Chapter 1

chapter

one

Consciousness clawed its way back to Sawyer Murphy as the world shook around him. Dirt and debris rained down on his head, dust filling his lungs as he gasped in a sharp breath.

Earthquake.

The memory came rushing back, intense enough to cut through the fog of confusion. He'd been on the mountain searching for Pierce and had run into Lucy Harper and her hiking group—city folks mostly, out of their depth. And then, a thunderous roar as the mountain shook under their feet like it was trying to buck them off. He remembered the snap of a redwood branch, remembered the startling sharpness of seeing it materialize out of the soup that was usually his vision as it fell toward one of the hikers…

Well, fuck. No wonder his head was pounding like a drumline at a college football game. He'd pushed the guy out of the damn way.

The tremors subsided, leaving an eerie stillness in their wake. Not another full earthquake, then, but just an aftershock.

"Christ," he muttered, the word scraping his throat raw as he tried to sit up. Pain lanced through his head. He stopped moving, waiting for the world to stop its sickening spin, and convinced his stomach he didn't need to revisit his last meal. His body ached all over, and he felt blood seeping from a cut on his forehead. Taking a breath, he reached up and gingerly probed the injury. His fingers came back slick and warm with blood. It wasn't a deep gash, but it had bled plenty and was still trickling.

Zelda.

He reached out, feeling the rough grain of wood beneath his fingertips. Okay, so he wasn't outside anymore. Where was he? His ears registered the soft drip-drip of water from a ceiling crack, the creaks and groans of an old building settling on its haunches after the earthquake. Every sound amplified to painful levels. A metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils; he tasted it too, coppery and bitter.

His dog wasn't at his side.

Where was his girl?

Panic surged through him. Zelda was more than just a pet. She was his partner, his confidante, and his eyes. She had brought him back from the brink of a very dark place. She had given him something to live for and made him realize he was still the same capable man he'd been before he lost his sight. She was his lifeline. His sanity. If he lost her…

Pushing past the throbbing in his skull and the flaring pain in his left side, Sawyer got to his feet. Or at least, he tried to. His legs crumbled beneath him like wet paper, sending him sprawling on the dust-laden floor. He gritted his teeth, white-hot pain radiating from his ribs as he collided with the ground.

A wet nose pressed against his cheek, nuzzling gently. Zelda. He buried his hands in her dirty fur and choked on a sob of relief.

She was okay. She was safe.

She whimpered softly, nuzzling closer, her tail thumping against the floor as if to reassure him.

"Good girl," he whispered. "That's my good girl."

Her body trembled slightly beneath his hands, and he knew she was as scared as he was. But she was here with him, alive and whole, and that was all that mattered at that moment. He ran his hands over her back and down her sides, feeling for the stickiness of blood or the deformity of a broken bone. His heart clenched as his fingers found a small cut on her leg, but it was clean and shallow. The blood had already dried.

"Okay. We're okay. We got this, Zel."

Slowly, gingerly, he pushed himself up again. This time, his legs held, though he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He waited for the world to stop its nauseating tilt-a-whirl routine before he took a step forward, Zelda's familiar bulk pressing reassuringly against his side.

"Where are we, girl?" He tilted his head, tuning into the ambient noise around him. The building—it definitely sounded like they were inside some kind of wooden structure—groaned, its bones creaking as it settled. The faint crackle of debris falling filled the silence. And then, underneath that, he heard the murmur of voices. Human voices.

Lucy.

Jesus, was she okay?

He reached out, blindly groping forward until his hands met the cool, rough surface of a wall. His fingers traced over the splintered wood as he moved along it, using it as a guide. Zelda stayed close, brushing against his side, her presence a comfort and an anchor.

The building creaked and groaned as the aftershocks continued to ripple through the earth. Each tremor sent pulses of pain lancing through his skull, but he kept moving, adrenaline and worry for Lucy propelling him forward.

The murmur of voices grew louder. He heard the faint strains of a woman's voice—was that Lucy? —followed by the lower tones of a man responding. There were other voices, too, muddled and indistinct in the echoing room.

"Sawyer!"

He recognized the voice as Lucy's, full of worry and sharp-edged fear. He turned in her direction and saw her rushing toward him, her long ponytail swinging. But then she stopped moving and vanished into the muddled soup of colors and shadows that made up his vision.

"Hey." He tried for a reassuring smile. "Anyone get the number of that bus?"

She let out a breathy laugh that was more from relief than humor. "Dammit, Sawyer, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Just taking my dog for a walk on this beautiful day." He tried to sound light, tried to reassure her with humor. Things were always easier when he was joking. But another ripple of pain coursed through his body, ruining the delivery with a wince he couldn't hide.

Zelda whined and pressed closer to his leg.

"God. You shouldn't be up," Lucy scolded. He could hear the rustle of fabric as she moved close again. "And this isn't the time for jokes."

"Then you're really not going to like the next one. Did you hear about the earthquake that?— "

"Enough, Sawyer," she snapped. Then she inhaled sharply and exhaled long and slow. "Just… enough."

He dropped the forced smile and reached out until his fingers brushed against her hand. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not." She quickly pulled her hand away and pushed the hair from his forehead to examine the wound. She was close enough that he could smell the faint scent of wildflowers on her. He knew it was her soap, something from the artisanal shop in Steam Valley, but it made him think of her as part of the landscape, as though she'd bloomed from the very wilderness that surrounded them.

He swallowed hard, allowing himself to lean into her touch, just for a moment.

"Will be," he murmured. "Just need a minute."

"No, you need medical attention. You've been unconscious for nearly an hour. You have a concussion and need stitches." She pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Sit down."

He allowed her to guide him down to a worn wooden seat, a sigh escaping as he leaned back, the wall cool against his burning skin. He hoped she couldn't hear the small sounds of pain he made as he moved, but he knew she probably could. She was observant like that. It was one of the things that made her an excellent park ranger.

"Is everyone..." he began, trying to push himself upright again.

She pushed him back down gently. "Some bumps and bruises, and Joel broke his ankle, but everyone is alive. Thanks to you. If you hadn't pushed Joel out of the way…"

She didn't finish the thought.

He didn't remember who Joel was. One of her hikers, he assumed. "Just did what anyone would've done."

"No, not anyone."

He could hear Lucy rummaging through a first aid kit—the rustle of bandages, the clink of metal on metal—but it felt like it was happening somewhere far away.

Jesus, maybe she was right, and he wasn't okay.

"Do you make a habit of running toward danger?" Her hands were gentle as she cleaned the cut on his forehead. The antiseptic burned, but he didn't pull away.

"Only when there's a pretty girl to impress," he said, trying for a grin.

She snorted softly, but he felt her hand still on his forehead just for a moment before she continued tending the wound.

Zelda nudged her head under his hand. His sweet girl, always worrying about him. He gave her a quick scratch behind the ears before letting his hand drop back onto his lap. It was heavy, like it was filled with lead, and his fingers were trembling. Pain radiated from every corner of his body, but it felt distant, almost dream-like, as if he were floating in a foggy sea.

His hand found its way to Zelda's head again, curling into her soft fur. He needed the grounding connection, the constant reminder that she was okay, that they were alive. The tremble in his fingers seemed to ease the more he focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing.

Someone else joined them then, a heavy set of boots stomping across the wooden floor.

"Ranger Harper, how's he doing?" It was a woman's voice, but it was deep and commanding.

"He'll be okay," Lucy replied, her hands never leaving his face. "He's just a little loopy right now."

"I'm right here, you know. And I'm not loopy, just..." He trailed off. Even he wasn't sure what he was. Worn out? Shaken up?

"Concussed, most likely," the woman suggested. "Do you know your name?"

"Sawyer Murphy." It came out sounding more like a question than a statement of fact.

"Uh-huh. And who's the president?"

"Probably some old guy that should've retired twenty years ago."

The woman let out a deep belly laugh that echoed around the room. "Yeah, he'll be okay. No doubt about it, you're one tough son of a bitch."

He looked toward her voice and wished he could put a face to it. He imagined a big, muscular woman who towered over everyone else, with laugh lines etched deep into her face and crow's feet at the corners of her eyes from years of squinting against the harsh sunlight. "And you are?"

"Beatrice Carter. Friends call me Bea," she said and held out a hand he couldn't see.

After an awkward moment, Lucy guided his hand to meet Bea's.

"Oh," Bea said, sounding embarrassed. "Forgot about your blindness. My apologies."

"It's fine." He shrugged, but the movement sent a hot wave of pain searing through his side. He clenched his jaw against it, but he knew they noticed.

Bea's grip tightened on his hand. "You're one hell of a stubborn man, aren't you?"

"Been accused of it a time or two."

"Good. We're gonna need that stubbornness if we're to get everybody safely off this mountain, ain't that right, Ranger Harper?"

Lucy's reply was slow in coming. "Yes, we will. All right," she said like she'd made up her mind about something and drew in a deep breath. "I'm going to stitch you up, Sawyer. It's going to hurt."

"Hell," he said with a lightness he didn't feel. "You think a little needle will scare me?"

"No," she admitted, and there was a softness there that made his heart stutter. "But it scares me."

"Why?"

There was a beat of silence, and he had the feeling Lucy and Bea were exchanging a look.

Then Bea said softly, "I'll go check in with the others," and her heavy footsteps faded away.

"Why?" he repeated when Lucy still didn't respond.

"Because... I owe you my life," she finally confessed in a whisper.

"Luce—"

"No, listen. I do owe you my life, and instead of repaying that debt, it feels like every time we meet, I'm always putting yours in danger."

"What debt?" His laugh was a small, pained sound in the quiet room. "And how are you putting me in danger? Did you force me to come up here looking for Pierce? No," he said before she could respond. "And it's not your fault my dumb ass decided to play hero and jump under a falling branch."

"Still," she protested. "I can't help but feel?— "

"What? Responsible? Are you going to blame yourself for the earthquake next?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why are you blaming yourself for the rest of it?"

She growled softly in annoyance. "Why do you make everything sound so simple?"

"It's because things usually are. Now, are you going to stitch me up or let me bleed to death?"