by Lee Taylor
"Yes. I mean... I'm headed toward the cabin."
"The cabin!" He started to raise up, and Mary put her hand on him. It was like holding down an elderly man.
"Rest a moment. You need to."
"But...the cabin?"
"Yes. We're close. I changed directions after the avalanche. The van is still a good three days away. If we get to the cabin, we can go inside—"
"Grab the chest and leave? Good idea. But where do we go from there?"
She hadn’t even considered getting the chest. She didn't want to take the time to look for it.
"I thought we could get some food, bandage you better, then press on to the highway.”
"How close are we?"
"Five to six hours, summer hiking. With you wounded, it could take another day."
"I'll manage." He relaxed back with a sigh. "But a short rest’ll help."
"Right." Mary sat down beside him and gave him the melted water in her water bottle.
"Thanks." He drank the small amount of liquid and handed it back.
"You'll know when we get close. You'll hear the cars. We have to follow a stream down, then go under the highway."
"Under it?"
"Yes. The westbound lanes of I-90 are at treetop level as they cross over Denny Creek. It's like a very long bridge, held up with these huge columns. We go underneath them. There's no way to climb up at that point."
"I see. I sort of remember— the highway is divided."
"That's right. The eastbound lanes are on the other side of the Snoqualmie River. We have to cross the river to get to the cabin— there's a good bridge we can use. We'll go there first, then walk to where the highway becomes accessible and flag a ride to North Bend."
Connor had to rest. Plus they needed water desperately. Which was best, to continue on until they dropped, or stop and take the chance on Judd catching up with them?
34
Mary pulled out her rescue kit and unwrapped the piece of aluminum foil stored around it. She fashioned the foil into a sleeve to enlarge the tiny pan and set the pan on her emergency stove. Connor would be forced to rest while the snow melted.
"What happened back there?" he asked. "I tried to return, but couldn't climb the bank."
"Wes stabbed Ramone."
"What?"
"With Ira's knife. He gave it to me."
"You aren't making sense, Mary."
Mary slowly related the events. “Ira knew he was dying. He said—" She tried to remember his exact words. "He said to stick Ramone with it. I couldn't."
"So Wes did. They all hated him."
She scooped more snow into her container, and it turned into water. There was enough to add the bullion cubes to, and she did. The spicy smell drifted up, bringing moisture to her mouth. She handed him the bullion and watched as he drank thirstily of the hot fluid. He left a small amount for her and she swallowed it, the heat and moisture refueling her body.
"I thought I'd killed you, too," she said, putting more snow on to melt.
"Too? Are you still blaming yourself for your mother's death? You were a child. You couldn't have stopped those men."
"You don't understand. She saw them. She had time to run."
"Then why—"
"I was putting on my clothes when she yelled. I started to go, then went back to pull a clean shirt out of my drawer." Mary paused, remembering. "Instead of running, Mom came for me. She hid me in the toy basket as they broke down the door."
"And if she had escaped and left you behind? What kind of mother would you have her be?"
"But if I had only—"
"Those men caused her death."
"I know that. But if I hadn’t gone back, we both might’ve made it."
"Or you might not have. You both could be dead."
"Still, she sacrificed—"
"She loved you, Mary. She wouldn't want you to keep blaming yourself."
Mary shook her head, her mind unable— unwilling— to totally release herself.
"You didn't bring those men there. You weren't responsible."
"But I was, Connor. I could’ve run with her, or died with her. But I would’ve been with her."
"You aren't anymore to blame for that than you're to blame for bringing Judd and his men down upon your head."
"Or on you? I didn't go with you during the avalanche."
He shook his head. "There you go again. Blaming yourself for another's action. I chose to stay. I could’ve left you."
"But—"
"Same as your mother, Mary. She chose to save you. It was a tremendous act. An act of motherly love. Don't lessen her sacrifice by blaming yourself. She didn't blame you."
"How do you know?" She waited for his answer, her breath held against the possibility that he had none.
"I don't blame you. Neither would she."
It made sense, yet it didn't make sense. Mary felt disappointed. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to be free of the nightmares. But if that was the only evidence he had....
"You were a child then. Acting like a child. She knew that. Now you must acknowledge it."
Mary turned away, biting her lip. It made sense. If only she could release the feeling.
They had spent enough time here. They had to move on. She took a drink of the warm water, then gave Connor the rest. Once more she filled her water bottle with snow and tucked it inside her coat, her jerky movements revealing her agitation.
Connor had been watching her. "Mary, say it. Out loud. 'I did not kill my mother. I was only a child.' Say it!"
His refusal to let her slip back into self-accusation spurred her mind. She grasped at the words, fighting her way through the swirling emotions. "I did not kill my mother, Connor. Those men did."
"Right. Say it again. Mean it."
She folded up the stove and held it in front of her, as if taking a vow. "I was only a child. A child is not accountable." She emphasized each word, shaking the stove as if to seal them.
"Now you’ve got it," Connor said, standing up. “She had courage. So do you. And a woman of courage dares to take control of her life. Don’t let the past control you.” He looked about. "That was worth stopping for. I feel much stronger now."
Mary put the stove away, then turned down the trail, her mind going over what Connor had said. It was true. She must overcome the past. Take control.
An hour later she fell hard, hitting her knee against a protruding stump. She skidded, and grabbed it to stop herself. Sitting up, she looked down the trail to where it dropped off into Denny Creek. Switchbacked steeply, it worked its way into a ravine, several hundred feet deep, where the creek lay. This trail required caution even on warm summer days.
The crust glistened under the reflected light. It had melted and re-frozen many times and was slick as an ice rink. They’d have to use pointed sticks to keep themselves from sliding.
Her rope had been used to secure Ira's tent, so she had no way of tying them together as they descended. Mary mentally searched through the packs for a substitute, but nothing was long enough. Nothing that could hold one person while the other descended. They’d have to wait until Connor was able to function better. And that meant they must stop.
Could they afford to rest? Daylight was not too many hours away. If Judd and his men caught up with them as they descended, they’d shoot them easily on this exposed slope.
She turned to check on Connor. He had been stumbling more and more. As she watched, he tripped and dropped onto the snow.
It was no good. She couldn’t risk having him fall.
Mary could hear the cars on the elevated highway and see the flash of headlights. So close and yet so far.
Turning away from the canyon, she retraced her steps. Connor tried to stand up, but staggered, as if drunk.
"Come back," she said. "We need to rest, Connor."
"Go on," he replied. His voice slurred.
"We've gone as far as we can." Mary took his arm and guided him back the way they had come
. One misstep on the trail ahead, and Connor wouldn't need Judd to kill him.
About thirty yards back and to the left, she found what she was looking for—two fir trees, close together, their overhanging branches forming a fairly large and sheltered tree well.
Circling to enter from the far side, Mary stamped it out larger. Then she motioned Connor to follow.
He collapsed into it and she wondered if she had walked him too long already. Worried, but resolved to follow her best judgment, she helped him take off his pack and quickly unrolled his sleeping bag, placing the insulated pad underneath.
Keep him alive, dear Lord. Give me the strength and the wisdom to help him.
"Inside. Come on," she urged, tugging at his coat.
He moved slowly in mindless obedience, his body shaking, chilled as well as exhausted. The night had grown bitterly cold, the temperature dropping well below freezing— a raw, biting cold that stripped away a person's warmth and slowly froze the exterior, leaving the body core fighting for survival.
While they walked she had stayed warm, but Connor— with his loss of blood— must rest or go into shock.
Mary removed his boots and gloves to help his hands and feet warm up. She pulled off her boots and placed them inside with his at the bottom of her father’s extra-large sleeping bag. She unzipped his coat and removed her own, then slipped in with him. Her body heat would warm him.
"We have to go." His voice barely whispered in her ear.
"We must rest first. We've gone as far as we can go."
She felt him relax as he accepted her words and dropped into a deep sleep. She relaxed herself, reflecting on the day.
When Wes stopped Ramone’s attack, it felt as if years ago someone had finally struck back at the men who had killed her mother. A blow against all evil. An illogical conclusion, since Wes was as evil as Ramone— but it seemed that way.
She felt a sense of accomplishment. She hadn’t blacked out when Ramone threatened her. Her mind had stayed alert, enabling her to flee when the opportunity came.
This time, she had saved herself. And Connor. They’d won.
She reached for the little dragon, but it wasn’t there.
“You must face your dragons to beat them. I don’t need him. Someday, neither will you.”
She had faced her dragons, and with God’s help, she had won. Thank you, Lord, for bringing us safely so far. Please continue to protect us.
She listened to Connor breathing, which sounded regular. A good sign, but he needed liquids to replace the blood lost.
Should she melt some snow? She had the fuel. But if Judd and them were still following, they’d hear it.
They’d find them anyway. She hadn't covered their tracks! What was she doing, lying in bed, when she hadn't hidden their camp?
Abruptly leaving the warm cocoon with its false aura of safety, she got up, put on her coat and boots, snapped off a short stick and climbed out of the tree well. Turning her headlamp on, she looked at their marks in the snow. She’d have to cover them, somehow. But first she needed to make their kidnappers believe they had continued down the trail.
Did she have time? She held herself still, listening, but sound didn’t carry through the woods. She’d just have to hurry.
Putting on her snowshoes, she ran to the steep canyon where she took them off again. Poking the stick into the hard, icy crust, Mary worked her way down to the second switchback, then on to a third.
She stopped where it began to turn, overlooking a sheer cliff, and knocked enough snow off the lip to look like they had gone over. If Judd got this far, he might think she and Connor had fallen.
Next she backtracked to the tree well. She and Connor had packed the snow deeply— clearly revealing which way they had gone. The indentations would lead Judd right to them. She had to cover their hideout better. Taking a branch about two feet long, Mary brushed the snow to camouflage their tracks. It didn't work.
In desperation, she scooped up extra snow from the edge of the well and threw it into their tracks, adding more and more until they were filled, then brushed lightly over the surface. That looked much better. It wouldn't stand the full light of day, but Mary planned to be gone before daybreak.
She filled her water bottle once more with snow and set it by the sleeping bag to put inside with her to melt. Exhausted, she pulled off her boots and coat and removed her headlamp, then slid in with Connor.
He reached for her in his sleep, taking her into his arms. She snuggled closer, her heart singing as he murmured her name.
She loved this big man with his dark beard and eyes that shone with such fierce determination. She loved his thoughtfulness and his concern for her. He was a fighter. A strong man, who strengthened her with his strength. He’d see her through this if it killed him.
They mustn't stay here very long. Mary pushed the button on her watch to light the dial, then set the alarm.
An hour later she opened her eyes into the grayish light of morning. She was cradled in Connor's arms, her back to him, her head tucked beneath his chin. His head rested on her hair, his lips at her ear. She could hear his deep breathing and wished she could let him sleep, but already it was light enough to travel. And if they could travel, so could Judd.
"Connor." She felt him stir against her, his warmth mingling with hers in the bag.
"Umph?"
"We need to move out. How are you feeling?" The short rest had rejuvenated her. She prayed it had done the same for him.
"Ummm."
She could feel his chest rise as he drew in air and considered her question.
"Much stronger. My side's on fire, but that's to be expected."
He shifted. As he did, his lips brushed the nape of her neck, his breath fanning lightly across her ear, sending a thunderbolt down the supersensitive nerve endings, leaving her entire body trembling with anticipation.
"Oh, Connor!"
At her words, he froze, holding his hands away from her.
He must think I'm still afraid to have a man touch me, Mary thought. Reaching out, she took his hands and pulled them around her. He laughed softly and pulled her closer.
It felt wonderful to be held by him, yet she wanted more. Much more. To delight in a man's strength, knowing it wouldn’t be used against her. To touch his skin, feel his lips on hers. Explore the warmth of him.
It was the first time she had ever felt strongly about a man. Wanting him, physically. She had always been afraid of men— attracted, but too frightened to draw near.
It was different with Connor.
She had been released from a fear so intense that she had given up hope of ever being married or having children. Actually all she had needed was the right man— Connor.
She wanted Connor to love her as she loved him, without any hesitation, fear, or reservations.
35
Mary's touch brought Connor wide awake.
What did she want? Loving Mary was like walking over a pond after the first freeze of winter. He never knew when the surface would collapse under his feet.
"Yes?" he whispered, turning onto his side. The movement pulled at his wound, reminding him of its presence. Ignoring it, he held her tightly against him and kissed her tentatively.
Her instant response torched Connor's emotions like a match applied to a gas jet, the fire flaring up hot and fierce.
Easy, Connor. Easy!
Although particles of ice clung to her hair, the ice inside Mary had melted. The ensuing warmth threatened to destroyed his control completely. He had to follow his head and not his body.
Proceed with caution.
His hands moved lightly over her and he felt her relax, a murmur of pleasure escaping her lips. Her soft sighs aroused him even further, and he raised up just enough to nibble gently at her ear.
"Connor!"
Her response filled him with a headiness greater than when he had taken his first solo flight. He had never desired a woman this much, never wanted anyone as he wanted her.<
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"Will you...?" She stopped, leaving him confused.
"Yes?"
"I want... I... I need..."
She didn't sound very sure of herself.
"What do you want, Mary? You need to tell me, or I'll start finishing your sentences for you."
"I... I want you!"
He wanted her, too.
His body burned with the need for her, the blood pounding in his heart, his ears, his very fingertips. Eagerly he raised himself up on one elbow, barely noticing the pain of his wound as he sought the bounty of her lips.
His heart tripped over itself, beating as rapidly as a drum roll. If he were smart, he’d clamp down on his emotions ‘till another time. He must get her to safety.
Connor struggled fully awake. How close had Ramone gotten before she had escaped? Whatever she had gone through, she had made it. Like a pioneer, she had done whatever it took. He felt proud to be with her.
More than that, he needed her— mentally as well as physically. He needed Mary in a way he had never needed a woman. They could have a perfect partnership. She with her tender strength. Her refusal to quit. Her quick mind.
Mary was his type of woman, feisty and brave, one to go through the years with. He could even imagine her children. Their children! He wanted a son from her. More— a daughter. One who looked like Mary.
Would she accept him? Yes. His job? No.
His career stood between them, so physical a presence that Connor felt as if he had slammed head-first into an impassable wall, leaving him in shock. He couldn’t keep both his career and Mary.
He sucked in the cold air to clear his head. She hated violence. But in war, there were no choices. He couldn't explore the alternatives Mary espoused.
Her choices existed only if he left the military. Could he give up his career for her?
He shuddered as he seriously considered giving up everything he had spent years building. The Navy was his life, all he had worked for. Could he leave it all, for Mary, and not feel the loss?
He felt empty, lost, just thinking about it. It’d be like entering a cage— always wanting to fly, but denied release. Yet, he couldn't bear to lose Mary.
