Rugged and Restless

by Saylor Bliss

  I nodded. “Got it.”

  Freeman lifted the radio from my hand and passed it to Grant. “She has to be ready to go. We need to know what side she’s on and if the window is down or up.”

  “Ask her about injuries. I didn’t catch her answer when I asked.” I double-checked my harness. “Back and neck, arms or legs. She’s an EMT. She’ll have self-assessed. We need to know how much help she’s going to be getting her out.”

  Grant spoke into the radio, listened to Christine’s answer, spoke again. “She’s stiff because she hasn’t been moving,” he relayed, frowning in concentration as he listened for more. “She’s changed position from where she first found herself and doesn’t think she has any spinal injuries. She’s lying across the seat with her head on the passenger side. The window’s up but she can reach the handle. She’s moving very carefully to roll it down now.”

  Max nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

  “Trav!” called Grant. “There’s a tree branch through the windshield.”

  “Okay.” The minute my feet swung free of the cliff, my training kicked in, and I surveyed the truck with an objective eye from my fresh perspective.

  “The damn thing’s barely hanging on,” I called up to Freeman. “We’re only going to get one shot at this.”

  What had started as a mild stinging in my arm, took on the tone of a colony of fire ants. Very angry ones. I gritted my teeth and pushed at the searing agony but with little success. A gallon of morphine might cut the torment. My descent halted.

  “What’s the hold up?” I called out.

  “Just making an adjustment,” answered Max.

  Taking advantage of the delay, I drew in a deep breath and blew it out, clamping down on the burning. After a few breaths, I started moving down again, but the wait had been enough for me to build a mental block against the pain. As I drew even with the passenger window, it became obvious the truck was listing so badly it would be more of a topside extraction than parallel. At least she’d gotten the window down.

  “Christine, I’m out here.” I spoke just loud enough to be heard, keeping my voice even. The angle of approach made seeing inside impossible but according to Grant, I should be near her head. A strong breeze tickled the pine trees and the truck wobbled.

  “Angel?” I kept my tone even as I announced my presence.

  “Still here,” she sang out, her voice a little pitchy.

  I leaned back and caught Max’s attention. “If I touch the truck at all, it’s gone.”

  “Okay, change of plan.” Max lowered another nylon rope, with a clamp and pulley attached above the loop tied on the end. “Drop this through the window and have her loop it under both arms,” he called. “She should be able to do that without moving too much. Once it’s secure, we’ll drag her up and out.”

  It took two tries for me to hit the open window with the rope. Nothing like dangling in the air and wishing my lassoing skills weren’t so rusty. I spoke calmly as I worked to get the rope to her, relaying Freeman’s instructions, reassuring her.

  The moan of stressed metal grew louder and more insistent, as if I needed reminding of the truck’s precarious position. Loose gravel fell from above.

  “Shit!” I shied away from the gravel’s bite on my neck and arms.

  “What’s the matter?” Christine called out from inside the truck. Fear resonated in her voice.

  Before I could respond, a deafening crack sounded and the tree branch gave way. The truck fell another three feet, crashing into the next branch down with the deafening crunch of breaking wood.

  Christine shrieked.

  I eased back into breathing when I saw the branch was holding. “Still there, Angel?”

  She took a moment to answer. “Have I told you I’m terrified of heights?”

  I held onto my objective professionalism until I saw her. Already half out the window, she hadn’t had time to get both arms through the loop. The only thing keeping her from going with the truck was a loop of rope under one arm and her white-knuckled grip on that rope with both hands.

  “Keep holding that rope.” When she nodded, I heaved. Fire shot through my injured arm. I clenched my jaw and breathed through the worst of the pain. Above me, Max cursed and adjusted the pulley system. Steadily, I hauled Christine up. Finally her feet were clear of the truck. Max guided her closer to me.

  “Don’t let go, sweetheart.”

  She held my stare, her eyes huge blue sapphires set in honey colored skin. Then she was at my level and I used the rope to draw her in. She hummed softly but didn’t speak.

  “Shit. Damn it.” My fingers fumbled as I fought to secure her into the dual harness. Finally I slid the clip into place and twisted it closed. “All set!” I called out.

  Max began the process of raising us to the top of the cliff. Christine hummed a little louder and it took me a second to figure out why it sounded familiar.

  “Rock-a-Bye Baby?”

  “Singing keeps me calm. But that’s the only song I could think of.” Her lips curved upward as she put the words to the tune. “When the bough breaks…”

  The branch beneath them cracked and the truck slipped again. Christine angled her head to look downward and shivered, her musical interlude apparently forgotten. “Oh, crap.”

  “Christine! Look up here. Look at me. Don’t look down, don’t think about anything but moving up this cliff with me.”

  She nodded and locked onto my gaze again as she followed each instruction. I kept talking, soothing, encouraging, not knowing exactly what I was saying, but using my voice to keep her attention on me.

  Then Max disappeared over the top. Christine’s hands tightened on my waist, her nails digging into the skin beneath my shirt as she clung to me like a kitten. Grant reached out to help her over the edge of the cliff.

  “You’re okay, Christine. You won’t fall.”

  Very slowly, one hand at a time, she released her hold on me and took Grant’s hands.

  Flat on his belly, Max reached over to assist me, and then I was on the shale. Moving as quickly as my half-dead arm would allow, I scrambled away from the fragile edge.

  Breathing hard, more in relief than with the exertion, I pushed to my feet. At the sound of movement, I spun around. There she was, standing in front of me, tears freely rolling over her cheeks. I brushed a strand of hair behind one ear. “Christine,” I whispered. “Angel.” As I leaned my forehead against hers, the last of my adrenaline drained in a rush, leaving my legs weak. The tears I’d staved off earlier threatened again.

  I pulled her closer into my embrace, sliding my hands along her back and pulling her tightly against me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I couldn’t tell if the sobs that shook us were coming from her or from me. I’d waited so long to hold this woman, my Angel. I might have lost her without ever knowing I’d found her. What had once been an endless spiral of searching had become a closed circle.

  “I’m okay.” She drew back and our gazes collided. She made no move to stem her tears. “I’m fine. Now.”

  “All those years of looking and you were right here. Thank God I found you again.” I took her lips. I’d meant the kiss to be gentle. But she kissed me back fiercely, her hands fisted in my shirt. With a groan, I matched her ferocity, one hand planted in the small of her back, the other sliding through her hair to cup her face.

  I leaned back and noted with satisfaction, the glow of a woman who had been well and truly kissed. Anything else would have to wait.

  Christine’s laugh was weak. “That was a kiss worth waiting seven years for.”

  “Guess I’m starting to do it right.” I smoothed her hair, cupped the back of her neck, pulling back swiftly at her sudden sharp intake of breath. Angling her for a better look, I took in the large purple swelling at the base of her skull, the long jagged cut in the center, the ooze of fresh blood.

  A strong desire to murder Phyllis MacKay settled over me, darkening my soul.

  Lifting her easily, I strode
toward Grant’s truck. “No hospital,” she murmured. “Please.”

  “We’re just going to take you up to Jackson and get you checked out.” She remained firm. “I want to go to the ranch. I want to go home.”

  My arms tightened around her. “Okay, Angel, I’ll take you home.” And if they happened to take a detour up to the hospital in Jackson…

  “Travis, put me down and listen to me. It’s important.” Christine spoke with a sense of urgency as she struggled. “It’s Phyllis. It’s been Phyllis and Robert causing all the problems at the ranch.”

  “I know, honey.” I settled her on her feet, but kept a hand in the small of her back. “She and Robert came up here to finish you off.”

  “You should have stayed away,” sneered Robert from behind me. “I warned you people would get hurt if you didn’t leave.”

  I spun around, shielding Christine with my body.

  But Camryn Sherwood already had Robert MacKay cuffed and on the march toward DC’s patrol car.

  “Exercise your right to remain silent, MacKay,” said the deputy. “Or you’re gonna have an accident that involves needing your jaw wired shut.”

  “Where’s the old lady?” I asked, my fists clenched. “Where’s Phyllis?”

  “She slipped off into the woods,” Cammy said. “Max was tracking her, but I sent him back to help you.”

  “She’s right here.” The grim voice belonged to Reece Pratt, Wanda’s father. As he spoke, he propelled a subdued Phyllis MacKay forward by her arm, twisted tightly behind her back.

  “Christine, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Phyllis’s voice was too pleasant and it didn’t match the crazed look in her eyes. She’d lost and she didn’t seem to know it.

  The woman deserved to be chucked off the cliff. Fists clenched, I took a step in her direction.

  Christine laid a hand on my arm and squeezed, whispering, “Stay with me.”

  Reece shoved Phyllis’s arm higher into her back and her next words were nothing but a strangled garble. A state trooper stepped forward, secured Phyllis with handcuffs, and took custody. A second trooper assisted Robert into the back of his cruiser.

  DC split a glance between me and Christine. “You up to coming in and making a statement?” “She needs a doctor,” I started. But Christine was already nodding her head. “Yeah. She told me things you need to know.” She captured my gaze. “All of you.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Christine

  A TV news truck out of Jackson awaited them at the sheriff’s office.

  “So not ready for any of this,” I muttered.

  Cameras flashed and questions were shouted. I hid my face against Travis’s chest, grateful for the protective arm he threw around my shoulders. Together we pushed through the crowd of reporters and search volunteers, into the sheriff’s office.

  As Travis helped me to a metal folding chair, I caught the aroma of coffee. Toes curling in delight, I pointed at the pot. “I need some of that. Black and extra sweet.”

  Sissy pushed a cup into my hand and I gratefully chugged it down. Its heat coursed through me along with a good caffeine kick.

  On the far side of the room stood Wanda, an apparition in a light pink dress that hung loosely, nearly to her ankles. Her ashy hair looked like wild animals had been nesting in it. Her face was bruised and coated in a layer of dirt, streaked with tears. She was huddled with her son, who also looked like he’d just been in a battle with a grizzly.

  Doc Trent ambled in my direction. He was the cliché of the town doc, had probably delivered many of the residents, and still carried a leather bag filled with medical mystery cures everywhere he went. His steel-gray paintbrush mustache and wide wrinkled face never failed to make me think of a walrus. But his gruff mannerisms hid a heart as big as a continent.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got here.” Gently, he pulled my hair away from the back of my neck. He grunted, poked at it.

  “Ow!” I ducked away from the probing fingers.

  Doc grunted again then went digging in his bag.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” I eyed the old man suspiciously as he rummaged. “I’m fine. I can clean it up when I get home.”

  A movement caught my eye. Travis, finally looking less shocked and more like himself, was trying hard not to laugh. I glared at him through narrowed eyes.

  He ignored my silent warning. “EMT Willow’s not such a good patient. I doubt DC has any Jack Daniels tucked away here. Got a lollipop in that bag, Doc?”

  Smiling, the doctor pulled out an assortment of suckers and handed me an orange one. I looked from the sucker to Travis, then back to the sucker. Sugar won. I unwrapped the candy and popped it into my mouth, moaning as the sweetness washed over my tongue.

  “I’m just going to clean this up a bit. It’s been bleeding, but head wounds tend to do that.”

  “Doc,” I said quietly, focusing on the battered pair across the room,

  “Wanda and Wyatt need you a lot more.”

  “They’ll be going to the hospital as soon as DC’s finished talking to them.” He pulled my hair aside.

  “Someone told me you’re refusing to go anywhere but home. Now lean forward just a bit.” I caught the glint of his scissors and winced, but did as he asked. In the tiny room, it was impossible not to hear what Wanda was saying. I let Doc Trent cut a bit of hair away and clean my wound, distracting myself with unashamed eavesdropping on Wanda’s story.

  “He raped me. Robert.” Wanda’s eyes were dry, but it was obvious she’d been crying. “The night Mac ran off. I was fifteen. I’d never been with anyone before. He told me if I said anything, he would find Mac and kill him. I believed him, so I pretended like nothing happened. And then I found out I was pregnant. By… that. Everyone thought it was Mac’s baby. I wanted an abortion. I didn’t want the baby. Didn’t want any reminder of—” Her chest heaved as she visibly struggled. With a shudder, she continued. “Phyllis went to my mom, begged her to make me have the baby. She said it was a piece of her son. My mother believed it was Mac’s baby. And I couldn’t tell anyone the truth because I was afraid for Mac. I didn’t know where he was, but Phyllis said they did.”

  Stella made a tiny sound of distress, but her husband squeezed her shoulder and she clamped her mouth into a thin line.

  “All finished.” He directed a pointed look at Travis that had me rolling my eyes. “Swing by my office on the way out and have Amanda do a skull series. We’ll go from there.” Then Doc patted me on the hand. “Do you want something for the pain?”

  “No, thanks.” What I wanted was to hear Wanda. I shook my head then wished I hadn’t. But I stood, reaching for Travis’s hand. Together we walked across the room and joined the little group around DC’s desk.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” said Wanda, picking at the fabric of her dress. “They all forced me to marry Bull, to pretend it was Bull’s baby. Even when the town talked, everyone always thought Bull was just doing right by me for his brother. That Mac had abandoned me and his baby.”

  Travis jerked upright.

  “None of this was your fault,” I murmured, threading my arm through the crook of his elbow and drawing him close.

  He nodded, but said nothing. He probably couldn’t, considering the way his jaw was locked, as he breathed rapidly thorough his teeth.

  “But Bull —he …” Wanda’s voice softened. “Bull was nice. When he could be, anyway. When he wasn’t drunk, when his mother wasn’t making him—” She took a deep breath. “And then I had Wyatt and it didn’t matter where he came from. I loved him.”

  Stella was crying openly. Reece looked like he would commit murder, if the MacKays were in the room.

  “Phyllis made me do things by threatening to hurt Wyatt,” said Wanda. “She said she would hurt him and then prove it was me, that I was on drugs. People would think I was an unfit m-mother. She said they’d put me away and she would have my Wyatt. She told people I was crazy. And everyone believed her. Everyone.” She cast
an intense stare at her mother. “I was alone. I was afraid if I left she would find me and take Wyatt away and hurt him. And when he got older, she made him do whatever she wanted by hurting me. He’d do anything to get her to stop.”

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered, sickened.

  Wanda turned toward Grant. “She made my boy do things, bad things, at your ranch. He started the fire because she forced him. I’m so sorry. Please, Grant, please look out for my son. He’s a good boy, and he really likes you.”

  From the door, Cammy caught DC’s attention. “The ambulance is here.”

  As Wyatt was loaded —amid many protests —onto a gurney, Phyllis MacKay’s ramblings began to filter back into my memory. Many of them started to make sense after I heard Wanda’s story. Closing my eyes, I struggled to recall exactly what Phyllis had said.

  A touch on my arm startled me and I blinked to find DC in front of me.

  “Do you think you can give a statement?”

  Wanda and Wyatt were gone, and so were Wanda’s parents. Good. Neither needed to hear what I had to say.

  My voice warbled as I talked. I told them about meeting Phyllis on the road, of being assaulted. “She planned to kill me.”

  Keeping behind me, Travis tightened his arms around my waist, and I covered his hands with my own.

  “She started bragging about all the problems she and Robert had caused the McGees. Phyllis told me they wanted to make a deal with a coal mining company, to sell their open rangeland up in the mountains.”

  As my memory cleared, I added details. DC wrote on his clipboard, his face becoming grimmer with each new revelation. I stopped talking, not sure how to finish. I knew I was about to open wounds that were decades old.

  “What is it, Angel?” asked Travis.

  I twisted to look up at him, clasping his hands in mine and squeezing. I spoke haltingly, with tears streaming, but kept my gaze locked onto his. “It’s about your mom.”

  As I told that part of the story, his face went pale, emphasizing his multicolored bruises. I held onto him, letting him absorb what I’d said. Tremors rolled through him, and he kept shaking his head, as though in denial.