10
SO MUCH FOR THEM GETTING HOME TODAY, before dark. Willow couldn’t believe that her pitiful attempt at rescuing Sam ended up in her nearly drowning and Sam having to save her.
Not to mention the fact that she ended up in his arms.
Again.
Kissing him as if she would give him her heart, right there.
“It’s okay. Willow. This time that was me kissing you.”
Hardly.
She’d really made a mess of things now. Poor Sam—she’d seen the look on his face, the fear as she’d nearly gotten swept away in the whirlpool. When she’d dissolved into a hysterical puddle, the poor guy probably didn’t know what else to do.
Well, she did.
No more risks with the kids. No more hiking out.
For the first time, she realized that they needed to send someone out alone.
Even if that meant Sam would leave her. Because he didn’t belong to her anyway, and she had to get used to that.
Sam would leave her.
The sooner she stopped thinking about him, tasting his kiss, the sooner she’d stop feeling so undone.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Sam said. He’d spent the past fifteen minutes sorting out their options with Josh and Willow.
They’d hiked back up the trail to the kids only to find them waiting by the river where they’d crossed, distraught, replaying the near tragedy.
Maggy rushed into Willow’s arms, and even Zena looked worried. Dawson sat on a rock, holding his water bottle, looking dazed, and Riley had his arm around Vi.
Interesting.
Cold to the bone, her clothes soggy and frigid, Willow hunkered down, wanting to surrender to the exhaustion that had turned her brittle.
Josh came over, carrying an emergency blanket, but it did little good in her wet clothing.
Then he and Sam huddled up. She recognized a new confidence in Josh.
Well, he hadn’t been the one swept downriver.
“We need to find a clearing, a good place to make camp, and then we hunker down for the night. Build a fire and find something to eat,” Sam said. “Get these kids warm.”
“And then what?” Josh said. “Stay out in the woods all night?”
Sam glanced at Willow. “Yeah. The road is still a mile or more away, and even if we get there, there’s little chance someone will be on it this time of day. The park is nearly closed for the season.”
“What about cell phone range?” Josh asked.
Sam looked around. “Anyone still got juice in their phone?”
Nothing.
“Exactly. Listen, we have matches, we’ll get firewood, dry off. Willow—all of us—need to get warm, and soon. We’ll be okay tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll hike out.”
No, tomorrow Sam would hike out.
Right out of her life.
“It’s getting dangerous for us to travel together.” She didn’t have to mention the river, especially with it roaring behind them. “Maybe you should go by yourself, Sam. Or with a couple people.”
“I’ll go,” Dawson said, raising his hand.
“Me too,” Gus said.
But Sam was staring at her. “Let’s find a place to camp,” he said and then got up, leaving them behind.
Wasn’t that what he wanted? To get home as fast as possible?
They walked in silence maybe two hundred yards until they came to a clearing—small but usable—and Sam declared it their campground for the night. “Find me some firewood,” he said to the kids.
When Willow started to get up, he shook his head. “You stay there. You’re shivering, and you need to get warm.”
“I’ll get warm by staying active.”
He frowned, but she walked away.
She followed Maggy into the woods, surprised at the girl’s sudden vigor as she picked up branches and broke them. “You okay, Maggy?”
“I can’t believe I got through that river.” She set a branch against a log and jumped on it, snapping it in half.
“Yeah, well, you probably can do a lot of things you didn’t realize. You’re stronger than you think.”
Maggy glanced at her, a small smile on her face.
Willow gathered up birch bark off a downed tree and the inside of a rotted and dry log. Kindling.
By the time they returned, Sam had built a circle of river stone that outlined a hole he’d scraped into the ground, all the way to the mineral soil.
Gus and Quinn, too, had returned with their offering.
Dawson, however, hadn’t moved, and sat away from the group. He looked exhausted.
“Is he okay?” Willow said to Zena, who arrived with a handful of berries.
“He’s . . . fine. I guess.” She showed the berries to Willow. “Are these edible?”
“Huckleberries,” Willow said. “Where did you find them?”
“I’ll show you.” She gestured with her head, and Willow got up.
Sam glanced at her. “Don’t go too far. Huckleberries mean bears. Keep an eye out.”
She could have done with not hearing that. Just what they needed to add more excitement to the trip.
She caught up with Zena, her legs chafing in her wet clothes. The act of fetching firewood had helped, but she could curl up in front of a fire right now and sleep for a year.
Zena led her to a small clearing tangled with huckleberry bushes heavy with plump, purple berries. She took off her jacket, spread it on the ground, and began to fill it with the fruit.
“He’s drunk.” Zena said it so quietly Willow nearly didn’t hear her.
“What?”
Zena glanced at her. The last twenty-four hours had stripped from Zena’s face all the black eyeliner, the gray shadow, the darkened lips. She looked softer, more fragile. “I wouldn’t say anything, but Dawson nearly fell going down the mountain yesterday and then today in the ravine. And he dropped Vi while crossing the river—I’m worried about him.”
Zena dumped huckleberries into the jacket. Met Willow’s gaze again, her eyes dark brown, piercing. “Dawson is drunk—or maybe high—but I’m guessing that water bottle he’s toting around isn’t just water.”
Willow stilled. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I know you’re probably thinking I gave it to him—”
“I’m not thinking anything, but . . . wow, Dawson?” Clean-cut twin brother of straight-A Vi?
“It’s not easy being the stupid twin,” Zena said. “He just wants to hide from the world a little like the rest of us.”
That made sense. Because for all the pictures Zena took, Willow had never actually seen her in front of the camera.
And then there was Maggy, hiding her body under all the folds of sweatshirts and baggy pants.
Not to mention Riley and his computer games, and Gus and his football persona.
And Quinn. Willow didn’t exactly know what Quinn was hiding, but Sam’s cryptic words to her earlier niggled at her. “Senator Starr isn’t the kind of guy who would add a little physical incentive to get his way, is he?”
“We need to get back.”
Zena touched her arm. “Vi’s watching him.”
“Vi knows?” Of course she did.
“She’s been helping him hide it for a while now. Does his homework, drives him around.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“I’m not lying to you.”
“Zena, I believe you. I’m just shocked. And not a little disappointed.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the ones you least expect, right? Rich, pretty Dawson is an alcoholic. While people like me get tried and convicted with a glance.”
Where did that come from?
But, she got it. Because it just wasn’t fair that people like Dawson, or really Sierra, had it so easy. And people like Zena and Willow spent life hoping and striving.
“I never thought you did drugs,” Willow said quietly.
Zena looked away then, her mouth tight. “You’d be the first.”
“Zena, my entire life people have been saying, Willow, daughter of that crazy hippie, grew up in a commune. Didn’t even graduate from high school. She’s a mess.”
“I don’t think you’re a mess,” Zena said.
Willow wanted to laugh at her sincerity, at the fact that probably she was a mess, especially right now. Instead, “And you’re not either.”
Zena looked up at her, and Willow had never seen so much emotion in her eyes, which were usually covered in layers of black, not to mention her natural hooded defenses. “I wish I could be like you,” she said. “You’re not afraid to be yourself. I just wish that . . .”
“That someone would care enough to want you around, even if you are a mess?” Willow slipped her arm over Zena’s shoulders. “Yeah, well, guess what. We do. I do. You’re creative and smart and beautiful and worthy of being loved, Zena. And not just by me, but by God, who sees you—the real you. You don’t have to hide from him.”
Zena wiped a hand under her eyes. “Listen, you can’t tell Dawson I told you. He’d kill me. But that water bottle—you need to check it.”
“How do you know this?”
“My big brother buys for him,” she said. “I’ve seen him a few times outside church.”
“Outside church?” She’d seen Zena’s brother a few times, when he’d dropped Zena off for youth group, or even at the Gray Pony. Distinctive with his long dark hair and sleeve of tattoos, he worked at the Sweetwater Lumber Company and looked the spitting image of his father, or what Willow could remember of him before his arrest a few years ago for drug dealing.
Willow added more berries to the jacket, then knelt and folded it up. “He’s drunk on a youth group trip. Beautiful.”
“Who’s drunk?”
She hadn’t heard Sam come up.
His hair had dried, tousled, gold threads caught by the sun, and he wore a fatigue around his eyes she hadn’t seen before. She could smell the forest, the campfire smoke on him, and was suddenly keenly aware of his strength, the memory of his arms around her, his kiss . . . “We can’t, Willow.”
And in that moment, she wanted to hate Sierra.
She stood up, glanced at Zena, who’d headed back to camp.
Apparently not wanting to be a part of this conversation.
“According to Zena, Dawson is drunk.”
Sam’s mouth tightened a little around the edges. “Hmm.”
“You’re not surprised?”
“I’m a cop. Of course I’m not surprised. I’d be surprised if one of them weren’t carrying a dime bag right now.”
“Sam, these are Christian kids.”
“These are kids. None of us are immune to the darkness, Willow. Except maybe you.”
She opened her mouth, and he reached out for her jacket of berries.
But she didn’t release them. “What do you mean?”
“I just think sometimes you’re a little naïve to think these kids aren’t up to their ears in trouble. That all they need is a little inspirational speech and they’ll have their problems figured out.”
She stared up at him. “Ouch. I didn’t see that coming.” She pushed past him, but he reached out for her.
“Willow—”
“Just let me pass, Sam.”
He looked stricken as she strode by him.
He scrambled after her. “C’mon. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No, it’s true. You’re completely right. I am naïve to believe I can help these kids. And you could probably add in reckless, idealistic, and if you want to take into account what happened at the river, impulsive and probably a bit of a boyfriend-stealer. Because I know you, Sam. You wouldn’t kiss me unless it was an accident—”
“I kissed you on purpose, Willow!”
She stopped. Turned to look at him.
He stood, outlined by the falling sun, dark, solid, and not a little angry.
He stepped closer, his face now coming into view, his blue eyes stormy, his mouth set in a grim line. He lowered his voice. “I kissed you because I can’t get you off my mind—and I haven’t since you kissed me in the hospital.”
He hadn’t?
“And frankly, I want to kiss you again, right now. You are frustrating and beautiful and yes, everything Sierra isn’t, and that’s the problem. Sierra.”
“I know,” Willow said quietly. “I know you love her—”
“I don’t love her!”
He drew in a quick, shaky breath, as if realizing the truth for himself for the first time.
The forest fell into silence around them, leaving behind only the thunder of her heartbeat.
His eyes were earnest in hers. “And I don’t know that I ever will. Or could. Or even want to try anymore.”
Oh. And that was her fault.
She looked up at him and hated the confusion on his face, the realization that she’d put it there with her inability to control her emotions or her actions.
“But you could, Sam. And you should. Sierra’s the right one for you. She’s smart and pretty and I’m nothing like her. I didn’t even graduate from high school—”
“I know that. If you want, I’ll help you get your GED. We’ll study and . . .”
She stilled. And then she got it. Because, no, she wasn’t Sierra, and he might be okay with that if he could rescue her, make her better. Fix her. Her jaw tightened, and he must have seen it.
“What?”
“Nothing. We have to get back.” She turned away, but he grabbed her arm.
“Willow, what did I say?”
“Nothing.” Fine. “Just listen. This is who I am. Willow. The barista, the waitress, the dog-sitter, and occasionally I get people lost in the park. I’m the girl who grew up in a commune. I’m not brilliant or organized, and yeah, I’m a dreamer, okay? I feed on hope, on inspirational views, I love cat videos and can’t help but sing along to pop music. But that’s okay, because I’m pretty sure that God loves me, even if I don’t have a Bible degree. Even if I only serve French fries for the rest of my life.”
He frowned at her.
She knew she wasn’t making sense, so she simplified. “You don’t have to rescue me. That’s not your job. Let’s just get these kids home, Sam. And then you’ll come to your senses and realize that you don’t really want me.”
He stood there frowning as she turned, her heart breaking as she walked away.
He didn’t want her?
No amount of attempts to slow Willow down, make her stop, offer the slightest hint of clarity as to her cryptic words worked as Sam stumbled and tripped after Willow.
“Willow!”
“Leave me alone, Sam.”
It couldn’t get colder out here if they suddenly experienced an epic glacial event.
Whatever he’d said, he clearly couldn’t fix it.
He could, however, do his job, starting with Dawson Moore, the little delinquent.
Sam had gotten a fire going—which was what he’d gone to tell Willow. Now the little company crouched around it, sitting on rocks. Josh was breaking up a couple soggy power bars he’d dug out of the emergency pack.
Riley sat next to Vi, his arm still around her—Sam could spot smitten from a mile away. And Gus and Maggy just might have the makings of another romance.
Quinn stood just outside the glow of the flames.
Willow set her jacket down next to the fire, and Zena came over, dropped a handful of berries into it.
Sam headed straight for Dawson.
He sat on the ground, his eyes closed, head back. As if he might be passed out.
“Sam?” Willow’s voice, sharp, tight, bore an edge of warning.
“Stay out of this, Willow.”
Dawson opened his eyes a second before Sam reached out, grabbed the water bottle from his hand.
“What the—”
Sam opened it, and the smell could knock him over, take him to his knees. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Dawson scrambled to his feet, and at closer look, his reddened eyes betrayed the fact that if he wasn’t currently three sheets to the wind, he had been.
Probably sometime in the night. And since then nursed a comfortable buzz.
“Seriously? We nearly die and you’re drunk?”
“That’s not yours,” Dawson said and took a swipe at the bottle. To which Sam stiff-armed him with a hand to his chest, pushed him back.
He poured the liquid on the ground, averted his nose to the odor.
Dawson swore. “C’mon, man.”
Sam pitched the entire bottle into the woods. “You c’mon. Have you lost your mind?”
Dawson’s mouth closed, his jaw tight. He stumbled back to the rock.
“Oh no, you don’t. You’re sitting right here by this fire so I can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re not going to pass out or die from alcohol poisoning.” He put his hand on Dawson’s arm.
A scream—he didn’t know from whom—and Sam stepped back. The kid just missed his jaw. The momentum turned Dawson around, and he landed with a thump on the earth.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Gus and Quinn closing in.
Then he looked up, and as if drawn there, met Willow’s gaze. Her mouth was tight, and her eyes glistened.
Yeah, well, she might think all these kids needed was a little inspiration, but he dealt in the real world. Where kids screwed up and got people killed. And it was his job to pick up the pieces.
Although, even now, he realized he’d poured too much of his cynicism into his comment. Why did he have to call her naïve?
Josh had come over, knelt next to Dawson, who pushed himself up from the ground and glared at Sam.
Sam shoved a water bottle into Josh’s hands. “Make sure he has something to drink—all that booze is going to make him dehydrated.”
He didn’t want to remember how many times he’d had to nurse Pete back to sobriety. The memory stuck in his craw, tightened his jaw. Sam stood up, walked over to the fire, and stared into the flames, the residue of the argument simmering under his skin.
Maybe he should have left them behind, hiked out on his own. Except for Willow’s voice in his head. Don’t leave me.
He didn’t want to.
What he wanted to do was take her in his arms, tell her that somehow over the last two days, she’d cut through all the darkness inside him and filled it with light.
Or at least tried to.
With the sun gone, shadow crept from the woods, the night air carrying a crispness to it that meant they’d have to huddle up together. He’d have to stay awake, keep the fire stoked.
Willow was dividing up the berries into even piles. Zena distributed them, and the kids ate them in strained silence.
A log fell, sparks escaped. Sam looked away, toward the milky darkness, the moon rising above the treetops. The parents were probably frantic by now, no idea where their children were or if they were safe.
He found himself staring again at Willow. At the way she had her arm around Maggy, the space blanket pulled around them for warmth.
The woman so desperately wanted to make an impact on these kids, on her world. What she didn’t realize was how she’d made an impact on him. She lived with her heart dangerously on the outside of her body, but it was a pure heart.
“I’m not brilliant or organized, and yeah, I’m a dreamer, okay?”
Yes, actually, it was okay. Maybe he needed a dreamer, someone who helped him get a different perspective.
The right perspective.
He wasn’t in love with Sierra.
But he could be falling for her sister.
Sam nearly got up, marched across the fire. Pulled her into his arms and told her that when they got home, they’d start over. This time without Sierra standing between them.
“You don’t have to rescue me. That’s not your job.”
Maybe not, but maybe that’s why God had put him here. For the first time, he could admit to being profoundly thankful that Sierra had goaded him into joining this ill-fated day trip with a bunch of delinquents.
At first light, he’d leave for help. Get them out of this mess, show the parents that Willow was the best thing that ever happened to this youth group.
Best thing that ever happened to him.
He didn’t look at her when he got up. “All right. We’re going to keep this fire lit all night. And then in the morning, you all are going to hunker down while I go get help.”
They stared at him, digesting his words. But Quinn stepped into the light and tossed another twig into the fire, the one he’d been peeling. “I’m going with you.”
“Quinn—”
“I owe you, man.”
Sam started to shake his head, but Quinn’s dark expression stopped him, stared him down. “Please. For Bella.”
What could Sam do when he recognized Quinn’s expression as his own? A desperate desire to fix things, starting with perhaps Pete, and then Sierra, ending with Willow.
“Okay. We leave at first light.”
Please don’t let him kill them.
“Hurry, Pete!” Jess’s voice slicked out behind him, tight and shrill, and he refused to glance up, his focus on tying the Prusik knot onto the rappel rope.
This had to work.
His brain had done the math the minute he saw the ledge jutting out from the ridgeline.
With the bear gaining ground, they couldn’t outrun it. But maybe . . .
The ledge extended six feet across, and only adrenaline made him think they could jump down that fifteen feet without breaking an ankle.
Miraculously, that’s exactly what they did, his hand in Jess’s as he shouted “Jump!” and took them sailing over the edge.
They’d landed, hard, and for a second, he thought he might pitch right over the edge, his knees buckling, his body rolling.
He would be impaled on a pine spire, save for Jess’s hand on his jacket, yanking him back.
Saving his life.
Then, while she’d scrambled for her bear spray, he whipped off his pack and grabbed out his rope.
“We’re going down the mountain,” he’d said and she didn’t argue. Just stood up and aimed the spray at the bear.
He caught a vision of her, just as he was setting the cam, her legs braced, her jaw tight, both hands on the spray, the wind blowing her blonde hair.
Planted between him and death.
The sense of it rattled him to his bones. Please don’t let her die on my watch.
Now, fifteen feet above him, judging by the sound of the fury, the bear was beginning to recover from the bear spray. Jess had caught it in the snout and the eyes, and for a minute or three Pete had a chance to put two clear thoughts together.
Get down the mountainside.
And, he was such an idiot.
If he hadn’t kissed Jess, he would have seen the sow alert to their presence, heard her charging up the ridge.
Instead, he’d been tangled inside his desires, losing himself in Jess’s touch.
“Pete!” Her voice cut through his movements, and he tightened down the auto-block knot. Tested it.
His regrets could wait until after he got them over the edge and down the mountain.
“Get your harness on!” he yelled to her over his shoulder.
Overhead, the bear reached down and swiped at them. Any minute it would simply drop the fifteen feet onto the ledge and take them out.
Don’t look.
He’d already anchored them into the rock, shoved the cam into a convenient horizontal crack, attached the rope to it, and hooked on the descender.
The pack contained only one webbed sling. He should have checked before simply heading out and now cursed his recklessness again.
Like, say, kissing Jess when trying to outrun a bear.
Yeah, Pete, absolutely brilliant. He wouldn’t hire him as incident commander either, with moves like that.
This next one just might get them killed.
Jess sat on the edge of the cliff, working on her harness. Below, the world dropped off at a brutal angle—not quite 90 degrees but close enough that the wrong step would send them careening down three hundred yards into trees and boulders.
Any other day, any other moment, the view would halt him, make him take a deep breath. The mountains around him jutted up bold, rugged, the sun glinting off high-altitude snow cover, turning it brilliant gold and orange in the afternoon light. Below them, that same light turned the valley into dusky dark greens, the pine forest lush and protective.
If they could get to it.
He was going to spider rappel and pray that Jess had the guts to hang on.
Above them, the bear made another swipe at them, saliva spraying from its teeth. And the rank feral odor—feces, blood, matted fur—could knock him right over.
Claws just barely missed Jess’s shoulder, and Pete, hooked into the descender, sat down next to her. Pulled on his gloves.
“Listen very carefully,” he said and kept his tone solid, without fear, his gaze holding hers.
She stared at him, panic around the edges of her beautiful eyes, but in the center, nothing but trust.
He hadn’t expected that. Okay.
“This is how this is going to work.” He shut out the roar of the bear above them, the sound of dirt and rock falling as the animal pawed the ground. “Get behind me, put your legs around my waist, and attach your harness to mine.”
“What—wait. I thought we were rappelling—”
“We are. We’re going face first.” Her eyes widened then, and he nodded. “You can do this. Just hang on to me. I won’t let you fall.”
She inhaled fast, the resolve clicking in.
Especially when more rocks fell behind them.
She moved behind him, clipping into his harness.
“Put your arms around me and hang on. We’ll go down together.”
“I’m too heavy—”
“You’re not, and this will work if you just trust me.”
The grizzly gave a roar that found his bones and turned them brittle just as the ledge above gave way.
Jess clamped her arms and legs around him. “Let’s go!”
The bear fell onto their ledge with a feral growl that cut through the canyon.
Pete didn’t wait. With one hand on the Prusik knot to slow him down, he leaned up over the edge, Jess on his back, and started down the slope.
She held on, and for a second, with so much tension on his gloved hand, he thought they might just plunge forward, pitch down the incline.
Jess maybe had the same thought because she tried to put her feet down, tripped, nearly pushed him forward.
“Jess! Just hold on! I got this!”
He glanced over his shoulder. They were five feet down, and the bear gathered to take another swipe at them.
If the animal charged down the hill after them, it might fall on them and take them all to their deaths.
If ever Pete wanted to pray, to hearken back to the faith his father had tried to root in him, it was now. As if bidden, his father’s words from the Bible stirred inside him. Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
All right then, God. Get us out of this mess. And I’ll stop making reckless choices.
Jess glued herself to him as he found his rhythm, nearly running downhill.
The rope whipped through his gloved hands, and as the roar above dimmed, Jess put her chin on his shoulder. “Wow.”
“Right?” He loved rap jumping. He was breathing hard, but really, she weighed almost nothing, and the faster he went, the stronger he felt.
In fact, with a strange twist of his heart, he’d realized—he’d always wanted this. To bring Jess along on his adrenaline-laced adventures, to look over and see her grinning at him.
Even better, laughing.
“This is awesome! I mean, I know you’re the one doing all the work, but—”
“It is awesome,” he said, his chest about to explode with the freedom, the sense of triumph in the face of death. “The first time I did this, it was off a seven-story building in Seattle. Then I joined a rap-jumping group—now I go out whenever I can.”
“You mean whenever you’re not BASE jumping, or hang gliding, or skydiving.”
She said it without judgment, however, as if she might want to tag along.
“Yeah. There’s just something about facing death and winning, right?”
She gave a wry chuckle, sweet and low in his ears. “Sure, Pete.”
The terrain began to level out, and he slowed. She put her feet down, began to walk in rhythm with him.
His impulsive promise to God not to make reckless choices came back to him.
Like kissing Jess.
Except, at this moment, it didn’t feel so reckless.
Pete stopped them near a tall pine where he could brace himself, where she could unhook her harness.
Sixty yards above, the bear rooted around the ledge for a way back to the ridge, the call of her cubs turning her home.
Jess leaned against the tree, breathing hard, wearing a soft grin. “Pete Brooks, it can’t be said that you don’t show a girl a good time. Next time, however, let’s try it without the bear.”
He grinned, and wow, he wanted to kiss her again. But those kinds of impulses were exactly how people got hurt around him.
“Let’s get going. We have to report in or they’ll send a search team for us.”
“Let them,” she said. Oh boy. Because really, what was a guy to do with Jess looking at him like he might be a DC hero, her eyes full of spark and welcome?
He just had to taste that beautiful smile. So he kissed her, fast and short. Not pressing her up against the tree, not diving in, never to come up for air. And that had to count for something, right?
He dearly hoped that the Almighty took into account what it cost him to simply take her hand and run for the truck.