Holding On: A Colorado High Country Novel

by Pamela Clare

  She let go of her wrist long enough to send Conrad a text with bloody fingers, blood spurting onto her jeans, the countertop, the floor.

  Bitten by dog. Got an artery. Need help!

  She set the phone down, grabbed more paper towels, and applied as much pressure as she could. Her phone buzzed, but she didn’t dare look at it. Then she heard a siren begin to wail at the firehouse.

  There was a definite upside to knowing the fire chief—and having friends who were all EMTs and paramedics.

  A few minutes later, Conrad burst through the door. He glanced at the blood on the floor and was there at her side in an instant. He pulled down more paper towels, folding them over and handing them to her. “Do you have a first-aid kit somewhere?”

  She pointed toward the bathroom. “It’s in the cupboard there.”

  “Keep up the pressure.” He disappeared into the bathroom, then returned with a stack of sterile gauze squares. “I called Hawke. They’re almost here.”

  The sirens were on top of them now.

  He returned to her side, pressed the gauze on top of the paper towels. “I’ve got it.”

  She winced as he pushed down on the bite—hard. “That really hurts.”

  “Sorry.” He reached out with one long leg, dragged a chair over to her. “Sit. You’re pale as a ghost.”

  “I’m fine.” Okay, so she was a little dizzy, whether from blood loss or adrenaline, she couldn’t say.

  “It looks like the dog got your radial artery. What kind of dog was it?”

  “A basset hound puppy.”

  “Seriously? I hope you’re going to hold the owner responsible.”

  “This was my behavioral class. We work on behavioral problems. I do my best to weed out aggressive dogs, and offer their owners private classes or refer them to someone else. I guess this pup slipped through the cracks. It’s not the first time I’ve been bitten.”

  It was a hazard of the job.

  The bleeding had slowed, but the pain was worse.

  How could a simple bite hurt like this?

  Hawke hurried through the front door in his turnout pants, carrying an orange trauma kit. Jenny Miller, a member of his crew, following behind him, pushing a gurney. Hawke saw the blood on the floor, too. “Looks like Fido got an artery.”

  “Easy does it.” Harrison helped Kenzie up onto the gurney, keeping up the pressure until Hawke took over.

  “We need to get you to the ER. They’ll take care of this in no time.” Hawke turned to Jenny, his voice calm and professional. It was the same voice Kenzie had heard him use on dozens of rescues. “Get an IV going in her other arm.”

  “An IV? Really?” Kenzie wasn’t a fan of needles.

  “Just in case.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “They’re probably going to want to give you antibiotics, too. The IV will save you another stick.”

  She turned her head, pressed her face into Harrison’s belly, while Jenny jabbed her in the arm with what must have been an awl. “Ouch!”

  “I’m just going to flush this out with some saline and tape it in place.” Jenny worked quickly. “How are you doing, Kenzie?”

  “I’m pissed.” Had this been her fault?

  “I bet.”

  “I need to lock the place up, and Gizmo and Gabby—”

  “Where are your keys?” Harrison asked.

  “In my handbag.” She glanced at the floor. “I’ll clean this up later.”

  “Don’t worry about that now.” Harrison set the handbag on the gurney beside her and pulled out her keys.

  When they wheeled her outside, a small crowd of locals was standing on the sidewalk—Frank from the gas station, Rose, Kendra and Bob Jewell, Bear, and Hank, a local barfly who was best known for blowing up his own home.

  Kenzie couldn’t see all the faces.

  “What happened?” That was Hank. “Was it them robbers who got her?”

  Kenzie didn’t want Bear to be frightened. “Just a bad dog bite. I’m okay.”

  “What did she say?” Rose asked.

  “A bad dog bite,” Bob answered. “Turn up your hearing aids.”

  “I don’t wear hearing aids.” Rose sounded angry.

  “Maybe you should get some,” Bob said.

  Hawke and Jenny lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance.

  Harrison locked the kennel’s front entrance, climbed in beside her, and took her right hand in his. “I’m going with her.”

  Eric held steady pressure on her wrist, his gaze meeting Harrison’s, a hint of a smile on his face. “I see that.”

  Then Kenzie remembered. “Please don’t use the sirens. They scare Bear.”

  “You got it.”

  Conrad sat in the surgery waiting room. They’d taken Kenzie back to the OR to stitch up her artery and repair a tendon that the dog’s canine had damaged. They’d said it would take a half hour at most—and that had been an hour ago.

  Ellie, a registered nurse and Moretti’s better half, walked up to him. “She’s out of surgery and doing great. They did a nerve block with sedation, so she won’t have to recover from anesthesia. They’ll make sure she’s comfortable, and then we can discharge her. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.” He just wanted to know that Kenzie was okay. “Is her hand …?”

  “Dr. Warren is in with her now, but he should be out in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks.” Conrad’s phone buzzed for the hundredth time.

  This time it was Megs.

  The place is cleaned up and locked tight. That was a lot of blood. Sasha has dogs and will bring them by when you call. I will drop off keys tomorrow. Tell Kenzie to take it easy.

  Conrad had known that Kenzie would worry about the dogs and the mess in her classroom and had called Megs, who had paged Team members to help. They weren’t grossed out by blood, after all, and every member of the Team cared about Kenzie and her dogs. It was one of the things about the Team that meant a lot to Conrad.

  They always had one another’s back.

  He’d been in the middle of his interview with Wendy when he’d gotten Kenzie’s text message. As independent as she was, she wouldn’t ask for help unless she truly needed it. He’d called Hawke and rushed Wendy out of his house, where a few stubborn journalists were still camped out, with a promise to call her later to set up a new time.

  He glanced up at the clock, got to his feet, walked over to the window to look out at the darkness. Behind him, a door opened. He turned to see a man in blue scrubs.

  “I’m Dr. Warren. You’re Harrison Conrad, right?” He held out his hand, a smile on his face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a bit of a fan.”

  “Thanks—and thanks for helping Kenzie.”

  “My pleasure. I like working on wrists.”

  Okay, that was a little weird. “How is she?”

  “She’s fine. The surgery went well. She’ll need to elevate and ice her wrist to prevent swelling. We’ve splinted it for now. We’ve given her antibiotics and pain meds, as well as a prescription to take home that she can fill at our pharmacy. She should be ready to leave in about an hour. You’re welcome to go back to our day-surgery area if you’d like. She’s been asking for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Conrad found Kenzie sitting up in a hospital gown, her wrist splinted and resting on a couple of ice bags on a pillow. She looked worried. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He kissed her cheek, sat in the chair beside her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Thanks. They gave me some pain pills, so I’m kind of loopy.” Her eyes went wide. “Have you checked on the dogs?”

  “Relax.” He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Sasha has them. Megs and the Team cleaned up your classroom, and Sasha took both dogs to her place. She’ll drop them by when we get home.”

  Kenzie seemed surprised by this. “Oh. Wow. That’s kind of them. Thanks for being there. I probably ought to have called 911, but…”

  “Hey, I’
m better than 911.” He took her uninjured hand in his.

  “You got there fast.”

  He’d raced the few blocks to the kennel. “I was at my place doing an interview with Wendy.”

  “You called her?”

  “I stopped by the newspaper this afternoon on my way home from Ski Scarlet to set it up. I thought it might get the media off my back.”

  “How did it go?”

  “We hadn’t gotten very far into it before I got your text. I’m supposed to call her to set up another time.” He had to ask. “What happened?”

  “Tom, a four-month-old basset hound, went after a young miniature pinscher, Dixie, and managed to get his teeth on her collar. When I tried to release the collar, Tom bit me. I had a hard time prying his jaws open to free my wrist.”

  “Did no one help you?”

  She shook her head. “I’m the expert. I’m sure they thought I’d handle it.”

  “But what about after you’d been bitten? Did anyone help?”

  She shook her head. “I sent everyone home. I don’t think I realized right away how bad the bite was.”

  “What about the basset hound’s owner? Why didn’t he do something?”

  “He stood there watching me bleed and asking me whether I was going to sue. I just wanted him and his dog out of my space.”

  Conrad wanted to punch the guy in the face. “Some people are useless.”

  She leaned her head back on her pillow, and Conrad could see the fatigue and strain on her face. She seemed pale to him—but maybe he was imagining things. “I want to go home.”

  It seemed to take forever for the nurse to bring her discharge instructions and remove her IV. Conrad helped her to dress, then walked with her down to the pharmacy to fill her prescription. It was almost midnight when they got to her house. He helped her out of the vehicle and took her indoors. Then he texted Sasha to tell her they were home.

  Kenzie needed help getting undressed, putting on her pajamas, and getting situated in bed. He put a pillow beneath her arm and set her pain pills and a glass of water on her nightstand.

  “There must have been something I could have done to avoid this.”

  “This wasn’t your fault. Just rest.” A text and a knock told him Sasha was there. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sasha breezed through the door, dogs at her heel. “How is she?”

  “She’s in a bit of pain but doing okay. She’s upstairs in bed.”

  “Thanks for letting me help. I had the greatest time with these two. If I didn’t travel so much, I’d get a golden retriever puppy just like Gabby.” Sasha knelt down, removed the leashes, and gave each dog a hug. “You be good for Kenzie now. Come play with your Auntie Sasha again soon.”

  When Sasha had gone, Conrad settled the dogs for the night and then made his way upstairs to check on Kenzie.

  “Are Gizmo and Gabby here?” she asked in a sleepy, drugged voice.

  “They’re curled up asleep downstairs.”

  “Good.” She reached for him. “Come to bed.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  And because he wanted nothing more than to be there beside her, he undressed and climbed into her bed.

  Pain woke Kenzie up a few times during the night, and both times Harrison was there to give her a pain pill or help her get into a comfortable position. Once she woke to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, face in his hands.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. Bad dream. It’s okay.”

  “You had another nightmare.”

  He lay back down beside her, kissed her forehead. “It’s nothing, really. Sleep.”

  But even in the dark, she could see in his eyes that it was far from nothing.

  Kenzie woke the next morning to a knock on the front door.

  “I’ve got it.” Conrad rolled out of bed, slipped into his jeans.

  He left the room, his footfalls disappearing down the stairs.

  She heard men’s voices, and then Conrad returned.

  “Animal control.”

  “Right.”

  The hospital had reported the dog bite to animal control, so the officer was there—at eight in the morning, for God’s sake—for information.

  Harrison helped her dress then disappeared into the kitchen while she answered the officer’s questions. Who owned the dog and what kind of dog was it? Where and how did the bite happen? Did she want to press charges?

  Kenzie had no intention of pressing charges. “The basset hound is only four months old and would probably do well with some behavioral training.”

  In the middle of this, her keys fell through the mail slot in her door to the floor.

  Megs.

  The officer finished jotting down notes. “I hope you feel better soon.”

  The moment he’d left, Kenzie remembered that she hadn’t checked in with Quinn or Dree. While Harrison finished making breakfast, she called the kennel first and then the store and told them what had happened, arranging to take the rest of the week off and promising to be available by text if they needed her.

  Harrison didn’t say much during breakfast, a troubled expression never far from his face. “I need to call Wendy. Do you mind if we do the interview here?”

  “Not at all—but are you sure you want to do this interview in the first place?”

  He sipped his coffee. “No, but I don’t see that I have a choice. My agent is on my case, and my sponsors, too. I can’t decide if I even want sponsors at this point—or an agent, for that matter. I don’t know anything anymore. My agent says I’m trying to destroy myself.”

  “How can she say that? You’re dealing with a tragedy as best you can. You almost died up there.” She reached across the table with her good hand. “Forgive me for saying this, but your agent sounds like a bitch.”

  That made him smile. “She’s just trying to hold onto my sponsors. I’ve lost a few. They can’t pay me for sitting on my ass.”

  “I suppose not.” She’d heard of athletes having sponsors, but she didn’t understand how that worked. “What are sponsors? What do they do?”

  “Companies that make stuff climbers want to buy—gear, clothes, energy drinks—ask for the endorsements of well-known climbers in exchange for an annual salary with bonuses for stuff like interviews and posts on social media.”

  “Endorsements? So, you do an ad and say, ‘I’m Harrison Conrad, and I climbed all of the world’s eight-thousand-meter peaks wearing this awesome underwear.’”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, kind of. There are ads, but that’s only part of it. When I do an on-camera interview or photo shoot, I wear their gear with the logo showing. I used to get paid almost a grand per tweet, but I haven’t been on Twitter since…”

  The grin faded.

  Now Kenzie understood. Her heart ached for him.

  His sponsors wanted him to get back in the game and do some interviews or else. Meanwhile, he was trying to decide whether sharing his pain with the world was worth what they wanted to pay him—and whether he was truly done with climbing.

  There was nothing small about any of this—and all of it came on top a near-death experience and the loss of his friends.

  She got to her feet, walked around the table to stand behind him, and wrapped her right arm around him, leaning down to kiss his temple. “I can’t imagine how hard all of this is. I trust you to make the best decision for yourself, and I’ll be right here.”

  He pressed his hand over hers. “Thanks, Kenzie. I …

  She waited for him to finish. “Yes?”

  “I need to call Wendy.”

  Chapter 18

  Harrison sat in Kenzie’s kitchen across from Wendy, a digital recorder in front of him, the setting sun sending a shaft of light through the window and across the table. Kenzie sat beside him, splinted wrist resting on an ice bag.

  “It was the Stenger twins’ first ascent of an eight-thousand-meter peak. Bruce and I gave up
his plan of going for the so-called Khumbu Triple Crown—Nuptse, Everest, and Lhotse in a single push.”

  Wendy gaped at him. “All three peaks in a single day?”

  “God, no.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “The last climber to do that did it in six days. Bruce was hoping to do it in four or five. But, as I said, we gave up that idea. We wanted to get Felix and Luka to the summit of Everest and down again. It would be a huge boost to their careers and fun for us.”

  Conrad steeled himself and went on. “We’d been at Base Camp for a few weeks, acclimating, waiting for a break in the weather. Luka and Felix—the scene at Base Camp was new to them. They were having a great time, hanging with the different climbing teams, taking photos, drinking, checking out the women, getting into snowball fights, trying to scam the cooks into feeding them extra.”

  He told Wendy how they’d gotten a thumbs-up from the weather guys on May 9 and had climbed up Khumbu Icefall to Camp I the next morning.

  “It went off without a hitch. The twins were in great form. Luka was a little uncomfortable crossing the ladders on the Icefall, but that’s not unusual when a person is new to it.”

  “Were you afraid of the ladders on your first climb?”

  Conrad shook his head. “I kind of like that part.”

  Wendy’s expression told him how crazy she thought that was.

  “We ascended to Camp I, put up a tent, ditched some gear, and made our way back to Base Camp.” A knot formed in his belly. He ignored it. “The next morning, we were up early for the puja—that’s a Buddhist prayer ceremony—and then hit the Icefall at about four in the morning.”

  “Can you describe the Khumbu Icefall for me?”

  “The Khumbu Icefall is a big-ass glacier that hangs between Base Camp and Camp I. It’s always moving, always changing. New crevasses open up. There are avalanches. There are also seracs—big pillars or walls of ice that can collapse without warning. In the climbing world, we joke that no climber in his or her right mind would set foot on the Icefall if it weren’t the path to the summit of Everest.”