Beneath Montana Skies

by Mia Ross

  Grace. It had been a stormy afternoon very much like this one when he’d lost the other half of his heart. His high school sweetheart. No, not lost. She’d been taken from him—by cancer. Seventeen years old, with so much life ahead of her, a life she was meant to spend with him, she had slipped away with him holding her hand.

  Pulled abruptly from the painful thoughts of his past, Garrett stepped hard on the brake as he eyed the road ahead. He sent a prayer of thanks heavenward as he took in the sight before him. Had he been traveling any faster, he might not have noticed the bridge had been washed out until it was too late.

  The bridge had been old and in need of replacing anyway, but its loss had effectively cut off his family’s fastest route into town. Shifting the car into Reverse, he started to back away, preparing to turn his Ford F-450 around and head back to the ranch. However, something protruding from the space where the bridge had once been caught his eye as his truck’s headlights passed over it.

  Leaning forward, Garrett squinted, trying to make out what that something was through the heavy rain. Part of the bridge, perhaps? He slowly drove toward the creek until the blurred outline became clearer. The moment he realized the back end of a car was jutting up from the sloping hillside, Garrett threw his Ford into Park and jumped out into the rain. Had the vehicle’s passenger, possibly even passengers, managed to escape before the car settled so precariously over the rapidly rising creek? Or were they trapped inside, on the verge of being swept away by the swirling water? Heart pounding, he raced toward the collapsed bridge.

  “Hello?” he hollered. “Is anyone in there?”

  When he received no response, he ran toward the upended vehicle, stopping just far enough away from the creek’s edge not to accidentally slip into it. Water was halfway up the front doors, but by some Providence the car’s rear held fast against the muddied hillside. Thunder and lightning crashing around him as he pulled his cell from the front pocket of his jeans and switched the flashlight app on. It wasn’t as good as having the real thing, but at that moment it cast enough light into the vehicle to see that the Honda wasn’t empty. The shadowy outline of a slight female form lay limp against the taut harness of the driver’s side seatbelt. He couldn’t see her face, as the woman’s head faced the opposite direction, but she appeared to be unconscious.

  The vehicle creaked and groaned as the rushing water threatened to tear the car free of whatever it was that held it to the bank. His gaze shifted immediately toward the rushing water below as it crested over the car’s hood. There was no time to waste. Garrett broke into a run for his truck, heedless of the stinging rain. Dear Lord, please don’t let me have arrived too late.

  He grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight along with the recovery towrope he kept in his truck in case one of their horse trailers got stuck in mud and secured the rope to the front of the F-450. Then he hurried back to where the Honda hung precariously atop the hillside and kneeled on the ground where the back end teetered. Shining the light under the car’s carriage, he found a secure place to latch the towrope.

  He ran back to his truck. Throwing the oversize vehicle into Reverse, he eased backward until the rope grew taut. Then he gave it a little more gas and began pulling the smaller car back up the bank. It caught for a moment, refusing to budge, which sent Garrett into another round of fervent prayers. Then, as if in answer, it let loose, sliding in the slick mud as it ascended the remainder of the way up the side of the flooding creek.

  It wasn’t until he’d gotten the car safely away from Bent Creek’s rising water that Garrett realized he’d been holding his breath. Exhaling his relief, he grabbed once more for the flashlight and then went to check on the driver inside the other vehicle.

  When he reached the car, he pulled on the front door handle, only to find it locked. Aiming the beam of the flashlight directly inside, he saw the unconscious woman now lying back against the seat. A surge of urgency filled him. He pounded on the window as the driving rain beat down on him.

  The woman shifted slightly and then her eyes fluttered open. Light green eyes, the color of peridot, looked up at him. The expression on the young woman’s face, one of both fear and relief, had him wishing there wasn’t a solid metal door separating them. He wanted to tell her she was all right. Needed to know that she truly was all right. Needed his pounding heart to settle back into its normal rhythm.

  “You’re safe!” he hollered over the storm.

  Wide-eyed, the woman looked up at him pleadingly, but she made no move to open the door. Was she suffering from shock? It was understandable if she was. A slender hand rose to flatten against the window in a silent plea and then dropped away as an expression of pain moved across her face. Had she been injured when the car had gone down over the bank?

  “Unlock the door!” he instructed, motioning toward the door beside her.

  She moved then, just enough to reach for the manual lock button. Then the door clicked.

  “Thatta girl,” he muttered as he eased the door open. Rain spilled off the brim of his cowboy hat as he leaned in, keeping the beam of the flashlight averted as not to blind her with it. Looking down into her tear-stained face, he asked, “Where are you injured?”

  “I’m not,” she said shakily.

  Maybe she didn’t realize she’d been hurt, because there had been no mistaking the pain he’d seen etched across her face as he’d peered down at her through the rain-splattered window.

  Before he could respond, she added, “I think I might be in labor.”

  Labor? She had that part all wrong. Justin’s mare was in labor. She was recovering from the shock of nearly being swept away by a flash flood. His gaze dropped down to where the shaft of light from the flashlight crossed over her midsection. Her very swollen midsection. Dear Lord.

  His calming heart kicked up again. “Are you sure?”

  “No,” she answered with a sob. “But I’ve been having pains on and off for the past few hours. It’s got to be false labor. Please tell me it’s false labor,” she pleaded, fear in her eyes.

  He didn’t want her to be afraid. Didn’t want her to be in labor, for that matter. Not here. Not now. Memories of that awful, stormy day years before threatened to rush in, but the woman’s soft whimper kept Garrett anchored to the present. “When is your due date?” he asked with another glance down at her protruding abdomen.

  “Not for five more weeks,” she replied, biting at her quivering lower lip.

  It was at that moment he realized she was shivering. The inside of the vehicle had grown chilled as it hung partway in the water. The cold rain hadn’t helped matters, either, causing that afternoon’s temperatures to drop. “Wait here,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Please don’t leave me,” she cried out, panic filling her voice.

  “I’m going to get my poncho from the truck,” he told her. “You’re already chilled. We don’t need you getting soaked to the bones on top of that.”

  She eased back against the seat and nodded slowly, another shudder racking her form.

  Garrett raced back to his truck, sending up a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord for placing him there when he had. Collecting the oversize poncho, he hurried back to the frightened young woman. Five more weeks. Please let it be false labor pains and nothing more.

  Opening the car door, he called out, “Slide out and I’ll cover you with this.” He shook out the folded rain poncho and held it up over himself and the top of the car.

  “I... I can’t.”

  His brows drew together. “We’re far enough away from the water. It’s safe for you to leave your car.” But not for a whole lot longer, if Bent Creek kept rising the way it was.

  “M-my seat belt is stuck.”

  “Sit back,” he told her. “I’ll give it a try.”

  “Okay,” she managed with a weak nod.

  Leaning into the car, he reache
d around the rounded mound of her stomach and jabbed at the release button. Just as she had said, it wouldn’t budge. Chilly rain seeped into his clothes as he worked at the latch. Finally, he pulled back with an apologetic frown. “It’s not going to give.”

  Fear lit her eyes. “Are you going to have to leave me here?”

  “Not a chance,” he said, wanting nothing more than to quell the panic he heard in her voice. “I’m going to cut the seat belt away.”

  “C-cut it?” she stuttered, the chill she’d taken on seeming to get worse. “Wouldn’t oiling the latch be better?”

  “I don’t have any oil handy,” he told her and then with a regretful frown said, “I know you’d rather I didn’t damage your car, but with the bridge out and other possible flash floods hitting the area, there’s no telling how long it would be before 911 could get anyone out here.”

  “After having creek water rush through the hood of my car, I think the worst of the damage has already been done.”

  He nodded in agreement.

  Suddenly, her expression changed, her breath catching as her hand moved to the pale yellow shirt stretched taut across her stomach.

  “The baby?” he inquired worriedly.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Cut the belt,” she blurted out. Then, as if suddenly realizing the forcefulness with which she’d made her request, added, “Please.”

  Hearing the urgency in her voice, Garrett reached into the front pocket of his jeans and withdrew his pocketknife. “I’m coming in from the other side,” he said as he stepped back and closed the door, wanting to keep her as dry as possible.

  He hurried around and slid into the passenger side, yanking the door closed behind him. Shoving the rain poncho aside, he shifted to face the woman trapped behind the wheel. “Do you think you could hold the flashlight for me? It’s heavier than your average household flashlight.”

  “Y-yes.” She reached out to take it from him, holding it firm despite the trembling he’d seen in her hand as she’d done so. With a slight adjustment, she centered the beam on the point where the belt and the latch met. It danced around slightly, but she did her best to steady it.

  “Thatta girl,” he cooed again, as if talking to a wounded horse. Turning in the seat as much as his long frame would allow, he unfolded the razor-sharp blade. Seeing her tense, he said calmly, “What’s your name?”

  “H-Hannah. Hannah Sanders.”

  “Just hold real still for me, Hannah. This should only take a second.”

  Her gaze dropped to the blade and she swallowed hard. “Y-you didn’t tell me your name.”

  “Garrett Wade,” he replied, noting the fear in her eyes as she looked down at his knife. “No need to worry. I grew up on a ranch.” He worked the tip of the knife gently beneath the stubborn strap. “My father taught all three of his sons at an early age how to handle a knife properly.”

  Her gaze lifted. “How old are you now?”

  “Thirty-four,” he answered as he focused on the troublesome belt, carefully slicing into it.

  She exhaled a sigh of relief. “So you’ve had lots of time to p-perfect your knife skills.”

  “Enough,” he agreed, her reply causing a grin to tug at his lips.

  A scant few moments later, he had freed Hannah Sanders from her restraints. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.

  Garrett stilled. “You okay?”

  Opening her eyes, she met his worried gaze. “Yes. It’s just such a relief to be able to breathe fully again.”

  He nodded in understanding, and then he folded and put away his pocketknife as his racing heart slowed. To think of what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten there when he had. “Now we just have to get you somewhere warm and safe.”

  “Safe?”

  He inclined his head toward the creek. “The water’s still rising. Best to clear out, just in case it spills over and tries to sweep your car away again.”

  The look of relief he’d seen on her face faded away with his words.

  Garrett silently chided himself for not giving more thought to the words he’d spoken. While they’d been truthful, he supposed he could have kept his concerns to himself. Unlike his brothers, he’d never been any good at saying the right thing when it came to women. Most likely because a majority of his time was spent in the company of animals. Not the best learning ground for social interaction.

  “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said. “And I’m a man of my word. Now just sit tight while I come around to help you out.”

  “M-my purse,” she said, shivering. “It fell to the floor.”

  Glancing down by his booted feet, he frowned. “I’m afraid I got mud on it.”

  “That’s okay,” she assured him with a weak smile. “It’ll wipe clean.”

  With a nod, he reached for it and then handed it over to her. “I’ll be around to get you.” Drawing the poncho up over his head, he slipped back out into the storm.

  * * *

  Hannah looked out into the darkness, the flashlight still gripped tightly in her hand. Its beam still directed downward. She watched through the pouring rain outside as her rescuer made his way around the front of her car.

  Thank You, Lord, for sending this man to help us. She placed a hand against her stomach, feeling the life stir beneath it. “We’re going to be all right, little one.” While she didn’t know this cowboy who had rescued them, Hannah knew in her heart that he would keep them safe.

  Her rescuer stepped up to the driver’s side door and eased it open. He had the poncho draped over his head, one long arm holding the outer edge of it over the Civic’s roof to help shield her from the rain when she slid out.

  Clutching her purse in one hand and the weighty flashlight in her other, Hannah turned, easing a foot out the open door.

  “Let me get that,” he said, taking the flashlight from her. “Now, careful you don’t lose your footing,” her said, his words nearly drowned out by the loud pulse of rain hitting the poncho he held extended over them.

  Nodding, she pushed to her feet. Only it wasn’t the water under her shoes that had her going down. It was her trembling legs which promptly gave way beneath her. The next thing Hannah knew, she was being swept up into a pair of strong arms and carried away from her car and the raging creek beyond.

  “I c-can walk,” she protested.

  “I can see that,” came his reply, concern lacing his words. “But I’m not taking any chances. Not when you’re having abdominal pains.”

  “I’m not having them now,” she told him, closing her eyes, too exhausted to say any more. When they reached his truck, she expected Garrett to set her on her feet, but he held her securely against him as he opened the passenger door and placed her, as if she weighed nothing at all, up into the spacious bucket seat.

  “Don’t take the poncho off until I close the door,” he told her. “I’ve got to go unhook the towrope from the truck and then we’ll get going.”

  As soon as the heavy door slammed shut beside her, Hannah worked her way out from under the poncho, her gaze searching the curtain of rain coming down outside for the man God had sent in answer to her prayers. She latched on to his shadowy outline, this kindhearted cowboy who had become her lifeline when she’d thought all was lost. By the time he’d climbed into the driver’s seat, Garrett was soaked from his wide-brimmed cowboy hat to his muddied boots. Beneath the fading glow of the truck’s dome light, she could see the beads of water dripping from the damp tips of his wet, wavy hair.

  “I’m so s-sorry you had to get out in this storm,” she said as he reached between them to place his wet cowboy hat onto the floor behind her seat.

  “Given the alternative outcome, I thank the good Lord above for putting me in the right place at the right time,” he replied as he reached back between the seats to grab a thick woolen blanket. Handing it over to h
er, he said, “Shove that wet poncho to the floor and wrap up in this. I can hear your teeth chattering from over here.”

  Nodding, she draped the blanket over herself, relishing the warmth it provided. “I c-can’t thank you enough for coming to my rescue.” Her hand moved to her swollen belly. “Our rescue.”

  His gaze dropped to the rounded, blanket-draped mound and then back up to her face. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to take you to my brother’s place, where you can warm yourself by the fireplace,” he said as he threw the truck into gear. “It’s closer than mine. We’ll hole up there until the storm lets up. You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m alive,” she replied with a grateful smile. “I’d say that’s far better than all right.”

  He nodded.

  “Do you think your brother will mind?” she asked, the chattering of her teeth easing somewhat as the blanket, along with the heat blasting up from the truck’s floor heater, began to ease the chill from her body.

  “Jackson?” Garrett said, glancing her way. “Not a chance. The man is a social butterfly. He always welcomes company.” He turned the vehicle around and started back along the rain-soaked road.

  The warmth filling the truck’s cab cocooned her as they drove through the storm. The farther away from the flooding creek they got, the more relaxed she felt. And tired. So very tired. She needed to stay awake. That was her first thought. But, as her eyelids grew heavier, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. While Garrett Wade was little more than a stranger to her, Hannah knew he’d been guided to that washed-out bridge by the Lord in answer to her prayers. He would keep her and the baby she carried inside her safe from the storm outside. Comforted by that knowledge, she closed her eyes and gave in to the exhaustion.