Backcountry Escape (Badlands Cops Book 3)

by Nicole Helm

  Thunder rolled in the distance, making the tent seem all that more intimate.

  Felicity’s eyes blinked open, and he knew he should probably look away. Try to pretend he wasn’t a creeper staring at her while she slept.

  But he didn’t.

  Worse, she stared right back. For ticking seconds that had his breath backing up in his lungs. Her green eyes were dark and reminded him of Christmas trees, of all damn things.

  “It’s raining,” she said quietly, still holding his gaze.

  “So it is.”

  She pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her red hair tumbled behind her, the rubber band she’d had it fastened back with yesterday falling onto the floor between them. She didn’t seem to notice.

  Gage couldn’t help it. He reached out, picked up the band and held it out to her. She took it with one hand, patting the unruly state of her tangles with the other.

  He watched a little too closely as she bundled it back behind her, fastening the band around it again. Then way too closely at the way her shirt pulled over her breasts.

  He looked up at the top of the tent and blew out a breath. Rain pattered there and he focused on counting the drops, on considering how heavy the rain was and if they should hike today or stay put. Anything that wasn’t this totally pointless, impossible attraction to the woman head over heels in love with his twin brother.

  Yeah, it figured he was that messed up.

  “If we go out today, we’ll have to be very careful,” Felicity said primly.

  He didn’t dare look at her, because something about that park-ranger-lecturing voice really did something to him.

  He was seriously messed up in the head.

  “You know, the Badlands are made up of bentonite clay and volcanic ash. Which means, when it rains the rocks become very slip—” She stopped herself, frowning at him. “What are you grinning at?”

  He shook his head, trying to wipe the smile off his face. “Nothing.”

  “You’re grinning about something.”

  “You don’t want to hear it from me.”

  “What does that mean?” she demanded, hands fisted on her hips, though she was kneeling.

  He should keep his mouth shut. Go outside into the storm if he had to, but that would be stupid. Almost as stupid as the words that tumbled out of his mouth. “I just remember when you couldn’t string two sentences together—especially around a Wyatt—without turning bright red and running to hide in your room. It’s nice you found your passion. Even if it’s bentite clay.”

  “Bentonite.”

  “Right. Sure.” He couldn’t help laughing. “You’re doing all right, Felicity. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to hear that from you?”

  “Anyone else notice?”

  She squared her shoulders as if gearing up for a fight. “I don’t need anyone to notice.”

  “But I did notice, is all I’m saying. And I like it.” Which was better than everything he wanted to say, like and I’d like my hands all over you.

  Their gazes met and held. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something to that, but no sound emerged.

  He should say something. A joke. God, he should tell a joke, but it was as if every coping mechanism he’d built to defuse a tense situation had evaporated simply because he’d spent the night under the same fabric roof as her.

  She cleared her throat and looked away. “What’s the plan? It isn’t safe to stay here with a storm. You do have a weather radio, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t think it’d be safe to go hiking through a storm, either,” he said, opening his pack and rummaging around until he found the radio. He tossed it to her.

  She fiddled with it and he unzipped the door. They had a rain flap, and he could feel the wind blowing in the opposite direction. He could use some fresh air and a glimpse at how heavy the storm was looking.

  He heard the static of the weather radio, then the low, monotonous tones of someone going on about warnings and watches.

  “Gage.”

  “What?” He reached for his gun, sure that the gravity and fear in her voice meant there was someone coming, a physical, human threat. But as he turned to her, she was pointing at the sky.

  And a very distinct funnel cloud.

  Chapter Seven

  For precious seconds, every training Felicity had ever received on the subject of what to do in case of bad weather simply fell out of her head. Her mind was blank as she watched the distinct form of a funnel cloud whirl on the horizon.

  It was far away now, but it wouldn’t stay that way.

  Fear and dread skittered up her spine. She knew fear and dread—had been born into it. It was acknowledging the feelings when reality sank in—whether it was the violent look in her father’s eye or a funnel cloud, first was fear.

  Then, she’d learned to act.

  “We need to break down the tent and get to lower ground, but not too low. More rain could come in right after it and we don’t want to be caught in any flash flooding,” she shouted above the sound of the wind and rain.

  “You load up both packs and I’ll take care of the tent,” Gage said. It felt less like an order and more like two people working together to survive.

  Lightning flashed, something sizzled far too close, and thunder boomed immediately after—the hard crack echoing in her ears.

  Her hands shook as she shoved the weather radio back into Gage’s pack and hurried to roll the sleeping bags into their sacks. He had the tent down in record time, which left her open to the elements. She pulled up the hood of her windbreaker.

  Fat drops fell from the sky on their packs and their bodies. Felicity looked at the funnel cloud. It was still there. Closer.

  “Rain is a good sign,” she said, knowing it was more hope than reality. “It means the funnel itself is still a long way off.”

  “Is it?” Gage returned, shoving the packed tent into his pack. “None of this feels like too good a sign.” He settled a cowboy hat on his head and looked around. “Where to, Ranger?”

  She’d looked at the topographic map when they’d camped last night and oriented herself to the area. She’d listened to the weather radio and tried to get an idea of the trajectory of the storm. “Follow me.”

  Though they hiked in silence, the storm raged around them. Thunder booming, lightning cracking and sizzling too close. She let out a screech against her will when she saw lightning strike in front of her.

  “Steady,” Gage said, his voice low and close to her ear. “All that slippery benzonite.”

  “Bentonite,” she ground out as her heart beat so hard against her chest it felt like a hammer trying to break through her rib cage.

  The rain slowed, the noise quieted. The air got still and the sky was tinged an unearthly green. Felicity walked, forcing herself to breathe slowly in and out as she began to shake with fear.

  “Don’t look back,” Gage ordered.

  She listened, because she knew what was coming. Especially when the still silence suddenly turned into a slow-building roar.

  “We should take cover,” Felicity shouted over the thundering wind. Dust swirled around them and she had to close her eyes against the debris flying into her face. “We can’t keep walking.”

  “There isn’t any cover.”

  “Kneel. Put your pack over your head—just like tornado drills in school.”

  “I—”

  There was the sickening sound of a blow and a grunt. Felicity whirled around and out of the corner of her eye saw Gage go down. He stumbled, rolled and hit the ground too hard.

  He was swearing when she skidded down next to him, which she’d take as a good sign. Swearing meant breathing and consciousness.

  “Don’t move,” she ordered, still having to yell over the sound of wind
and rock.

  He swore some more, most of it lost to the roaring tornado around them, while he followed her instructions and didn’t move.

  He was bleeding from a nasty cut on his temple, but it didn’t look deep enough to worry over a severe head injury.

  “Can you roll onto your stomach?”

  He didn’t respond, but he rolled over.

  “Loosen your straps,” she instructed, already scooting up so she could reach his pack. “I’m going to pull your pack up to cover the back of your head.”

  Small rocks and dust pelted her, seemingly from all sides, though nothing like what had taken Gage down. He grunted as he got the straps off his arm, and she tugged the pack up to cover the most vulnerable part of his head.

  Then she lay down next to him and situated her own pack over the back of her head and neck. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

  It reminded her too much of a time she’d tried to forget. The first four years of her life. They were a blur and she had always been happy to leave them that way. Eyes closed, careful breathing, and terror ripping through her while noise raged around her...

  She could remember, clearly, hiding in the back of a utility closet. It had smelled like bleach, and she’d scrambled behind mops and brooms. He’d found her. The creak of the door, the spill of light that didn’t quite make it to her.

  And still unerringly he’d stepped forward and grabbed her by her shirt and dragged her out of the closet. For a few seconds, she was back there, struggling against her father, against the inevitable.

  Then a hand closed over hers. In the here and now and roaring winds. She opened her eyes to look at Gage. Blood was trickling down his face since he was lying on the uninjured side. And he was trying to give her some comfort.

  “I’ve survived worse,” he rasped over the sound of the tornado.

  “Have you?”

  “Human nature is worse than Mother Nature.”

  Felicity shook her head as much as she could in her prone position. “You don’t know enough about Mother Nature then, Gage.”

  She had no idea if he’d heard her, but she didn’t let go of his hand, and he didn’t let go of hers. As the world heaved around them, they held on to each other.

  She wasn’t sure how long they lay there or how much longer after that the roar faded into a light wind and pattering rain. The rumble of thunder was distant.

  Eventually she felt the groundwater begin to seep into her pants and knew they had to get up. She gave Gage’s hand a squeeze before letting it go, then got to her knees. She looked around.

  The Badlands stretched out before them looking no different than it had before the tornado had blown through. In the distance, the sun peeked out from the clouds, its rays shining down in clear lines.

  Felicity let out a long breath. They’d survived.

  “Hopefully, it stayed out here,” she murmured to herself. Out here in the Badlands, nature took its course and few things were irrevocably harmed. Tornadoes and extreme thunderstorms were part of the shape and heart of the landscape.

  But Pennington County and the reservation were in the path of the tornado. People and things could be irrevocably damaged. People and things she loved, even.

  But before she could worry about that, she had to worry about Gage.

  She tugged the pack off him. “Can you sit up?”

  He didn’t answer in words. He rolled to his side and leveraged himself up, wincing and swearing. Then swearing some more when she moved to help him.

  “Don’t stand yet,” she said, pushing him against the rock behind him. “Sit right here so I can clean you up.”

  “You’re beautiful. Both of you.”

  She startled for a second, then shook her head, realizing he was attempting a joke despite the fact blood still oozed from the cut on his temple. “That’s some head injury.”

  “I see double. But at least I’m not blind, right?”

  “Not exactly the joke I’d make right now, Gage.”

  “That’s my job. Make the joke no one else would make. Get a little laugh to diffuse the terror.”

  She felt both relief he was trying to make light of the situation and a bone-deep worry at how much blood was on his face, how deep the cut was under further inspection, and the fact he hadn’t even tried to get to his feet.

  She rummaged in her pack and retrieved the first-aid kit. She couldn’t waste potable water on washing blood off his face, so she had to hope the antibacterial wipes would be enough. She crouched in front of him with some regret.

  “Not to sound like a cliché, but this is going to hurt.”

  * * *

  IT DAMN WELL DID. He hissed out a breath as she pressed the antibacterial wipe to the nasty wound on his head.

  He didn’t know what had hit him, a rock probably. It had been sharp and hard and taken him down in the same way. His neck and back hurt, probably from the fall.

  And the fact you aren’t getting any younger.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, wiping the blood off his face. The wound throbbed and stung in turns, but Felicity’s fingers were on his face and that wasn’t so bad.

  “A pretty woman is patching me up. I’ll survive.”

  Her worried expression transformed into a frown. “Stop saying that.”

  “What?”

  “Beautiful and pretty. You don’t need to suck up to me. I’m going to tend your wound either way.”

  “Don’t you think you’re beautiful and pretty?”

  She stared at him for a good minute, her mouth hanging slightly open. “I... Oh, just shut up and let me do this.”

  He smiled, couldn’t help it. Irritated Felicity made him feel better.

  No matter her annoyance, her hands were gentle as she wiped up as much blood as she could and then applied the bandage. She touched his forehead and his cheekbones as if checking for more damage.

  He watched her, woozy enough that he didn’t even try to hide that his attention was on her face. On her, fully and wholly.

  She finally looked him in the eye, opening her mouth to say something. But it evaporated before any sound came out. For seconds they simply stared at each other, silent and still, stuck in the moment.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this. Middle school maybe. The desperate need to do something. Make a move, because it felt almost as if he’d cease to exist if he didn’t. A profound fear of coming up short left him frozen in place.

  Because he wasn’t Brady, and Brady was always the better option. Gage was more of a backup.

  Felicity deserved first prize, even if that particular prize didn’t have a clue of the woman she’d become.

  Felicity straightened, stepped back and wiped her hands on her pants. She looked around. The rain had tapered off, and though clouds mostly covered the sun, it occasionally broke out in soft rays as the clouds moved with the furious wind.

  “We need help. We need cell service.” She nodded with each sentence as if making her own mental list.

  “Good luck on that front.”

  “We should consolidate to one pack. Your vision is messed up so your balance will be off. I’ll carry one pack—water is most important. We’re going to be slow moving, but I know where to go. We can hopefully get to cell range before nightfall.”

  “I can carry my own pack. My vision is fine.” He blinked a few times. The doubling came and went, but he could walk just fine.

  “No. It isn’t smart. We have to be smart.”

  Gage struggled to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness and making sure not to reach out for balance. She was watching him too closely and he needed to prove to her he was fine so she didn’t worry. So she didn’t try to help.

  “One pack,” she muttered, crouching in front of the two packs, and pulling things out and shoving other thin
gs back into hers. “We’ll mark this place on the map and come back for what we leave.”

  He watched her move—each gesture jerky. Each sentence sounded a little more... Tight was the only word he could think of. Like there was some invisible string pulling her in tighter and tighter.

  Until she broke. Except Felicity wasn’t going to break. He could see that as she babbled on and on about what they had to do. She would keep that rein on control through this whole thing, then be left with a hell of a breaking point when all was said and done.

  He knew her well enough to realize she’d see that as a failure, especially if she broke in front of their family or whoever finally picked them up.

  He wanted her to break now. She’d still be embarrassed that it was in front of him, but it wouldn’t be as bad as Duke or her sisters or the whole Wyatt clan.

  “Felicity. Take a breath.”

  “I’m breathing,” she retorted, as he’d predicted. She made a move to sling the newly rearranged pack onto her shoulders, but he grabbed it and pulled it off her.

  “Hey, I said I was going to—”

  He dropped it on the ground to the side of them and stepped toward her. She scrabbled back, almost tripping in the process.

  “What are you doing?” she screeched.

  He didn’t answer, because the more she worked herself up the better chance she had of actually letting it go.

  Gently he folded her into his arms. “We’re okay,” he murmured. He rubbed a hand up and down her back, cupped the back of her head and held her there against him as she struggled a bit. He understood the manic look in her eyes, understood what she needed to do before they moved on. “We’re okay.”

  “I know it,” she squeaked, wriggling against his hold. But her breathing was ragged and it only took a few more seconds of holding her there for her to break. A sob, the slow surrendering of her forehead to his chest.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, resting his cheek against her hair. “Let it out.”