by Toby Neal
Back at the Haven, the door of his bedroom was still closed. She must be tired after her ordeal—but he saw that the level of the coffeepot was lower, his note was gone, and so was the laptop.
Good. He had chores to do, anyway, rather than talk to her.
He unwrapped the cinnamon rolls, put them on a plate, and went out to milk the goats.
On his way to the barn, Pinocchio gave the single bright bark that was the way he greeted Shadow, Roan’s wolf dog.
Roan and Shadow approached down the dirt road. Roan was riding his freckled gray Appaloosa, Adelle. His saddlebags bulged, so he’d come to trade. The threesome walked up to the gate and JT hit the override buttons and let his friend into the compound.
Roan looked like what he was: a man who lived off the land, in the company of his horse and his dog. The fringed buckskins he’d sewed himself were shiny with wear. His shoulder-length, straight black hair was decorated with a small braid and an eagle feather acknowledging his Native American ancestors. Those unnerving gray eyes of his were cool and speculative as they ran over JT.
“You’ve got company,” he said. “And bodies that need burying.”
“Yes to both. You came along at a good time. I could use the help if the sheriff doesn’t call back—and I’m not expecting him to. Come in, get some coffee and a shower while I milk the goats.” JT frowned. “But try not to scare my guest, will you? She’s had a rough twenty-four hours.”
Roan’s black brows shot up. “She? You got a woman in the house?” He said the word like it was “unicorn” or “leprechaun.”
“Survivor off the plane. She’s on her way to DC. Scientist on a mission.” JT tried to convey that it was strictly business by the way he clipped the words.
“Really.” Roan slanted JT a glance and he might even have smiled, though that didn’t happen often enough to tell.
“Just wanted you to have a heads-up, is all. Give her some space. She’s been through a lot and she’s in my bed.”
Roan’s eyebrows went up again, but this time he didn’t comment, just swung down off the mare and loosened her headstall as JT went to the barn, the chorus of loud bleating from the goats and clucking from the hens hurrying his stride.
Hopefully Elizabeth would stay in the bedroom until he got back to the house. He didn’t like the idea of Roan meeting her alone.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth
Elizabeth’s feet sank into the mud as she climbed out of the pond.
When she’d woken and found JT gone, leaving an almost full pot of coffee and his note behind, she’d tried to call her father again with no luck. Without her phone, Elizabeth didn’t have any of her parents, friends, or professional contacts’ numbers. She’d tried the general number on the CDC’s website without success. Elizabeth returned to bed with the laptop open in front of her and clicked refresh on her email for about the hundredth time.
Nothing from her father.
According to news sites, the disease was spreading, the quarantine zone was causing panic-induced riots, and the world was teetering on the edge.
Elizabeth had to do something.
She’d gotten up to pour another cup of coffee and see if JT was back, but the house was still empty.
Where was he? She needed to get on the road!
The pond, visible through the living room windows, sparkled at her in the morning sun. A swim always calmed her mind and helped her think. So, she’d put back on her bra, borrowed a pair of JT’s boxers, found a ball of twine in the kitchen and tied them on tight, and shoved her knife into the cleft of her breasts, then struck out toward the pond.
After thirty minutes of swimming laps in the cool green water, Elizabeth’s mind was clearer but she still didn’t have a solution to her problem.
As she returned to the house, her body still dripping—she’d forgotten a towel—Elizabeth passed the utility shed, its door ajar, and saw the ATV that they’d ridden the day before. The keys were in the ignition.
A possible solution.
Two large, plump cinnamon rolls sat on a plate next to the coffee in the kitchen. So, JT was back. She showered, finding a long strand of grass in her hair, and dressed in JT’s sweats and T-shirt before returning to the kitchen.
She refilled her mug and picked up one of the buns. Yummy. Where had he got these? They looked and smelled homemade. Just as she was about to take a bite, bun poised for insertion, an unfamiliar voice spoke from the kitchen doorway. “Hey.”
Elizabeth jumped and swiveled to face the threat, reaching for her blade, the cinnamon roll flying from her hand.
A tall man stood motionless in the doorway. He was wearing fringed buckskins. A bulging saddlebag slung over his shoulder made him look like something out of a diorama at the Natural History Museum. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Elizabeth kept her hand wrapped around the blade, her fingers warming the mother-of-pearl handle. “Who are you?”
“Roan Winters. JT mentioned you had a rough trip.”
“You just surprised me, is all.” Elizabeth straightened her spine and held the man’s gaze. Roan looked down at the splatted pastry on the floor.
“Sorry.” Roan sauntered down the hall toward the freezer on the back porch. Elizabeth followed him, but he didn’t look back at her as he stepped out onto the porch and lifted the freezer top.
The cryocase was stored there. “Hey!”
Roan glanced through the screen door at her.
“Be careful with what’s in there.”
Roan glanced down. “This your cryocase?”
“Yes, and it’s very important.” Elizabeth stepped out on the porch.
“I won’t mess with it.”
Elizabeth studied his profile: strong jawline, straight, elegant nose, dark, shapely brows. But he was missing that thing that JT had, what was it? Just that he’d saved her life? That smell he had. JT smelled like safety and danger—sandalwood and soap, exotic and familiar.
“How’s your coolant reservoir holding up?” Roan asked.
Elizabeth had checked it before her swim. Unscrewing the lid, she’d pulled out the center tube which held the vials of cells and found that the liquid nitrogen was evaporating. Keeping it in the freezer was a stopgap until someone came to get her.
“I’m going to be in DC before I need a refill. Do you know if JT got hold of the police?”
Roan took wrapped packets out of his saddle bag, placing them in the freezer. Elizabeth smelled fresh meat—probably some kind of game.
“He didn’t say. If you packed it yesterday, you’ve got, what? Four days left?”
“Right. How do you know that?”
He grunted in lieu of a reply. His bag empty, Roan closed the freezer and headed back inside. He was certainly comfortable in JT’s house. Elizabeth stood on the porch and watched him walk down the hall and out the front door.
Mr. Gruff’s best friend was Mr. Grunt. Elizabeth was stuck in the backwoods of Idaho for the end of the world with a prepper farmer and a man who hadn’t got the memo it was the twenty-first century. Elizabeth scanned the property and her eyes settled on the shed where JT’s quad was parked.
She’d looked at a map online, and while she didn’t know JT’s address, she had a general idea of where she was from looking at satellite images. North Fork was about ten miles away. There weren’t many roads, and Elizabeth was sure that she could find her way there. The police in town would help her—they’d have to, when they heard her story.
Back in the kitchen, Elizabeth picked up the ruined pastry and cleaned the icing off the floor. She was cutting off the top section of the cinnamon bun, which had picked up a few Pinocchio hairs, when the front door opened. JT walked into the kitchen, his boots still on, tracking mud behind him. “You okay?”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Yes, why?”
“Roan said he spooked you.”
Elizabeth’s face warmed and she returned her attention to the bun.
“I h
aven’t heard from my father. So, I was hoping you’d give me a ride into town?”
She stole a glance at him. JT’s gaze settled on her face. His eyes were gorgeous, a warm brown with gold, green, and even blue flecks.
Elizabeth’s skin tingled under his scrutiny. It wasn’t fear, though—was this attraction? She hadn’t done anything but focus on her studies in so long that she wasn’t sure.
She needed coffee. That was it. Where had she left it? She turned too quickly and knocked the mug off the counter with her elbow, sending the full cup off the edge, and splashing liquid across the floor. The mug rolled toward JT’s feet.
“Oh damn!” Elizabeth grabbed the paper towels she’d just used to clean up the fallen cinnamon bun and dropped to her knees, soaking up the spill. JT squatted next to her, placing his big hand over hers, halting her. His warmth both soothed and heated.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
She couldn’t look at him. “I have to go.” She said it quickly, pulling her hand out from under his. “Don’t you understand how important it is that I go? You need to take me to town.”
“I’ve got to bury those bodies before I do anything else.” JT stood abruptly and walked to the door. Without looking back at her he spoke again. “You can have the other bun. I don’t like things too sweet.”
“Bury those bodies!” she yelled at his back. He turned, his brows raised. “The longer it takes me to get to DC, the more bodies there are going to be to bury. Do you get that?” Elizabeth reached into her pocket and gripped the knife. “Please. You have to take me to town. I need to speak with the police.”
“I went into town early and spoke with the sheriff. There is nothing he can do for you right now.”
Elizabeth’s throat closed—terror and tears constricting her voice and breath.
JT turned back toward the door and his footsteps echoed down the hall. The front door banged shut. JT and Roan headed out the front gate on the quad, towing a small trailer, with Pinocchio riding in his basket.
Elizabeth was alone, stuck in the middle of nowhere. She picked up the phone. Still busy. No one was coming to retrieve the remains of the pilots? That didn’t seem possible.
They’d taken the quad, and it was too far to walk to town. When they got back, she needed to steal that thing and get on the road. JT might have saved her life, but he was turning out not to be much of a hero after all.
Elizabeth checked her email obsessively. Melody wrote back, a long email with lots of exclamation points.
“You were in a plane crash? OMG! I hope you are ok! This flu is terrifying! My commercial is running long because the crew is getting sick, and I’m getting worried! What’s up with the hottie who saved your life? I know you didn’t say he was hot. But I can tell :)”
Elizabeth wrote back:
“Mel, you need to get home and stay there.” Melody lived in an apartment in Malibu, which was well-populated but not as bad as an urban center. “Please don’t go out to eat, shop, anything. Don’t go where people gather. This flu is really dangerous, and things are only going to get worse.”
“The guy who saved me is named JT. Yeah, he’s hot. But he’s also refusing to help me get on the road—I think he’s a paranoid prepper jerk and it sucks. I have to get to DC and he’s not helping. I’m going to have to figure something out. Be safe. Xoxo, Lizzie.”
It took the two men hours to bury the bodies. Elizabeth hid in the bedroom when they returned, staying out of the way while Roan and JT showered before leaving again.
Elizabeth went onto the back porch and eyed the quad, back in its shed. Her eyes scanned the area; the neatly planted fields in the foreground looked even more orderly compared to the jagged dark teeth of the mountains in the distance, marking the edge of the Targhee National Forest and Yellowstone. The sun was setting, casting a pink glow over the closely trimmed front yard.
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth marveled at how sweet the air was here. She closed her eyes to listen to the birds singing and the bugs vibrating. The calming mantra her therapist had taught her after the attack filled her mind: so hum, so hum, so hum.
When Elizabeth opened her eyes, Roan was standing in front of her. She jumped, terror washing over her.
“Sorry.” He might almost have smiled.
Oh no.
The world began to spin as Elizabeth reached out to hold onto the porch rail. She couldn’t breathe—there were remembered fingers around her neck, tightening, cutting off her air supply, even as she hyperventilated, sucking air in frantic pants.
She was having a panic attack. She hadn’t had one in so long; she’d thought those were over. Her hand was shaking so badly she couldn’t get it into her pocket, couldn’t get to her knife!
Roan loomed in front of her, grabbing her bicep, holding her up. She wrenched away—or tried to, but she just collapsed, her knees buckling. Roan caught her, easing her down onto the porch.
Let go of me! Don’t touch me! She couldn’t tell if she screamed the words aloud, or if they just reverberated inside her head. Her heart was pounding like a taiko drum, filling her ears with a roaring noise.
“Hey!” JT’s voice. “Give her some space!” Roan let go, and Elizabeth dropped onto her side, nausea pooling in her gut, gasping as she curled into a ball on the hard wooden boards. The two men stepped back from her. JT was frowning in concern as she forced herself to swallow, willed her throat to open.
She gripped the knife through the sweatpants, her hand too out of control to get into the pocket, but the feel of it under her hand helped. She calmed her breathing with an effort, counting in her head, and her heart began to slow. Sweat trickled into her eyes as she raised them to look at JT.
“You have to take me to town. Please.” Elizabeth wheezed. “I can’t stay here. I have to get those cells to Washington!” The attack was passing, mercifully, but she had to make them understand. “Do you hear me?” She looked up at the two men. “I have to get to DC. I have to, it’s a matter of life and death!” She was yelling now—just like her father. Tears blurred her vision and slid down her face. She was crying—just like her mother. “Please. For everyone.”
She was begging—Elizabeth would do anything to get the cells to DC. She gripped the knife tighter, steadying the shaking of her hand.
Anything.
Chapter Eight
JT
Elizabeth was having a full-blown panic attack on his porch. She lay in the fetal position on her side, her legs folded up, one hand gripping her thigh, the other wrapped around her upper body. He wished he could touch her, comfort her, but Roan’s proximity was what had set her off. She was vibrating—every muscle on her body in motion. Her jaw chattered as she yelled at them. Her body heaved as she sucked in labored breaths.
“Well. She needs ice for the cryocase,” Roan said, his voice calm and even. “Your meat freezer isn’t enough to keep those cells alive, and it does appear the flu is getting to be a real issue.”
JT dragged his gaze off Elizabeth and turned it to Roan.
“You might want to get her there. And if you won’t, I will.”
“What? On that flea-bitten nag?” JT snorted. He wasn’t being fair to the powerful Appaloosa, an Arabian quarter horse cross that Roan could ride all day without a break.
“Adelle never runs out of gas and gets me where I want to go. If the lady needs a ride . . . ”
Something a lot like jealousy jabbed JT’s gut at the thought of Elizabeth, arms and legs wrapped around Roan, bareback on his horse as they galloped into town.
No way was Elizabeth going to town with Roan. Ever.
“What I need is to get these cells to the CDC in Washington. Can you two help me with that or not?” Elizabeth’s voice was still breathy. Her face was pale but her blue eyes were steely with resolve even as she struggled to control obviously debilitating anxiety.
“Planes are grounded, so someone will have to drive you. If Roan will look after the place, I’ll take you as far
as Philadelphia.” He could use this excuse to try one last time to get his family out to the Haven.
“And we’ll leave tonight?” Elizabeth pushed.
JT nodded. What the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, as Mama used to say.
“Thank you.” She rubbed at her thigh. “Good.”
“Can I help you up?” Judging from the way she’d reacted to Roan grabbing her, Elizabeth didn’t want to be touched—which was a shame. He wanted to pick her up, hold her head on his chest, and stroke that long, silky-looking blonde hair while he told her that everything was going to turn out fine—but even he didn’t believe that.
“I’m okay. I just need a few minutes.” She nodded, as if trying to convince herself. “I’ll be ready to go whenever you are.”
JT headed for the barn. Roan had not said a word, so as they entered the barn, he turned to his friend. “Roan. I need you to stay here and look after things.”
“Do I look like a farmer?” Roan snorted. “I’m sure you can find someone better from town.”
“There’s no one I trust. I’ve been trying to get my family out here, and now that SHTF is really happening . . . “
“Oh, how noble,” Roan’s voice was rich with sarcasm. “That’s a good reason to leave your homestead and drive all the way to Philly. Getting the family. That’s what this is about.”
JT’s voice sharpened defensively. “I’ve been trying to get them to come for a while, but Mama loves her neighborhood and her friends, and my brothers all have lives and don’t listen to me. My sister—don’t get me started on her. But this plague is the real deal, and if those cells are what E says they are, she really needs to get there.”
“E? You’re calling her E now? God save me from women. More trouble than a pack of wolves in January.” Roan caught a hard look from JT. “I mean, most women are trouble.”
JT reached into his pocket and touched the rings. He nodded, acknowledging Roan’s semi-apology. Not all women were trouble—some were wonderful. The right one could make the world burn brighter, but if lost, that same world fell into shadow. JT understood why Roan avoided women, but he’d never be sorry for his marriage to Mary. It had been brief, happy, and had ended with a double funeral—but he’d never regret it. Even at his lowest, alone in their apartment, surrounded by her clothing and the half-finished nursery, JT had been able to remember Mary’s bright smile, quick wit, and sensual touch. He’d known what it was to be deeply loved, even if for a short time.
