by Hope White
“Then we’ll get gear and come back.”
“Are you nuts?” the husky voice challenged. “By tomorrow his body will be torn apart by wild animals. Done.”
“He’s gonna want proof.”
“Wait, what’s this?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Had they found something that exposed Bree’s hiding place?
“Blood,” the husky-voiced man said.
“I told you I nailed him.”
“There, it leads over the side.”
“You think he’s down there?”
Bree closed her eyes and prayed they weren’t looking directly down at the plateau. She couldn’t be sure that she and Mr. Blue Eyes were completely hidden from view.
“Look down there.”
Bree’s mind cataloged everything she had in her backpack: water, snacks, compass, map, fire starter, extra clothes and first-aid kit. Wasn’t there something she could use to defend herself?
“I don’t see anything,” the husky voice said.
Blue Eyes groaned, gripping his injured arm.
“Shh,” she soothed as best she could, considering the terror filling her chest.
“Did you hear that?”
Silence rang in Bree’s ears. She waited. Patted the wounded man’s forehead, hoping her touch would soothe him, quiet him.
“You’re imagining things,” the husky voice said.
“I’m not imagining that blood.”
“He went over the edge and hit bottom.”
“Or he’s right down there.”
“Where?”
Bree stilled. They’d figured it out.
With unusual calm, she dug quietly in her pack, her hands searching for something, anything she could use as a weapon.
Rely on yourself and only yourself. That had been her mantra for at least six months following her breakup with Thomas. It had been an isolated existence, but good training for emergency situations.
Like this one.
“You want to go down there and check?” the husky voice said. “Go ahead. I didn’t hear anything.”
“Then you need to get your hearing checked.”
Bree’s fingers grazed across her snack bag and water bottle, then brushed across the canister of pepper spray she’d purchased after the mugging.
It was dumb luck that she’d forgotten to take it out of her backpack after moving back to the country. She slipped it out and put her finger on the button.
Calmed her breathing.
Prepared herself for the worst. Although she had martial arts training, this small area wasn’t the ideal space to spar with a violent man.
“You got rope?” a male voice said.
“It’s not that far,” Husky countered. “But I think you’re wasting your time.”
Bree’s pulse sped up. Her heart pounded against her chest.
She could do this. She could defend herself and Mr. Blue Eyes from his attackers.
You naive little country girl, Thomas’s words haunted her.
“Emily,” Blue Eyes whispered.
“I heard it,” Husky said. “Go get him.”
Bree held her breath and prayed.
TWO
With a shaky finger on the canister, Bree reminded herself to breathe. Would there be enough pepper spray to immobilize two men if they both came down?
I can do this. I am a strong woman.
The echo of barking dogs sparked relief in Bree’s chest. The SAR team was closing in on her location.
“Wait, listen. Dogs, a pack of them,” the husky-voiced guy said.
“Wild dogs?”
“No, idiot, search-and-rescue dogs. I saw their van at the trailhead. We’ve gotta get out of here.”
“What about—”
“Forget it. Let’s go.”
A few minutes passed, silence ringing in Bree’s ears. The gunmen weren’t coming down to investigate; she and Blue Eyes were safe for the time being. Now, to make sure he didn’t lose too much blood while they waited to be rescued.
The thought snapped her into action. She radioed her position to Grace and dug in her pack for her first-aid kit.
“Grace, the victim will need medical assistance, over,” Bree said.
“What’s his condition, over?”
“Head injury and gunshot wound. I can deal with the head injury, over.”
She pulled out an antiseptic wipe and winced as she cleaned the man’s head wound. It was pretty bad and would probably need stitches. In the meantime she applied a butterfly bandage.
His eyes fluttered open. “Who...are you?”
“Breanna, but you can call me Bree.”
“Bree...anna,” he whispered and his eyes fluttered shut.
“Now comes the hard part,” she said to herself. His arm. She’d taken first-aid classes, sure, but a gunshot wound wasn’t exactly standard practice.
“Bree, this is Trevor. How’s his airway and breathing, over?”
“Seems okay. He’s in and out of consciousness. He suffered a head injury, but I’m more worried about the gunshot wound to his arm, over.”
“Apply pressure to slow the bleeding,” Trevor said. “If it’s a through-and-through apply it to both entry and exit wounds. If he goes into shock, cover him up if his skin’s cold or remove outer gear if he’s hot, over.”
“Thanks, over.”
“We’re a few minutes away. Hang in there, over.”
“I’m actually about five feet below the trail, over.”
“Copy that,” Trevor said.
Bree refocused on tending her patient. She pulled out two spare T-shirts and a scarf. She slid his jacket off, and ripped the material away from his wound, which wasn’t as bad as she’d originally thought. It looked as though the bullet had grazed the skin of his upper arm, but didn’t pass through his flesh. She wrapped one of the shirts around his arm and secured it with the scarf.
Rinsing blood from her hands with water and antiseptic, she caught herself humming, a coping mechanism she’d developed to stay calm. Only now did she realize what she’d done: saved a man’s life, and her own, from armed gunmen.
Up to this point she’d been going through the motions in a detached state, as if she were watching a movie. She’d felt this kind of detachment before. It had been a tool to numb herself to a brutal, violent scene. And there were plenty of those when she’d dated Thomas.
“No reason to think about that,” she said, shaking off the unpleasant memories.
Right now, at this moment in time, she was okay, the stranger was relatively okay, and help was close. She could fully freak out and process all this later when she got back to her cottage at the resort.
She pressed the back of her hand against the man’s cheek to determine if he was going into shock.
“You’re cold, all right.” She pulled a thermal blanket out of her pack and covered him up. “Hang in there, buddy. Help’s on the way.”
* * *
The most beautiful sound floated across his mind.
The sound of a woman humming.
She hummed a familiar Christmas song, only he couldn’t remember the title. He cracked open his eyes but all he could see through blurred vision was a bright mass of gold.
“Hey there,” she said.
He thought she smiled but couldn’t tell for sure. Her voice sounded throaty, yet feminine, and he wanted to hear more of it.
“I...” is all he could get out.
“You’re going to be okay.”
She was wrong, of course. He knew she was wrong, yet he couldn’t explain why. They were both in serious danger and had to get out of here.
“Trip...”
“I would have
tripped too if I’d been chased by those goons,” she said.
“Have to...go.” He struggled to sit up but a firm hand pressed against his chest.
A firm, yet calming hand placed directly over his heart. “It’s okay. Those guys are gone. We’re safe and help is coming.”
He believed her. He didn’t know why. He was not the type of man to trust easily or believe strangers, especially not a woman.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He blinked a few times, struggling to make her face come into focus.
“My name?” he said.
“I’m Bree, remember?”
He didn’t remember Bree, he didn’t remember much of anything.
“I can’t... Don’t remember.”
“Not even your name?”
He shook his head, exhaling a quick breath of panic.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Her soft warm hand stroked his cheek in a soothing gesture. He closed his eyes, fighting to remember who he was, where he was from and why he was here with this woman.
“You’ve probably got a concussion. With a little time it will come back to you.” She ran her fingers down his hairline to his jaw. Once, twice. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.
But it wouldn’t be okay, not unless he... What? What was he supposed to do?
Blinking his eyes open, his gaze landed on her smile. His vision was clearing. That had to be a good sign, right? This view was definitely a good thing. A beautiful woman stared down at him, offering a warm and caring smile. She wasn’t glamorous like a cover model. She was adorable, a girl-next-door type of beautiful you read about in novels but wondered if they really existed.
“Your eyes look better,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his face.
He wanted to beg her to continue the nurturing gesture, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Begging a woman for anything felt wrong, and downright stupid.
“I can see you,” he said.
“That’s awesome. How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”
“Pain?”
“Your arm, your head?”
“Were we...hiking together?”
“No, I was out here for a search-and-rescue training mission and saw you fall.”
“I fell?”
“Yes.”
He struggled to remember why he’d come out here in the first place. His gaze drifted beyond the woman to the brilliant shades of green surrounding them. It was so peaceful out here, so serene.
“One to ten?” she prompted.
He redirected his attention to her. “What?”
“Your pain?”
“Seven?”
“There’s no wrong answer. Just be honest and it will all work out.”
Honest? Was she kidding?
“That bad, huh?” she said.
“What?”
“The pain. You made a face like someone shoved a lemon in your mouth.”
“Yeah, I guess it hurts,” he said, concerned that she was able to read him so easily.
“Well, it’ll probably get worse before it gets better. We’re going to have to lift you out of here and carry you down the trail to an ambulance.”
“No hospital.” He’d be an easy target for sure. But for whom?
“Sorry, Blue Eyes, but a gunshot wound warrants a trip to the E.R., and probably a meet-and-greet from the local police.”
“But—”
“Save your strength.”
She placed her hand against his chest again, this time gently patting him in a rhythm that soothed him into a state of relaxation. His eyes drifted shut.
* * *
Pain speared down his arm to his fingertips.
“Ah, God,” he breathed.
But God couldn’t help him, not after everything he’d done.
“Take it easy,” a woman’s stern voice said. “You’re hurting him.”
It was the blonde from before. What was her name again?
He opened his eyes. Struggled to focus. But everything seemed to bounce around him. The sky, the trees, the blonde beauty.
“Hey, Blue Eyes,” she said. “We’re almost there.”
He wanted to reach out but his arms were bound to a board of some kind. He must have looked panicked because she slid her hand into his and squeezed.
“We had to secure you to the litter so you’d remain as still as possible. We don’t want you losing any more blood than necessary. Okay?” She smiled.
“Okay,” he thought he said. Closed his eyes. Listened to the conversation around him.
“Why can’t they send a helo?” the woman said.
“No place to land up here. The ambulance is waiting,” a male voice answered.
“I’m afraid he’s losing too much blood.”
“His vitals are good.”
“Will they—”
“Bree, take a breath. He’s alive. You’re alive. All is well.”
* * *
Something pinched his arm. He opened his eyes. “What, ouch.”
“Hello, Mr. Smith,” a young female paramedic said. “I’ll call you Mr. Smith because we couldn’t find any identification and it seems more dignified than calling you Mr. Blue Eyes.” She sneered at the cute blonde woman standing on the other side of him.
Her name, he desperately needed to remember the blonde’s name.
“Are you allergic to any medications?” the paramedic asked.
“I don’t...think so.”
“Can you tell me what day it is?”
His gazed drifted past her to the lush forest in the distance. They were outside, surrounded by green. How did he get here again?
“Sir?”
He glanced at the paramedic, a twenty-something brunette with a tattoo of a butterfly on her neck. “It’s daytime.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
He glanced at the blonde beauty. She offered an encouraging smile. It didn’t help.
“How about your name?” the paramedic said.
“I told you he doesn’t remember,” the blonde said with an edge to her voice.
“Sir, do you know where you are?” the paramedic tried again.
“Mountains,” he gasped, hating the sound of his voice. Weak. Defeated.
“What city or state?” she asked, administering something into his IV.
“I... Washington?”
The blonde beauty offered a bright smile. He could look at those green eyes, that joyful smile all day long.
“Do you remember the trailhead or mountain you went climbing this morning?”
He glanced at the blonde. She started to mouth something.
“Bree!” the EMT scolded. “No cheating.”
“Sorry.” Bree put up her hands.
Bree, that’s right. A charming name.
“Okay, let’s get you into the ambulance.” The paramedic nodded at someone behind him. The stretcher shifted slightly, then he was lifted up into the ambulance.
“Bree,” he said, panicked. He reached out hoping to touch her again, feel her calming presence.
“It’s okay. I’ll meet you at the hospital,” she said.
He may not make it to the hospital. He didn’t know the brunette with the butterfly tattoo. He didn’t trust her.
“Bree.” He struggled to sit up.
“Easy there, Mr. Smith. You don’t want to pull out your IV.”
“Bree,” he croaked, desperate, trying to roll off the stretcher.
Suddenly she was beside him, holding his hand.
“Right there is fine,” the paramedic ordered Bree, then said to the driver, “Okay, Roscoe,
let’s go.”
He turned his head to the left, needing to see Bree, look into her green eyes. Green like the forest. Her image started to blur again. He was losing focus, losing consciousness.
“I can’t... Bree...”
He closed his eyes, but felt her squeeze his hand.
“What’s happening to him?” she asked.
“It’s probably the pain meds,” the paramedic said.
“But he should stay conscious, shouldn’t he? Especially if he has a head injury?”
“Calm down, cuz. He’s stable. It’s all good.”
He was drifting in and out, picking up only pieces of conversation.
I couldn’t let him die.
Two gunmen?
He wasn’t with them; they were after him.
That was foolish.
I don’t care. He needed me.
You don’t even know him.
He squeezed her hand, struggling to stay connected, to stay conscious.
“It’s okay,” a woman whispered against his ear.
It was Bree’s voice. He’d know it anywhere.
He couldn’t remember his own name, where he’d been or how he’d ended up in an ambulance. Those three things should drive him to the brink of despair.
But they didn’t because Bree was here. He took a deep breath, clung to her hand and drifted.
* * *
“You’ve upset him,” Bree snapped at her cousin Maddie.
“Right, so it’s not the bullet wound or head injury that’s got him freaked out,” Maddie said, sarcastically. “Look, I shouldn’t have let you ride along in the first place, so stop busting my chops.”
“I’m worried about him.” She noted Mr. Blue Eyes’ skin looked pale.
“He’s not your problem.”
Bree ignored the comment and stroked the back of his hand.
“Bree?”
She glanced at her cousin, who frowned with concern.
“You didn’t see him, Maddie. He was so—” Bree glanced at the bruise forming around his head wound “—broken.”
Maddie reached over and touched Bree’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
With a nod, Bree glanced back at the stranger. They both knew Maddie’s words referred more to Bree’s terrible Thomas past than the current situation.
“He’s okay,” Maddie said, pausing as she unbuttoned his shirt. “Whoa.”