“Hey, Hannah,” a voice called from somewhere outside the building. “Are you down here?”
Startled, Hannah went over to the door. She was shocked to see it had turned almost dark as night, and big fat raindrops had just begun to fall. Apparently, her eyes had adjusted to the growing darkness so well she hadn’t noticed. Peering into the gloom and through the rain fog, she made out the form of someone coming around the paddock fence on a mountain bike.
“Jake?” She called his name a second time more loudly but realized there was no way he could hear her now that the wind had picked up. She stuck her head out of the barn and waved to him, so he’d see where she was. Raindrops pelted her face and she quickly withdrew back into the stable. “What on earth is he thinking?” Will hadn’t said anything about Jake or anyone else coming down to the meadow.
Even with the rain, Jake made it to the stable in short order and shoved his bike between the building and the bushes that bordered it on one side; then he hopped over the swiftly growing puddles and met Hannah in the doorway. She stepped back to let him inside. “What are you doing down here?” she asked, still surprised to see him. “They say it’s supposed to storm.”
“Yeah,” he said, with a short laugh, but his eyes showed nothing but worry.
“What’s wrong?” Hannah said. “I told your dad I was coming up, but I guess I stayed in here playing with the babies too long. We can just wait out the storm in here. Do you have your phone? I’m sure mine is dead by now. Just let your dad know. We’ll come up when it’s over.” She thought about what the trail would be like, then looked down at what she was wearing and grimaced. “Oh well,” she said, “another pair of jeans will bite the dust.” At least she’d stopped wearing skirts for her jaunts up and down the trail. She’d learned quickly that having strong fabric for the occasional slips and falls was a much better plan.
“No, it’s not that,” Jake told her. “I mean yes, we can ride it out in here, but we have to get the sheep in. That’s why I came down. Bailey is all the way over at your place and they’re saying it might be a derecho. High winds, maybe hurricane force gusts, and heavy thunderstorms.”
“Does your dad know you’re down here doing this?”
“I sent him a text but haven’t checked to see if he wrote back. I’ve got to get them in. You stay in here.” He looked at the stone walls, and up at the roof. “This will probably be the safest place for us, too.”
Alarmed now, she said, “If it’s as bad as you say, I don’t think you should be out there.”
“I’ve got at least thirty minutes. Don’t worry.” Then he was out the door before she could stop him.
“Jake!” she shouted, running out into the rain to call his name again. He was already inside the paddock herding the sheep toward the chute that would lead them to a side door into the largest building. There were pens in there to hold them for this exact purpose.
“Well, if you’re doing this,” she muttered, “I’m going to help.” She ran through the downpour, sending plumes of mud puddle slop flying in her wake. She could feel it hitting the backs of her jeans, right up to her butt, but there was nothing for it now. She got to the chute gate at the paddock end and opened it, then climbed into the chute and ran, slipping and sliding, to the other end, and fought with the gate there. Her straw hat was snatched clean off her head, the scarf she’d tied under her chin slipping away with it as it went sailing through the sky. She’d forgotten she still had it on and was surprised it had lasted that long. She couldn’t take the time to chase after it now. The scarf and hat were probably already damaged beyond saving anyway. She ended up having to bang the darn chute latch with the side of her fist. It popped open just as the sheep started in from the other end.
“Look out!” Jake hollered, and Hannah climbed up on the fence as the dozen or so sheep scuttled past her into the indoor pen, bleating their displeasure the entire way.
Hannah closed the gate behind them and turned to run to the other end of the chute to help Jake close the paddock fence, but he was nowhere to be seen. The rain was stinging her eyes now. The drops had gotten smaller and the wind fiercer. Much fiercer. She scraped her hair from her eyes and tried to peer into the deepening mist and gloom. A flash of white caught her eye and she saw Jake, or his white T-shirt anyway, at the far end of the paddock. It took her another second, using her hands to try to shield her eyes from the pummeling rain, to realize that one of the little ones had apparently panicked and somehow gotten itself stuck. When the wind blew the right way, she got snatches of its panicked bleating even this far away.
The first crack of lightning made her jump and let out a short scream at the same time. “Dear sweet—” She swallowed the rest along with more rainwater and made the split-second decision to run and help Jake. No way would he leave that baby and no way was she leaving him.
He’d freed the lamb before she got halfway across the long field and motioned for her to turn back to the stone stable. She waited to make sure he was getting across the field okay, the lamb tucked firmly under his arm, before she turned and started running. She slowed and glanced over her shoulder several times to track his progress. Each time he would wave her to go on. As he drew closer, Hannah could see the baby was thrashing, and Jake was trying not to slip and slide to keep from either falling on the baby or inadvertently dumping it free again.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Hannah urged him under her breath. He was getting closer, so she turned back again, never so happy to see the stable was close. She turned back one last time and motioned for him to hurry. The thunder was cracking regularly now and the lightning strikes made her blood run cold with their bold, flashing intensity. Way too close for comfort.
She stood in the doorway, arms outstretched to relieve him of his bundle the moment he got to the door, even though he was still a good twenty yards out. “Come on, Jake,” she said, willing him to get there faster.
The chain of events that happened in the next fifteen seconds occurred so swiftly, with such vicious precision, it took her breath away before she could even register the shock, much less scream, and she could feel each separate beat of her heart.
The bolt of lightning shot down with such sudden fury, she jumped back a full two feet. The resulting crack when it hit the tree sent her instinctively right to her knees in the packed dirt, arms over her head, as if ducking from an incoming bomb. She’d barely hit the floor when she jerked her arms down and looked through the door as a loud CRACK followed the lightning strike. That sound was still echoing in her ears, and ricocheting around inside her heart, as she scrambled toward the door, half crawling, half stumbling, trying in vain to get to her feet. She clawed her way up the doorframe, clutching it to regain her balance, and felt her heart stop dead in her chest, watching in horror as a tree several times taller than the building she was standing in came crashing down, straight across the pasture, heading right toward Jake.
She might have screamed Jake’s name, or maybe the scream was inside her head. Jake tried to run faster, but the mud hampered his efforts.
“NO!” Hannah screamed, quite certain that one had been out loud. No no no no no!
Jake outran the thick, heavy central trunk of the tree, but the widespread branches, many of them heavy enough on their own to do critical damage, took him and the baby lamb down.
Hannah lost sight of him and the lamb as the heavy, leaf-filled limbs obscured what view she’d had through the rain.
She didn’t waste a single moment, not so much as a second. She went tearing across the muddy meadow toward the paddock. Slipping and sliding, she grabbed the paddock fence in both hands, not even feeling the splinters that gouged her palms and shredded her fingertips as she literally launched her entire body up and over the thing as if she’d suddenly gained a superpower.
No, she thought, the terror of what was happening right in front of her boiling down into a single, blistering ball of anger and fury. No, no, NO! Her inner voice screamed until she felt
so raw she shook with it. You took one child from me, but I’ll be damned if you’ll take another!
And just like that, every unnamed fear she’d had, all those crying jags, the anxiety bombs, her utter inability to control herself every time she got home after spending time with Jake, every moment spent wondering what in the hell was wrong with her and why she couldn’t accept her place in the lives of the two people she loved most crystallized in a moment of clear, pure realization.
She hadn’t been grieving her lost family. Being with Jake hadn’t resurrected her grief for Liam. No, the reason she’d been worried sick, reduced to sobs of exhaustion, was because of the possibility of having to live through a moment exactly like the one she was living through right that very second. She hadn’t been able to save Liam. Her beautiful little boy that she’d loved more than life itself. And some deep-seated part of her, still overcome with that desperate, helpless, god-awful terror, had so fiercely resisted allowing her to ever put herself in a position where she could possibly risk that kind of loss again, it had literally made her sick.
Only it was too late for that. Too late to protect herself, protect her heart. Jake hadn’t been born hers . . . but in her heart, he was hers now.
Hannah was racing toward the tree limbs as if her life depended on it, because it did. She was screaming Jake’s name; she couldn’t seem to stop. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay, she prayed, the words running on an endless loop inside her head. Don’t you dare be dead. She slowed so she could work her way through the heavy limbs to the spot where she thought she’d seen him go down. The high winds whipped the slender ends of the branches against her face, torso, and arms, leaving cuts and bruises. She didn’t notice the sting or feel the pain. Her eyes were hot and dry as the fury built inside her. Rain lashed her cheeks, stinging her eyes. Once she was among the massive tangle of branches, her vision blocked by the leaves and the driving rain, she immediately lost all sense of where to look.
The tree was so big, the sprawl and tangle of the limbs alone were taller than she was. Some of the branches were as big around as tree trunks, far bigger and heavier than anything she could lift or even move. As she worked her way closer, the bark and sharp twigs caught at her clothes and scratched her skin. Please, please, please, she silently begged, pleaded, and bartered. Not Jake. Take me. Not Jake. Come on! she demanded. COME ON! She was all but clawing her way through as the wind sent twigs whipping across her torso and arms like whips, sending one stinging across her cheek. She ducked her head, still calling his name, her voice raw now, hardly more than a rasp.
And then finally, finally, after what had probably only been a few minutes but had felt like endless panic-filled hours, she saw him, and she instinctively convulsed, like she was going to be violently ill. He was lying on his side, drenched to the bone, blood matted in his dark hair, his skin so pale it looked translucent to her. The bleating lamb was still clutched in his arms, screaming in its own fear and panic. She looked at Jake again, trying not to be sick, praying for the least little sign of life.
Then, her gaze jerked back to the lamb. It was thrashing, but Jake was holding on tight, not letting it go. Oh, thank God! she thought, and almost crumpled to the ground when her legs threatened to give out under her, her relief was so all consuming. Good. Good, good, good. If he had a grip, he was still alive. Focus on that.
When she got closer, she could see the side of his face was bloodied, but the rest was covered by twigs and leaves, so she couldn’t see clearly whether his eyes were open or closed. Be closed, be closed, she prayed. She’d seen open, sightless eyes once in her life, and she didn’t ever—could not ever—ever, ever, ever see that again. “Jake,” she said as she drew close enough that she thought he might hear her. “Don’t move, honey, don’t move.”
Hannah didn’t know if he was conscious, but she kept talking to him as she finally got to his side. She saw that one heavy branch, almost trunk-like in size, was lying across his lower body. The rest of the limbs around him were smaller and had likely caused the gash on his scalp, and the scrapes and cuts.
“Jake, I’m right here,” she said, her voice raspy from shouting and sucking in too much rainwater. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be okay.” Nothing. She bent or snapped off the smaller twigs and branches, until she could wedge herself right up next to him. “Here, honey,” she said, “let me have the lamb.” The squalling baby was wild eyed, but its bleats had become hoarse little squeaks now. She needed to remove it from Jake’s arms so she could see his face. “Don’t move until we make sure you’re okay. Just relax your grip and I’ll get her, okay? I promise I won’t let her go.”
Jake moaned softly, then started to move.
Tears of abject relief gathered in her eyes. “Lie still, sweetie,” she gently cautioned him. “Don’t move. Just let her go.”
He tried to move anyway, still groggy and unaware of the circumstances, then yelped in pain, and went still.
“Jake,” Hannah said, finding some rare, untapped center of calm, now that she knew he was okay. “It’s all right,” she said easily, her tone soothing, but sturdy. “You’re caught under a tree limb, so you need to stay still.”
“Hannah?” he croaked, his eyelids fluttering, then finally blinking open.
She knew her smile was downright beatific at the sight of those beautiful dark green eyes. “I’m right here.”
“Hurt,” he croaked. “My hip. Leg.”
“I know. Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay. You need to lie still, as best as you can.” She leaned over again. “I’m going to take the lamb, okay?” She reached for it, but Jake’s hold went instinctively tighter, as he was still fighting to understand what was happening. “Jake?”
“Mm-hmm,” he said, still not really fully with her.
“I’m going to take the lamb now—it’s going to be okay.”
“Mkay,” he said, and his eyelashes fluttered a bit.
“I’m right here,” Hannah said, finally able to ease the lamb from his death hold of a grip. “I’ve got her,” she told him. “She’s okay, she’s just fine. You did really great saving her.” She kept up a calm, running commentary, hoping to steady him, keep him from panicking once he became more alert.
The moment the lamb was free from being clutched so tightly, she simply trembled, but lay limply in Hannah’s lap, panting, but quiet now. Hannah shifted until she sat cross-legged and tucked the lamb into the well created by her legs and body. She gently stroked the baby’s sodden, clumpy fleece while continuing to talk to Jake in the same calm, soothing tones. The baby finally quieted, its head drooping drowsily against her leg, plum worn out even though Hannah could feel its thrumming heartbeat.
“Hannah?”
Hannah’s gaze flew from the lamb back to Jake. He looked and sounded alert now. Thank God. “Right here.”
“What happened?”
“Lightning strike,” she told him. “You’ve got a bit of a tree on top of you.”
He glanced down and she started to shift toward him, not wanting him to see his predicament and panic, but he solemnly took in his situation and said, “So I do.”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Hey, Jake,” she said softly, all the affection and love she had for this boy right out there, no more holding back.
He managed to shift his head just enough to look directly at her. “Hi.” His smile was crooked, and she could see he was in pain, but that dry note was all Jake. Her Jake.
“Hi,” she replied. “I want you to focus on your breathing, all right? Slow and steady. I know it’s hard, with the rain and everything, but try to do that for me, okay?”
He started to nod, flinched, and said, “Okay,” instead.
He looked like he wanted to go back to sleep, which she knew wasn’t good given he quite probably had a concussion. “Look at me, Jake. Talk to me.”
“About what?” he said, still hoarse, but otherwise sounding fully aware n
ow.
She smiled at him. “Whatever you want. But first, let’s take inventory, okay?”
He started to nod, and she tried to warn him, but he stopped before he flinched this time. “Sure,” he said. “Of what?”
“You,” she said, trying really hard to focus on the moment and stay positive. He was going to be all right. He needed her to be calm. So she would be. “We’re going to work from the head down, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Tell me, does your head hurt? Focus just on that. Don’t move it. We know it hurts when you nod, so don’t do that. Just relax as best you can and tell me what you feel.”
“It hurts. On the side.” He started to reach up but aborted the move on his own. He didn’t flinch, or appear to be in more pain, which was good, so Hannah assumed he was just trying to follow her instructions. “I think . . . it hit the ground.”
He sounded steadier now, and Hannah took in a deep breath to help maintain her calm. The aftereffects of the adrenaline punch were making her feel jittery now. “How about your jaw? Eyelids?”
The latter earned her a quick flash of his trademark dry smile. “Okay.”
“Good,” she said, and blinked away the tears that kept forming at the corners of her eyes. Happy tears, in this case. He was handling this really, really well. “Don’t move it, but your neck, how—”
“I think it’s okay.” He definitely sounded stronger now. “I think . . . I think I blacked out when I hit the ground.”
“You might have,” she told him, deciding it was better to be straight with him. He was too smart to try and fool. “That’s why it’s important to stay as alert and awake as you can, okay? In case you have a concussion.”
“Okay,” he said. He grimaced a little, then said, “I can move all my toes.”
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