Pulling away clusters of foliage, he managed to get to the door, which was amazingly still standing until he pulled on the wood and it collapsed at his feet.
He had to hunker low to get inside, crawling on the floor through trash, mostly beer cans, bottles and other garbage left over from teens. He’d almost given up, but he was glad he stuck in there when he saw a green shirt laying between two fractured boards. The space was too tight and he couldn’t reach the item.
Looking for something, he found the splintered leg of a table and used it to retrieve the shirt. He shook it out and his chest tightened at seeing the picture of the monster truck on front. Could this be the boy’s shirt? Creed said the kid had been wearing a green shirt.
Moving back the way he came, once he was outside, he grabbed his two way from his belt. “Come in, Conley. Four-three-five-Wilde here.”
Static sounded on the other side. “Go ahead.” The sheriff’s concern sounded in his tight voice.
“Do you know if Sam was wearing a green shirt with a truck on the front? Over.” Ruger flipped the shirt over to check out the back. His breath stilled. There was a three-inch tear in the cotton and blood had stained the surrounding material.
“Stand by. Mom’s here close.” There was a short pause. “Affirmative, Ruger. Relay information. Over.”
“Give me a few minutes. Out.”
Pushing his radio back in his belt, Ruger examined the shirt closer. The blood was fresh.
Going back to GiGi, Ruger shoved the shirt into the saddle bag and grabbed his safety equipment and medical supplies, just in case.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he walked the perimeter of the overgrown property, hoping to find something to lead him to the boy. Instinct warned him that Sam was close, but was he okay?
Although Ruger didn’t have to worry about bombs and bullets there in the middle of the Montana mountain, he used the same careful approach he’d used in enemy territory. Once a Marine always a Marine.
He inhaled deeply. Listening. He closed his eyes for a moment and then flicked them open. He’d heard something. A muffled moan maybe?
Pushing his way through the dense brush, feeling stings in his hands and face as thorns scraped his skin, Ruger kept going. Feeling a stabbing sensation in his side, he lifted his arm and noticed a trail of blood on his shirt. Easing the cotton up on his torso, he saw a slice in his skin. He must have been cut by broken glass inside the cabin. Reaching into his pack, he ripped off the packaging to a bandage then slapped it onto his skin.
“Sam? Are you there?” He didn’t have time to worry about anything but Sam.
Nothing.
Ruger was calm and collected as he searched the area with an eagle eye. He needed to find the boy. Every minute—every second—counted. Was he hurt? Did someone hurt him? If he’d been out here for hours he could be injured. Hungry. Thirsty. Scared.
Pushing down the foliage with his boots, he searched every inch but steadily kept moving.
And then he saw the tree stand that wasn’t in much better shape than the house.
Would a five-year-old climb into a dilapidated building like that?
Yes, of course he would.
At that age, Ruger would have been all over the place.
Moving to stand under the structure, he studied the boards and the branches carefully.
Testing the stability of the dilapidated ladder, the wood gave way with little weight applied. “Shit!”
The boards wouldn’t hold his two hundred pounds.
The wind had picked up and rustled the leaves, but on the tail end of a rattle he heard a faint whimper. The hairs on the back of Ruger’s neck lifted. “Sam? Are you up there?”
A soft moan sounded again.
“Sam? I’m Ruger with the Hawke Landing Search and Rescue Team. I’m here to help you. Can you say something? Are you okay?”
When he didn’t get a response, Ruger decided he needed to get to the top of the tree fast. “Sam, I’m coming up.”
Practically tearing the radio from his belt, he said calmly, “Pan-Pan. Four-three-five-Wilde with affirmative location of subject. Over.”
“Roger that. The tracker has located you,” Conley said. “What do you need?”
“Break, Break. Creed, you there? Come in.”
“Six-four-six-Hawke affirmative. Go ahead,” Creed answered.
“Code red. Heli touch down at Carver’s Crane. Immediate attention advised. Do you read me six-four-six?”
“Read you loud and clear. Heli arrival fifteen minutes. Over and out.”
Dropping his radio, Ruger grabbed the evac rope and quickly tied a tight knot in one end and tossed it over a tree limb. The wood was rotten and splintered. Just like any other rescue mission, for Ruger to save a life he had to keep himself safe.
“Damn!” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
He didn’t have time to call in extra equipment. Ruger was all the kid had now.
He’d get to Sam come hell or high water.
Tossing his rope again onto a thicker branch, he pulled and tested the solidity. It was sturdier and the best chance he had. He had to be careful not to put any undue weight on the branches that held up the stand for fear of breaking more of the structure and sending it, as well as the boy, down to the ground.
Pulling on his gloves, he gave the rope one last jerk before he started to scale it.
The effort took great strength and with each tug more sweat beaded his skin. His side ached from the cut and his hands and arms burned, but with perseverance he continued to climb, lifting himself inch by inch, while praying hard that he found the boy alive. No one would die on his watch if Ruger had anything to say about it.
As he edged closer to the top, his heart beat faster, from the strenuous climb and the fear that clutched him.
He had five feet left.
Three feet.
One foot.
Then he was at the opening. He peered inside, bracing his boots against the tree to keep from slipping. Inside was a small, tousle haired, shirtless boy who appeared to be sleeping but his pinky finger moved as if that were the only part he could communicate with. A faint whimper came from him.
“Sam? Sam?” Ruger raised his tone, attempting to get some action from the child. “I need you to open your eyes, buddy. Open them.”
With what seemed like great effort, Sam lifted his head a mere inch and his eyelids fluttered. The light caught the pale blue of his eyes and Ruger was glad to see that he was now semi-alert. Dried blood covered his nose but didn’t explain why he had a tear and blood on the back of his shirt. Was he injured?
That was probably the least of his problems now considering there wasn’t an alarming amount of blood on the shirt.
His skin was pale with a faint blue tint. That was an issue.
Situating himself closer, Ruger picked up one of the boy’s hands and pressed his tiny thumb, counting the seconds it took for the white nail bed to turn pick. Five seconds! That was a sign that Sam was severely dehydrated which was serious for a child his age. His lips were chapped and he had sunken eyes.
“Sam? Can you talk to me?”
The boy moaned then closed his eyes.
Ruger didn’t want to drag the boy. He didn’t want to make any injury worse. Ruger would have to get closer to the platform to access the boy’s wounds and prepare him for descending, hoping he wasn’t too small for the harness.
Carefully pressing the wood of the stand, he feared one wrong move and he could send Sam tumbling down. Yet, if he didn’t move quickly the boy’s health could decline rapidly and he could stop breathing.
Painstakingly, which was difficult for a man his size, Ruger lifted his weight onto the platform. It squealed and whined and resisted his weight. Pausing, he even stopped breathing. Hell, how in the world did the boy climb up here? Half the platform was missing and only one wall remained.
He finally was close enough to Sam to examine him.
Sliding his fingers d
own the boy’s clammy neck, Ruger found his pulse, although it was slow and thready. His nose, which must have bled bad didn’t look broken or injured. There were a handful of superficial scratches, cuts and bruises on his pale skin, but thankfully, Ruger couldn’t see any obvious broken bones. He slightly lifted the boy’s back which caused him to whimper.
“It’s okay, Sam. I know it hurts.” From what Ruger could see, which wasn’t much, Sam had a small cut close to his shoulder blade. It wasn’t life threatening at the moment.
Ruger saw a bird sitting on the edge of the platform, pecking at something. Looking closer, he saw orange cherry tomatoes, but realized they were Jerusalem Cherries which if ingested can be dangerous.
“Sam?” Ruger tapped Sam’s shoulder firmly. “Can you hear me?”
His long lashes fluttered like butterflies against the tops of his freckled cheeks and finally his lids opened wider. He sobbed, “I want to go home.”
He was talking. That was good. “I know you want to go home, but I need to ask, have you eaten the berries that are up here?”
“Yes. They made me sick.”
“So you ate them after you climbed up here and did you vomit?”
The boy nodded. Unease edged up Ruger’s chest because they still had to get down the side of the tree and it was hard to tell how many berries the boy ate. If he vomited that would explain his dehydration “I’m going to get you home, Sam.”
“I want my mommy,” he whimpered as one tear slipped down his dirty cheek. “Where’s mommy?”
“Your mom will be waiting for us. She’s wanting to see you too. What happened, Sam? Can you tell me?” Ruger wanted to keep Sam talking to help him stay awake and alert, and to also keep his mind off Ruger rubbing his legs checking for any dislocations or broken bones. That could turn the recovery in a different direction.
“I wanted to go fishing.”
“So, you were searching for the lake?”
He gave his head a jerky nod.
“Are you a policeman?”
“No, I’m not, buddy. I’m part of the local Search and Rescue Team. We save missing kids like you.”
“You’re a firefighter?”
“Something like that. You must be strong to have climbed into this stand. Did you come up the ladder?”
“Yes. I don’t feel good.”
“I understand. We have to get you down.”
“Don’t want to climb down, mister,” he muttered as a tear left a stain on the other cheek
“You don’t have to climb. I’m going to put a harness around you and carry you down, like a piggyback ride.” The wood creaked loudly and shifted a few inches, swaying to the left in a loud whine. Ruger could see where the boards had separated from the tree. They didn’t have much time. “We need to move fast to get this on you.”
“Are we going to die?”
“No. We just want to get you to your mom because she’s worried about you.” Ruger worked deftly in hooking the harness around Sam’s small body.
“Okay. It’s on.” With the harness in place and tight, Ruger told Sam, “I’m going to hook you onto my back. I need you to hold onto my shoulders, okay? Use every bit of energy you have to hang tight.”
He gave another faint nod. His curly blond hair had leaves and pieces of wood in it.
Securing Sam on his back, Ruger checked the security of the rope twice then said, “Have you watched Tarzan?
“Yes.”
“We’re going to swing like he did. Here we go.” With a little push from the platform, they swung out on the rope. The simple movement put strain on the stand causing it to fully separate from the branches. With a loud splintering of wood, the structure caved in and took a tumble over the side. It fell into a heap of broken slabs onto the ground. A plume of dust wafted around Ruger and Sam as they swung above.
Now they needed to get to the ground because Ruger doubted the stability of the tree branch.
“This is like Spiderman,” Sam said.
Ruger felt an invisible fist slam into his gut. They weren’t out of the woods yet.
They made it halfway and small limbs started falling around their heads. A loud cracking sound followed by a jerk sent Ruger and Sam bouncing off the rough side of the tree. The rope twisted around Ruger’s fingers, squishing them, but he didn’t let go. The boy cried out. His body shook as the sobs overtook him “Are you okay, Sam?”
“I want to go home.”
“Listen, we’ll be okay. This rope is as strong as Spidey’s web. We’re going to move real fast now.” Ruger used all the strength he could muster as he descended the side of the tree, all the while staring up at the branch that looked like it could go at any second.
They were close to the ground.
Then another splintering of wood made Ruger curse under his breath, at the same time he felt the rope slip some. The torque loosened and he felt it give as his boots slid on the bark. “Hold on,” Ruger yelled just before the branch cracked and he and Sam fell the remaining distance. Ruger landed on his chest, taking the brunt of the fall. The air knocked out of his lungs, taking him a minute to gain his bearing. Once he recovered, he jumped up, unhooked the harness, and checked on Sam. The dirty-faced boy had wet streaks across his cheeks and was blinking wildly. “You okay?” Ruger asked.
“That was a hard landing.” He had finally stopped crying.
Ignoring the pain in his body, Ruger was grateful they hadn’t landed on the wood. Grabbing the water bottle from his bag, he flipped off the cap. “Here, you need to drink this.” He held the container up for Sam.
The boy drank thirstily.
“Hey, slow down. Too much and it could make you sick.
Sam swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Where’s my mom?”
“She’s on her way, buddy. Right now, I’m taking you for a horse ride. Have you been on a horse before?”
“No.”
“Then there’s a first time for everything. Your mom will see you soon.”
“Gam better not be with her.” The boy wrinkled his nose. “I wanted to go fishing. He wouldn’t let me because he and Mom were sleeping. I was bored and he’s mean.”
Ruger offered Sam an understanding smile. “Let’s get you going.”
“You saved Sam’s life, Wilde,” Sheriff Conley said after the boy had been taken by a Hawk helicopter to the hospital.
Ruger had his stare on Priscilla who was crying and being led to a cruiser where she’d be taken to the hospital to be with her son. Following close behind was Gam Hill. He hadn’t changed a bit since school, except for a few more gang related tats and a lot cockier. The man must have sensed he was being watched because he turned his chin and met Ruger’s gaze—dark blue meeting steel.
Gam said something to Priscilla then strolled over, holding out his hand in greeting to Ruger. “There’s the man who deserves a big thank you for saving my boy.”
Ruger stared a long moment but didn’t shake the offering.
Rejected, Gam grinned and tucked his hand back into his pocket. “There’s still no hard feelings left between us from school, is there, my friend?”
The way he said “my friend” rubbed Ruger a hundred different wrong ways. “Hard feelings?”
“You know, although we played on the same football team, we sure as hell didn’t like each other,” Gam slurred. “I was never the golden boy.”
Gritting his teeth, Ruger shook his head. What he remembered was Gam always getting into trouble and then being kicked off the team. “Maybe someone who reached their peak back in their freshmen year would still hold a grudge, I guess.”
“Wow. I see the ego is still there,” Gam snorted. “And here I was offering you a thank you—”
“Gam, are you coming?” Priscilla yelled from the back door of the cruiser.
“I’m coming.” He gave Ruger and Sheriff Conley one last smirk and joined his girlfriend.
“Is there something I should be aware of?” Conley asked.
�
��The man is a slimeball. We both know that.” Ruger went back to securing his bag.
“I can’t say I think he’s a changed man, but he’s served his time. He deserves a chance to prove he’s wanting to stay on track.” Conley waved at his deputy who pulled out with Priscilla and Gam in the backseat.
“What’s the story with the boy’s mom? Has she been in trouble? What’s she doing with a man like Gam?”
“Beats me. Up until a few years ago she had a house, a job, and a life. Now she’s living in a campground in a tent. That’s how easy life can change.” Conley frowned. “Anyway, good job out there, Ruger. You look a bit beaten up. Should you be checked? I can run you over to the hospital.”
“Nah, I’m fine. Just a few bruises. I must get GiGi loaded anyway. Will you let me know any news about the kid?” Ruger emptied a bottle of water then crushed the plastic.
“I’ll call you but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“THAT’S IT. THAT’S all you do to make an apple pie?” Grace looked at Hannah in surprise.
“It’s that easy, as long as you have patience. Now just sprinkle the cinnamon sugar mixture over top of the crust and it’s ready for the oven.”
After putting the pie in, Grace looked at her new friend and smiled. “I can’t thank you enough for coming and helping me out in the kitchen. I’m a little embarrassed at my lack of skill.”
Hannah waved a wrinkled hand in the air. “Don’t be. I’m glad you’re here for my son. I know he can seem a bit on the grumpy side, which is a repellant for many women, but truly he has a heart of gold. Always has. He works all the time. Too much.”
“He has a vision for this place and that’s admirable.”
“Since you came I’ve noticed that he’s lost some of the thunder from his expression.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s because of me.” Grace made a finger path through the flour on the counter. “He’s probably seeing that his hard work is paying off.”
“The divorce changed him, but his father’s death was worse.” A sadness crawled over Hannah’s round face. “My protective instincts reared their head every time I was around Bren. I never told my son, but I was relieved when she left Cooper’s Hawk. He was better off. Of course, Ruger won’t talk to me about her. He’s like his father and keeps everything bottled up inside.”
Cowboy Wilde (Cooper's Hawke Landing Book 2) Page 12