Title: Missing
Chapter: One
Author: Squeezynz
Rating: PG

With grateful thanks to Julian for taking the time to correct my punctuation errors.

Set soon after the last episode "A Walk in Woods". Steve reflects on his second chance and ends up having a "walk in the woods" of his own.

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The sun felt warm on his back, the hair on his neck barely stirring in the slight breeze fanning the hillside. He felt drowsy and relaxed, his eyes noting the regular bobbing of the horse's head as it walked the thin track at the base of the slope. Steve was thinking and thinking hard. It was a week since Dora had almost ripped his world apart by asking him to leave. He could still feel his physical reaction to the bombshell, like having a black hole open up where his heart used to be. At first he hadn't believed her, it simply wasn't possible that Dora would sacrifice him for the sake of her horses, her obviously distraught state an indication of how hard it was for her to even say the words. His heart had twisted when she'd turned and revealed the tears sliding down her pale face, but her voice had been implacable, condemning him to leaving everything he knew and loved. Steve laughed out loud, a harsh, ugly sound that caused his horse's ears to twitch back and forth. What did love have to do with it ? He'd known almost from the start that nothing would stand between Dora and her dreams, even their obvious attraction hadn't been enough to overcome Dora's tenacity for hanging onto her dream world and certainly not enough to obviate her continued faith in the goodness of people, despite Steve's best efforts to bring some harsh reality into the situation. That had been his mistake. He'd allowed his own bitterness and frustration to colour his judgement, completely forgetting that Dora simply didn't see the world the same way. Certainly events had proved Steve to be irrefutably wrong, or at least they had that time, but his opposition and complete lack of faith in the people involved had only succeeded in alienating the one person that mattered, Dora. Even if he'd been proved right, Steve knew that he'd never be able to pierce the mantle of hope and unwavering faith that surrounded Dora, shielding her from whatever the cruel world outside the farm chose to throw at her. Steve laughed again, this time softly and with heavy irony. It was one of the things he most loved about her. He'd almost go as far as to admit he envied Dora her shield of faith and hope. His had been stripped from him by a ruined childhood and harsh adolescence, culminating in his short but salutary time in prison after years spent in a reform school. His last spark of hope for renewal had been snuffed out by his heart breaking experience with his mother. Since then the wounds inflicted by his experiences had bitten deep and coloured every aspect of his relationship with the world outside the walls of Follyfoot farm. Only there was he able to create a modicum of peace and allow some of the scars to heal over, but all too often they bled and some of the pain spilled over again into disillusionment and distrust of anything and anybody. Dora was just an easy target and Steve felt himself flush with shame when he recalled some of his more scathing comments about her almost deliberate avoidance of the harsher side of life. He should be her staunchest protector, not her harshest critic but, for what ever reason, Dora always managed to somehow bring out both the best and worst of his volatile nature. Never mind that it was often not her actions that prompted his temper, it was more often the actions of the people responsible for the formation of Follyfoot in the first place, that set Steve off. But when roused, no one was safe from Steve's wrath and Dora was often the hapless victim of his angry frustration at events and people beyond his control. More often than not, Dora gave as good as she got, firing up at him and hotly defending her point of view and Steve relished the clash of wills, drinking in her flushed face and sparkling eyes. Lately though life had dealt several emotional blows that had weakened Dora and made her more vulnerable, a situation that Steve hadn't taken enough notice of and subsequently almost caused his own expulsion from paradise. Her Uncle's illness, several failed romances, the latest being the most brutal as Dora had fallen hard for Joe Rimmington and the ongoing battle against the seemingly unending stream of abuse cases, more recently affecting both horses and people. Hazel had been the final straw. Looking back, Steve could see that Dora's decision had been inevitable and it was only a small miracle that Steve was now given a second chance to throw off the shackles of the past and truly start again. What he didn't know was whether he would be able to start again with Dora. That thought was the one that kept him awake at night and plagued his thoughts during the day.

He lurched in the saddle as his horse stumbled, bringing him abruptly back to the present. Looking up he was surprised to find himself surrounded on all sides by dense thickets and trees, the sun now blotted out by the canopy.

"Where have you brought me mate ?" he asked the twitching ears, but Ben only tossed his head and turned his long nose to peer at Steve, clearly asking for some direction from his rider. They were still following a narrow muddy track but it was obviously not very frequently used and Steve cursed inwardly as he twisted in the saddle to try and see a landmark. The sun was almost directly overhead now so he couldn't tell which direction they were heading.

"Well this is a fine pickle, me old mate," he muttered, reaching down to pat Ben's neck. The horse only tossed his head and champed at the bit, waiting patiently for Steve to make up his mind. Looking forward Steve could see a clearing up ahead with sunlight streaming through the branches onto the sparse grass and bracken. Clucking his tongue he urged Ben down the track and entered the clearing. The muddy path disappeared into the grass and Steve couldn't see any breaks in the dense vegetation.

"Guess we have to turn around and head back, no point in stopping here,"

Wheeling Ben around they started back along the track, Steve kicking the horse into a trot, his eyes straining to see the end of the track and anything that would indicate where they were. Steve was riding with a loose rein, his attention solely on the track ahead. Without warning a large male pheasant rose up from a bush beside the track, right in front of Ben's nose, its harsh cry tearing into the silence. Instantly the horse checked and reared back, whinnying loudly in fright. Caught unawares, Steve received a sharp crack as his face connected with Ben's neck before being almost jolted off as the horse hit the ground. He had no time to get his balance as another bird flew out, crowing rawkishly, causing Ben to rear again, this time unseating Steve before setting off at a flat gallop, stirrups flapping and reins flying, leaving his rider to crash through the bushes at the side of the track and hit the ground hard. Steve was only vaguely aware of shouting out in surprise before the pain in his nose was obliterated by the breath being slammed from his chest as he hit the ground. Immediately he started to tumble and roll down the steep slope that had been hidden behind the thicket, his arms and legs flailing, his head hitting the ground repeatedly until he managed to bring his arms up and shield his head. This move only made him tumble faster, his body plunging down the slope, leaves and twigs flying up as if caught in a storm. The slope ended with a sloping overhand and Steve yelped as his body was suspended briefly in free fall before slamming into the leaf strewn ground and he finally rolled to a halt. Feeling dizzy and sick, he lay there unmoving for several seconds before opening his eyes and slowly relaxing his body. He lay gasping on his back, willing the trees above him to stop spinning so that he could take stock of his body's aches and pains. Gradually his chest stopped heaving and he raised his head, a move he instantly regretted as pain shot through his temples and made him grit his teeth.

"Oh god, that hurt,"

Leaving his head where it was, he tried his arms and legs which, to his immense relief, appeared to be only battered and bruised but not broken.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he breathed, letting go a huge sigh of relief. Next he shifted his position, noting that a dull pain had started in his side when he tried to twist around. He rolled over, crying out as the pain increased sharply before subsiding back to a dull ache.

"Damn, you've busted something Steve-oh," he muttered, levering himself up and wrapping one arm around his middle, his breath hissing out as pain washed over him from his head to his chest. Resting for a moment he surveyed his landing spot, seeing only more trees and a carpet of last autumn's leaves. The slope he'd rolled down was very steep, ending in the rocky overhang directly above his head. Looking up he marvelled that he'd survived the fall without killing himself. Slowly, groaning to himself, Steve got his legs under him and got onto all fours. Pain continued to rush in then recede, making him pant. Still on all fours he crawled over to the nearest tree, leaning his shoulder against it as he waited for the pain to recede before attempting to get to his feet. With an arm around his ribs and one hand on the trunk of the tree, Steve took a deep breath and hauled himself upright. Lightening shot through him and he saw black for a couple of seconds before steadying himself against the trunk.

"Oh mate, that was a bit rough," he groaned faintly, leaning his head against the rough bark as he fought to get his breathing back under control. So focused was he on his body's signals he hadn't noticed the wealth of noises that surrounded him in the depth of the wood. The wind had picked up and soughed loudly in the canopy, tossing the leaves and branches so they cracked against each other. The leaves around him were also being tossed in the gathering breeze, swirling around in little eddies before settling back again. Still dazed, Steve listened as a blackbird sounded its warning cry while perched on a branch above Steve's head, the sound seeming to reverberate around the hollow.

"Give it a rest mate, wouldya ? I've got a hell of a headache."

Straightening, Steve pushed himself away from the tree and tried a few steps on his shaky legs. His legs seemed okay, only bruised, so Steve slowly started to walk. The brief distance between his tree trunk and the next was enough to leave him giddy and panting as pain once more seared his body.

"Ribs," he gasped, "must be my damn ribs," he groaned, closing his eyes in frustration. When he opened them again the glade appeared much darker and for a moment he wondered if he'd damaged his eyes but a quick glance at the sky informed him that dark clouds were swiftly moving over and he felt a spot of rain on his upturned face.

"That's great, rain, all I need,"

Turning, he looked back at the overhang, gauging the distance. Slowly he walked towards the rocky ledge, his face creased in concentration. He'd only just reached its shelter when the sound of raindrops pattering on leaves could be clearly heard behind him. The ledge was a few inches higher than himself, and stuck out several feet, providing a perfect shelter as long as the wind kept in its current direction. There was a thick pile of wind-blow leaves heaped at the back of the shallow depression, so Steve decided to risk the possibility of more injuries and eased himself down onto the bed of leaves, his lips turning white with pain to start with but gradually relaxing as his body sank into the leaves' welcoming embrace. Drawing his knees up, Steve pulled his jacket shut and lay there, his back to the wall, facing out to watch the rain now falling steadily like a curtain over the front of his shelter.

"I can just hear Ron laughing when I get back to Follyfoot," said Steve to himself, smiling ruefully. "He'll wonder how a slug like Ben managed to unseat me so easily."

After a while a great feeling of lethargy overtook him as he lay staring heavy-eyed at the rain, the soothing sound of the drips lulling him into a light doze which soon turned into a deep sleep, carrying him away from his pain and discomfort and into a world of much sweeter thoughts that, if anyone had been there to see it, dropped several years from his bloody, pain lined face and brought a smile to his lips.

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Ron stared gloomily out at the rain, his fingers drawing patterns on the partially steamed up windows. A clatter drew his attention to Slugger busy in the small kitchen.

"What's for lunch ?" Ron asked, slipping from the window sill and wandering over to the fire place.

"Give ya three guesses," came Slugger's voice.

Ron rolled his eyes, grinning at the flames licking the well used pot suspended over the range. Leaning down he tried to lift the lid off the pot, yelping when his fingers touched the hot metal. Quickly he stuffed them into his mouth before pulling them out to shake them.

"Ow...flamin' pots hot!"

"Now there's a surprise," said Slugger, entering the room carrying a platter of thick slices of fresh bread. "Why do you think I leave that cloth beside the range dopey ?"

Still nursing his injured fingers, Ron scowled furiously before sitting down at his usual place at the table.

"'Ere, give us a hand with the dishes," said Slugger, reaching for the ragged cloth to check on his stew. Ron, grumbling under his breath, slouched over to the sideboard and collected plates and cutlery, arranging them around the table. A noise drew his attention once more to the window and he saw the farm's battered landrover pull up by the cottage gate.

"Dora's back," he announced, before walking to the front door and pulling it open just in time for Dora and Hazel to enter, shaking rain from their clothes and laughing. After pulling off their coats and dumping a couple of shopping bags on the floor, the two girls plumped themselves down at the table as Slugger lifted the pot off the range and started to serve.

"Hi Slugger, hi Ron! It's bucketing down out there," said Dora, grinning at Ron's obviously disgusted face as Slugger deposited a serving of stew on his plate.

"We noticed. Did you get everything you wanted ?"

"Oh yes. We even came back with some change."

"We got the prettiest blanket and the most darling halter," gushed Hazel, her eyes bright and eager.

"I thought you went out for a jacket to replace that rag you insist on wearing," teased Ron, slowly stirring his plate of stew.

"Oh we did, but we couldn't resist visiting Cartwrights and after that...well, it'll do another winter," said Hazel with an expressive shrug. Dora only watched the exchange, smiling slightly. Her gaze settled on the empty place at the table.

"Slugger, where's Steve ? Do you want me to go and call him ?"

"Steve ? I haven't seen him since this morning. He took Ben out. You've been gazing out the window all morning, did you see Steve come back ?" he asked Ron.

"Ur..no, at least I don't think so," said Ron, avoiding Slugger's eyes.

"He might have taken shelter from the rain," suggested Slugger, sitting himself down next to Ron. Dora looked down at her plate, stirring her food but not eating.

"I think I'll go check," said Dora, pushing away her chair and standing up.

Slugger reached for her plate but he never picked it up as they heard the sounds of hoofs beating a rapid tattoo outside the cottage. Slugger leaned across to look out the window as Ron and Dora both made their way to the front door.

"It looks like Ben,"

Dora wrenched open the door and ran down the front path, Ron close on her heels. Ben had reached the gate of the farm and stood, head hanging and reins trailing as Dora and Ron ran across the short space to Follyfoot farm.

"Oh Ron, what could have happened," cried Dora, catching up the reins and running a hand over the horse's neck, feeling the skin tremor under her fingers. "He's been frightened by something,"

Slugger and Hazel had now come out of the cottage and Slugger took the reins from Dora so she could run her hands over Ben's legs and check for injuries.

"He's run a long way but his legs are fine. Take him into the stable Ron and rub him down, he's covered in sweat and mud,"

"But where's Steve ?" cried Hazel, plucking at Dora's jumper sleeve.

Dora and Slugger exchanged a worried glance before Dora turned to the younger girl to reassure her.

"I don't know Hazel, but I'm sure Steve's alright. He's an excellent rider and is probably walking home right now. Go inside and put the kettle on, he'll be cold and wet when he gets home."

Hazel glanced uncertainly at Dora before turning to do as she'd been bid. Dora remained by the gate with Slugger, looking back out at the paddocks, willing the familiar figure of Steve to appear on the horizon.

"What should we do Slugs, he could be anywhere. Did he say anything before he left ?"

"Not a word girl, just that he was off to exercise the horse."

"I'm going to look for him," said Dora, already turning away and heading into the yard. Slugger cast a mournful look up at the sky and turned to go back to the cottage. "I'll fix you something to take with you," he called over his shoulder but Dora was already opening Copper's stall and going inside. Tutting to himself Slugger hurried into the cottage.

He was out again before too long, holding a battered knapsack and a long slicker. Dora was just tightening Copper's girth as they approached.

"I've put in a thermos and some...other stuff. Put this on, it'll keep the worst of the weather off you."

"Thanks Slugger. I'll ride as far as Miller's Copse then circle round and check out the other side of the lake."

"Don't be out too long girl, this weather is closing in and it'll get dark early."

"I know Slugs, and Steve's out there in it. If he gets back before me, take care of him,"

"Of course girl, leave it to me,"

While Slugger held Copper's head, Ron tossed Dora into the saddle and with a wave she kicked Copper into a canter and took off across the paddock, clods of mud flying from the horse's hooves.

"I could take my bike and check the back roads," suggested Ron, his hands thrust into his jeans pockets.

"Good idea, and you can ask anyone you meet if they've seen Steve or Ben," added Slugger, patting Ron on the shoulder.

"I want to go with Ron." said Hazel, hurriedly pulling on her own rain coat, "I want to help too,"

With only the slightest of hesitations, Ron nodded and they hurried over to the barn to pull out his battered chopper motorbike. With a roar and a wave they sped out the yard in a cloud of exhaust, leaving Slugger to finish taking care of Ben and check on the other horses before making his way back to the cottage, his expression grave.

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Steve came awake slowly, his mind slowly unravelling itself from its layers of sleep. He heard a scratching noise by his head and lay for a moment wondering why he was laying on a bed of leaves. He made to move and instantly regretted it as pain reminded him of his precipitous tumble down the slope. Behind his head a flutter of wings told him the industrious blackbird that had been scratching through the leaves had flown away in fright. Turning his head he looked out beyond the overhang and saw that the rain had slowed to a drizzle. He also noticed that the light was failing. He wondered bemusedly whether Ben had found his way back to his stall without further incident. "Stupid horse is probably eating his head off with a warm blanket and soft bedding, while I'm stuck here."

Deciding that a night spent under the overhang was probably not a good idea, Steve rolled painfully onto his knees before using the rock wall to pull himself to his feet. He swayed slightly, his hand coming up to wipe his face only to discover that his hand came away covered in flakes of black, dried blood. "Musta cut myself," he muttered, reaching up again to push his dark, damp hair out of his eyes. The rain had now slowed to a scotch mist and he pushed against the rock wall to get his feet moving. Slipping on the wet leaves he lurched from tree trunk to tree trunk, his hands rasping against the rough trunks. His old jean jacket quickly became damp and his hair soon became slick against his head. With one hand he swept it back and behind his ear, the way he'd done when he'd pretended to be a gypsy. The effort caused his injured ribs to protest and he wrapped his arms around his chest to ease the ache. Stumbling on he kept his eyes on the ground, not wanting to trip and fall and further injure himself. Around him the woods dripped and the trees continued to flail in the brisk wind, leaves swirling around his feet. The woods around him started to merge into the bushes as darkness crept in, blurring the edges and creating dark wells of shadow. Steve kept on, putting one foot in front of the other until he suddenly realised that he could no longer see his feet. Panting, he leant against the broad trunk of a huge oak, the unseen leaves above his head rustling like a nest of hissing snakes. He remained propped against the trunk as he tried to gather his strength for another push. Looking around he flinched as a flash of light briefly illuminated the foliage around him. A low rumble several seconds later confirmed that Steve's current situation was about to get even worse. Taking a deep breath he pushed away from the tree and trudged on. During one of the flashes he thought he saw something behind a small copse of silver birch. The wind was now whipping around his legs, plastering his wet clothes to his shivering body. His patience was rewarded when the next flash revealed the rimmed outline of a building. Keeping its location in his mind's eye Steve staggered towards the copse, his arm outstretched. He stumbled into the young trees, their branches catching at his clothes. He waited again and the next flash showed him the wall of a ruined hut, its doorway gaping blackly. Feeling his way along the wall, Steve almost fell through the door as a huge crash of thunder deafened him, directly overhead. He paused just inside the doorway, his heart pounding in a mixture of fear and relief as he waited for another flash to illuminate the huts interior. The rain pounding on the roof almost drowned out the wind and thunder, but to Steve's relief the roof appeared to be sound. A bright flash showed him an almost empty room, about ten feet square with a window in one wall and a pile of sacking opposite the doorway. Feeling his way around, he found the door pinned back, freeing it he pushed it closed, instantly cutting off the howling storm. Another flash clearly showed the pile of sacking and Steve made his way across to the rough bed, lowering his shaking body to the floor and pulling some of the sacks around himself. It was less than perfect and he'd rather not think of the possible livestock crawling in the sacking, but it was dry and out of the storm. For now it was heaven on earth. Closing his eyes he gave into the overwhelming urge to sleep.

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Dora cradled the mug of hot tea that Slugger had pushed into her chilled fingers. She'd returned just before dark, her clothes soaked, hair plastered to her head, her face pinched with worry. Ron had taken Copper after Slugger had caught her as she fell out of the saddle. A hot bath and dry clothes had gone a long way to revive her and now she waited while Slugger prepared some toast and marmalade to ease her hunger. Another bright flash illuminated the yard across from the cottage and she watched as Ron ran across from the barn and dashed into the stable block. He'd offered to stay in Steve's loft, in case he got back that night. Hazel was already in bed after extracting a promise from Slugger to wake her if Steve got home. Dora sipped the steaming brew, her eyes watching the dark slips of rain on the window. Another flash made her blink and she could feel the thunder thrumming through her body as the storm passed overhead.

"Here ya go girl, get this in ya,"

She turned to see Slugger holding out a plate with several slices of buttered toast. She didn't feel hungry, stress always dulled her appetite, but she also knew that Slugger would never let her go to bed without a meal. Smiling her thanks, she took the plate over to the overstuffed wing chair by the fire and settled in, picking up a slice and starting to eat.

Slugger bustled around, clearing the table and washing the dishes, his comfortable presence a balm to her overstretched nerves, her fear for Steve's safety almost overwhelming her. Another boom from outside made her jump, her eyes flicking to the rain drenched windows, just as Slugger reached out to pull the thick curtains.

"What a dirty night, haven't had a storm like this in a dogs age," Slugger muttered, twitching the curtains into place.

"Oh Slugs, poor Steve, he's out in it. He could be injured...or...or." Dora gulped, unable to voice her worst fears. Slugger placed a paternal hand on her shoulder, patting it in sympathy.

"I know girl, but there's nothing we can do until this storm passes. Even the police said they can't come out till the morning."

"By then the rain will have washed out any chance of finding tracks or scent, the dogs will be useless,"

"Well, we can only try. The Colonel said he'd be here tomorrow after rallying all our neighbours to help, they'll be a fair crowd of searchers in the morning."

"I know, I just can't stop thinking of Steve out there. He'll be so cold..." Dora choked off, her head bent. Slugger murmured in sympathy and squeezed her shoulder before ambling off to pour himself a mug of tea. Not long after Dora wandered off to bed, her heart heavy. After climbing into bed she lay there, the covers up to her chin, her eyes turned to the window where intermittent flashes still played over her bedroom ceiling. A single tear fell from the corner of her eye and slid down to fall onto her pillow, echoing the droplets that continued to slide down the cold glass of her window.

"Oh Steve, please be alright."

Her heart felt leaden, her throat clogged with unshed tears. Turning over she burrowed her face into her pillows and gave vent to her fears. Apart from the few months that Steve had been away finding his mother, he'd been at Follyfoot, her constant companion for nearly two years. Always there to greet her in the morning, to share their rides out to exercise those horses that were not too old, his pleasure at her successes with those horses sent for Dora to school, his solid dependability that no job was too hard when caring for her collection of needy horses. Always prepared to put the effort in, unlike Ron who found a hundred and one excuses to be somewhere else if hard work was on the menu. Of course their relationship was never entirely smooth and frequent arguments over their different views on the world outside the farm walls kept them on their toes, Dora ever the optimist, Steve ever the pessimist. His attitude had almost driven her to send him away, from the farm, from the horses, and out of her life. She'd spoken the words, but inside her heart had been crying out, breaking into little pieces as she saw the realisation dawn on his face that she had meant every word. It was only after that confrontation that she'd realised how much she depended on Steve for his solid support and strength. Yes he was a mass of insecurities and messed up emotions, but none of the people at Follyfoot could claim to have a spotless record when it came to emotional baggage, least of all Dora. It was with a sense of relief, not only for herself, when she managed to rationalise her own feelings into ones of renewal rather than resignation. It meant she could offer Steve the olive branch he so desperately wanted from her. A chance to wipe the slate clean and start again. She had offered it despite his faults and insecurities, they would just have to work it out. Now it seemed that fate had stepped in and possibly taken that opportunity away from both of them. A broken sob breached her tight throat as she tried to imagine not seeing his darkly handsome face ever again. Such a possibility was not an option, they had to find him tomorrow.

At last, worn out and heartsore, Dora slept.

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Steve spent a restless night. His body, chilled by his wet clothes, ached and shivered in turns, pulling out of a feverish sleep several times. Once he thought he heard a horse whinny, but he ignored it as a delusion, pulling another sack over his shaking limbs. By the morning he was sheened with a film of sweat, his clothes creased and uncomfortable, his eyes gritty and his mouth dry. A coughing spasm doubled him over as his ribs reminded him they were hurt. Blinking up at the cobweb-laced ceiling he lay watching the light grow stronger outside the broken-paned window. Painfully he got himself onto his feet, leaning against the wooden wall to gather his strength to walk out of the hut. He briefly wondered why the hut was buried so deep in the woods but his mind refused to linger on so insignificant a thought, his whole consciousness focussed on placing one foot in front of the other, opening the door and stepping out into the weak sunlight filtering down to the forest floor. He paused in a beam of sunshine, lifting his face to absorb the faint warmth until another shiver reminded him to keep moving. He circled the hut, noting that most of the tall weeds up against the outside wall had been trampled down and not by him. Using the wall as a support he edged his way towards the back where he could see some sort of lean-to. As he approached he heard something moving and stamping in the ramshackle building. As he reached the far wall he could make out the unmistakable smell of a stabled horse. It gave him renewed strength and he reached to wrench the top door open. The animal within peered over its shoulder at him, its tail swishing in welcome. Steve leaned on the top edge of the bottom door and chuckled to himself in relief.

"Where did you come from my beauty ?" he asked the horse, patting its silky rump as the animal resumed munching on its hay bag breakfast. He stayed there, using the door as a convenient crutch, watching the horse munch as he considered why someone would hide a horse away so deep in the woods. He'd noticed that the ground was recently trampled around the entrance to the stable, but couldn't make out anything after the previous nights rain.

"Why are you here, and who do you belong to ?" he mused out loud.

Without warning he found himself spinning away from the door as a rough hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed. His legs already unsteady, Steve couldn't prevent his fall, crashing to the ground with a cry which shut off abruptly as his head connected with the hut wall and knocked him out cold. The man who'd pushed him stood over his body, surprised at the results of what had only been a moderately rough shove.

"Blimey, you all right ?" On closer inspection the man saw that Steve was sporting several cuts and abrasion over his face along with the dried evidence of a scalp wound running from his hairline. Kneeling down the man turned Steve over, feeling his limbs for any breaks, grunting in satisfaction when none were found. "You must be the one they're looking for," the man surmised, peering closely at Steve's face again. Getting to his feet, he opened the stable and went in to release the horse, backing it out so that is stood a little distance from Steve's sprawled body but remained tied to the outer wall by a halter rope. "Sorry about this, me old mate, but its the only way to get you back to those that want ya home." With little ceremony the man lifted Steve's limp form onto his shoulder and walked over to the horse, grunting slightly under the added weight. As carefully as possible he lowered Steve face first onto the back of the horse, one hand on Steve's back the other running soothingly down the animals neck, all the while talking to it as it became accustomed to its unusual burden. Fortunately Steve remained blissfully unaware of his situation, his damaged ribs protesting in vain at the uncomfortable position of being slung, face down over the horses withers. With one hand on the back of Steve's jacket to keep him steady, the man led the horse around the stable and ramshackle shack, to a narrow path leading through the woods. If Steve had only known, he'd been a stones throw from a well used bridle path that ran across several of the local farms and through the thick wood. Now the man led the horse and its unconscious burden down the muddy track towards the edge of the trees.

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Dora had chafed at the delay in waiting for the people to arrive with their horses and cars to assemble the search party. The police had brought their tracking dogs but held little hope of picking up a scent after the night's storm. Now they were finally off and Copper was eagerly leading the way, snorting in the early morning air, both rider and horse breathing steam into the pale sunlight. Dora was in the party assigned to check beyond Miller's copse to the thick wood that bordered the old tailings of a closed mine. She rode ahead of the small group of riders, her eyes scanning the empty expanse of paddock and hillside in hopes of spotting a familiar figure. They were skirting a low hill on the approach to the forest when Dora saw a man emerge leading a dark coloured horse with something on its back. She checked Copper and turned to direct the attention of the riders following her. When she turned back she saw the man reach for the burden on the horses back and pull it off so it fell to the ground and lay motionless at the horse's feet. Then the man walked the horse a few paces away from the bundle before nimbly swinging his leg over the animals back and kicking it into a canter, away from the hill where Dora watched. The man and horse just as suddenly disappeared into the wood, before Dora's group had had a chance to catch up with her. Dora suddenly had a horrible suspicion about what the bundle was and she kicked Copper who responded by leaping away down the slope. The riders behind spurred their mounts after her, calling out for her to slow down.

As she got closer she could see that the bundle was a person and her heart leapt into her throat as tears blinded her. "STEVE!"

She pulled Copper to a bone jarring stop and threw herself out of the saddle, running the few steps to the prone body on the ground. Falling to her knees in the mud she reached out to turn him over, her fears increasing at his lack of response. "Steve ??"

The rest of the riders pulled up, several dismounting and joining her on the ground.

"Don't move him Dora, until we've checked him over, we don't know how badly he's hurt," said one man. Dora recognised him as one of the volunteer firemen from the local village. She watched as he gently ran his hands down Steve's arms and legs before slowly turning him over onto his back. Dora gasped at the sight of Steve's bruised and bloody face, her eyes welling with tears at his obvious ordeal. Someone handed her a blanket and she laid it over him, her fingers brushing his skin and smoothing his hair off his face. So intent on Steve, Dora didn't notice the orders given for several of the riders to return to Follyfoot and organise an ambulance and a stretcher as well as inform the other search parties that Steve had been found.

"Dora, will you fetch my saddlebag, there's some first aid stuff in it and we can clean him up ready for the ambulance."

Reluctantly tearing her eyes from Steve's face Dora looked up, surprised to find that only two of her group had stayed with her, the rest sent off for help. After fetching back the saddle bags, she watched as the fireman used a soft cloth to wipe the mud off Steve's face, careful not to dislodge any of the scabs that had formed over the many scratches and cuts. Steve remained oblivious to all the attention, his face pale and sheened with a fine film of sweat. Dora slipped a hand under the blanket and found his hand, grasping it to reassure herself he was still alive.

"Can't we move him to somewhere drier ?" asked one of the riders.

"Here....take this and cut some of that bracken, we can put it under him to lift him off the mud," said the fireman, handing over a very well used pocket knife.

Within minutes Steve was rolled and the fresh bracken placed between him and the ground. Then it was just a matter of waiting for help to arrive. Dora didn't let go her grip on Steve's hand, her eyes darting from his face to the hill behind them, silently praying for the ambulance to arrive quickly. As if in answer they heard the unmistakable wail of the ambulance siren just out of sight and within minutes several people were running towards them, a stretcher carried between them. Then it was a simple matter of lifting Steve onto the stretcher and starting the slow walk back to the road. Dora walked with them, handing over Copper to one of the other riders to return to Follyfoot. Steve was now shaking with the cold, his head tossing from side to side, his hands reaching to throw off the confining blanket. Dora again grasped one of the flailing hands and held it until they reached the ambulance. Once loaded in the back, Dora climbed in and waved farewell to the remaining searchers, thanking the fireman for his care. The ride to the local hospital passed in a blur, the arrival a melee of people transferring Steve to a trolley and wheeling him into the emergency ward, leaving Dora to fill out the paperwork and wait anxiously in the waiting room. She wasn't alone for long as her Uncle arrived, along with Hazel and she was able to fill them in on how she'd found him. A police officer also arrived, having heard the strange story of a man dumping Steve at the edge of the forest, but Dora wasn't able to give him any more information so he left, saying he'd return when Steve regained consciousness. Dora only hoped that would be sooner rather than later.

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A nurse came to tell them that they could see Steve and they followed her to a room where he lay in solitary splendour, a wide bandage wrapped around his head, his face still pale and bruised under the scratches and cuts. As Dora approached the bed his eyes opened and she smiled at him, even as a tear escaped her lashes and made a slow progress down her cheek. Behind her the Colonel and Hazel crowded into the small room, both exclaiming at finding him awake.

Dora walked around to the far side of the bed, keenly aware that Steve's eyes followed her.

"You had us worried there, my lad. You look like you took a nasty tumble."

Reluctantly Steve turned his head to regard the Colonel, as small smile lifting his lips. "It wasn't Ben throwing me off that did this, it was the sheer drop that I landed on," he said, turning back to Dora on hearing her horrified gasp. "I should be glad there was such a good leaf drop last winter, it saved my life."

"But how did you manage last night, with the storm and everything ?" asked Hazel, her piquant face alive with curiosity.

"I managed to stumble over a disused shed in the woods. It kept me dry for most of the night. I discovered it wasn't so unused this morning, there was a horse out back."

"A horse ? whose was it, why was it there ?" queried the Colonel.

"I don't know sir, it was in good condition, plenty of food, just hidden away for some reason."

"We saw a man with a horse, he dropped you off at the edge of the wood." said Dora, drawing Steve's dark eyes to her own again.

"A man ? I don't remember...sorry, I only remember seeing the horse, then its all a blank."

"I think that was just as well, the Nurse said you've cracked a couple of ribs and have extensive bruising down your back and sides."

"That explains why I feel as wrapped up as a mummy," said Steve, smiling again, but wincing as well.

"We'll come back and see you again Steve, you get better and don't rush to get up. Dora, I'll wait for you outside." Putting an arm around Hazel, the Colonel left the hospital room, closing the door behind him.

"I imagine Ron and Slugger will be in later as well. They'll want to know what happened, especially as it was Ben who threw you. Why did he ?" asked Dora, fiddling with the edge of the bed cover.

"It was a damn pheasant, flew up right under his nose. He'd have had to be made of stone not to react, and I wasn't paying enough attention, so he threw me. Did he get home alright ?"

"He's fine Steve, no damage except a broken rein and a loose stirrup iron,"

"Oh...good."

"Oh Steve, I was so worried," said Dora brokenly, her hand coming up to scrub the tears away.

"Hey...I'm alright girl, don't cry over me." Steve reached up and gently used the back of his fingers to wipe her face. "It takes more than a stroppy horse and a bit of water to keep me down."

"I'm just so glad we found you. The way that man dumped you, I thought you....you were..."

"Well I wasn't, so no more long faces, you found me and that's all that matters. I'd like to know who the man was, but I bet he's long gone with the horse."

Dora could only manage a nod, too upset to speak.

Swallowing hard she pinned a wan smile on her face, patting the bed covers and smoothing out a few tiny wrinkles. "I guess I'd better go, Uncle is waiting." She finally announced. Steve smiled back at her, his eyes warm.

"Thanks for finding me Dora."

"Don't ever go missing again Steve, I couldn't bear it."

Steve watched as Dora left his room, her parting look full of promise and hope. Closing his eyes, he willed the discomfort of his ribs to go away so that he could savour the last look in her eyes before she closed the door. Recalling that look brought a smile to his face and helped to dull the pain just a little, as well as push some of the ghosts from the past that much further away.

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The End.