by A. Gardner
“Two,” I replied. My muscles flexed, and a surge of energy ran through my veins, making my arms and legs tingle. Show time. “Three!”
I yelled and lifted the trunk with all of my might. Miso barked, and I was grateful. His barking drowned out the sound of Patrick’s screams. I felt the tree trunk move. I knew I was alleviating some of the pressure on Patrick’s legs, but I didn’t know how much or if it was enough.
My hands started to feel numb.
The cut on my shoulder stung even more.
I shouted a warning as I slowly lowered the trunk back down, my arms and legs feeling like jelly. I pulled my hands away from the trunk and opened my eyes. Miso immediately tried to lick my wounds. Splinters stuck out of my palms and patches of redness had sprung up all over my wrists and hands.
“Well, that really sucked.” Patrick paused to catch his breath.
I examined the damage. He’d managed to pull one of his legs free, but the other one was still trapped. My eyes searched his jeans for any sight of blood. It was hard to see any damage with his pants covering his shins.
“You got one leg free,” I commented, relieved that my effort hadn’t yielded zero results.
“Yeah, but I can’t move it.” He took another long breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “And my other foot is caught under there real good.”
“I’ll try again.” I gently clasped my hands together, feeling guilty for cringing as my tender palms touched each other. My pain was nothing compared to Patrick’s.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay. Just mentally preparing.”
After a minute of recovery, I positioned myself to lift the trunk again. My wrists and hands felt like balls of fire as I pressed my wounds back into the jagged bark of the dead and broken tree. I repeated the same process as before, counting to three and then alleviating as much weight as I could while Patrick tried to pull himself free.
“Better?” I stopped and caught my breath.
“Again,” Patrick insisted.
I repeated the process two more times. Each time, it was less and less gut-wrenching to hear Patrick cry out in pain. I knew that each scream meant he was a little closer to freedom. Miso continued barking, and I prayed that someone in the area would hear it. But I didn’t know how much time had passed since Wade and the others had rushed Jenna down the mountain. I also didn’t know what to expect from the weather.
My hands were bloodied just as much as my shoulder as I dug into the dirt beneath Patrick’s foot. It was the last bit of his lower body that was still trapped, and Miso helped me claw deeper and deeper into the soil. Patrick gripped his calf and pulled, shouting the entire time.
He lay back in the dirt when he was finally free.
“And you wanted me to go and get help,” I teased. Joking was the only way I could stop myself from falling apart. The sun was covered with storm clouds, I had no idea what time it was, and although Patrick was free, he couldn’t walk. There was no telling what state his legs were in.
“Essie, I’m in big trouble here,” he said softly, staring up at the gray clouds overhead. “My legs—”
“Are still attached,” I finished. “And you can sit up, which means your back isn’t broken. I think you were lucky.”
“I tried to move.” He inhaled deeply and balled his hands into fists. “I heard the snap. I knew that sucker was coming down. I tried to move, but I wasn’t quick enough.”
“You were quick enough to move most of your body,” I pointed out. “You also saved me.”
Patrick’s eyes softened when he looked at me.
Miso sniffed Patrick’s feet and legs and then moved on to his backpack. A gust of wind made me freeze in place as a snowflake hit my nose. I glanced up at the sky. It wasn’t freezing enough for the snow to stick but it was cold enough for a blanket of flurries to spread across the mountains and meadows.
“Snow,” Patrick muttered. “I knew it. It’s mocking me. Reminding me that I can’t board Pinecliffe Mountain until the winter.” He glanced down at his legs. “Maybe ever.”
“Let’s go.” I wiped my hands on my shirt. They still stung, and I was pretty sure I’d pushed a handful of splinters even deeper into my skin. I didn’t have time to doctor myself. I had to get Patrick back to the campsite and somewhere where my cell phone could pick up a signal. “I don’t care if I have to drag you all the way back to town.”
“Sounds painful.” He pointed to his backpack. “I have one of those thin weather blankets in there. You can drag me with that.” He sat up as best he could and shifted his body closer to me. He immediately lay back down and howled from the pain.
“I’ll get it,” I said, digging through his bag. Another snow flurry hit my arm followed by another and another. I scrambled to lay the blanket out and help Patrick move his body onto it. I didn’t wait a second longer to grab the top two corners and drag the blanket back the way we came. I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. There were plenty of rocks and fallen branches in our path.
Patrick grabbed a stick to bite down on.
Miso trotted along behind us. Watching him sniff the ground and continue wagging his tail helped me stay sane. He shook off the fluffy snowflakes that dropped onto his midnight mane. The flurries covered Patrick and me, making our path back to the campsite wet and muddy.
I didn’t care. If anything, the mud made it easier for me to pull the blanket around obstacles. I focused on one step at a time, breathing as steadily as I could and ignoring the pulsing and stinging in my hands that had started crawling up my forearms. I was Patrick’s only chance at getting the help he needed.
“For the record, I know what Aunt Flo means,” Patrick mumbled, forcing the words out of his mouth. “I was being politely ignorant. You ladies and your codes.”
I laughed, the sound of his voice like music to my ears. “How often are you politely ignorant around me?”
“Oh, all the time.” He grunted as I pulled the blanket over another pile of scattered rocks. “I’ve become an expert at it.”
“Well, your ignorance is appreciated,” I responded.
“That’s something only you would say.” He chuckled—another joyous sound that helped me see the light at the end of the tunnel. The muscles in my arms burned and every step I took felt heavy. I was losing steam fast, and I couldn’t hear the river yet.
Keep going. You have no choice. You have to keep going.
“Have I ever told you about the time Miso stole a peanut butter sandwich from a five-year-old?”
“Now you’re just trying to distract me.” His voice was faint. I pushed myself to pick up the pace.
“Is it working?” I gulped, eagerly waiting for him to answer. He repeatedly blinked as if forcing himself to stay awake.
“Yes,” he breathed.
“Good.” I raised my voice, hoping he would be able to hang on a little longer by holding onto my words. “Because Miso caused a peanut butter and jelly apocalypse. We were walking at Lake Loxley, and a family was picnicking off of the trail. He got away from me and bam. He’d swiped some kid’s lunch right out of his hands.”
“Sounds about right,” Patrick answered.
“I have more,” I added. “Miso is a very special dog.”
I ran through as many stories about Miso as I could think of. All of them involved him misbehaving in some way and someone telling me off for it. I’d concluded that Miso was going through his terrible twos and might be stuck in that stage for the rest of his doggy life.
“We should buy a farm.” Patrick breathed heavily. He closed his eyes and then opened them again.
I’m losing him.
“We?” I repeated.
“Uh-huh.” His words came out like soft whispers. “We.”
I took a few more steps, the sounds of a trickling river filling my eardrums.
“Patrick, we made it!” I dragged the blanket to the riverbank. “Patrick?”
His eyes were closed.
I looked across the river. The ca
mpsites were empty, but Wade’s Camaro was waiting for us. All I had to do was figure out a way to carry Patrick across the river without falling myself. My mind raced as I thought of all of the things that could go wrong. I saw my way out, but rushing water stood in my way of getting Patrick to a hospital. My best chance at making it to the other side was carrying him across. But he weighed more than me.
My odds of succeeding weren’t very high.
I knew that.
Miso whined as I dipped a toe in the river. It was colder than it had been the night before. The fluffy snowflakes falling from the sky also meant that the temperature had dropped significantly over the past few hours. I’m screwed.
Miso barked.
My eyes focused on something across the river.
A figure.
A man.
“You folks need some help?” the man shouted. Bits of snow had frosted his bushy beard, but there was no mistaking who it was—Ralph Williams, the sheriff’s brother. The man I wasn’t supposed to talk to but also the man who had been looking for me.
I took a deep breath. “Yes. My boyfriend is unconscious.”
Chapter 21
“Not this guy again.”
Wade huffed as he clenched Joy’s hand even tighter.
“Babe,” Joy muttered, glancing at the state of Ralph’s muddy hiking boots and wild beard. And the white walls and white floors only made him stand out even more.
“You better not have put a single scratch on my baby or I’ll—”
“I drove,” I cut in, placing a bandaged hand on my chest. Miso stood between us. His coat looked rougher than Martha Millbreck after one of her dreaded laser hair removal appointments that she had gone on about for weeks. “Did you come here to see Patrick or toss around insults?”
“Essie, you do remember this guy, right?” Wade narrowed his eyes, glaring in Ralph’s direction. “He’s the tommy who stole from the gift shop, and—”
“Saved my behind in the silver mines,” I finished. “I guess I can add something else to that list because if Ralph hadn’t helped me, Patrick might be dead.”
Wade fell silent, his shoulder-length hair still damp from the snow flurries that had blanketed the Rockies. After Ralph had helped me across the river, we’d driven as far down the mountain as we could until we got a cell phone signal. I’d made the call, and Patrick had been rushed to the nearest hospital in an ambulance. I’d driven Wade’s Camaro with nothing but my anxiety and Ralph Williams to keep me company. It had been a strangely silent ride.
“I guess we should see him before the whole town arrives,” Wade replied.
“Yeah, sorry, Essie.” Joy shrugged. “I ran into Mrs. Tankle at the gas station right after you called me. Patrick’s accident will probably make the front page.”
“At least his parents already know.” I sighed, trying not to picture the look on his mother’s face when I’d told her and her husband that Patrick had been rushed to the emergency room. There was still no word from his doctor if his legs would fully recover. It was too early to tell.
“Do you need anything, sis?” Joy placed a hand on my shoulder. The hair. It’s gotta be the hair.
“I could use a cold one,” Wade cut in. He quickly wiped the smirk from his face when Joy clenched her jaw.
“I’m fine. Just tired. I'll join you two in a minute.”
I took a deep breath. Joy nodded and pulled Wade down the hall to see Patrick even though he wasn’t awake yet. Miso wagged his tail as he watched them go. He hadn’t jumped up on Wade or Joy once which meant that he was also in need of a good night’s sleep. I didn’t know if I’d be able to sleep without the help of over-the-counter magic. I couldn’t get the image of Patrick pinned underneath a tree out of my head.
“That’s probably my cue to leave.” The raspy state of Ralph’s voice made me think the sheriff was standing right next to me. But Ralph was a little leaner than his big brother. He also smelled like a campfire.
“What has the town got against you anyway?” I’d lost track of time. I was exhausted, and my clothes were covered in mud and blood stains. I was losing my filter.
“Not the town,” he corrected me. “My brother.”
“That’s right,” I blurted out. “He told me not to talk to you.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Ralph chuckled, a sound that somehow settled my churning stomach. “He’s probably right too. I’m a bad influence I guess.”
“And yet you have this uncanny talent of being in the right place at the right time,” I added.
“I’m a Williams.” He stroked the tip of his beard the way his brother often stroked his mustache. “We’re handy folks. Resourceful. Observant.” He studied my expression very carefully. I touched the bandage on my shoulder.
“You never told me what you were doing so far up the mountain.”
“Camping,” he automatically responded.
“With no gear?”
“I left it back at my campsite,” he said, running his tongue over the front of his teeth. Miso sniffed his boots and dirty jeans before sitting quietly at my feet.
“How did you know I needed help?” I couldn’t help it. The odds of him being near Wade’s special spot so early in the morning were slim to none. Ralph was hiding something, and I doubted he’d spill the truth.
“I didn’t.”
“So, you happened to be passing our campsite at the perfect moment,” I continued.
“Just accept that I was there to help you when you needed it most, Gwenessa.” My full name flowed from his mouth all too easily. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up. Ralph patted his nearest pocket. “I need a smoke.”
“And all of those times you went to my apartment,” I blurted out. “Yeah. My landlady saw you.”
Ralph pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slyly covered it as a nurse walked past us.
“She must have been mistaken,” he quietly stated.
“Doubt it. She loves a good scandal.”
“Fine,” he muttered, gritting his teeth. “Fine. I don’t normally go around knocking on doors, but I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve lost me.”
“The silver mines,” he whispered. “That crazy woman with a knife? That sort of stuff don’t make for good dreams.”
“I have a noise machine and scented candles.”
“Tough girl.” He chuckled to himself as he pulled out a lighter. “But you can’t deny that our adventure in the mines left a mark.”
“Look, I’m grateful for what you did,” I responded. “Today and last month. But, please, smoke that outside.”
“Are you always such a firecracker?” He shoved the lighter back in his pocket.
“Actually, no. You just catch me at my weakest.” I crossed my arms. I felt obligated to be as nice as I could since he’d helped me save Patrick’s life, but Ralph didn’t make it easy. Getting information from him was like getting Mrs. Tankle to stop acquiring new cats—pretty much impossible.
“You’re still standing so I guess my job here is done.” He cleared his throat. Miso perked up his head as Ralph moved toward the exit.
“Job?” I repeated. “I don’t get it.”
“Figure of speech, sweetheart.”
“Well, I would appreciate it if you would do your lurking somewhere else from now on.”
“You sound just like the sheriff.” A sly smirk crossed his face, and his eyes lit up when he looked at me. He was difficult to read. He’d stayed silent the entire car ride, wandered the hospital corridors while Patrick was being stabilized, and now he was acting like he knew me.
“Maybe I should have taken his advice.”
Ralph stopped in his tracks. He took a step closer—close enough for me to smell a hint of cinnamon on his breath. His face was even more weathered up close, but his eyes were lively. I tried to imagine what he looked like clean shaven and well dressed. Unrecognizable and ten years younger.
“I’m not the man you think I am.” He rested a calloused hand on his chest. “I know what people around here say about me. It’s one of the reasons I left town back in the eighties.”
“What about the other reasons?” My heart sank as I imagined Murray as a newborn baby. Ralph had left him to be raised by the sheriff, and part of me would never be able to sympathize with his decision. I’d been abandoned too—a child of adoption.
“I’m not proud of those reasons,” he responded.
“Back in the mines, you told me you fathered a love child with—”
“Yes, I remember.” He reached out and covered my lips. “Keep your voice down. I’ve kept the Westons’ secrets quiet all of these years, and I intend to honor that promise I made to Hannah.”
“The sheriff told me everything,” I admitted.
Ralph froze in place, his eyes wider than a deer in headlights. “He did?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Essie, I can explain everything,” he replied, his demeanor changing in an instant. His expression no longer reeked with smugness and he hung his shoulders, studying my every move.
“Explain it to your son,” I mumbled. “Or, on second thought, don’t. Murray is perfectly happy living in the dark, and the sheriff and Sharla have been great parents to him.”
“The sheriff told you I have a son?”
“He does occasionally talk,” I commented. “He’s not always a total grump when he’s had his coffee.”
“He has secrets of his own, Essie. Don’t be fooled.”
Miso focused on someone down the hall and leaped up with excitement. Clementine rushed toward me wearing a tangerine blouse that forced me to smile. A cloud of floral perfume reached me before she had the chance to give me an enormous hug.
“Oh, I came as soon as I could get away from the inn,” she exclaimed. “Oh, Patrick, bless his heart. How did this happen? Have you heard any news about his legs? Does he need surgery? His mother is on pins and needles waiting for my phone call. She’s having a down day, as we call it.”
“He’s okay,” I answered. “Not much information yet about his legs, but he’s stable. I’m just waiting for him to wake up.”