by Sheryl Lynn
He lost his footing, starting a mini-landslide into a small ravine. He ended up against a tree trunk. Megan picked a careful path to his side. Under other circumstances his self-disgust would be funny. She noticed his cowboy boots—he hadn’t had time to change his footwear.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he growled, and slapped dust off his hat. Both his arms were scraped bloody from the wrist to the elbow.
They helped each other out of the ravine. A raindrop stung Megan’s arm, and she lifted her face in time to catch another squarely on the nose. “Watch your footing. It’s going to get slick.”
As if her words granted divine permission, the clouds opened. Her riding helmet offered zero protection against the rain. Eyelids lowered against the deluge, she trudged onward, picking her way across the increasingly slippery rocks. Lightning lit up the sky, and every accompanying boom of thunder made Megan feel exposed and vulnerable. She refused to think about being on the ridge, a wideopen target for a bolt of lightning.
She planted her hands atop a rock shelf and hoisted herself. On the ridge, she crouched, head down. Tristan climbed up to join her, and he, too, crouched, his back hunched like a frightened cat’s.
“Hate thunderboomers,” he said.
Lightning struck so close nearby it tinged the air with ozone and left Megan’s ears ringing from the explosive boom. At the moment, she didn’t feel so great about storms, herself.
Megan wiped water from her eyes, searching the gloomy forest below for the miner’s cabin. “We have to get off the ridge!” she shouted above the wind. “This way. Stay close.” The rain eased, no longer battering her icy skin. Still, rivulets cascaded between the rocks and turned the wind-polished sandstone as slick as ice. Using both hands and feet, she inched her way across the ridge and down the other side. At the bottom, she waited for Tristan, who made slow progress as he fumbled for and tested each hand- and foothold.
When he reached her, another bolt of lightning hit the ridge to the west, blinding her. She loosed an involuntary shriek and lurched into Tristan’s embrace. Bent over to shield her from the rain, he hugged her close.
Noticing a deer trail, Megan figured the crazy woman would have noticed it, too. She took a step and her right knee locked. She felt the wet snap deep inside her bones.
“Dammit,” she whispered. The knee had gone numb, but she knew from experience that was a bad sign. It meant fluid had swelled the tissues and cushioned the nerves. The pain would come later. Pushing aside the dread, she hobbled onward.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Tristan asked.
“I’m okay.” She couldn’t bend her right knee, but it didn’t matter. William mattered.
By the time they reached the trees, the storm had blown farther west and the rain stopped. Water dripped steadily from the branches, and the forest floor had turned black. Each step felt like skidding on a loose cloth atop a freshly waxed floor.
“Where’s the cabin?” Tristan whispered, but his voice seemed loud in the still forest.
“I don’t know.” The words had no sooner left her mouth when she spotted ragged timbers braced at the mouth of a mine shaft. She put out an arm to halt Tristan and pointed.
The mine entrance was blocked off with plywood painted with caution warnings. Moving from tree to tree, Megan searched for the nearby cabin.
“There it is,” Tristan said.
The cabin nestled in a small hollow next to a pile of boulders. Overgrown with vegetation, one side had caved in and much of the roof was missing. Rotten wood collapsed in upon itself. Windows and a door were gaping holes.
“Think she’s in there?”
“I don’t know,” Megan replied. “It seems awfully quiet.” She looked around. That the woman had followed William and Kara meant she had acted on impulse and did not know the terrain. The nearest road was at least two miles away, and then what did she intend? Hitchhiking with a kidnapped teenager? She absently rubbed her right knee. The swollen joint stretched the wet denim around it as taut as a balloon. She pressed the flesh, feeling nothing at all.
“What’s wrong with your knee, honey?”
“I popped it coming off the ridge. But it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt.”
He crouched, peering at her knee. “This is the kind of thing that put you into surgery before.”
She cupped his face in both hands. “My wet jeans feel worse.” The chin strap of her helmet chafed, so she unsnapped it and pulled off the helmet. She shook her wet hair and wished for a way to pull it off her face as she hung the helmet on a branch.
He cupped her face in both hands and searched her eyes. “You said if you hurt yourself again, you could end up on crutches for the rest of your life.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me, honey. Wait here. I’ll go on—”
“Yeah, right! With your luck, you’ll fall down a mine shaft. Forget my knees, let’s find your kid.” She firmly pushed his hands away. “Let’s circle around behind the cabin. If they’re in there, we can figure out something.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“You are so stupid. Of course I do.”
She blanked out worry about her knees the way she’d once blanked out crowds and the competition in a race. When she’d run a race, the only thing she had noticed was the spot of ground where her foot would strike next. She focused that way now, shutting out the cold, dampness and discomfort; shutting out her fears for the boy. She sneaked through the trees, alert to every sound, and circled around the back of the broken-down old cabin.
She crept to an empty window. Unable to bend her right knee, she rested her hands flat against the wooden wall and supported herself into a one-legged crouch. Tristan was so close behind her, his breath curled hotly around her neck. She listened, heard nothing and shook her head. He dropped his white hat so it didn’t blare his location. He touched her shoulder, indicating for her to be still, and he scooted past the window. On the other side of the window, he straightened slowly, his back to the wall. A fraction of an inch at a time, he peered into the cabin.
“Empty,” he mouthed, and pointed to a rock near her hand. He mimed chucking it through the window opening and drew the gun from his belt. He flicked off the safety.
She tossed the rock through the opening and heard it thunk on the dirt inside. She heard only the drip-drip-drip of water off the roof. She struggled upright, balancing on her good leg.
Lowering the gun, he said, “They aren’t here. Think we passed them on the trail from the lodge?”
“If William heard the horses, nothing that woman could do would have shut him up. Besides, she doesn’t dare go back to the resort.” She looked around, trying to put herself in the crazy woman’s head. “Downhill. Folks not used to the forest always go downhill. There must be a path or a trail or something leading from here. We’ll find him.” She pushed away from the cabin, hobbling as fast as her stiff knee allowed.
Tristan caught her arm and made her stop. “Wait here at the cabin. Help will be here soon.”
“Do you want to find your kid or worry about me?”
“Both.”
She managed a smile. “I love you, too, you know. But even if I didn’t, I’d still go with you. Fate put me here because you need me. That’s that.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to her cold lips, warming her from the inside out.
They found a path. Well-worn by hikers, it followed the easiest route between the trees and rocks. Megan walked fast, refusing to consider the damage she was doing to her knees. She could survive surgery or even wearing a brace and using crutches the rest of her life; she held serious doubts about William surviving the crazy woman or Tristan surviving the loss of his son.
The sky cleared rapidly. Shafts of sunlight burst against the wet rocks, making Snowcap gleam and glitter. Steam curled off the forest floor, and Megan’s clothing went from soaked to clammy.
Tristan suddenly surged ahead of her and pounced. He scoope
d a dark orange baseball cap from beneath a bush. “William’s.” His throat worked convulsively.
Megan turned a slow circle, envisioning how William might have lost the cap. Tristan coursed like a sight hound, zigzagging across the trail, dropping often to a crouch to study the dirt.
“He’s running!”
Tristan pointed out a deep footprint in the muddy ground. The toe of the print had gouged deeply into the mud and was now filled with water.
“He’s running for Snowcap,” Megan said. “They must have struggled and he got away from her.” She shielded her eyes with a hand, searching the glittering face of the cliff. “Can you track him?”
Tristan took the lead, following signs of William’s wild flight marked by tracks in the mud, gouges in the earth, broken branches and dislodged rocks. The boy had picked up a deer trail, following its twists and turns. Beneath an outcropping, Tristan found three clear footprints in the sandy ground, one the large print of a hiking boot, and two smaller boot prints with distinct heels.
“She’s following him by staying on the deer trail.” Tristan growled his frustration.
“She thinks he’s her baby. She won’t hurt him.” She rubbed her swollen knee, trying to force some circulation into her lower leg. Her foot tingled with impending numbness.
They pushed onward along the slippery path. Megan noticed Tristan was limping, too, and having trouble maintaining his footing. He’d no more stop to rest than she would, so she kept her worries to herself.
Tristan stopped short. Unable to get both feet cooperating, Megan skidded into him, and both would have fallen if Tristan hadn’t caught her with one hand and a rock with the other. “William,” he said.
Megan searched the shadows beneath the cliffs. William crouched atop a boulder. In one hand he held a broken branch. He waved it wildly and yelled, but the wind carried his words away.
“Where is she?” Tristan asked, straining to see past the thick growth of trees and bushes.
“She won’t hurt him.” Megan caught the back of his shirt. “She’s been looking too long for him. She won’t hurt him, trust me. Go on, but be quiet. We can sneak up on her. Just be careful on the rocks. You can’t help him if you break your neck.”
They crept along the winding deer path like jungle guerrillas. Megan’s heart pounded inside her chest so loudly she felt positive the crazed woman would hear them coming. As they drew closer to William, they heard his rough, choked cries.
“Get away from me! I’ll knock you off, I swear! Get away! Help! Help me, somebody! Help!”
Tristan put his hand behind him. “I see her. She’s holding a gun. Stay here.”
Peering over a rock, Megan saw the woman. She paced like a tigress below the rock where William perched. Her hair and clothing were plastered to her body, and she was streaked with mud as if she’d spent the day sliding into home base. She appeared to be talking, but whatever she said was lost in the distance and the wind. Megan rose higher, noting a wide crack between the woman and the boulder where the boy perched. How William had managed to get up on that rock, Megan hadn’t a clue. Sheer terror, she supposed.
“This is one of your standoffs,” Megan said, assessing the situation. “She can’t go up, he can’t get down.” She placed her hand over Tristan’s. “Cody and Kara should be back at the lodge by now. Help is on the way. The road is probably half a mile that way. Give me the gun and then get to the road.”
“I can’t leave my boy! You go—”
“Tristan!” She clutched his sleeve and gaped with horror at the scene below.
William had thrown down the branch and now sought handholds to climb the cliff. From where he was, it was at least forty feet to the top of the cliff, a sheer and deadly climb for which the boy was ill-equipped and ill-trained.
“William!” Tristan’s bellowing shout echoed off the cliff and caused a momentary hush among the birds and insects. Even the running, dripping water seemed to mute.
The woman spun about and fired the gun. The sharp crack echoed far into the distance. Tristan and Megan hit the mud, flattening themselves behind rocks.
“He’ll kill himself climbing.” Tristan ground the words out between his teeth.
“Shoot back. Run her off.”
Tristan half rolled and grabbed at his belt. The pistol he’d taken from Daniella was gone. He blinked stupidly at his waist.
“You lost it? She knows we’re here, she has a gun and you lost our only weapon? Sheesh. I’m going to have to marry you just to keep you out of trouble.” She parted slick oak leaves until she could see William. The boy had resumed a four-point crouch on the boulder. She sighed in relief. “He isn’t trying to climb anymore. Got a plan, cowboy?”
He inched upward until he could see. “How about I distract her? She knows I’m here, but not you. Think you can sneak up behind her?”
“What do you mean, distract her? She thinks you’re Bradley Carter. She’ll kill you.” She ootched forward on her elbows so she could see. The woman had resumed pacing, but now her attention was focused away from the boy as she searched for Tristan.
William crept to the edge of the boulder and peered down at the woman below. He crabbed backward, looking around wildly. Tristan must have realized the boy was formulating an escape. “That boy’s going to do some fool thing.”
“I can see that. Give me your hat.”
“Why?”
“The old Bugs Bunny hat on a stick trick. I’ll go down over there and distract her. You climb up that way and see if you can get a jump on her.”
“You aren’t making yourself a target.”
“No choice. I can’t run, and I can’t negotiate those rocks. I’ll stay down. If I can rattle her hard enough, she might use up her bullets.”
William stood upright, gazing toward a boulder perhaps an eight-foot jump away.
Tristan gave her his white straw hat. “Don’t risk yourself.” His eyes were dark with worry.
His warning came too late. She’d risk anything for him, and nothing he said could stop her. “Listen up. No matter what I do or what I say, you concentrate on your son, okay? Now, yell at him and tell him to stay put.” Clutching the hat, she half limped, half crawled through the bushes, headed downhill toward an outcrop of granite.
Tristan yelled at the boy to stay where he was. The woman fired two shots. Megan’s belly muscles tightened and she thought she might wet her pants, but she kept crawling through the brush, dragging her useless leg. When she reached the outcrop, she rested her back against the icy rock and breathed hard through her mouth until she could hear past the pounding of her heart.
Another gunshot cracked, splitting the quiet. William screamed for the woman to stop.
Megan peeked over the rocks. She was less than fifty feet downhill from the woman. Horrified at the proximity, she dropped back down into concealment. She stared at Tristan’s muddy, battered, leaf-dotted hat and knew her plan was idiotic. If the woman came after her, Megan could not escape.
Shoving aside the dire alarms ringing in her head, she belly-crawled to the end of the outcrop and slowly raised the hat, perching it atop a rock where she hoped the woman would see it. Then she crawled back to the other end of the rocks as fast as she could go.
Dropping her voice into what she hoped was a manly depth, Megan shouted. “Hey, lady! Leave my boy alone!”
The woman spun around, slipped and windmilled both arms wildly for balance. She fell to one knee and fired a wild shot into the air. William screamed and dropped flat on the rock with both hands over his head.
“He ain’t yours!” Megan shouted. Attempting a baritone hurt her dry, tense throat.
The woman whipped her head around wildly. The rocks and trees deflected sound, and echoes further confused matters. She grasped the gun in both hands and fired off three shots in rapid succession. She aimed a good twenty yards away from Megan.
“Missed me!”
“Get away from me, Bradley! He’s my baby! You stole him from me
. I’m taking him back!”
Megan couldn’t remember how many shots the woman had fired. Not that it made any difference, since she had no idea how many bullets the woman’s gun held. She grasped a loose rock, drew a deep breath, then popped up and threw the rock with all her might. It struck a skinny pine tree with a solid thwack, accompanied by a pelletshot pattering of water shaken loose from the needles. The woman screamed and fired. Once, twice, then nothing. Megan peeked again. She was trying to fire the gun. Her arms jerked, and she stamped her feet and wailed incoherently.
Tristan appeared, slinking out of the shadows above the woman, using his hands as well as his feet to find a path down the slippery rocks. He was about fifteen feet above her, maneuvering a chute between massive boulders.
Fearing the woman might reload before Tristan reached her, Megan grabbed another rock. “I said, get away from my boy!” She threw with all her might. The fist-size chunk of granite sailed over the woman’s head and struck Tristan.
Tristan’s entire body gave a mighty jerk, and he threw up one hand while the other grabbed wildly for purchase. As if shoved by a giant hand, he skidded down the chute. The woman whirled around, backed a step and disappeared. Tristan caught a jut of rock and stopped short.
“Daddy!” William scrambled to the edge of the boulder as far as he dared. “Daddy!”
Scrambling as fast as her leg allowed, using bushes and trees as handholds, Megan climbed up to the rocks. Tristan hauled himself to a sitting position and sagged, head down and panting.
Megan reached his side and dropped to the rocks beside him. She draped her arms around his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. They clung to each other in silence.
“Daddy?”
Tristan looked up. “I’m okay, boy. What about yourself?”
“That lady ain’t moving.”
