Travis

A cheer went up at the sound of Christine’s voice, but I was processing her message. She’d reverted to L.A. dispatch lingo. Code 60 meant she was in imminent danger and needed urgent assistance.

“We read you, Ms. Willow,” responded the ranger manning the radio. “This is Will Fremont of search and rescue. Can you give us your general vicinity?”

In a daze, I approached the radio station. I needed to hear her voice again.

Was it her? Could Christine really be the woman I’d been looking for since I’d been plucked from the ruins of the L.A. Convention Center? Had she been here in my hometown all along? My heart wouldn’t stop bounding up into my throat.

“My location is unknown,” said Christine.

I sucked in a huge breath. My gut wrenched. It was her.

Grant appeared at my side. “What is it?”

I shook my head, in shock, unable to put it into words.

“I’m trapped in my truck. I think I’m over a cliff but not at the bottom. The truck slides every time I move. I can’t see any landmarks. I’m stuck in some pine trees. Be advised that I have a head lac and I have had positive loss of consciousness, unknown number of episodes or duration.”

“Copy that, Ms. Willow. Stay calm.”

“Angel,” I whispered.

“Holy shit!” Grant gripped my forearm. “It’s her, isn’t it? Christine’s the girl you were looking for in L.A.”

I nodded wordlessly as violent shakes consumed me.

“We’re going to get to her, Trav,” said Grant.

Fremont spread a topographic map of the area over DC’s desk. Search and rescue leaders gathered around. DC used a yellow highlighter to outline the road to Jackson. As he gestured at an area on the county map, Fremont tapped another area then drew a large circle in red marker.

I approached the radio. Before my quaking legs could give out, I fell into the chair vacated by Fremont.

My trembling hand mirrored my shaken soul as I pushed the button on the transceiver. “Angel? Is that you?”

Silence.

I huffed out a breath and tried again, louder. “Angel, you there?”

Finally Christine spoke, her words a mere whisper, difficult to hear but clear. “Oh, my God. It was you. It wasn’t Mac, it was you.” She was obviously as shaken as I. “But it can’t be. You died.”

“It’s me, Angel. I promise. ‘O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets.’”

“You’re not dead!” She was half crying, half laughing. “You’re not dead and you’re quoting Shakespeare.”

I could hear the tears in her words. I had to get her to hang on, to help us find her. I knew time would work against us with the truck balanced over a cliff. If she moved the wrong way or too much… I closed my eyes against the images in my head and brought my focus back to the radio.

“Not dead, Angel. Not even close. I’ve been looking for you for seven years.”

And now that I’d found her, losing her wasn’t in the plan. “Those better not be tears I hear, sweetheart,” I mocked in a stern tone.

“Not crying anymore,” she said, her voice stronger. “I’m just trying to get my mind around the fact that the only two men I’ve ever loved are the same person.”

The oxygen left my lungs with a whoosh at her words. “Angel, you hold onto that thought. When we get you out of there, I’m going to kiss you all over.”

She was quiet for a moment, then I heard her soft, sexy laugh. “You have to do better than that, cowboy. I seem to recall a trip to a chapel in Vegas being mentioned seven years ago.”

“Is that a proposal?” My heart skipped a beat. “What kind of crappy proposal is that?”

“Sorry —can’t get down on one knee at the moment since I don’t want to end up with a damn truck up my ass.”

My smile widened, recognizing her spoof of my own words to her seven years before. Panic eased its grip. Her morale was high —half the battle. But now I had to pick her brain to find her. “What happened, Angel? How did you end up over a cliff?”

“I… don’t know. I was coming to get you. That’s all I remember.”

So she was probably off US-189.

Commotion and loud voices near the door drew my attention. “Hold on a second. There’s something happening here.”

Allan Cross held the door open and Wyatt MacKay tumbled through, landing in a heap at Justin’s feet.

The boy’s face was bruised and swollen. His hands were covered in dirt and dried blood. His bare feet had left bloody footprints on the tile. My heart lurched into my stomach then violently up into my throat. If a man could do that to his own kin…

Dad crouched and settled a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Someone get him some water. Did you walk all the way from your place, son?”

“Yes, sir.” Wyatt gulped in air. “She said she’d kill my mom if I didn’t help them. But I can’t do it anymore. She burned my shoes so I couldn’t go anywhere but I had to get help. My mom’s real bad off. Grandma, please help us,” he cried out just as Stella reached his side. Then he began babbling but the only words I heard made my gut writhe with terror. “She wanted me to help her kill Miz Christine.”

“Someone find MacKay.” DC’s hand rested on his weapon, as if itching for an excuse to use it.

“His truck’s not out there,” Cross said from the doorway. “Freeman’s truck’s gone, too.”

“Cammy and Max went outside right after Robert and Phyllis left, about five or ten minutes ago,” Stella told the sheriff.

As I watched, my father laid both hands on Wyatt’s thin shoulders and searched his face. “Where is she, son? Do you know where Ms. Christine is?”

The boy shook his head then swayed against dad.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” murmured Grant in my ear. “I’ll be right back.”

Dad cradled Wyatt against him. “This boy needs a doctor.”

I rubbed my jaw. Max’s words from the night before were suddenly making sense. If the MacKays wanted the logging trails marked as searched, they had a reason. My gut heaved again.

Obviously Robert and Phyllis were on their way to finish Christine off, with the advantage of already knowing where she was.

“DC!” He waited for the sheriff to look in his direction. “Last night Freeman said they were checking the logging roads and Phyllis seemed anxious for that area to be marked as clear.”

A flurry of talking erupted. DC’s mouth set into a bleak line.

Torn between the twin needs of racing out to rescue Christine and staying to talk to my Angel, I shifted from foot to foot, throwing glances at the door. Then Grant was next to me with the handheld.

Relief at such a simple solution kicked my heart rate up a notch. “Angel,” I said, “can you tune your handset to the ranch frequency?”

“Yes.”

“Do it. You’ll get Grant. Okay?” I flicked a glance at Grant to confirm the plan. “If you don’t connect to Grant right away, flip right back to this frequency. Got that?”

In ten seconds, Grant had her on the ranch frequency. He handed the radio to me. “We got us a posse. Let’s roll!”

I climbed into the cab of Grant’s truck right behind my father. Several grim-faced volunteers jumped into nearby pickups, and Grant took off, tires shooting gravel, with a line of trucks following behind.

“Christine, we have a general vicinity of your location,” I said into the radio.

Silence.

“Angel?” Panic began to swell into my throat. I swallowed, pushed it back. “Angel, you there?”

“I’m here, cowboy.” She chuckled softly. “Just appreciating the irony. Guess I need you and your white horse after all.”

I smiled, but the gravity of the situation quickly returned. “Christine, do you remember maybe running into Robert MacKay yesterday?”

“Robert… no,” she said slowly. “But…”

I took a deep breath and stemmed my impatience. Angel was clearly struggling with a spotty memory.

“Wait!” Christine’s excited voice came over the radio again. “Phyllis! Her truck had broken down. I picked her up and I was taking her… somewhere.”

“Phyllis? Mrs. MacKay?” My apprehension renewed itself, but he couldn’t let Christine pick up on it. I white-knuckled the handheld as I strove for a calm tone. “Angel, I know it’s hard, but it’s important that you remember where you were taking her.”

Dad sat forward and swiveled in my seat. “What is it, son?”

“A big piece of what we’ve been missing,” I said through clenched teeth. “Wyatt said ‘she.’ When he told us someone threatened his mother, he said ‘she,’ not ‘he.’ Phyllis, not Robert.”

Christine’s voice came back, frantic. “Trav! I was taking her to see Robert’s cousin. She said he would get the truck running or take her back home. She had me turn off the road. You can barely see the track.”

“Good girl. Did she give you a name?”

“Umm… I can’t…”

“Come on, sweetheart, you’ve got this.” Where did she take you? What cousin?

“Maybe… Brandon? Brendon?”

“Braden.” Dad gave a grim nod. “I know where we’re going. It’ll be a left turn just beyond Diamond Peak. Braden is —was MacKay’s cousin. He died in a riding accident on the trail heading up to the high pasture from Devil’s Wash. Happened before either of you were born.”

“We know where you are, Angel,” I said into the radio. “Hang in there.”

“That’s apparently what I’m doing,” she responded with a nervous chuckle. Then, “I love you… Mick.”

“Back atcha.” I blinked away the burn behind my eyelids. I would not lose it and bawl like a baby.

Grant hit the accelerator hard, squealing around the switchback curves as we tore up the mountain toward the Diamond Peak overlook. With every switch, the truck swung close to cliff edges protected only by narrow steel guard rails set so low, the high-profile pickup would probably flip over them.

As we skidded toward a patch of gravel beyond which showed pine tops and cloudless blue sky, I tensed, preparing for the truck to become airborne.

“Crickets on a cracker, boy, don’t drive us off the damn mountain,” growled Dad, bracing himself against the dashboard.

Grant’s only answer was to increase their speed upon pulling out of the turn, but he hung closer to the mountain for the next two switches. Suddenly he let up on the gas and nodded at a two-track off to the left. “Diamond Peak.”

Justin leaned forward and squinted through the windshield. “Braden’s trail used to be about a hundred yards past—there!” He pointed.

A sapling had been cut and arranged into an arrow, just off the road. Barely slowing down, we hit the path with a bone-shattering jolt, and the truck bounced violently to the right then the left.

“Damn it,” ground out Grant, wrestling with the wheel.

“Angel… Christine.” I forced myself to keep my voice calm, though my heart was still lodged in my throat. “We’re almost to you. But honey, Phyllis and Robert are up here ahead of us.”

Christine’s voice came over the radio again, sounding very calm. “Travis, Phyllis wants me dead. She hit me. She must have pushed the truck over the cliff.” Her tone sharpened. “Travis! She said she would kill you, too. She’d make it look like you were so overcome with grief that—”

“She won’t hurt me, Angel. You hold on. It’s not only me on my white horse coming for you. It’s the whole damn town.”

“I’m scared.” Her voice shook and so did my heart.

“You hold onto me, Angel. Hold onto my voice the way I held onto yours.”

The truck dipped into a rut, sprang back out. I slammed into my father, grunting when lightning erupted from my newly re-stitched wound and spread down my left arm. Lurching to the right, we barreled into a clearing that ended in a sharp drop-off.

“Shit!” Grant stomped the brake pedal, spinning them to a stop in a spray of loose rock.

MacKay’s truck was there, and so was the burgundy pickup that I recognized as Max’s. The occupants were nowhere in sight.

Along the cliff’s edge, an obvious gap scarred the line of pine tree tops reaching up from below. Tire tracks in the layer of dust and shale ended at the cliff’s edge.

More trucks pulled into the clearing, the men in back jumping to the ground before they came to a complete stop. The sheriff’s cruiser roared into the clearing and halted behind MacKay’s monster pickup. Asshat wouldn’t be going anywhere in that for a while.

With confidence I didn’t feel, I spoke into the radio. “We’re here, Angel. Just a few more minutes. Are you holding on?”

“I’m here. Where else would I be?” she finished under her breath.

Despite my fear, I found my lips twitching into a smile. That’s my Angel.

Clutching the handset like the lifeline it was, I inched my way to the cliff edge. It was just a shelf of crumbling shale, and I had no way of knowing how unstable it might be. I held up a hand to warn the other volunteers back. Then I dropped to the ground and crept forward on my belly. Screw the safety gear; I had to get to Christine.

Dad’s pickup was a bloody red wound amid the dark pine boughs. Shit. Not good. Drawing a fortifying breath, I forced my swelling emotions into a cocoon of objectivity, then blew out slowly.

“She’s maybe, fifty feet down,” I called over my shoulder. “With about another seventy-five feet to the bottom. Truck’s lodged between the top half of a blackjack pine and this cliff. It’s listing sideways and it’s not even close to stable.” I eased back until I could be certain the ground beneath me was firm then spoke into the radio. “Angel, we’re gonna get you. Just don’t move. Can you give me your status? You said you had a head injury. Any other injuries? Broken bones?”

Her response was lost amid the sharp crack of breaking wood. I froze. The sickening sound of rocks falling followed. My objectivity faltered. With a final groan of bending metal, the sounds and movement abruptly ceased. I cautiously let out the breath I’d been holding.

“Grant, what kind of gear you got in your truck?” I called out. He shook his head. “No climbing gear, man. Better wait for search and rescue.”

“No time!” I strode toward the back of Grant’s truck. “You got any rope?”

The bushes on the other side of the clearing rustled. A grim-faced Dad leveled his rifle at the sound, raising it quickly when Maxon Freeman stepped into the clearing.

“I’ve got climbing gear,” Max called out, crossing to his pickup. He popped open the back window on the cap and pulled out orange nylon climbing rope and two harnesses. “Who has climbing experience?”

“I do,” I said quickly. “Mostly off buildings but some rock face.”

Max eyed me critically. “You’re pretty banged up. You good for this?”

I had to be. There was no one else, and they were out of time. I nodded once. “I’m good.”

Max began clipping connectors and testing them, fitting one harness onto me and adjusting it. He spoke quickly as his hands performed their efficient work. “It’s not an ideal cliff with all that loose rock. We’ll do a dual top climb using a belay system. Let me set the anchor, then we’ll go from the side. You’ll go down first and get her out and I’ll guide and run safety. Yours is a tandem harness.” He tapped a connective clip on the blue harness. “When you get her out, use this to secure her in place with you. It’s going to be awkward.”

I nodded. “Got it.”

Freeman lifted the radio from my hand and passed it to Grant. “She has to be ready to go. We need to know what side she’s on and if the window is down or up.”

“Ask her about injuries. I didn’t catch her answer when I asked.” I double-checked my harness. “Back and neck, arms or legs. She’s an EMT. She’ll have self-assessed. We need to know how much help she’s going to be getting her out.”

Grant spoke into the radio, listened to Christine’s answer, spoke again. “She’s stiff because she hasn’t been moving,” he relayed, frowning in concentration as he listened for more. “She’s changed position from where she first found herself and doesn’t think she has any spinal injuries. She’s lying across the seat with her head on the passenger side. The window’s up but she can reach the handle. She’s moving very carefully to roll it down now.”

Max nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

“Trav!” called Grant. “There’s a tree branch through the windshield.”

“Okay.” The minute my feet swung free of the cliff, my training kicked in, and I surveyed the truck with an objective eye from my fresh perspective.

“The damn thing’s barely hanging on,” I called up to Freeman. “We’re only going to get one shot at this.”

What had started as a mild stinging in my arm, took on the tone of a colony of fire ants. Very angry ones. I gritted my teeth and pushed at the searing agony but with little success. A gallon of morphine might cut the torment. My descent halted.

“What’s the hold up?” I called out.

“Just making an adjustment,” answered Max.

Taking advantage of the delay, I drew in a deep breath and blew it out, clamping down on the burning. After a few breaths, I started moving down again, but the wait had been enough for me to build a mental block against the pain. As I drew even with the passenger window, it became obvious the truck was listing so badly it would be more of a topside extraction than parallel. At least she’d gotten the window down.

“Christine, I’m out here.” I spoke just loud enough to be heard, keeping my voice even. The angle of approach made seeing inside impossible but according to Grant, I should be near her head. A strong breeze tickled the pine trees and the truck wobbled.

“Angel?” I kept my tone even as I announced my presence.

“Still here,” she sang out, her voice a little pitchy.

I leaned back and caught Max’s attention. “If I touch the truck at all, it’s gone.”

“Okay, change of plan.” Max lowered another nylon rope, with a clamp and pulley attached above the loop tied on the end. “Drop this through the window and have her loop it under both arms,” he called. “She should be able to do that without moving too much. Once it’s secure, we’ll drag her up and out.”

It took two tries for me to hit the open window with the rope. Nothing like dangling in the air and wishing my lassoing skills weren’t so rusty. I spoke calmly as I worked to get the rope to her, relaying Freeman’s instructions, reassuring her.

The moan of stressed metal grew louder and more insistent, as if I needed reminding of the truck’s precarious position. Loose gravel fell from above.

“Shit!” I shied away from the gravel’s bite on my neck and arms.

“What’s the matter?” Christine called out from inside the truck. Fear resonated in her voice.

Before I could respond, a deafening crack sounded and the tree branch gave way. The truck fell another three feet, crashing into the next branch down with the deafening crunch of breaking wood.

Christine shrieked.

I eased back into breathing when I saw the branch was holding. “Still there, Angel?”

She took a moment to answer. “Have I told you I’m terrified of heights?”

I held onto my objective professionalism until I saw her. Already half out the window, she hadn’t had time to get both arms through the loop. The only thing keeping her from going with the truck was a loop of rope under one arm and her white-knuckled grip on that rope with both hands.

“Keep holding that rope.” When she nodded, I heaved. Fire shot through my injured arm. I clenched my jaw and breathed through the worst of the pain. Above me, Max cursed and adjusted the pulley system. Steadily, I hauled Christine up. Finally her feet were clear of the truck. Max guided her closer to me.

“Don’t let go, sweetheart.”

She held my stare, her eyes huge blue sapphires set in honey colored skin. Then she was at my level and I used the rope to draw her in. She hummed softly but didn’t speak.

“Shit. Damn it.” My fingers fumbled as I fought to secure her into the dual harness. Finally I slid the clip into place and twisted it closed. “All set!” I called out.

Max began the process of raising us to the top of the cliff. Christine hummed a little louder and it took me a second to figure out why it sounded familiar.

“Rock-a-Bye Baby?”

“Singing keeps me calm. But that’s the only song I could think of.” Her lips curved upward as she put the words to the tune. “When the bough breaks…”

The branch beneath them cracked and the truck slipped again. Christine angled her head to look downward and shivered, her musical interlude apparently forgotten. “Oh, crap.”

“Christine! Look up here. Look at me. Don’t look down, don’t think about anything but moving up this cliff with me.”

She nodded and locked onto my gaze again as she followed each instruction. I kept talking, soothing, encouraging, not knowing exactly what I was saying, but using my voice to keep her attention on me.

Then Max disappeared over the top. Christine’s hands tightened on my waist, her nails digging into the skin beneath my shirt as she clung to me like a kitten. Grant reached out to help her over the edge of the cliff.

“You’re okay, Christine. You won’t fall.”

Very slowly, one hand at a time, she released her hold on me and took Grant’s hands.

Flat on his belly, Max reached over to assist me, and then I was on the shale. Moving as quickly as my half-dead arm would allow, I scrambled away from the fragile edge.

Breathing hard, more in relief than with the exertion, I pushed to my feet. At the sound of movement, I spun around. There she was, standing in front of me, tears freely rolling over her cheeks. I brushed a strand of hair behind one ear. “Christine,” I whispered. “Angel.” As I leaned my forehead against hers, the last of my adrenaline drained in a rush, leaving my legs weak. The tears I’d staved off earlier threatened again.

I pulled her closer into my embrace, sliding my hands along her back and pulling her tightly against me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I couldn’t tell if the sobs that shook us were coming from her or from me. I’d waited so long to hold this woman, my Angel. I might have lost her without ever knowing I’d found her. What had once been an endless spiral of searching had become a closed circle.

“I’m okay.” She drew back and our gazes collided. She made no move to stem her tears. “I’m fine. Now.”

“All those years of looking and you were right here. Thank God I found you again.” I took her lips. I’d meant the kiss to be gentle. But she kissed me back fiercely, her hands fisted in my shirt. With a groan, I matched her ferocity, one hand planted in the small of her back, the other sliding through her hair to cup her face.

I leaned back and noted with satisfaction, the glow of a woman who had been well and truly kissed. Anything else would have to wait.

Christine’s laugh was weak. “That was a kiss worth waiting seven years for.”

“Guess I’m starting to do it right.” I smoothed her hair, cupped the back of her neck, pulling back swiftly at her sudden sharp intake of breath. Angling her for a better look, I took in the large purple swelling at the base of her skull, the long jagged cut in the center, the ooze of fresh blood.

A strong desire to murder Phyllis MacKay settled over me, darkening my soul.

Lifting her easily, I strode toward Grant’s truck. “No hospital,” she murmured. “Please.”

“We’re just going to take you up to Jackson and get you checked out.” She remained firm. “I want to go to the ranch. I want to go home.”

My arms tightened around her. “Okay, Angel, I’ll take you home.” And if they happened to take a detour up to the hospital in Jackson…

“Travis, put me down and listen to me. It’s important.” Christine spoke with a sense of urgency as she struggled. “It’s Phyllis. It’s been Phyllis and Robert causing all the problems at the ranch.”

“I know, honey.” I settled her on her feet, but kept a hand in the small of her back. “She and Robert came up here to finish you off.”

“You should have stayed away,” sneered Robert from behind me. “I warned you people would get hurt if you didn’t leave.”

I spun around, shielding Christine with my body.

But Camryn Sherwood already had Robert MacKay cuffed and on the march toward DC’s patrol car.

“Exercise your right to remain silent, MacKay,” said the deputy. “Or you’re gonna have an accident that involves needing your jaw wired shut.”

“Where’s the old lady?” I asked, my fists clenched. “Where’s Phyllis?”

“She slipped off into the woods,” Cammy said. “Max was tracking her, but I sent him back to help you.”

“She’s right here.” The grim voice belonged to Reece Pratt, Wanda’s father. As he spoke, he propelled a subdued Phyllis MacKay forward by her arm, twisted tightly behind her back.

“Christine, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Phyllis’s voice was too pleasant and it didn’t match the crazed look in her eyes. She’d lost and she didn’t seem to know it.

The woman deserved to be chucked off the cliff. Fists clenched, I took a step in her direction.

Christine laid a hand on my arm and squeezed, whispering, “Stay with me.”

Reece shoved Phyllis’s arm higher into her back and her next words were nothing but a strangled garble. A state trooper stepped forward, secured Phyllis with handcuffs, and took custody. A second trooper assisted Robert into the back of his cruiser.

DC split a glance between me and Christine. “You up to coming in and making a statement?” “She needs a doctor,” I started. But Christine was already nodding her head. “Yeah. She told me things you need to know.” She captured my gaze. “All of you.”