.  She tossed her San Jose ticket into the garbage can and pulled out her ticket to Sherwood, Montana.  Sherwood was the small regional airport located just one-mile northeast of the small town of Plentywood, Montana.

As she headed to her gate, she pulled her cell phone and wrote a text to Rob, one of her body guards in California. “My mother talked me into staying another two weeks,” the text said. “Sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll call you at the end of the month. Lindsay.”

She hit the send button.