by Ev Bishop
Just one more to go—or so she hoped.
The gap between the next ledge she needed and the one she perched on was further than she’d guesstimated. Her hands ached and were slick with sweat—or maybe rain as she noted in a slightly distanced way that fat droplets had started to fall.
Oh thank God, her toe found a niche. She bit her lip, tasted blood and hoisted her body up—
The spot her foot rested on let go and suddenly she was suspended, foot dangling. She bit back her scream. Gently scraped her foot side to side, feeling for anything. . . .
The toe of her boot found an edge again. She shuffled over a few inches to where it widened. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and she tasted salt.
She looked down the length of her body and went lightheaded with relief. A chunk of protruding shale created a perfect step only twelve inches or so from where she stood. It should be just enough to—
Still gripping the tree, she hoisted herself up, found the natural stair—and pushed off it, heaving forward. She crashed, sprawling to her stomach on the pine needled, rock-strewn ground. Her bag had propelled itself to her chest when she leapt, and the coffee mug burrowed into her ribs. Never had agony felt so good. The dog practically jumped on top of her, licking her face and whining. Sam couldn’t make a sound, nor could she summon the energy or strength it would require to push the mutt off—and maybe she wouldn’t have anyway.
She lay there with her living dog blanket for a long time, uncontrollable tears running down her face. When it had solidly registered that she was indeed on safe ground, she struggled onto her back, then up to sitting. Using her arms, she scooted back against a huge stump from which a younger tree grew hundreds of feet into the sky. It would provide some shelter at least.
She opened her bag. Ate more nuts. Ate more jerky—which again, she shared with the dog—a German shepherd or something, she noted, so skinny in the flanks and chest that she could see all her ribs. “Poor thing,” she murmured and handed over more jerky. The dog grunted and took the offered food politely, which struck Sam as remarkable.
“So what now, Dog?”
Dog barked.
“No, I can’t walk anymore. I don’t even know how I got up here. It’s impossible.”
The dog barked again. Sam held her hands over her ears. “Stop that.”
She looked down at her bag and an idea came to her . . . again, it may or may not work, but it was worth a try. She’d try to scrabble along the path, too, but in the meantime. . . . She swallowed her last two painkillers with the remains of the coffee, took her journal from her bag, tore out a piece of paper and scribbled, “Hey, it’s Sam. I’m hurt on the trail to the canyon. Please come.” Then she stuffed her journal into her shirt, and put the paper in the bag.
“Hey, Dog,” Sam whispered. “Come on, girl.” The timid animal belly-crawled closer, bribed by another scrap of jerky. Sam tied the bag around the dog’s neck like a weird bib and was surprised when she didn’t resist.
“Go home, Dog.” She pushed at the shepherd.
Dog didn’t move, just looked at her.
“Get going. Go.”
Still no movement.
Feeling like the worst person in the world, Sam picked up a small stone and shook it menacingly. “Go home.”
Dog shook her head like Sam was crazy, trotted a few feet down the path, then stopped and looked back.
Sam’s throat burned, but she threw the rock lightly. “Go!”
Dog’s head bobbed once and she slunk away, disappearing into the bush almost immediately, leaving Sam alone in the gathering darkness.
She slumped back against the stump. You were powerless against so many things that life threw at you. Could she have made better decisions various times throughout her life? Absolutely. Would some shit have happened to her regardless of what she chose? Absolutely again. But once the choices were made and you were left dealing with the consequences, perhaps that—how you dealt with them—was the only power you actually had. It was kind of encouraging, really. That she could choose how she reacted to things or let them affect her.
She straightened up a little, uncomfortable with her sagging spine. She had just climbed a rock face with a busted leg and she was what, going to quit now? Like hell! Yes, she was exhausted in some ways—but a second wind was building within her. It was like the cold seeping into her limbs from the ground was numbing her physical body but sharpening her mind. There was some nugget in all this thinking that applied to her and Charlie maybe, and it was something she’d explore—later, in her journal, wine in hand. For now, she had some more work to do.
Slowly, ignoring the creeping dark and the cold and the gnawing pain, Sam got to her feet again.
Chapter 22
Charlie was increasingly agitated as the afternoon wore onto evening. He’d brought Aisha and Mo home from the hospital with no trauma or trouble and they’d spent a lovely afternoon together in Minnow cabin, where they were safely ensconced now as he paced the grounds around River’s Sigh like a madman. Something wasn’t sitting right with Sam’s quick departure.
His questions the night before had irritated Sam—and he couldn’t decide if that’s because he’d poked a sensitive truth or because he was so wildly off base. Either way, he’d always expected her to take off unannounced sometime. It was a reality he’d tried to prepare Aisha for—one that even Jo, diplomatic as she was about Sam, didn’t deny was a possibility.
But come on! Sam was also fearless about some things and passionate. He didn’t for one second believe that her unvoiced, yet absolutely transparent affection for Aisha and the baby was feigned, so why would she leave without so much as a wave good-bye or a hint at where she could be found if needed? Did Aisha—did he—mean that little to her? No, he didn’t believe it. But how else could you explain her taking off without leaving a trace she’d ever occupied Rainbow cabin with him? The SUV had been gone when he got up and hadn’t returned once since. It was a long time for a mere outing. He hoped she’d just taken up residence in a hotel in town—but again, why not a word of it to anyone?
And by “anyone,” you mean you, a voice in his head said—Sam’s voice. It almost made him smile.
So where was she? Where was anyone? He hadn’t seen hide or hair of Jo or Callum or any employees since he’d left to pick up Aisha. This place really was as isolated as Sam complained it was.
His phone pulsed then rang. He almost dropped it in his rush to answer. “Hello? Sam?”
“No, it’s Evan. Is this Charlie?”
Evan. What the hell did he want? The kid obviously took his silence as an affirmative. “Can I please talk to Aisha?”
Charlie was shaking his head, even as he answered. “No, no you can’t.”
“Look, I know things aren’t great between us—but I want to make amends with you, with her. I want to step up.”
Charlie so didn’t have the time or energy for more of the smarmy little bastard’s ingratiating bullshit. He’d had his full of Evan Strait for a lifetime in the months Aisha had dated him. “It’s not that. It’s just she’s not available. She just got home from the hospital.”
“She had the—our—baby then? And she’s home now?”
“Not home-home. We’re still in Greenridge.” Shit. The second the words were out, it occurred to him that Aisha may not have told Evan where she was living. He hoped he hadn’t broken some taboo. For the millionth time he wished Aisha had been more forthcoming with specifics about what happened with Evan—but for all his gentle prodding, she wouldn’t open up about it.
“Look, Evan. Whatever’s gone on, it’s between you and Aisha.”
“But sir—”
“I’m sure she’ll be in touch if it’s the right thing to do. Good-bye, Evan.”
Charlie ended the call, unable to shake the feeling he’d blundered, but still preoccupied with Sam’s missing person status—okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic, but it didn’t feel like it. He tried Jo’s number again. And again, for like t
he fifteenth time, he got voicemail.
When the drizzle he’d been ignoring turned into a full-fledged downpour, he headed back to Rainbow. Sam wasn’t his problem.
At the stairs, however, he hesitated, one hand on the railing, one foot on the first step. He stared at the tree line beyond the cabin. Where he stood it was still light, if dismal. The forest was already dark.
He turned abruptly, resolutely. Sam wasn’t his “problem,” true. But she was his friend. His good friend, whether she felt the same or not. And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—ignore his gut. He’d have done the same thing for a total stranger or even an enemy.
He was almost at Aisha’s door, hoping to get Callum’s cell number to see if he knew what Sam was up to, when the rustle of an animal in the brush startled him. Then he saw a blur of bright fabric. What the heck?
A large dog crept out of the shadows, acting half beaten and retreating as soon as Charlie tried to coax it forward. It was wearing something puffy around its neck and shoulder and Charlie shook his head. One of those dumb dog jackets, no doubt.
He called the dog one more time, planning to rescue it from its ill-fitted torture device, but the animal cowered and slunk from view. Charlie hesitated, but then continued on to Aisha’s. He felt badly for the dog, but his worry for Sam had escalated.
Aisha was surprised to see him again so soon—and seemed like she’d been napping, which made him feel bad. His daughter had just had a baby. She needed her rest. Why was he troubling her with what was probably nothing?
“I was just, ah, wanting to know if you had Callum’s number. I’ve tried Jo a zillion times, but get no answer. I haven’t seen Sam all day.”
Aisha studied him and her eyes seemed old. She shook her head. “Dad . . . you were the one who told me to expect this very thing. You said she wouldn’t stick around.”
“I know, I know. But something’s off. I think I was wrong.”
Aisha shrugged. “You warned me to be careful not to make her into something she’s not. Heed your own advice.”
Charlie scrubbed his hand over his face. What could he say? He had given that advice—and repeated it—even a few days ago, even when he knew full well that he was falling for Sam.
Oh, man, that was it, wasn’t it? He really had fallen for her. Lot of good it would do him.
Aisha was talking again. “I don’t have his number, but it’s on the board by the phone in the office—and they usually leave the door unlocked.” A shrill wail cut her off. “Oh, there’s the eating machine. I have to go.”
Charlie nodded and the door shut. He stood in the increasingly heavy rain another moment, then did the only thing he could. He headed for the office.
Chapter 23
But Charlie didn’t get a chance to call Callum. Just as he was about to open the office door—which was indeed unlocked, a foolishly trusting move in his opinion—engines rumbled up the drive.
Jo’s pickup arrived first, but Samantha’s SUV was right on its bumper.
Jo raised her arm in a casual greeting before she got out of the truck, then she must’ve seen something that concerned her on Charlie’s face because she bolted out the vehicle and ran toward him, boots splashing in the newly forming puddles.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Charlie grumbled, embarrassed—then stopped talking as Callum climbed down from behind Sam’s steering wheel. “Wait. Callum had Sam’s vehicle?”
“Yeah,” Callum said. “She said she didn’t need it, that she was staying around the place all day. My car’s in the shop.”
“Well, she’s not here. Hasn’t been all day.”
Callum looked uncomfortable and shook his head. “So she didn’t tell you?”
“Didn’t tell me what?”
“Silver was ready for her again,” Jo added, but she was gazing toward Silver cabin with a slightly confused expression. “You haven’t seen her at all? I thought she was planning to visit Aisha and the baby when they got home.”
Charlie seethed at Jo’s use of “home” to describe this place and realized he, like a selfish git, still felt as threatened by Aisha’s choice as he ever had. “We thought that too, but she didn’t show up. Didn’t call. All her bags are gone and the SUV too—”
“So you assumed she’d taken off,” Jo finished like it was a natural enough conclusion, but her brow furrowed. “It’s strange there’s not a single light on,” she added.
Callum strode toward the dark cabin and knocked on the door. Charlie and Jo joined him on the porch. When there was no answer, Callum rapped again, harder.
Jo tested the doorknob. It was locked. “Sam?” she called. “Hey, Sam, you there?”
“You’re sure you didn’t see her?”
“Not once—and there haven’t been any lights on in this cabin. I knew the previous guests had just moved out. I would’ve noticed.”
Jo pulled a ring of keys from her pocket and fiddled with them to find the one she wanted. When she turned the lock, the door swung open. The space ahead of them gaped, still and quiet.
“Samantha? It’s me. Jo.” Jo flicked two switches by the door. The porch and the small foyer lit up. Sam’s two massive suitcases sat rolled up against the granite topped kitchen island, and her laptop case and overnight bag were in plain view on the counter.
“What the . . .” But Jo didn’t finish whatever she was going to say. She pulled out her cell phone, pressed a couple of buttons. “Sam, it’s me. If you get this message call me back right away.”
“I could’ve told you you’d get voicemail,” Charlie said.
Jo glowered and Charlie was struck once more by the similarity between her, Sam’s, and Aisha’s faces. Callum slid his shoes off and headed into the depths of the cabin, opening doors and popping his head into each room as he did.
Jo pressed another couple buttons and chewed on the edge of her thumb while she waited for someone to pick up. “Hello—yes, Dave? It’s Jo . . . no, the call’s not social at all, sorry,” she said flatly. “I was wondering if you’d seen Sam today or if she’s with you by chance?”
Charlie held his breath during Dave’s unheard response. His feeling of foreboding had intensified by the second since Callum had gotten out of Sam’s vehicle, and now he was practically sick with worry. They were in the middle of nowhere with no one around. Anything could’ve happened. Anything at all. Please let her be with Dave. Please let her be with Dave.
“Okay . . . well, thanks. No, no need to worry, but hey, if she does call you, can you get her to contact me?”
Dave said something else.
“You bet. Thanks.” Jo broke the connection and tapped her phone gently against her chin a few times. “He hasn’t seen her,” she said.
Charlie wanted to snarl, “Thanks, tips,” but held his tongue. Jo wasn’t her sister’s keeper.
“Not a sign that she’s been here since she stowed her luggage earlier,” Callum said, returning to them.
“Shit,” said Jo. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What?”
“Did she mention going for a walk or anything?”
Callum nodded. “Actually, she did—but a short one, and she’s not the outdoorsy type. I can’t see her going too far, or staying away too long.”
“She’s more into nature than you’d suspect,” Jo contradicted.
Charlie had to agree. “She goes for long walks all the time.”
Callum shrugged. “If you say so, but still . . .” He checked his phone for the time. “I saw her at like, nine thirty this morning. It’s well after six now.”
For the first time since Charlie had met her, true anxiety tightened Jo’s features. “This isn’t good. Sam would take off on an impromptu shopping trip or skip town for a holiday on whim—but she wouldn’t disappear into the wilds on her own volition. Something’s wrong.”
It was amazing to Charlie how long it took people to arrive at the obvious sometimes. “That’s what I’ve been saying the whole time!”
He held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry.”
“I told her if she changed her mind about not needing a vehicle, you’d be home around lunchtime and she could use your truck. Maybe she got impatient and called for a cab or something,” Callum said.
Jo’s face scrunched and she smoothed her hand along the top of one of Sam’s suitcases. “Nah, even if she’d decided there was something she was desperate for, she would’ve just called me. There was a place by the river she wanted to go back to though. I wonder—” She shook her head. “No, it would’ve been an intense hike even for someone who liked a lot of physical exertion.”
“Sam’s extremely fit,” Charlie said, desperate for a place, any place, they could start looking, could do something, could stop just standing around.
“Well, yeah,” Jo agreed, still being frustratingly slow to panic and get moving. “But she’s gym fit. It’s different.”
“We’re wasting time.”
“I agree,” Callum said and Charlie was glad he had one ally at least.
“So let’s grab flashlights and try the trail she and I took last time. If we don’t find her within the hour, we’ll call in somebody.”
They headed back outside, leaving the lights on. Just as they cleared the porch, a sharp bark made them all jump. The bark came again, then a third time. As one, they turned toward the forest. All was black and shadows. And then there was movement in the tree line. At the very furthest reach of the light thrown from the porch, Charlie caught a flash of the dog in the ludicrous jacket-cape he’d seen earlier. And then there was a pale glimmer and a hunched human figure limped into view.
“So there’s a welcoming committee. Excellent.” The words were little more than breath, only audible because they were shocked to silence and the night was so still—but the voice was definitely Sam’s.
Charlie didn’t know who reacted first, him or Jo, but they were at Sam’s side, becoming human crutches, almost instantly. As her arm drooped over his shoulder and she sagged against him, fury tore through Charlie, rendering him speechless.
