CHASE PARKED THE SNOWMOBILE, slid off his helmet and checked his cell phone. Still no bars or signal reception. He ran his gloved hand through his hair and frowned at the sky. Every tree looked the same: barren, snow covered and dreary. Every trail turn appeared the same as the last. The clouds seemed to have stalled in the sky, offering the same view in all directions. Nature wasn’t to blame for their situation. Rather, the fault belonged to Chase’s poor map reading skills. He’d convinced himself he’d conquered maps. Clearly, he’d lied to himself. “I think we should’ve turned left, not right, back there.”
“So, this isn’t a shortcut?” Wesley slipped off the back of the snowmobile and scooped up a handful of snow.
“Definitely not a shortcut.” Chase set his helmet on the handlebars and stretched his legs.
“Then we should’ve turned left three turns back, then made two rights.” Wesley rubbed his gloved hand under his nose and launched his snowball across the trail. “I thought you knew a shortcut so we could beat Dan and Ben back to the house.”
At this rate, they’d be lucky to beat the sunset home. Dan and Ben were most likely already off the mountain, sipping hot chocolate and relishing their win. The foursome had bet on which of two trails back to the château was faster. The winner got to pick the movie to watch later that night. The losers were on dinner cleanup duty and required to make sure the popcorn bowl never went empty. “I shouldn’t be trusted with a map.”
“That’s okay.” Wesley formed another snowball. “Mom says I shouldn’t be trusted with white clothes or nice new things.”
Chase watched Wesley. The kid tossed his snowball aside, stripped off his glove and stuck his bare finger into the snowdrift as if testing the bath water temperature. No distress wrinkled his face. No fear shadowed him. Chase asked, “You’re really okay that we’re lost on this mountain?”
“Not lost. Just turned around.” Wesley crammed his hand back inside his glove and took the map from Chase. “We just need to backtrack our steps to get to the original trail.”
“You’re sure it’s that easy?” Chase willed it to be that easy. But he’d gotten lost before and had spent hours fixing his mistakes. But he’d never been lost with a child. One he’d vowed to protect.
“Sure.” Wesley shrugged. “I do it all the time to find whatever I’ve lost.”
“Do you lose things often?” Chase formed a snowball. He liked Wesley—liked his honesty and openness.
“I lose things more than Mom likes.” Wesley studied the map, glanced at the trees and then the trail. “She’s always telling me to pay more attention.” He paused and pitched his voice higher. “‘Respect your things, Wesley. Take more pride in your appearance, Wesley. Use a napkin, not your jeans, Wesley.’”
“My mom still tells me to sit up straight,” Chase said, and earned a laugh from Wesley. “And my nonna tells me to eat more vegetables and get off my phone at least once a week.”
“My great-gramma just cooks lots of cookies and pies for me.” Wesley laughed louder. “My great-gramma never gives me any lectures. She tells me that’s my mom’s job.”
Wesley was better behaved than Chase had ever been. “I started cooking with my nonna when I was your age. She taught me how to garden too.”
“Cool.” Wesley smiled over the map, and his eyes sparked. “Can she teach me to cook too? Mom’s great at everything except cooking.”
Chase rolled his snowball away and rubbed his chest. He’d never considered having a child who Nonna could teach to cook too. He liked the idea a lot. “We’d have to ask her. But first we need to get home.” Before Nichole sent out a search party and banned him from ever taking Wesley on another outing again.
Wesley traced his finger over the map. Chase suggested hand signals for when Wesley needed to tell him which way to turn. Hand signals learned and memorized, Wesley slapped his helmet over his head and climbed on the snowmobile behind Chase. Two miles and several turns later, Chase stopped the snowmobile in a small clearing and willed his panic to stand down. “Anything look familiar?”
“Those are the tracks we made earlier.” Wesley pointed toward the tree line.
Chase squinted at the trail, unsure if those were the tracks they’d made on the wrong trail. He leaned forward, followed the direction Wesley pointed and noticed the second set of tracks. “You’re good at this.”
“I’ve had years of practice.” Wesley’s tone sounded wisdom-aged as if he’d lived eight decades, not one.
Chase laughed and checked his phone for service. Barely half a bar lit the top corner of his phone screen. Every mile should take them closer to a cell tower and service. Then he’d open his map app and let the satellites guide them home.
Wesley set his hand on Chase’s arm, drawing his attention away from his phone. He whispered, “Do you hear that?”
“The bears are sleeping,” Chase murmured, and glanced around the clearing. “Are they snoring?”
Wesley giggled and slid off the snowmobile. “Not bears. It sounds like crying.”
Chase followed Wesley across the clearing toward several fallen tree stumps and branches. A small gray fur ball darted from beneath a thick branch. Chase stepped forward and stopped. Another silver-streaked fur ball raced in the same direction. “Is that...”
“Kittens,” Wesley shouted, and slapped his gloves over his mouth. His eyes round, he pulled his hands away and lowered his voice. “We have to rescue them. They’ll freeze out here.”
Chase checked the time on his phone and the angle of the sun. He’d promised Nichole they’d be back long before sunset. “But they’re most likely wild cats and know how to survive out here.”
“We can’t leave them, Chase.” Wesley watched him, worry and fear on his face. “We can’t. They’re only babies. Babies should never be left behind. Ever.”
Neither should pregnant moms or young sons. Chase swallowed around the lump in his throat. He couldn’t refuse Wesley. Even Chase wouldn’t sleep well knowing they hadn’t tried to help the kittens. He checked the time again. “Okay. We have fifteen minutes to try and get those kittens. Then we need to leave.”
“We can do this.” Wesley set his hands on his hips and pointed at a fallen tree, the kitten’s current hiding place. “How should we do this?”
“We need a plan.” Chase glanced around the clearing. “And something to trap them in.”
The first trap consisting of a thin branch and pinecones failed. Clumps of snow dropped onto their heads, covering them in snowflakes and laughter. The kittens skittered away.
Wesley guided Chase on the second trap made of four snow walls and a tree branch roof. Chase managed to swipe his gloves across the silver-and-black kitten’s back. Then the trap fell apart and the kittens escaped again. And the fifteen minutes quickly shifted into thirty. Chase rubbed his hands together. The temperature dropped along with the sun. The kittens would be hard-pressed to survive the night. They had to succeed.
Together, Chase and Wesley used the best parts of their earlier traps and constructed a new one. Wesley captured the gray kitten. Chase bent down and scooped up the silver-and-black sibling.
“It worked.” Wesley snuggled the kitten closer, then sneezed. “I’m not allergic. Just cold.”
Chase unzipped his jacket and motioned toward Wesley. “The kittens will be warm inside my coat.”
“Are you sure?” Wesley peeled the kitten’s claws out of his jacket sleeve.
No. But they had few options. Wesley needed his hands free to hang on to Chase and use his hand signals to guide Chase in the right direction. A kitten would distract the boy. “I’m the best they’ve got.”
Wesley settled his kitten inside Chase’s jacket. “What about their mom?”
Chase had already considered the kitten’s mother and whether she had more in her litter. He checked the time on his phone and noted the last of the setting sun. “We can do a ten-minute search. Then we leave. Remember she’s wild too and has been surviving out here longer than us.”
“Okay. We should start at the log where we first found them.”
Chase unwrapped his scarf and wound it around Wesley’s neck. “Lead the way.”
At the twelve-minute mark, Chase called a halt to the search. He tugged off his gloves and tied them to a high branch. “We have to leave, or your mother is going to be really mad.”
Wesley kicked at the snow and frowned into Chase’s scarf. “Fine.”
“Look, my gloves will be here as a marker.” Chase pointed at the tree branch. “We can come back tomorrow during the day and search for their mom.”
Wesley straightened and grinned. “Promise?”
“Promise.” What was it about the Moore family that caused Chase to keep making promises?