A Highlander Christmas
Page 18
She thought for a moment. “If we go down the tote road about ten miles, then cut across the bay, I think there are some year-round homes out on the point.”
Luke’s gut tightened. “Do you think the bay is frozen solid?”
“I-it should be.”
He glanced down at her ankle then back at her, and shook his head. “It’s not a life-threatening injury, Camry, as long as you don’t go into shock. So I’d rather not risk our drowning to save some miles. How far to your sister’s house? Doesn’t she live on this side of the bay?”
“Maybe eighteen or twenty miles from here.”
Luke gently laid her foot on the open leg of her ski pants and turned in the hole he’d been standing in the whole time. “If I can find the other snowshoe, I can get us there by midnight.” He got down on his knees and started rummaging around in the sled. He pulled out the sleeping bag and straw mattress, but didn’t see the rest of their gear. “The gear must have broken free,” he said, straightening with the sleeping bag, which he unrolled and laid over her. “I’ll try to find it. I’d like to at least have the headlamp for when it gets dark, and the first-aid kit.”
“How did you know where to dig for me?” she asked, helping him tuck the bag around her.
He grabbed the small mattress and tucked the corner of it under her shoulders. But before he lowered her head, he kissed her gently on the lips with a soft chuckle. “That damn transmitter started beeping, and Max and I followed the sound.”
She blinked up at him. “I don’t have the transmitter,” she whispered. “I-I threw it out onto the lake this morning, when I decided to . . . to see things your way,” she said.
“You threw it away? But I heard it. Max heard it, too. It’s how we found you!”
“That’s impossible, Luke.” She reached under the sleeping bag. “I don’t have it anymore.” She suddenly gasped, and her hand reappeared holding the transmitter. “Oh my God,” she whispered, holding it toward him. “H-how is that possible?”
Luke damn near started laughing hysterically when the tiny instrument suddenly gave a lively chirp. He took the transmitter from her and studied it. “This thing keeps turning up like a bad penny.” He looked at her. “It shouldn’t even have its own power source, so what in hell keeps making that noise?”
She turned her head away. “I have no idea.”
He gently turned her face to look at him. “Don’t try to live by my beliefs, Camry, at the expense of your own,” he softly told her. “I was wrong to pretend to go along with you and AuClair instead of telling you I thought it was all an act.” He held the transmitter up for her to see. “But this infernal thing,” he said with a crooked smile, “seems determined to make me believe.” He shoved it in his pocket, kissed her again, then climbed out of the hole.
He freed his boot from the snowshoe Max had found, sat down and put it on, then crawled over and lifted the edge of the sleeping bag off her right foot. “It’s still swelling,” he said, carefully covering her foot again. “I’m going to hunt for our gear before I immobilize it. I’d like to find the first-aid kit, because I tossed what was left of our pain pills in it. Are you comfortable enough?”
“I’m okay. Where’s Tigger?”
“She seems to be fully recovered, and is nosing the snow with Max. I’m giving myself twenty minutes to search, and then we’re out of here, gear or no gear. Just close your eyes and rest. I’m afraid you might be in for a painful afternoon.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you.”
He chuckled. “If you want to help, then picture our snowcat magically appearing while I go to work on my own miracle.”
Chapter Twenty
As “seemingly impossible tasks” went, Luke decided this one was a doozy. Getting back to civilization had appeared daunting enough when they’d both been hale and hearty, but getting Camry out of these woods with a broken ankle—without killing her in the process—might very well prove impossible.
Unless . . .
Luke shoved his hand in his pocket and touched the transmitter. How in hell did the damn thing keep turning up just when they needed it? He believed Camry when she said she’d thrown it away this morning—just as he had the other day, when he’d smashed it into that tree and watched it shatter into a hundred pieces. Yet here it was again, and they’d both heard it chirping just now.
Max had heard it, too. And dogs didn’t know anything about miracles, did they?
Luke walked toward a dark spot in the snow and thought about Maxine’s determination to rescue both Kate and him at the expense of his own life. If the fact was that Maxine had shown up at the pound just hours before they’d taken Kate over to pick out a dog, or that a five-year-old had seen something in the mangy old mutt that none of the adults had, was that the beginning of a miracle, or merely a string of sequential coincidences?
But then, did it matter what it was, as long as everything had turned out okay?
Well, except for Maxine.
Luke stopped suddenly and stared down at what looked like Roger AuClair’s large pointed hat lying in the snow. Where in hell had that come from? Had it been in the sled all this time, and he just hadn’t noticed? If Camry had found it, she certainly wouldn’t have shown it to him, now, would she? Not after learning what he thought of AuClair’s hocus-pocus.
Which she wholeheartedly embraced.
Maybe the question he should be asking was, If the magic really did rule science, could it be manipulated?
Even by a nonbeliever who was just desperate enough to try?
Luke looked around and saw Max and Tigger digging in the snow several yards away, apparently having discovered something worth salvaging. He looked at Camry and saw her lying quietly, her arm over her face to shield out the sun.
“How are you doing over there?” he called to her.
“I’m fine,” she called back, not moving, “as long as I don’t move.”
Luke dropped his gaze to the hat, took a deep breath, and picked it up.
Something fell out of it. He bent over again, and picked up what appeared to be the card Roger had left for him. He opened it, scanned what Camry had already read to him, then continued from where she’d left off.
If you’re harboring any dark thoughts that I had anything to do with the predicament you’re in, Renoir, then think again. Free will dictates circumstances, not the magic. Life is a fragile gift, and if you can’t embrace it all—the good, the bad, and the ugly—then you might as well stop breathing, since this is an all or nothing thing.
So the answer to your question is yes; just like your numbers, the magic can be manipulated. I was telling it straight the other day, when I told Camry that everyone has the power within them to create.
That is, assuming it’s a creation of the heart.
The only brick walls people run into are of their own making. Take this particular brick wall, for instance, that you are right now trying to figure a way around. If I might be so bold as to suggest . . . why don’t you take your own advice that you gave Camry, and simply go through it? You have the power to do that by merely turning off your analytical brain long enough to hear what your heart is telling you. I believe you’ll find that when you do, what you consider obstacles might actually work to your advantage.
If you need more time, then stop the clock. And if you want to ease Camry’s pain, then find a way. It’s a simple matter of deciding what you need to happen, then acting as if it already has.
Miracles are really more about perception than actual fact. If all you see are obstacles, you’ll be taking two steps back for every step forward; but if you can see the magic in them, you’ll realize those obstacles might be blessings in disguise.
So the choice is yours, Renoir. Your logic can take you only so far, and if you want to get Camry home, you’re going to have to rely on what your heart tells you to do. Just think back thirteen years, Luke, and ask yourself if you haven’t already experienced what it is to create a miracle.
You see, Camry has an aunt who can heal her in a rather . . . well, let’s call it an unconventional way, shall we? Libby MacBain will be at Gù Brath celebrating the solstice with everyone, so you might want to consider heading directly there, rather than wasting precious time trying to get Camry to a hospital and risk her never walking properly again.
“Goddammit, AuClair,” Luke growled, glaring down at the card. “You almost had me up to this point, you old bastard. An aunt who can magically heal her ankle,” he muttered, wiping a hand over his face.
“Did you find the first-aid kit, Luke?” Camry called to him. “One of those pills would be nice right about now.”
Christ, what was he doing, reading some crazy old man’s rantings! He crumpled the card and tossed it in the snow, along with Roger’s stupid hat. “I think Max and Tigger have dug something up,” he called out, running to the dogs. “What have you two found?” he asked, using his anger at himself to sound excited for them.
He edged Tigger out of the way, reached down into the shallow hole, and gave a tug on the material they’d unearthed. “Camry, they found our bag of gear!” He scrambled to his feet. “Okay, guys,” he said, slapping his leg. “Come on. Now let’s go find my other snowshoe!”
He walked over and knelt beside Camry, then picked up the snowshoe Max had found earlier and held it out to the dogs, letting them sniff it. “See this? Find the other snowshoe, and I’ll make you each a whole pot of soup tonight.”
They cocked their heads back and forth, listening to him, then both suddenly shot off in opposite directions. Luke smiled down at Camry. “If they come back with that snowshoe, I’m going to have to stop calling them simple beasts.” He opened the bag and dug through their gear to find the first-aid kit. “Have you figured out yet if you’re hurt anywhere else?” he asked, opening the kit and scanning the contents. He grew alarmed when she didn’t answer. “What else hurts?”
“I think I may have cracked some ribs,” she whispered, her eyes filled with pain. “I can breathe okay, so my lung isn’t punctured or anything. But what if riding in the sled finishes breaking one of my ribs?”
Luke closed his eyes.
She touched his arm. “Maybe you should go for help alone. You can move me to the trees, build a fire, and the dogs can stay with me. You’ll make better time if you don’t have to tow me in the sled. Then Life Flight can fly me out.”
“I’m not leaving you. If something were to happen to me, nobody knows you’re out here.”
“Daddy knows. We stole his groomer, remember?”
“But it might be days before he starts looking for us.” He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you,” he repeated. “We make it out together or we die trying—together.”
He returned to scanning the kit, then pulled out the pills. “These should help,” he said, opening the bottle. He pulled out one of the bottles of water they’d melted this morning, popped a pill in her mouth, then held her head for her to drink. “Okay, I’m going to dig out the sled while we give that pill time to kick in.”
“Luke,” she said, grabbing his sleeve when he started to stand up. “What were you doing a few minutes ago, when you were just standing up there? It looked as if you were reading something.”
“I found AuClair’s card, and was reading from where you’d left off.”
“Anything interesting?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
He stood up. “Not really. Just more philosophical bunk about how I can make a miracle happen just by deciding I want one.” He shrugged. “He even said I have the power to stop time, if I just put my mind to it. No, not my mind,” he muttered, sliding into the hole beside her. He gave a forced smile. “He said I had to turn off my analytical brain, and think with my heart. Close your eyes, Camry,” he said, not wanting to deal with the hopefulness he saw shining in them. “Relax and let that pill work.”
With a muttered curse at the wounded look she gave him before she turned her head and closed her eyes, Luke also turned away and went to work on the sled. It took him about ten minutes to dig it out, and another ten minutes to straighten a bent ski and make it snow worthy again. He’d just finished tying their gear to the back when Tigger came trotting over, the GPS in her mouth. Luke felt in his pocket, realizing it must have fallen out during the avalanche.
“Good girl, Tig!” he said, roughing up the hair on her head. “I take back every bad thing I’ve thought about you. You and your buddy Max are a hell of a lot smarter than many people I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “And I’m going to buy you a whole wardrobe of pretty sweaters.”
Apparently not wanting to be outdone, Max came trotting over dragging the other snowshoe. Luke sat back on his heels. The dogs had actually found everything he needed? He shook his head in disbelief, wondering how they seemed to know how desperate the situation was.
“Okay, you pooches. You’ve definitely earned your soup—as well as a couple of hero medals, which I am personally going to see that you get.”
They suddenly took off again in search of more treasure. Luke turned to show Camry what they’d found, but she was asleep. Lifting the edge of the sleeping bag, he actually winced when he saw how swollen her ankle was.
“Camry, honey,” he said softly, gentling shaking her shoulder. “I need you to be awake while I immobilize your foot, so I know if I’m doing anything wrong.”
Her eyes dark with drugged confusion and pain, she nodded.
Luke moved back down her leg. But just as he lifted the sleeping bag again, the dogs came bounding back, each carrying something. Only instead of bringing their newest finds to him, they brought them to Camry.
Max dropped the large pointed hat on her chest, and Tigger dropped the crumpled card. Then both dogs lay down, Max resting his chin on her belly and Tigger curling up beside her shoulder.
Luke sighed. Was he ever going to get rid of Roger AuClair? “Here’s an idea,” he said, folding the sleeping bag back to expose her ankle. “You can finish reading Roger’s letter to me while I play doctor on you.” He shot her a smile. “And why don’t you put on his hat, and try to sound just like him.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and her chin quivered. “D-don’t humor me, Luke.”
“No! I’m not humoring you, I’m trying to distract you. And myself. Here,” he said, uncrumpling the card and handing it to her. “Okay, let’s hear what other sage advice good old Roger has for me.” He arched an eyebrow. “Maybe at the end of the note, he tells us where he stashed the snowcat.”
Probably as much from her own curiosity as wishing to humor him, Camry hesitantly started reading out loud from where she’d left off yesterday morning. Using the laces he’d stolen from her other boot, and a pair of pants he’d taken from their gear, Luke carefully started to wrap her ankle.
He paused when she stopped reading with a hiss of pain. “Sorry. I’m trying to be gentle. Go on, keep reading.”
“But Roger said there’s a chance I might never walk properly again,” she whispered, her chin quivering again. “Luke, you have to do what he says, and take me straight to my aunt Libby. She’s really a highly skilled trauma surgeon, but she also has a gift for healing people by only touching them.”
“You won’t just be walking properly, you’ll be running a marathon by this summer,” he said, giving her arm a squeeze. “Keep going. You’ve reached the part where I stopped reading.”
Her eyes searched his, looking for . . . hell, for some sign he believed her, Luke figured. He went back to work on her foot, wrapping several layers of the heavy pant material around her leg, from her knee to down past her heel. He then gently tied it in place, careful not to make it too tight around the swelling.
He heard her take a shuddering breath; then she
started reading again.
I warned you this was going to seem impossible, Renoir. But making a miracle is actually the easy part, whereas living with the realization that you really are in control of your own destiny is what’s truly daunting.
So I wish you the best of luck, young man—not only on your immediate journey, but on your life’s journey as well. Now don’t you go feeling bad that I left before you got to thank me for all I’ve done for you; we’ll be meeting again one day, so you’ll get your chance. Godspeed, Renoir. Your faithful servant, Roger de Keage.
Luke snorted. “If we meet again, I’ll likely wring his neck.”
“My God,” she whispered. “He’s the father of the clan MacKeage.”
“The father of practical jokes, you mean,” he muttered.
“Um . . . there’s a P.S.”
Luke snorted again. “The old bastard does love to pontificate.”
She dropped her worried gaze back to the card. “P.S.,” she read. “You’re down to six hours and forty-four minutes, Renoir, so you might want to get cracking on making that miracle.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Four hours later, Luke was worried that instead of saving Camry’s life, he very well might be killing her. For the third time in half an hour, he dropped to his knees beside the sled, utterly exhausted from the grueling pace he’d set, and peeled back the tarp. Tigger blinked up at him from inside Camry’s jacket with a mournful whine, then gently lapped her pale cheek before looking at Luke again.
“I know, Tig,” he said between ragged breaths as he took off his gloves. He reached in and touched Camry’s neck, feeling her faint pulse, which had grown steadily fainter in the last four hours. “I’m worried about her, too.