by Rita Herron
Something shiny caught his eye near a tree stump, and he waved his flashlight across the area. There it was. Glittering against the white ground. It was caught in the weeds. He hiked over to it, knelt and dug the object from the fresh snow.
A wedding ring.
Questions needled him as he examined it. A woman’s ring. Too small for a man. Silver. What was it doing out here in the wilderness?
Someone could have lost it while camping or hiking.
Judging from the fact that it wasn’t buried yet, it couldn’t have been here long.
He studied the tracks ahead. More blood. Did it belong to the woman who owned this wedding ring?
Another violent gust of wind snapped tree limbs and sent them flying to the ground. The snow was falling faster, accumulating so quickly that it obliterated the blood trail.
He needed to hurry, or he’d get trapped out here himself.
But the mantra he and his fellow rescue workers lived by reverberated in his head—leave no one behind.
If someone was injured and needed help, he had to find him. Or judging from the ring—her.
He jammed the wedding band in his pocket, then set out again. Another mile. Then another. Upward toward Vulture’s Point, named so because several suicides had occurred at the spot, the bodies drawing the vultures to the canyon below.
What if he was tracking someone contemplating suicide? She could have dumped the ring and then hiked toward the point. But...if so, why was she bleeding? And what about the drag marks? That indicated there was more than one person...
The storm intensified, snow thickening with each mile, the wind the kind of biting cold that stung your skin and clawed at your bones.
Finally he turned the corner past the boulder marking the rise to the point, and spotted something black. A boot? No, a dark red wool scarf...
Adrenaline churning, he took off running. The thick snow sucked at his boots, but he crossed the area and picked up the scarf. More blood drops. Indentations in the snow that looked like paw prints—no, hands digging.
He was close. He could feel it.
The flashlight fought through the blurry haze, and a minute later, he spotted a body. Facedown on the ground, body half buried in the blanket of white.
A woman.
He jogged toward her and lurched to a stop when he reached her. Long dark hair dotted with snow and ice lay in a tangled mass over the woman’s shoulders.
He sucked in a breath and stooped to see if she was alive.
Chapter Two
Fletch gently raked the woman’s hair away from her slender throat and pressed two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. He quickly noted her physical description. Long black hair, pale skin, oval shaped face, high cheekbones. No makeup.
She was a looker.
She wore no hat, gloves or winter coat, though. Regular boots, not snow boots.
She hadn’t been prepared for the weather, suggesting she hadn’t come out here to hike. Or to kill herself.
Dammit. He didn’t feel a pulse.
Her body was so still he didn’t think she was breathing. Even if she was alive, hypothermia had set in. Her skin was bluish and ice-cold, and frost formed tiny crystals on the exposed surfaces.
He held his breath as he moved his fingers an inch lower and pressed again. Seconds passed. His heart hammered.
Finally he felt a pulse, low and thready. She was alive. At least for now.
He had to raise her body temperature for her to survive.
That meant moving her to the shelter over the next hill.
Blood mingled with the snow on the back of her head, and he examined the area and found a bruise and a gash. Someone had either hit her or she’d fallen and slammed her head against a sharp rock.
Anger shot through him at the sight of the bruise on her cheek and forehead. A bruise that looked as if she’d been hit. Hard.
Blood streaked her pale pink sweater and jeans, and cuts and scrapes marred her hands and arms. He moved her legs and arms gently to check for broken bones but didn’t detect a break. That was something.
Breathing out the cold air, he patted her face gently to see if she’d rouse, but she remained limp, eyelids closed. He eased one eyelid up, then another to check her eyes. Her pupils were dilated. Mouth slack.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” he murmured.
The snow continued to pelt them, thickening and swallowing everything in sight. He gently scooped the woman into his arms and carried her toward the shelter. The wind gusts battered him as he walked, knocking him off balance, and he had to tread slowly for fear of losing his footing. If he slipped and they slid down the mountain, it would make things worse.
A few more feet, then he topped the hill and spotted the crude shelter. Anything was better than being fully exposed. Adrenaline pushed him forward, and he made it the last few feet. He eased the woman onto the wood floor in the back corner of the hut.
An angry gust hurled snow inside, and he set his pack down, retrieved the rapid response blankets he kept for emergencies and rushed to cover the woman. After he’d wrapped her in one, he yanked out the tarp and tacked it from post to post to create a wall to shield them from the worst of the elements.
The force of the wind was so strong the tarp flipped upward, but he secured it back in place. Then he raced back to check on the woman. Still unconscious.
Her shallow breathing was barely discernible. How long had she been out in the frigid temperature?
His radio beeped and he snagged it. “Fletch here, come in.”
“It’s Todd. Medics transporting the Pattersons to the hospital. Your status? Over.”
“Found a woman on the trail, unconscious, suffering from hypothermia. Carried her to Vulture’s Point shelter. Over.”
“Conditions worsening,” Todd responded. “Will send a team of medics your way ASAP.”
“Copy that. If it clears and she regains consciousness, I’ll bring her down the mountain. For now, going to warm her and treat minor injuries.” He paused. “No ID. Have Jacob check missing persons reports.”
“Description?”
“I’d guess her age is early thirties. Long black hair. Approximately five-three, maybe a hundred and twenty-five pounds.”
“Copy that. Keep in touch.”
“Will do. Over and out.” He stowed the radio with his gear, then slipped from the shelter to gather limbs so he could build a fire in the built-in fire pit. Then he hurried to collect branches that had been blown to the ground in the snowstorm.
When his arms were full, he carried them back to the shelter and put them inside. He secured the tarp, then arranged twigs and two smaller limbs into the pit. Then he retrieved matches from his pack and lit the twigs. It took several minutes for the wood to catch, but finally it flickered to life. He strategically arranged two more branches on top of the flames, then hurried to check on the woman.
She still lay unmoving, face ghost white, chest barely moving up and down with each breath. He yanked off his coat, pulled the blanket off her, wrapped the coat around her, then covered her with the blanket again.
He blew on the embers to spark the flames, hoping the warmth would breathe life back into the woman. Outside, the wind howled, beating at the tarp and the frame of the thin wooden shelter.
He kept watch over her for an hour, but she was still chilled. Desperate to bring her body temperature up, he stripped her wet clothes and laid them near the fire, then removed his own wet clothing and spread it by the fire, as well.
He used the second blanket to make a bed, then positioned her on top of it, stretched out beside her and pulled the other blanket over them. Rubbing her arms with his hands, he cradled her close, praying his body heat stirred life back into her.
He nestled her cheek against his chest and held her, rubbing slow circles acr
oss her back. Exhaustion pulled at him, but he forced himself to stay awake in case she roused or needed him.
The fact that bruises covered her body disturbed him, though, during the long hours of the night. First he had to make sure she was okay.
Then he’d find out who’d hurt her and left her in the woods to die.
* * *
HER HEAD ACHED. Her body throbbed. And a tingling niggled at her toes and feet.
But warmth seeped through her, slowly alleviating the chill from her bones. She burrowed into it, desperate to escape the cold.
She struggled to open her eyes, but her eyelids were too heavy and her limbs felt weighted down. Big arms held her against a strong solid wall of muscle, transporting her back to the safest place she’d ever known.
She was seven years old and her father was holding her in his lap. He sipped his morning coffee, the steam rising up and floating in the air. The chicory scent was strong, but her father loved his coffee, so she didn’t mind, not as long as they were working the crossword puzzle together.
“Two across, another word for light outside,” her father murmured.
She tapped her fingers on the folded newspaper, then bounced up and down. “Sunshine.”
He made a show of mulling it over, but his eyes twinkled, and she knew she’d nailed it. A second later, he wrote the word in the boxes and tugged at her ponytail. “You’re a smart girl, kiddo.”
“That one was so easy.” She giggled and hugged him. She loved her daddy so much. Every Sunday, they worked the crossword puzzle together. During the week they did word searches and other puzzles that he brought home. A thousand-piece jigsaw of a mountain lion was spread on their game table now.
They finished the crossword in less than half an hour—not a record, but a respectable time—and then her mom appeared with a picnic basket that they carried to the river park for the day.
She jumped in the icy water and popped up, shivering, teeth chattering. Her father wrapped a blanket around her, and they built a fire and snuggled beside it to watch the flames flicker orange, yellow and bright red.
Wood crackled and popped, the heat so soothing that she fell into a deeper sleep.
Then the warmth dissipated, and she was twelve years old, back at home with the winter wind seeping through the eaves of the old house. It was one of those nights she couldn’t sleep and she’d stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain ping off the roof and wishing it was morning so she could climb up beside her daddy and do another crossword.
A sudden loud crash echoed from downstairs. Thunder?
Then a scream. Her mother.
Terror shot through her and she froze, listening again. Another crash. Something breaking. Her father’s shout. “Get out!”
Panic bolted through her. Someone was inside the house.
Footsteps pounded. Her mother’s scream again, shrill and terrifying. Then a popping sound. A gun!
Choking back a sob, she scrambled off the bed and ran into the closet to hide. She closed the door, then made her way through the opening leading to the crawl space. It was dusty and smelly, but her parents stored their Christmas decorations inside.
Tinsel dangled from a cardboard box, and the bag of bows her mom stuck on packages sat on top. The bag had gotten ripped somehow; red, green, gold and silver bows dotted the floor like colorful candy.
Another gunshot echoed from down below. Then a clunking sound as if someone hit the floor.
Tears blurred her eyes, and she hugged her knees to her, fighting back a scream. If someone was inside, she had to be quiet or they’d find her.
Her mind raced. Dad had a gun. He kept it locked in the drawer in the kitchen. Had he shot the intruders?
Footsteps pounded again. A door slammed. A car engine rumbled outside.
Then suddenly everything went quiet.
Too terrified to move, she rocked herself back and forth, waiting for her father and mother to tell her it was safe to come out. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she buried her sobs in her arms.
It was hours later, and still no one had come. The house echoed with a creepy quiet, making her stomach churn. Finally she gathered enough courage to tiptoe downstairs. Her foot hit something sticky and wet on the bottom step.
Then she saw the dark crimson color. Blood everywhere. Splattered on the walls, the staircase, the carpet...
A scream died in her throat. Shouldn’t touch the blood. Mom and Dad...they were on the floor... Arms sprawled, legs twisted, eyes bulging wide...
Her own eyes jerked open. God... She’d been dreaming. Or had she?
The suffocating darkness gave way to a sliver of light seeping through a thin wall of wood. She was lying on a hard plank floor. A blanket over her.
Then... A man beside her. Not just a man. A naked one.
She lurched to a sitting position and scrambled backward, dragging the blanket with her.
Where in the hell was she, and what was going on?
* * *
FLETCH INSTANTLY SAT UP, pulling his coat over his lap. Dammit, he couldn’t help his morning erection.
But he had kept his hands to himself during the long cold night. He’d never take advantage of a vulnerable woman and this one was about as vulnerable as he’d seen. Bruised, battered and near dead. Maybe at the hands of a man.
And if the wedding ring belonged to her, the man who’d hurt her and left her for dead might have been her husband.
Her eyes widened in horror as she looked at him, then down at herself, then anger flashed across her slender, pale face.
“Who are you?” she said, fear and bewilderment lacing her soft tone. “And what do you want?”
He raised his hands in a gesture meant to alleviate her fear and forced his voice to remain calm. “My name is Fletch. I work with Whistler’s Search and Rescue in these mountains.” He watched her for a reaction. “Last night my coworkers were looking for a family lost in the storm, then I saw blood.”
A war raged in her eyes. Should she believe him or was he some sort of pervert who’d abducted her for evil purposes?
“I followed the blood trail and found you collapsed, facedown in the snow, unconscious. You were barely breathing. Looked like you’d been beaten up, and you’d sustained a blow to your head.”
Her eyes darted to her hands, which were still stained with blood. Then she lifted her fingers to her temple and touched the cut on her forehead. “You did this?”
His jaw hardened and he shook his head. “No. Like I said, I found you and brought you here because I couldn’t carry you down the mountain during the blizzard.”
She clutched the blanket to her in a white-knuckled grip. “So why am I naked?”
As much as he detested the accusations in her voice, he was glad to see she had some fight in her. Probably the only way she’d survived.
“You were suffering from hypothermia. Your wet clothes made it impossible to raise your body temp.” He gestured toward the fire. “After I carried you to this shelter, I built a fire and tried to warm you. Shared body heat is the fastest way to accomplish that.”
He let the statement stand for a minute, then he stood to retrieve his pack. She gasped at the sight of his naked body in the firelight.
He should apologize, but it was too late. She’d seen him. He’d seen her. What the hell was the big deal?
He dug in one of the pockets of the pack and removed his ID.
When he looked back, fear darkened her eyes again as if she’d expected him to draw a weapon. He offered her his picture ID.
“See. I’m a ranger, Search and Rescue. My job is to find missing and lost people in the mountains and bring them home safely.”
Her hand trembled as she examined his badge, and she glanced from his photo back to him, scrutinizing both.
“I’m sorry for frightening you,” he s
aid, then knelt and stoked the fire again. “I radioed in our location, so we’ll either hike out when the snow lets up or they’ll send a team in when they can.”
Her breath rattled in the frigid air. “You saved me?”
He gave a humble shrug. “That’s my job.”
A tense silence stretched between them, and he checked their clothes to see if they were dry. Thankfully, they were, so he yanked on his jeans and shirt, then carried her clothes to her.
“All dry now.”
Her gaze met his, questions still lingering, but at least she wasn’t screaming or running. She motioned for him to turn around. A sly grin lit his face. He’d seen her naked, but that was different.
Besides, he wanted to win her trust. “I’ll be right back.” He slipped through the tarp opening, secured it, then walked into the woods to collect more kindling.
Deciding to give her privacy, he scanned the area, but the snow was still falling in thick sheets of white, now knee-deep. The wind was brutal, the windchill factor below zero.
It would be dangerous to set off down the mountain at this point. Best to let the worst pass.
He rubbed his hands together, then gathered more sticks for the fire, ducked back inside the shelter and reattached the tarp.
“Can we leave now?” the woman asked.
Firelight illuminated her milky white skin and throat. Her bruises looked more stark this morning, the dried blood on her forehead a reminder that she’d sustained a head injury.
“Not yet, snow’s still coming down hard, and the windchill is well below zero.” He dropped the sticks by the fire in a pile, then added a few more to keep it burning.
Then he pulled two bottles of water from his pack and carried one to her. “Here, drink. You need to stay hydrated.”
She looked at him warily but accepted the bottle, unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow.
He pulled a granola bar from his pack and handed it to her, then took one for himself. Although he forced himself to eat only half, he let her finish hers before he spoke. Then he sat down in front of her and offered her a gentle smile.