He continued to fill his utility belt. Pistol. Spare clips. Multi-use tool. Six sheaths of military grade paracord, two-hundred feet strands, clipped to his climbing harness and six carabiner clips.
Sure, his packing was overkill, but this was one mission he would not fail. This would not end the same way as Afghanistan.
Jake stripped off his sweatshirt and t-shirt. From the bottom drawer he pulled out his under-armor long sleeve shirt. He added his flak jacket then glanced in the mirror. He didn’t look like a professional climber by any means, but he was confident in a way he hadn’t felt since he returned home.
Dressed as he had in full combat mission mode, he felt competent for the extraction. It had been so long since any amount of confidence filled him.
He looped his belt over his shoulder, grabbed the rucksack then turned to leave, snatching his sunglasses from the top of his dresser as he left the room on a mission of a lifetime.
Jake left the house, put his gear on the backseat of Boomer’s truck then climbed in.
Boomer stared at him. A stupid grin slid onto his face. “Nice to have you back.” Boomer snickered. “Took you long enough.”
Jake eyed Boomer suspiciously. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’ve taken charge.” Boomer smacked a fist on the steering wheel. “Hot damn, you’re going to be okay.”
As they backed out of the drive, Boomer tapped his hands on the steering wheel, singing along with the radio.
Jake’s mind was on Carrie. He was worried about her, wondering if she was okay, the boy too. For some reason that he didn’t understand, their conversation about the wishing well came to mind.
Jake didn’t know why, but he felt as if Carrie was channeling him. Not that he believed in it, especially after what Carrie put herself through, but if there was half a chance, he wasn’t going to blow it.
“Take me to the well,” Jake said, filled with an urgency he didn't comprehend.
“What the hell,” Boomer said. “Now?”
“Now!” he insisted.
“You're making a mistake.”
“I've made so many, one more won't make a difference.”
Boomer screeched to a halt next to the town’s historic well.
Standing before the well, Jake suddenly felt foolish. He shook his head. Carrie would laugh. He’d let her. It had been a mistake to come here. He tossed in a coin, saying a silent prayer then made a wish for the babies to flourish and thrive. Fear invaded his senses. Was he ready to do this? Whether out of fear, panic, or hope, he couldn’t say, but he reached into his pocket for another coin. This one he kissed before he tossed it in: Bring her back to me. Jake wasn’t taking any chances, he didn’t ask for a wish—instead, he made a demand. He glanced over the rim then turned away, but not before catching a flash of something shiny in the water below.
An omen indeed.
Jake went back to the truck, reaching for one of his climbing ropes.
Boomer gave him a raised brow.
“Don’t ask.”
“Need any help?”
Jake shook his head. “Gotta do this one myself.”
Fifteen minutes later Jake climbed into the truck with his pants rolled up to his knees. He pulled a towel from his rucksack and dried off his legs and put on his shoes. They pulled back onto the road, racing toward the outskirts of town. Jake patted his pocket, armed with everything he needed to save Carrie—and himself.
The snow was now coming down in flurries.
It took them forty-five minutes before they reached the base of the mountains. Another twenty before they found the SAR command post.
A good six inches of snow covered the ground.
A news van followed them up the mountain then parked beside the Search and Rescue vehicle. Two other cars pulled up and parked near the others. The rescue team lead labored over a table. The lead pointing at a map that flapped, tugging at bindings that held it in place.
Jake ignored them, searching instead for the Sheriff.
Ben waved, motioning Boomer to park next to his vehicle.
As Boomer parked, Ben approached.
Boomer lowered the window.
Jake leaned across his buddy. “Update?”
Ben turned to look over his shoulder.
Jake took in a quick lay of the land.
“Apparently the boy was straggling a couple hundred yards behind the family, got too near the ledge, and the ground gave way. The boy clung to a tree. It gave way again as Carrie figured out what happened.” Ben jerked his head, pointing to the ledge of Lovers Leap.
Jake stepped from the truck and took advantage of the people milling around the S and R tent to plan how best to reach Carrie and the boy. He stayed on the far side of the vehicle, out of the direct line of view. Reaching into the back seat he removed a few items from the sack: harness, ropes, hooded mask, and gloves. He whipped the mask over his head then put on his sunglasses. He fastened his utility belt, stepped into his climb harness, then pulled on his rucksack before tugging on his gloves.
Ben and Boomer blocked for Jake while he fastened three ropes to the winch on the front of the Sheriff’s vehicle. He allowed his brain a bit of freedom to plan his descent as he focused on his equipment preparation.
Their lives, like the heavy strand of rope he tied in a figure eight knot, seemed more than symbolic. A single strand of rope was limited in its strength. The ropes in his hands were special: three strands, intricately intertwined, stronger than the finest steel, just like life. His and Carrie’s past, present, and future was in the strength of the ropes in his hands.
He moved to the ledge, saw where the ground had given way. A fresh path of dirt, rubble, and trees carving out of the side of the mountain that had carried the boy away.
An agony he’d never known slapped him across the face. Carrie had once mentioned that it was desperation that sent her to the wishing well. An over-whelming feeling of fear terrorized him. He got it now...the inability to do something of substance in an impossible situation. He felt that way now.
The Search and Rescue team continued to gather in the tent, in planning mode, for when the weather offered a break.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Jake reminded himself that Carrie’s life was on the line. He looked over the edge, shook the ropes, and searched his head, heart, and memories for a wisp of courage, anything to tilt the scales in his favor.
What came to him was the image of Thor and their first meeting when Jake had been selected to work with canines, that solidified his inner strength. The he saw a vision of Thor leaping through the air, attempting to save him.
Thor.
The shepherd had more heart than most men of his acquaintance. Loyal to a fault, which he proved when he gave his life to save Jake.
With Thor in his head, his desolation disappeared, and he immediately went into full-on mission mode. No longer did he have any questions about his capabilities, no doubt about the odds, only the wherewithal to succeed and keep his mission record perfect.
Jake sucked in a deep breath, tugged on the knot connecting him to the winch, then tossed the three lengths of the rope over the edge.
He lifted his chin, offered Boomer and Ben a salute, and slid over the ledge.
Chapter Nine
For Carrie, the day had started out a dreary shade of grey, and only turned darker as time progressed. By the time she left for the office that morning, it was evident the first snow of the season would hit by dinner.
At 12:14 that afternoon, Henry Cabot, the Search and Rescue lead, called Carrie’s cell phone. She’d been at her desk, finishing up some paperwork when the call came in, and she proceeded into an immediate panic when she heard it was Michael Estes who was lost.
Carrie stopped what she was doing, notified Leland she was leaving. She changed into her insulated clothing in the office restroom then jumped into her vehicle where she kept her Search and Rescue gear. She headed directly to the site. From her car she calle
d the Sheriff for an update and to ask him to let Erica know where she was headed before she lost cell service.
She’d sold a home to the Estes when they first moved to town and had taken an immediate liking to Michael.
When she arrived at Lover’s Leap on Blue Mountain Pass, Carrie was met by a sight that never failed to touch her. A spectacular view of the pines, so high they kissed the sky above, as well as dotted the mountainside, all of which was dusted with a heavy layer of snow.
At the back of her vehicle, she pulled on her harness then exchanged her work shoes for the climbing boots. She opened her backpack and removed her gloves and wool beanie then double checked her medical supplies just in case. Hat and gloves in place, she looped her arms through the shoulder straps and fastened the clasp.
She searched for a sign she was in the right place, convinced this is where Michael disappeared. She called his name but was met with a faint echo. “Michael,” she called again. The boy’s name echoed on the wind.
As the temperatures continued to plummet, sending flurries swirling around her, Carrie tugged off her backpack to grab a bottle of water. This elevation always made her thirsty. She had just set her pack on the ground and twisted the lid off when she heard a faint “help” echoing on the wind. Her handheld radio in her hand, ready to make contact, she cautiously moved closer over the edge. She leaned forward and spied Michael clinging to the trunk of a huge tree. She turned to make her way back to her vehicle and the ground gave way under her feet. Thankfully, she managed to grab the shoulder harness of her pack before she slid over the edge.
Grateful for her meager medical supplies, but at least they had a couple bottles of water and a few snacks, and more importantly, the Mylar blanket. Too bad the radio flew from her grasp when she fell.
Together Carrie and Michael pulled items from her backpack and settled in.
A glance at her watch was all the evidence she needed to remind her that two and a half hours had passed since she’d received the call from Henry.
The corner of the blanket pulled free, sending a gust of icy air and snow swirling under the cover. She carefully pulled the protective all-weather, thermal Mylar blanket around them, their only protection from the bitter elements. Once their covering was safely tucked around them, she pulled up the grey woolen blanket then tightened her good arm around the shoulders of Michael, offering warmth and comfort to the seven-year-old boy.
Carrie tried to straighten, but pain stole her breath away. Suspecting a dislocated shoulder, she sucked in a slow, deep breath and tried to secure a more comfortable position. Her left arm lay propped across her stomach, numb, even though her fingers tingled. The joint was so tender and weak she didn’t dare move it.
She and the boy were firmly planted against the mountain wall, some twenty-five feet below the cliff they’d fallen from. Piles of soft dirt, rock, and snow littered the ground around them.
Snuggling the boy closer to keep warm, she closed her eyes and searched for a calm that evaded her.
It was Carrie who introduced the single mother and her son, Mrs. Estes and Michael, to her new next-door neighbor, the Sheriff and his daughter. They’d become good friends, often trading babysitting duties.
Sheriff Ben Dawson was in his early thirties, divorced, sandy-brown hair, and an awesome father to an adorable daughter, Aidyn. Michael and Aidyn were the same age and had become fast friends. Ben was a big city cop who moved to Hopeful, for a simpler life.
She had helped Ben and Aidyn find their home as well.
Carrie shivered, her body vibrating head to toe. No denying it was bitterly cold. Colder than she she’d ever been in her memory. And yet, sweat beaded on her brow.
The high winds whipped at the blanket as the snow continued to build up around them.
Above them, more of the bluff gave way. Every time a gust of wind blew, it brought dirt and rocks cascading down on them. She tried not to panic, but she was scared. No way would anyone try to rescue them until the weather improved, and yet at the rate things were going, if the tree’s tap root let go, it was going to take the narrow little ledge they sat perched on with it.
Stranded on the side of a mountain in the middle of a snowstorm wasn’t on the list of ways to go. Didn’t even make the top ten.
What she wouldn’t give to be able to turn back time. She could even pinpoint the moment when everything went south.
The night of the BBQ. July fourth.
She blamed herself for the many ways she had wronged Jake. She’d been so angry, pushing him away, the same way he’d pushed her away.
Another high wind set their cover to flapping. More dirt rained down on them. Fear sent a ripple of nostalgia through her, triggering a host of memories and bad decisions.
All she had to do was to let go of the past, accept the present, and fall into Jake’s arms. If she’d done that, the future would have been theirs to share.
But no, she had to go and hold onto her anger. Why couldn’t she just let it go. It didn’t matter that she and Jake had everything in common, never fought or quarreled, and rarely disagreed. They truly had a wonderful relationship when they were together.
Together.
That was the issue! Why had it taken so long for her to get it? To admit it was her pride that came between them, all because of a promise Jake made to his grandfather. A promise that made her feel disposable.
It was all her fault.
Michael cried out in pain, calling her back to the present.
When she’d found him, he’d been clinging to the enormous Ponderosa Pine hanging over the bluff. She reached for him, but as she did some of the smaller roots anchoring the tree to the mountain broke loose, sending the tree and the boy down the side of the mountain. Michael surfed the dirt wave as it cascaded part way down the side of the mountain, where it now hung over the precipice they leaned against. Thank God for the deep, strong taproot. Before she could react, the dirt under her feet gave way, and she rolled and tumbled down the mountain after him, slammed into the trunk, but managed to hang on to a branch until it had broken. She’d landed hard on the carabiners, no doubt badly bruising her hip.
Several times after they’d settled in, dirt and rocks came crashing down on them mixed with the accumulating snow.
His ankle was broken. Compound fracture. When she’d rescued him, she’d done her best, freeing his foot out from under the tree that trapped him. Once free, she set out to warm him up, but he desperately needed immediate treatment. She’d cleansed the wound, but the boy was weak and pale, and sweating profusely.
She hugged him tight, crooning to him the way her mother had done for her as a child. If she was frightened, no telling what was running through the kid’s head.
Michael.
So much about the boy reminded her of Jake. Maybe that’s why he had such a special place in her heart. Even at the ripe old age of seven, Michael tried his hardest to be brave and strong, tried not to cry or show emotion while she tended to his injuries. He merely swallowed, blinked a couple times, lifted his chin defiantly, and gave her a forced smile. It was his pale face that leached the truth as she probed the torn flesh to clean it.
His face was dirty, his shirt torn, pants ripped up his right leg to his knee where she’d freed his leg to bind and stabilize it. The boy huffed, panting hard while she worked to immobilize his leg. He never cried, but she had seen the liquid pooling on the bottom rim of his lids.
A large helping of dirt rained down over the top of the blanket. She cried out, biting her tongue, her only recourse to fighting her panic. She clung to an ever-present fear of being buried alive.
Michael shivered then curled into her side. He was shaking as well.
She heard an odd thump and cautiously lowered the thermal blanket.
Before her stood a man dressed all in camo gear. He lowered himself awkwardly to the ground beside her and tugged off his sunglasses.
The most beautiful blue eyes bore into hers.
He tore of
f the mask and gave her a sheepish grin.
Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Jake.”
“Hi Shortcake, fancy meeting you here.” he said slowly, reverently, as if he were saying a prayer. Jake’s blue eyes intensified, his gaze held her prisoner, offering promise and hope. He winked at her, setting her body on fire.
The timber of his voice washed over her, filling her with joy.
He took her hand in his. “Now that I have your undivided attention, I want to apologize. I’ve been an ass—”
She covered her mouth, hiccupping on a half-sob, half-chuckle, unable able to speak due of the tightness in her throat.
“I’ve been wrong in so many ways. I’m sorry I don’t have much to offer you, except for this—” He reached into his pocket and he pulled out his hand, he straightened a couple fingers releasing something that dropped, a chain swaying.
She clutched her throat and reached out. “My necklace. Where’d you find it?”
“Where else—the wishing well.” Jake stuck a gloved finger into his mouth, bit on the tip of the finger and pulled his hand free. He pulled off the other before unfastening the clasp and put the necklace back where it belonged.
“What were you doing at the well?” She pressed a hand over the pendant.
“Let’s just say I wasn’t taking any chances on losing you.” He shrugged.
Her eyes grew misty.
“I love you. Always have. Will you forgive me?” He sat back, brows crooked, furrows across his forehead, and waiting for her response.
“Oh Jake…there’s nothing to forgive. There never was.”
Her heart leaped when he leaned in to kiss her.
His kiss was slow and deliberate. His lips were soft, sweet, gentle and yet tentative, nervous and searching, and suddenly his arms were around her, pulling her into a tender embrace, charged with electricity.
She moaned in pain but refused to let go.
They kissed again, tongues intertwined.
She kissed his square jaw, breathing in his scent.
“Excuse me, but you’re hurting her.”
Country Wishes Page 37
