High Meadow, page 17
The fresh dough smell makes me nostalgic. Childhood memories of my mother baking fresh bread every Saturday for the week ahead. The bittersweet reminder brings emotions back to the surface that burn behind my eyelids.
Determined I’ve already allowed myself enough tears, I blink them back. I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do something. I need some fresh air.
“I’m going to check on the horses.”
Lucy lifts her head and eyes me carefully. “You’re not thinking of heading back out there, are you?”
“Of course not.”
Actually, it’s crossed my mind, but I don’t have night-vision gear and would probably get lost in the dark.
“Uh-huh.”
She doesn’t bother hiding her skepticism, but doesn’t stop me when I head for the front door.
“Hey, buddy.”
Sarge whinnies softly when I walk to his stall. He sticks his head over the door and lets me nuzzle him. In the stall next to his, Ellie snorts, but when I check on her, she’s against the back wall, one of her rear legs slightly cocked and she’s dozing.
When I turn to the stall on the other side of the aisle where Lucy put Jonas’s horse, Sugar, I notice she’s not resting. She’s staring right back at me.
“You’re worried too, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Jonas
* * *
I lean my head against the rock wall for a moment and close my eyes.
Great idea, but now my head and ankle are not the only things throbbing. My wrists are torn to shit.
The wire they tied me up with is cutting my skin open. I figured wire is prone to metal fatigue so if I twisted my wrists in opposite directions, back and forth, eventually it would snap. Unfortunately, it also creates a sawing motion digging the ties deeper into my skin, which is why my hands are now slick with blood.
Those guys haven’t been back, although I swear I could hear some movement above earlier. Probably nocturnal wildlife foraging for a meal. Other than that it’s been silent, there’s not a lot of noise that penetrates down here. It’s the kind of silence that could drive you crazy over time. Unless the lack of food and water kills you first.
I don’t plan to wait around for either of those to happen. I want to get out of here, preferably before dawn, because there’s a third guy out there they call the general. Someone who is close enough to bring supplies and no stranger to these mountains. My guess would be someone local and that makes me very uneasy. Especially since everything that’s happened so far has been on or close to Alex’s land.
She’s not safe.
Bracing myself for the burn, I lean forward and resume working on my bindings.
I clench my jaw against the pain and it doesn’t take long for sweat to start dripping down my face. Determined, I push through until I finally feel the first strands of the twisted wire snap. Encouraged, I double my efforts, keeping my eyes on the sliver of sky I can see above me.
I’m so focused, it startles me when the last wires break and my hands suddenly move independently.
Using my numb and slick fingers, I try to unwind the wire wrapped around each wrist. When I’ve accomplished that, I shrug out of my coat, take off my shirt, and slip the coat back on. With the help of a piece of wire, I rip off the sleeves of my shirt and use them to bandage my wrists as best I can. The rest of my shirt I tear in long strips, wrapping them tightly around my foot and ankle like a brace.
Lack of sleep and nutrition, combined with the pain of my injuries, has completely zapped my energy. Before I even attempt going up that wall I need to recharge. I rest my back and head against the rock wall so I can catch my breath.
I must’ve dozed off because when I blink my eyes open, I see the first signs of daylight above me. Fuck. I was hoping to be out of here already.
I groan at the protest my body launches when I struggle to my feet. I carefully test my ankle, putting some weight on it. It hurts like a sonofabitch, but it feels steady. I can handle pain but I need both feet and both hands if I have any chance getting out of this hole.
Standing up, it’s evident the walls start narrowing about halfway up. If I can pull myself up high enough, I’ll be able to brace my legs on either side of the pit, and hopefully get myself out. At least that’s the plan.
Stretching my arms as high as I can, I feel around for any hand holds. When my fingers find purchase, I take in a deep breath, blow it out, and propel myself up.
Only to feel my fingers slip and I land my full weight on my bad ankle.
“Fuck!”
I bend over, gasping for air as the sharp pain has my stomach revolt.
After a few moments I straighten up, wipe my slick fingers dry on my jeans, grind my teeth, and reach up again.
I find my hand holds and steel my resolve.
Wait.
What was that?
I swear I heard something and wait to see if it comes again.
There it is again, the faint sound of a dog barking, and I know that bark.
I fill my lungs and yell.
“Max!”
Twenty-One
Jonas
* * *
My throat is dry and raw from yelling and the only sound I manage to produce now is no more than a croak.
Not that I think I was heard before, there have been no more barks since I started calling out.
Maybe it was my imagination playing tricks on me. I haven’t had as much as a sip of water since lunch yesterday, before I loaded up Sugar and headed to Alex’s. The lack of hydration is giving me a throbbing headache, or perhaps that’s still the aftermath from the hit to my head.
I now vaguely recall finding a rifle shell up on the ridge and hearing someone approach, but everything after is still a blank. I assume I was clocked good, knocking me right out, and I suspect I have a concussion.
Haven’t been down here even twelve hours and already I’m weak as a kitten. Fucking old age. I let myself sink down on my ass and close my eyes, but they snap back open when I hear a noise. Rustling, and then a soft metal clanging sound, much like the tags on a dog collar.
I try calling out but nothing more than a rasp comes out.
More clanging, followed by the sound of a voice.
“Good boy, Max. Find him.”
James.
I can hear the horse’s footfalls now too.
Frantically looking around I try to find something I can throw, when I spot the pieces of wire. With trembling fingers I twist them together in a ball, while listening to the sounds moving away again. Then I scramble to my feet and, shooting up a prayer they’ll be able to hear it, I toss the makeshift ball up and out of the hole.
The impact is disappointing, barely loud enough for me to make out. Still, I wait and strain to listen.
Then I hear sniffing. Max.
I stick a hand up as far as I can, hoping he’ll pick up my scent. Max isn’t a trained search and rescue dog, but he has a good nose.
“Max,” I croak.
The next moment his muzzle sticks over the edge, sniffs a few times, and then he starts barking.
“Sight for sore eyes, my friend.”
Bo is crouched beside me, tending to my wrists, while Sully leans over, tilting a water bottle to my lips.
I grunt my agreement. I sure as fuck was happy to see my guys.
James managed to haul me out of the hole. He’d apparently been searching with Max since first light. Turns out the team has been up here all night at a base camp on the ridge just a ten-minute ride from where Max found me.
“Find any tracks? There were two guys,” I rasp.
“Yup. Two sets. We were able to track them leading away from the ridge, until we hit the sharp turn the creek makes about a mile east of here. We lost them there.”
Sully hands me a protein bar and I bite off half of it.
“It was pretty dark last night so we decided to try again this morning. Maybe do a low flyover with the drone.”
I swallow my bite.
“We should head down as soon as possible,” I share, clearly taking Sully by surprise.
“James and Bo were gonna take you and Max down.”
I shake my head. “I think we should all go back. Pretty sure these two are Adams and Wright, but that’s not all, they mentioned the involvement of at least one other person. Someone they called the general, who’s been keeping them supplied. I think it’s someone local.”
“Makes sense,” Fletch says, walking up. “These guys obviously didn’t stumble on this area randomly and they’ve been successfully hiding for weeks now, that would’ve been near impossible without local support.”
But who?
No one I know has ever presented as particularly radical. Then again, that probably wouldn’t be something they’d advertise, which in turn makes everyone a suspect.
Suddenly I’m in a rush to get down the mountain and see Alex. She must be worried.
“By the way,” James comments. “DHS was at the rescue last night and tried to get me to call back the guys. Limpkin was gonna pull together a team and planned to return first thing this morning.”
“Fletch and I can stay up here and wait for those guys. At least to show them what we found,” Sully offers.
It sounds reasonable but I’d rather we stick together. United we stand, and all that. Especially after what happened to me yesterday. Besides, right now I don’t know who to trust, and my pounding head makes it impossible to think clearly.
“We all go,” I order.
“You bet,” Sully concedes. “Ewing stayed at the house last night, he’s got the radio, want me to give him a heads-up?”
“No. Let’s just get down there.”
I don’t want to announce to anyone that we’re on our way.
Safer to trust no one.
Alex
* * *
“Mom, coffee.”
I blink my eyes until Jackson’s face takes shape.
I’m on the couch where I must’ve fallen asleep at some point. I’d been exhausted, especially after losing my shit in the barn last night.
The memory has me shoot upright.
“Any word?”
“Nothing yet,” Jackson says, taking my hand to pull me to my feet.
Beyond him I see the sheriff sitting at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug and looking a little the worse for wear.
Judging by the amount of light coming from outside, it’s still fairly early as I follow my son to the kitchen. Guilt suddenly wracks me. The poor guy comes home to surprise me and lands in the middle of this drama.
“I’m sorry,” I feel compelled to tell him when he pours me a coffee. “I’m sure this isn’t the kind of homecoming you were expecting.”
“Momma…” He turns around and folds me in a hug. I’m still getting used to the size of the chest and arms surrounding me, but they sure make me feel cared for. “I’m just glad I could be here.”
Before I end up bawling again, I ease from his hold and aim for my coffee.
A moment later Lucy comes down the stairs, looking fresh from the shower but with blue circles under her eyes. She mumbles something unintelligible as she makes a beeline for the coffeepot.
Scout and Chief, who were sleeping curled up on the dog bed by the back door come ambling over, looking for some attention.
“Need to go out, boys?” I reach down and ruffle their heads. “Let’s go.”
The moment I open the door both of them shoot outside. I’m still sliding it shut when the dogs start barking furiously and run off like a bat out of hell.
“Probably a rabbit or something,” Lucy—who stepped up beside me—concludes.
It’s possible, but I can still hear them going at it and the door is now closed. I haven’t forgotten the injuries on Sam’s horse, Buster. There is wildlife out there I don’t want near my animals.
“Probably, but I’m just gonna make sure the horses are okay. By the way,” I add as I make my way to the front door to get my boots on. “Sam Deere ever show up with his palomino, Buster?”
“I thought he wasn’t coming until tonight?” she points out as she follows me down the hallway.
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday, and yesterday was Monday, when you went to the dude ranch,” she adds.
I’m losing the plot. The dude ranch feels like it was days ago, not yesterday morning. So much has happened.
“If you like, I can give him a call and tell him we’re dealing with an emergency and that we’ll connect soon to set up a new time.”
“Yes, that would be good.” One less thing to worry about. I shove my feet into my boots and shrug my oilskin jacket on. “I’ll be right back.”
I can still hear the dogs. Sounds like they’re heading toward the back field. I have visions of some predator stalking the horses back there and I start running as I dig around my pocket for my gun.
Rounding the barn, I catch sight of the horses clustered around the shelter and I do a quick mental count. All there.
The dogs are nowhere in sight, but I can hear them in the woods on the other side. When I reach the tree line the barking suddenly stops. I do too.
“Scout! Chief!” I put my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and whistle loud.
At first there’s no response, but then I hear movement in the underbrush.
First Chief, and then Scout come charging out of the trees, closely followed by…Max? Then James appears, on foot and leading his horse. Finally I catch sight of Jonas, riding James’s mount, clearly alive and apparently in one piece, or close enough.
My knees buckle but I force myself to stay standing and jut up my chin.
I will not come apart.
His blue eyes lock on me as he approaches. Now I can make out the dried blood coating his ear and staining the rim of his hat. He has bloodstains on his coat as well, and both hands, resting on the saddle horn, look stained as well.
“Go on ahead,” he tells his men in a hoarse voice. “We’ll be right behind you.”
James grins and hands me the horse’s reins. The other three men ride past, tipping their hats to me. Then I glance up at Jonas, who is still looking at me.
“Are…” I clear my throat and start again. “Are you okay? You’ve been hurt. There’s blood…” I tap my own ear.
“Rock is harder than my head after all,” he says dryly.
I nod stupidly, afraid to speak.
“Sweets, it’s not easy for me to get off or I’d already be down there kissing you. Do an old man a favor…get your ass up here and kiss me.”
The quarter-draft horse is sturdy enough and I slip my left foot in the stirrup Jonas vacates and pull myself up to face level with him. This close I can see the deep grooves lining his face. Whatever happened to him, he’s been through the wringer.
“I’ll tell you everything later,” he promises, sensing my curiosity. “For now give me your mouth. Wasn’t sure I’d get to taste it again.”
When I press my lips to his I’m sure he can taste my tears.
“That’s too bad. You’re going to have to wait.”
Bo’s booming voice carries all the way up here.
I have a mental image of Jonas’s guys blocking the stairs for that DHS agent and grin.
James and Sully helped Jonas inside earlier. The stubborn man refused to be taken to the hospital and wouldn’t let us call EMTs, but finally conceded to having Bo give him a proper once-over after he had a chance to clean up.
However, he didn’t voice an objection when I offered to help him with that.
“You know, this would be much easier if you got in here with me,” he grumbles, sitting in my tub while I rinse the blood off his head and face with the handheld shower.
The cut on his scalp isn’t big but it sure bled a lot, and I can barely look at his wrists, they look like they’ve been through a meat grinder. Yet none of it seems to be a deterrent for him to try and get me naked.
“You’re delusional if you think I’m starting anything with you now. You’re hurt.”
“So? The important parts are still fine and functioning.”
I shake my head but can’t maintain a stern face.
“And I’m grateful they are. However, we have federal agents frothing at the bit to talk to you, a houseful of people, and more importantly, you haven’t had a proper meal since yesterday.”
The agents arrived fifteen minutes ago. I watched them roll up from the bathroom window, two SUVs and a large van. I have a sneaky suspicion they’re here to stay, at least for the foreseeable future.
Jonas doesn’t push anymore and I’m pretty sure he’s more exhausted, and probably in more pain, than he’s willing to admit. We finish up his ‘assisted’ shower in silence until I hear a soft knock. I leave Jonas to finish drying off to open the door a crack.
“Got some clean gear for Jonas,” Jackson says, holding out a stack of clothes.
“That’s great. Thanks, honey.”
“Need anything else?”
I smile at my kid in a moment of pride I allow myself. I did okay raising him.
“See if you can get a fresh pot of coffee going. He’s gonna need it. Oh, and let Bo know he’s out of the shower.”
Jackson gives me a two-fingered salute and heads back for the stairs.
I turn to find Jonas studying me.
“I like your kid.”
The smile on my face widens. “I’m glad. I do too.” I set the clothes on the counter. “Even though he seems determined to have his mother worried sick about him.”
The clothes are Jackson’s, a pair of gray sweats, a T-shirt, and some socks. Luckily, they stretch because as much as my son has filled out, Jonas is definitely bulkier.
“How so?” he asks when I kneel in front of him and carefully ease the sweatpants over his bum ankle.
“He announced he’s heading for Fort Bragg next.” I look up at him and roll my eyes. “For Special Ops training.”
