Chapter 1 - THE FOURTH TRIP
The shadow came through the mouth of the shelter so quickly Claire barely had time to raise the stone.
Ash hit it first.
The old sheepdog exploded from the darkness with a snarl Claire had never heard from him before.
The coyote twisted sideways.
Ash struck its shoulder and drove it away from the opening.
“ASH!”
Claire’s scream echoed against the rocks.
For several terrifying seconds, all she could see were gray bodies moving through gray snow.
Then Ash backed into the shelter.
He was trembling.
His front legs spread wide between the coyotes and the two women.
Claire stared at him in disbelief.
“You came back.”
He had crossed the mountain a fourth time.
The dog had returned even though his paws were bleeding and the wound at his ribs had soaked through his fur.
Ruth lifted her head weakly.
“That animal is too stubborn to die.”
“So are we.”
Claire gripped the stone tighter.
The coyotes remained outside.
One circled left.
Another moved behind the rocks.
Ash followed every movement.
Claire could feel her baby shifting hard against her ribs. The pressure low in her abdomen had become more frequent during the past hour.
She refused to call them contractions.
Not yet.
Not here.
A distant sound rolled through the mountain.
Claire froze.
At first she thought it was thunder.
Then it came again.
A horse.
Ash barked.
“Claire!”
The voice was faint.
“HANK!”
Claire screamed so hard pain tore across her stomach.
“OVER HERE!”
The coyotes scattered at the sound of another gunshot fired harmlessly into the air.
A lantern appeared between the trees.
Then Hank Mercer emerged from the storm on horseback, rifle across his saddle.
Ash collapsed.
Hank jumped down before the horse had fully stopped.
He reached the shelter and dropped to his knees.
“Dear God.”
Claire grabbed his coat.
“You came.”
“Of course I came.”
His eyes moved to Ash.
Then Ruth.
Hank stopped breathing.
The lantern trembled in his hand.
“No.”
Ruth tried to smile.
“Hello, Henry.”
No one had called Hank Henry in thirty years.
Claire looked between them.
Hank’s face lost all color.
“Ruth Whitmore?”
Claire stared at the injured woman beside her.
Whitmore.
The name hit harder than the wind.
Ruth closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Claire could barely form the next words.
“Whitmore?”
Hank looked at her.
“That’s Grant’s mother.”
Claire felt the mountain tilt beneath her.
“My husband told me his mother died.”
Ruth opened her eyes again.
“Grant has told you a great many things that were never true.”
Before Claire could ask another question, pain tightened around her abdomen.
She doubled forward.
Hank caught her.
“How long has that been happening?”
“It’s nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
Claire forced herself to breathe.
“My baby is not being born in a cave.”
“No,” Hank said. “Your baby is being born in a hospital.”
He looked at Ruth’s leg.
Getting both women down the mountain on one horse would be impossible.
Hank pulled a satellite emergency beacon from his coat.
Claire blinked.
“You had that?”
“I grabbed everything.”
“Then why didn’t Grant—”
Hank’s jaw tightened.
“Grant refused to tell me exactly where he left you.”
Claire stared at him.
“He knew.”
“I know.”
“He knew I was up here pregnant.”
“I know.”
“And he sat at dinner.”
Hank did not answer.
That silence told Claire everything.
He activated the beacon.
“My truck’s lower on the trail. Search-and-rescue will meet us from the south road.”
Ruth reached for his sleeve.
“Henry.”
“We’ll talk later.”
“He knows I’m alive.”
Hank froze again.
Ruth’s voice was weak, but clear.
“Grant knows.”
Claire’s chest went cold.
“What?”
“He found me months ago.”
Hank slowly turned.
Ruth looked at Claire.
“He knows exactly who I am. He knows where I live.”
“Then why did he leave me near your cabin?”
Ruth swallowed.
“That is what I was trying to tell you.”
A howl sounded farther away.
Ash raised his head, although he no longer had the strength to stand.
Ruth continued.
“Grant did not bring you up this mountain by accident.”
Claire stared at her.
“He brought you here because he believed no one would ever find you.”
The words hung in the freezing air.
Hank whispered, “Ruth.”
“He chose the old logging road,” she said. “The same road where his father once tried to make me disappear.”
Claire felt suddenly sick.
“What are you saying?”
Another contraction seized her.
This time she cried out.
Hank moved immediately.
“Questions later.”
He wrapped Claire in his coat and used a spare blanket to make a sling for Ruth’s injured leg.
Ash attempted to stand.
His legs buckled.
Claire reached for him.
“He can’t walk.”
Hank lifted the dog into the saddle.
“He doesn’t have to.”
For nearly forty minutes, they moved down the mountain.
Hank walked beside the horse.
Ash lay across the saddle.
Claire supported Ruth.
Snow began falling hard enough to erase their tracks within minutes.
When orange rescue lights finally appeared through the trees, Claire almost collapsed with relief.
Paramedics rushed toward them.
One team took Ruth.
Another helped Claire onto a stretcher.
A third surrounded Ash.
“No,” Claire said.
A paramedic leaned closer.
“Ma’am?”
“The dog.”
“We’ll get him to the emergency veterinary clinic.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
Claire looked toward Ash.
His eyes were half closed.
She reached out.
He lifted his muzzle enough to touch her fingers.
“You found help,” she whispered. “You did it.”
The dog’s tail moved once.
Then the paramedics carried him away.
At 2:41 in the morning, Claire reached St. Patrick Regional Medical Center in Missoula.
Doctors stopped the contractions.
Her baby’s heartbeat remained strong.
Ruth was taken for surgery.
Ash was transferred to an emergency veterinary hospital.
Hank remained in the corridor wearing bloodstained gloves and Grant’s old ranch coat.
At 3:18 a.m., the elevator doors opened.
Grant stepped out.
He was still wearing the white shirt from dinner.
No winter coat.
No mud.
No snow.
Claire saw him from her hospital bed when a nurse opened the door.
For one second, Grant looked like the concerned husband everyone expected.
“Claire.”
She felt nothing.
That frightened her more than anger would have.
He stepped toward the bed.
“I just heard.”
Hank laughed from the corridor.
It was not a pleasant sound.
“You heard?”
Grant ignored him.
“Claire, this got completely out of control.”
Claire stared at her husband.
“Out of control?”
“We argued. You wanted space. I thought you knew the trail.”
“You ordered me out of your truck.”
“I was angry.”
“You drove away.”
“I came back.”
Hank stepped forward.
“When?”
Grant looked at him.
“What?”
“When did you come back?”
Silence.
Claire watched Grant calculate.
She had seen that expression during business negotiations.
She had once admired it.
Now it made her stomach turn.
Grant lowered his voice.
“I searched.”
“No, you didn’t,” Hank said.
“You don’t know what I did.”
“I know exactly what you did. You drank bourbon with cattle investors while your dog crossed the mountain three times asking you to save your wife.”
Grant’s face darkened.
“This is family business.”
Hank moved closer.
“No. This stopped being family business when search-and-rescue had to pull your pregnant wife out of a mountain shelter at two in the morning.”
A nurse appeared.
“Sir, you need to leave if you’re going to raise your voice.”
Grant looked toward Claire again.
“Can we please talk alone?”
Claire’s fingers moved protectively over her stomach.
“No.”
His expression changed.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
The softness disappeared.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“I’m your husband.”
“You were my husband when you left me on that mountain.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
Then another voice came from behind him.
“She said no.”
A deputy sheriff stepped into the doorway.
Grant turned.
Deputy Laura Keene held a small notebook.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
Grant straightened.
“Yes.”
“I need to ask you some questions about what happened tonight.”
Grant looked back at Claire.
Then Hank.
Then the deputy.
For the first time since Claire had known him, Grant Whitmore looked trapped.
And from the recovery floor one level above them, Ruth Whitmore had just awakened.
May you like
Her first request was not for pain medication.
It was for the sheriff.
