Chapter Twenty-Three
Hannah checked the slowly darkening skies, made a few more strokes to finish up a corner of the stone lamb house, then reluctantly began packing up her tools while the watercolor dried. She raised her arms and stretched. It was cooler up here, but not by much. She slipped off her straw hat and mopped her forehead with one of her clean rags. “Come on, rain,” she murmured.
It was hard to believe it was August already, but there was no doubting the late summer heat. It hadn’t rained except a little cloudburst here and there for close to a month. They’d had to invest in a different kind of sprinkler setup for the lavender fields just to keep them from dying out completely before the final harvest. Most of the fields were done, but that final culling was critical to their plan to lay in stores big enough for the quantity of product they’d wanted to make over the winter months. They’d decided on throwing another community party in September before the weather turned cold. No lavender picking this time, but definitely some music, the tearoom would be open, and they would have a wreath-making workshop and another wine-tasting combo with Bluestone & Vine. After that, they’d hold a two-day open house between Thanksgiving and Christmas to do a preview launch of their product line. Vivienne was planning on holding weekly teas through the winter before the actual launch of the tearoom in the spring. She’d secured all the proper permits now, so she could hire staff and operate as a full-fledged business.
It still felt as if they had five million things to do, and on top of that, Hannah was trying to get enough artwork done to fill her stall in the mill, which she’d start manning on a regular schedule once the farm wound down at the end of summer. She’d already taken a few commissions from people who had seen her painting at the amphitheater rehearsals or in various other spots around the Falls. And what time she wasn’t spending tending the lavender fields and painting, was spent with Will. Or with Jake.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text and she smiled. “Speaking of those McCall men.” She reached down and saw it was from Will. He’d initially intended to join her down in the meadow for a picnic supper. She’d thought it was a bit buggy and hot for that, but was so charmed that he’d thought of it, she’d agreed without hesitation. Now with what looked like a change in the weather, he was telling her it would be best to get up the trail before it became a mud slide. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said, and texted him the same. Seeing her phone was close to dying, she searched in her bag for her external battery pack—something she’d taken to carrying since she had a habit of losing track of time when she painted, and realized she’d left the unit charging back on her kitchen counter. She hurried to let Will know that, and that she was packing up and would text again when she was heading back to the Falls and had a chance to charge her phone in the car a bit.
She glanced up at the sky again and frowned. It was definitely looking dark over the distant peaks. She finished stowing her gear and carefully stored her painting in her art valise. She hauled the lot of it over to the shed, never so thankful for Addie’s offer to store her work there. Because Bailey stored feed and some medical supplies in there, the shed was temperature controlled by a big solar energy panel mounted to the roof, so her supplies stayed in good condition.
The bleating of the babies coming from the lamb house beckoned her, and after she closed up the shed, she took another glance at the sky and decided she had a few minutes to indulge herself. She’d apologized to Snowball many times for blubbering all over his soft, wooly curls. The lamb wasn’t being bottle fed any longer and no longer resembled the scrawny little bundle he’d been several months ago. He would always be Hannah’s favorite, and she kept a small little something in her pocket for the lamb to nibble on, when she could sneak it to him without being stampeded by the whole herd.
Hannah stepped inside the dimly lit interior, immediately sighing in relief at the cool, dank air, even if she had to take a moment to get used to the various barn smells that came with it. She marveled over how big the last batch of babies was getting and covered her heart with her hand at the sight of two new ones in the far stall. “Seriously,” she told them, peering over the stable door. “Stop it with the cuteness.” It was a miracle Bailey hadn’t talked her into taking one or a dozen of them home to Lavender Blue with her already. As it was, Chey was already talking about getting a few of Bailey’s pygmy goats to keep full time. Not because they needed them anymore for clearing purposes. And that had been an amazing lesson in animal power right there. But because in that miniature size they were just so stinking cute.
“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 now.
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.”
Hannah blew out a huge sigh of relief. “You kind of jumped down the inventory list a bit,” she teased, trying to distract him a little from the pain.
“Pretty sure it’s mostly my hip,” he said. “Maybe my right leg a little.”
“Okay, that’s good. Not about the hip,” she added, “but the rest. You’re doing really great, Jake.”
And then he did the damnedest thing. He smiled at her, truly smiled, rain soaked, scratched up, injured and all, and said, “You are, too.”
Her breath hitched just a little as a fresh threat of tears gathered, even as she laughed. “Thanks. So, let’s say we get ourselves out of here.”
“I’m good with that,” he said gamely.
“Your phone, is it on you?”
“Yes. But . . . in my right shorts pocket.”
She looked and realized which one he meant. The one with a tree on it. “Ah. Okay. Plan B.” Maybe her phone still had a shred of charge in it. She squinted through the tree branches in the direction of the stone building and suddenly realized that the rain had slowed, and the wind had died down completely. No more thunder or rumbling skies, either. The storm had passed over the meadow like a blade scraping along a flat surface, only with a lot of violent turbulence following along in its wake. “I think the worst of the storm is over,” she told him.
She shifted slightly, careful not to disturb the sleeping lamb, and was surprised at how quickly she was able to get her bearings now that the storm fog had lifted, the rain had lightened up, and the wind wasn’t whipping things around any longer. From her spot in the middle of the branches, she could actually see more clearly. The leaves had all been flattened by the rain—the ones that hadn’t been torn off by the wind—so that helped, too.
She immediately spied a far more direct route out of the tangle of tree limbs and thought, Now you tell me. In her panic to get to Jake, she’d just gone flying and crawling in, but the path out looked fairly simple if she just moved directly toward the main tree trunk. She looked back to Jake, who was watching her with surprising calm. “Okay,” she told him. “I’m going to take the baby to the stable and get my phone, call for help.” She didn’t tell him that it might be dead. They’d deal with that when and if the time came. “You are not to move. Do you hear me?” She gave him a pointed look, affection and love right there for him to see, too. “No moving.”
Jake smiled again, even as he winced. “Got it. No moving. I swear. It’s not much fun anyway.”
Her heart clenched a little at that. “I’d lean down and kiss you on the forehead, but—” She gestured to the lamb. Instead she pressed her fingers to her lips, then pressed them to his forehead. She was actually just trying to feel whether he was cold or hot, not that she was sure what she’d do about either one. It was just the mom instinct in her. To stroke foreheads and soothe.
She saw color steal into his cheeks at her action. She’d probably embarrassed him. “Sorry,” she told him. “It’s a mom thing. It’s what we do.”
She saw a flicker of some unreadable emotion pass through his eyes, and they grew a little glassy. Hannah realized then what she’d said, how it might have sounded, and worried that he’d thought she was trying to take his mom’s place or something. She opened her mouth, to say exactly what, she didn’t know, but to try and fix her gaffe, but he spoke first.
“Thanks,” he said, looking straight at her. And that was when she saw it, right there, shining from his green eyes. A look she recognized, one her heart recognized in an instant. One she had missed, so much.
“I like it,” he added, and his voice broke in that post-adolescent croak.
“Good,” she said, and maybe her eyes were glassy then, too. “Because you might be getting more of them.” She gave him a wry wink. “Fair warning.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again and looked right back into her eyes. If there was any doubt about what she thought she’d seen before, he left no doubt now. “I’m good with that,” he told her. “Really good with that.”
She hoped he saw the exact same emotion in her eyes, because it had filled her heart up to overflowing the instant that tree had started to fall. I love you, too, she said silently. “Hold down the fort,” she told him, and got an eye roll and a smile. “I will be very fast.”
Hannah scooped the lamb up in her arms and carefully held it against her body. She’d expected it to wake up and start thrashing, but it was well and truly exhausted. Poor thing, she thought, but was glad. It would make the task ahead a lot easier.
It turned out not to be all that hard now that she’d found the easier path out. Once she was clear, the mud and carrying the lamb kept her from flat-out running, but she made it through the paddock gate and over to the lamb house fairly quickly. She gently deposited the baby in the first empty stall, hoping it wouldn’t wake up and be frightened to be alone, but she figured Bailey would want to check her over and make sure she was okay, and this way it would be easy to know which lamb it was.
The minute she was free of her little burden, fresh adrenaline coursed through her. Hannah turned and all but fell on her backpack, finally having to force herself to slow down and make her fingers stop shaking so she could pull the clasp down the cord and open the drawstring top. Her phone was right on top. She said every prayer she knew and pressed the button.
When the screen lit up, she cried out in relief and immediately punched in 911. They would have to come by helicopter, she thought, silently willing the operator to pick up. When nothing happened, she pulled the phone away and saw there was no signal. She bit back a scream of frustration.
She looked outside, saw there was still a steady, though much calmer rain coming down, and quickly dug in her bag and found the baggie she’d used for her sandwich. She jammed the phone in the bag and zipped it up, then ran back into the rain, searching for a signal. Then it hit her. She always had a signal where she set up her easel and stool to paint. Naturally it was in the opposite direction from the fallen tree, but it was her best shot. If she ran back to Jake and got no signal there, her phone would surely die before she made it all the way back across the field.
Slipping and sliding as she ran around the paddock fence, she skidded to a stop the moment she got close to her spot and hit the call button again. “Come on, come on,” she murmured. “Do this, phone. Do this.” And then 911 picked up. “Oh, thank God.” Hannah quickly explained the situation, giving their location as best she could. She explained it all twice, and they told her a medivac helicopter would be coming, but with the storm still in the area, they couldn’t give her a clear time frame. Hannah wanted to get back to Jake, but the operator told her to stay on the line, and she knew if she moved, she’d lose the signal. However, right then her phone finally died, freeing her from having to make that choice.
She prayed the chopper would get to them sooner rather than later, and that she’d given them enough info to find the meadow easily. Hopefully they got her GPS coordinates before her phone died. There was nothing else to do now but get back to Jake, keep him calm, and wait.
By the time she made it through the tangle of branches to his side, taking the much easier way in this time, the rain had stopped completely. “We’re all set,” she told him, and lowered herself carefully beside him once more. “I’m sorry it took so long, but help is on the way.”
“Did you tell Dad?”
“I told the operator your name and his and gave them all the information they needed, but then my phone died. I know they’ll contact him.”
“Good,” Jake said, then let his head relax back now that the rain wasn’t stinging his face. He slid a hand across the dirt, palm open.
Now that neither of them had the lamb to contend with, she reached for it immediately and held on to it with both of hers.
“I’m okay,” he told her.
“You’re better than okay,” she said with a grin, feeling almost giddy with relief. Help was coming. Jake was going to be fine. “So, while we wait, I want to tell you something,” she said, thinking talking would distract him from the pain. And because of that moment they’d shared before she’d gone to make the call, she didn’t want him going another moment without knowing, without understanding. “I know I haven’t been real great about spending time with both you and your dad. At the same time.”
“Hannah,” Jake said, his expression instantly alarmed, “you don’t have to—”
“No, it’s all right, Jake,” she said and smiled. “It’s going to be fine.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “Okay. That’s good.” He kept them closed another moment and then looked at her again.
She felt bad for alarming him. She’d been trying to do the opposite. She had no idea what she looked like, probably not good, but hoped he saw the sincerity in her eyes if nothing else. “I was having kind of a hard time,” she began.
“I know,” Jake said. “Dad and I talked about it. He was going to talk to you out here. Today.”
Surprised, and feeling worse now knowing she’d really worried them both, she said, “You did? He was?”
Jake nodded, then gritted his teeth.
“You know what, maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this now. Rest as best you can. Keep your eyes open, but try and do that slow, steady breathing thing I talked about before. It will help manage the pain. I can talk, but you probably shouldn’t. I’ll . . . tell you a story.”
Jake looked at her. “You can finish the one you started,” he said.
She hesitated, and he said, “Does it have a happy ending?”
She let out a short laugh at that and nodded.
“Then that one,” he said, and smiled at her. “Please.”
She dashed her fingers at the corners of her eyes even as she flashed a brief grin. “Okay,” she said, then tried to find the right words this time. “I didn’t mean to worry you, or your dad, but I guess I did. I wanted to talk to your dad about it, but . . . I wasn’t sure what was really bothering me.” She laid her hand over Jake’s again and he turned his over so they could hold on to each other. “It wasn’t about Liam,” Hannah told him. “Or anything to do with not wanting to be with you. I love being with your dad. I love being with you. I wasn’t sad. In fact, you two make me the happiest I’ve been in a very long time. I just had this really bad, really weird anxiety, whenever I thought about us all together, and that was really confusing to me, because I want to be with you guys. Very much.”
“Was it because you were afraid of being part of a family again?”
“In a way, but that’s not it, not exactly.” She shifted carefully around in the small space until she could lie on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, so her face was more level with his, and so she was closer to him. She shifted her weight so she could put her hand back in his and he immediately held on tight. That made her heart fill right up and she squeezed right back. “I didn’t figure it out exactly until I saw what was happening, with the lightning and the tree.” She held his gaze then. “I realized I wasn’t afraid of having a family again.” She squeezed his hand. “I was afraid of having one, and losing it again. I think some part of me thought I shouldn’t risk caring so much that I could get hurt again and, in its own weird way, it was trying to protect me by making me feel yucky enough that I wouldn’t try.”
“You won’t lose us, Hannah,” Jake said, his gaze searching hers.
She could have told him that she was talking about the kind of loss no one could control, but there was no need for that. “What I realized was that if that part of my brain, or my body, thought it could somehow protect me by not letting me get attached to you two, well then, it didn’t do a very good job.”
Jake looked confused.
“Because it’s too late for that. That ship has sailed.”
Jake flashed her a grin. “You mean it?”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost your chance to get rid of me. You’re stuck with me now. At least for as long as you’ll have me.”
Despite the pain, and the fear, Jake’s eyes were bright now, and there was more than a little relief shining in them, too. “Good.”
Hannah was really glad she’d told him now. She hated that she’d made them worry. “Yeah,” she told him. “I think so, too.”
They both heard the vibrating sound that pulsed through the air. Hannah shifted onto her knees, then stood and scanned the skies the best she could. She saw the medivac helicopter a moment later and waved her arms overhead. “The cavalry has arrived,” she said. “Looks like you’re getting a free hop to the top of the hill.” She shot him a grin. “The things people will do to keep from having to pedal their mountain bike up that trail.”
“Right now, I’ll take it,” he said, his smile tired, but brave and still there.
She sat back down beside him. “Won’t be too much longer now.” She reached out and gently brushed his hair from his face, careful to avoid the injured area, then ruffled the front a little bit, just wanting, needing to touch him, soothe him, if she could.
“Why do adults do that?” he said. Now she was smiling.