Chapter 23

Ash

"I have a problem," I say, plunking down on a stool in front of Virginia inside The Barrel.

"Oh boy," my friend mutters. She tucks her towel into her apron before leaning her elbows onto the bartop. "Do we need drinks for this?"

I shake my head but reconsider. "Actually, water?"

Virginia nods, pushing away and grabbing a pint glass. She fills it with water and slides it over, waiting as I guzzle nearly the entire thing. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"All right, spill."

I take a deep breath, hoping the steady buzz of conversation in the bar is enough to afford us some privacy. "Jackson loves me."

Virginia is quiet for a moment. "Baby boy, you're gonna have to give me more information than that. Because I can not, for the life of me, figure out how that's a problem."

My laugh is pained. "He said it a week ago, and I haven't said it back."

"Okay," she replies slowly.

"I want to say it back," I explain.

"O-kay," she says again, even slower.

"But he told me just after we'd had this incredibly intimate evening, and he admitted he was scared I'd leave, so I couldn't say it then because I didn't want it to sound like a false assurance. And now, it's been a freaking week , and there's too much pressure to do it right."

Virginia lets out a breath, her head bowing for a moment. "Men, I swear to God. You're all idiots."

"Hey."

"Ash, you just need to tell him," she says seriously, hazel eyes meeting mine. They're so familiar, so comforting, even when Virginia is giving me a dressing-down. "It doesn't need to be special, and it doesn't need to be this big to-do. You love him. You tell him. Don't you think that's gonna mean more to him than you waiting just to get it right ? Especially considering it's been a week. He's prob'ly sweating bullets."

"Well," I hedge. "He only kind of said it."

She drops her head again. "Jesus effin' Christ. Can you tell the story from the beginning?"

I groan, the sound part laugh, part desperation. "He said, ‘I think I'm falling for you,'" I say, using my best Jackson impression. "After we had sex. For the second time. In a hayloft."

Virginia blinks at me.

"Say something," I moan.

"You're both idiots."

" Ginnie ."

"You are ," she says firmly. "He sorta said it but didn't say it. You're too scared to say it. Somebody needs to say it already."

I drop my head into my palms, knowing she's right.

"And a hayloft, Ash?"

"You've never…"

"Never," she says. "That shit scratches you all up to hell. Firm pass."

"Jackson put his jacket under me," I tell her, lips twisting into a smile.

"Oh Lord. You're damn smitten, aren't you?"

"So smitten," I agree. "I want to tell him."

"Just do it. It don't gotta be complicated, baby boy."

I reach across the counter, snagging my closest friend into a hug. She squeezes me back like she's cracking a walnut.

"You're really staying, aren't you?" she practically whispers, her voice so quiet I would have missed the words had we been any further apart.

"I'm staying, Ginnie."

"Fuck, I can't tell you how happy that makes me."

"Is that why you're suffocating me?" I ask, blowing her hair out of my face.

She leans back and swats me in the shoulder. Then hugs me again. Then finally lets go. "I get to be your best man."

Virginia laughs as I spin away from the bar, on a mission.

When I get back to the ranch, it's late afternoon. The rain has been coming down all day, making the ground soggy and giving the air a misty quality that has me longing for tomato soup again. I'm surprised, when I step inside the ranch house, to find a bustle of activity.

"Grab one of the sat phones," Marigold is saying. "Just in case. You know service is spotty up there."

Colton nods, a backpack on the ground in front of him that he's shoving a medical kit into. A few of the ranchers hustle past, water bottles in hand and a frantic energy about them.

"What's going on?" I ask, coming to a halt inside the foyer.

Marigold brushes her hair out of her face. "A kid wandered off from her trail ride group and is missing. We're sending everybody out to sweep the area."

"Shit," I mutter, my gut sinking to the floor. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so, dear. We'll find her. We've got everybody on it, and there's only so far she could have gone."

I nod, but my stomach continues to churn. "Could I…make sandwiches or something? For people to bring in case it takes a while?"

Mrs. Darling offers me a small smile. "Couldn't hurt."

"Yeah. Okay," I mutter, heading toward the kitchen. I whip up a dozen lunch meat sandwiches as my hands shake. Marigold finds me just as I'm finishing up.

"Thanks, Ashley. Let me help you wrap those."

We slip the sandwiches into baggies, and Marigold takes them out to the lingering members of the search crew who are congregating on the back deck, Colton amongst them. The food gets split between packs as I look out toward the barn. Horses are being saddled, everyone on the ranch seemingly helping.

"Where's Jackson?" I ask.

"He was the first to ride out," Marigold tells me. "As soon as we got the call, he went to start the search. He's got a sat phone with him. Don't worry."

I nod, chewing at my lip. "How old is the girl?"

"Ten," Marigold says softly.

So young. She must be freezing in this weather. And scared.

My heart aches for her.

Mrs. Darling gives my shoulder a squeeze. "They'll find her," she says again, sounding as if she's reassuring me more than herself. "It's not even dark out yet. There's plenty of time."

I nod quickly, not wanting to add to her burden with my worry. "Right. It'll be fine."

Her smile is wan.

Once the final search crew is ready to go, Colton starts doling out directions. He's utterly serious for once, his usual smile and easygoing attitude absent. The first group left shortly after Jackson went out, taking trails to the east of where the girl went missing. Colton's group will head west.

"We ready?" he asks them.

Everyone nods, and they walk out into the rain. I watch from the porch with Marigold, feeling useless.

"I got lost once when I was seven," I tell her, a hand on my stomach. "Or so I'm told. I don't actually remember it, but my mom likes to tell the story. We were shopping. I didn't even go far. They found me inside a circular rack of clothes. But for the fifteen minutes it took, my mom was terrified."

Marigold nods, her expression pinched.

"I hate to think of what they're feeling," I admit. "The girl. Her family."

"Tara," she says gently. "That's her name."

I nod in a jerk. "Tara. We should have blankets and cocoa ready for when she's found. She'll need to warm up. And…her parents?" Marigold nods, a confirmation. "They'll want to see that their daughter is safe."

Mrs. Darling wraps her arm around my shoulder, squeezing once before leading me back toward the door. "We'll do just that."

Marigold and I pull blankets out of the cupboard, setting them on the coffee table in the living room. We don't make the cocoa yet, but we ready the mix and collect mugs. After that, she excuses herself to check in with Hank, and I pace.

I pace the living room, peeking out through the window toward the horse barn. Everyone's already gone. I pace past the couch, refolding one of the blankets before setting it back down. I pace the perimeter of the braided, oval rug that takes up most of the floor space and then head to the dining room to pace past the long windows at the back of the house.

With a stutter inside my chest, I spin and jog up the stairs. I grab my raincoat, throw it on, and head out the door.

The rain mists my face as I make my way to the horse barn. I can't say I'm thinking all that rationally, but I can't sit inside and do nothing. I want to help. Need to. And another set of eyes couldn't hurt, right?

I almost expect my efforts to be fruitless, but when I get to the barn, I find Shorty still within his stall. I breathe a sigh of relief. He's the only horse I've ridden, and I'm not sure I would have been able to saddle another. But I find his gear, and I lead him into the hallway, knowing exactly what to do.

Shorty waits patiently while I get him ready to ride, his hoof absentmindedly scratching at the dirt a couple times. Maybe he feels the restless energy in the air, too. The crackle of danger. The oppressive fog.

I cinch his saddle tightly, but not too tight, just like Jackson taught me. I adjust the stirrups to the length I know I'll need. Then I fit the bridle over Shorty's face, running my trembling hand along his nose as his breath huffs against my skin.

"We've got this, Shorty. Right?"

He huffs again.

Once he's ready to go, I check the saddle one last time. Deciding Shorty isn't holding a big breath just to sneak in an extra inch of wiggle room, I grab the reins and jump up onto his back.

"All right, Short-stuff. Let's go."

Instinct has me ducking as we travel through the doorway out of the barn, even though there's plenty of headroom. Shorty's ears flick when the rain starts pelting us. It's not coming down too hard at the moment, but it's not particularly comfortable, either. I give Shorty's neck a rub, offering him a silent thanks for his cooperation.

We head along the soft, muddy path toward the start of the trail. We're near the tree line when I finally look back at the house. There's no one running after me. No one telling me to stop. No one at all, as far as I can tell.

I lead Shorty into the trees.

My breath comes out like fog as the rain eases. It's still misting the air, but the trees take the brunt of it, sheltering us, even a little. We walk along the well-marked trails, a few fresh hoofprints in the path ahead of us. I heard Colton detailing the direction they'd take, so I set off that way, figuring it won't take long for Shorty and me to catch up. And then we can…I don't know. Help look. Help, somehow.

It's quiet as we move. Eerily quiet. And darker within the shade of the forest. The rain is like white noise, muffling everything around us. An occasional snap of a twig sounds under Shorty's hooves, but otherwise, it's silent. We're alone.

"We have to be getting close," I say, my own voice making my pulse jump. Shorty's ears flick. "They went down this way, I'm sure of it."

At least, I was sure. I know he said the orange trail. Didn't he?

Gathering my courage, I call out, "Hello?"

No answer. Just the rain. Just Shorty's hooves and his breath, puffing out like my own. I pull out my phone, dialing Jackson. He doesn't answer.

"It's fine," I mumble, sticking my phone back in my pocket. "I know we're on the right path. We'll find them."

Shorty keeps plodding forward.

An hour later, I'm seriously considering turning back. We're near the base of the mountains now, further than I thought the group would have gone. The trail markers are more spaced out here, and it's close to getting dark. I didn't even think to grab a sandwich myself, not that eating is at the forefront of my mind right now. Shorty is a trooper, not seeming put-out by our half-cocked rescue mission. But my legs are soaked through, my hands cold, and my fingers pruned.

"Fuck," I mutteras we come to a new fork in the road. Neither direction is marked, but Jackson told me sometimes the colored indicators get broken or covered by brush. I hop down off Shorty's back, wincing at the tightness in my back and legs. Walking around, I kick aside leaves and fallen branches, looking for the little wooden markers, but I don't find any.

As much as I hate to admit defeat, I have no clue which way to go, and if we don't head back soon, we'll lose the sun. I didn't even think to grab a flashlight.

With another curse, I hitch myself onto Shorty's back and turn him around. I shake my head as we retrace our steps back down the trail, feeling pissed and frustrated and, once again, utterly useless.

"Thanks for trying, Shorty," I tell the horse, patting his damp neck. He kicks up his head gently. "Let's head home, get nice and dry, and then I'll get you a treat. How's that sound?"

His ears flick as I scratch between them.

"Yeah," I mutter. "Sounds good."

I keep a loose hold on the reins as Shorty climbs up the short incline we came down a few minutes ago. The trail is high here, the land dipping down on either side of it. In one direction, past the trees, is the Darlings' pastureland. The cattle are probably hunkered together, finding shelter beneath the interspersed trees. On the other side of the trail, past a deep ravine, is the mountains.

I wonder if Jackson and I could explore them sometime. Surely, they have guided mountain climbs in this area. I bet there are some options for beginners. Or maybe Jackson himself knows the ropes. It wouldn't surprise me.

There's a gentle smile on my face when Shorty's head kicks up again, a little harder than before. He stutters a step, ears flicking.

"All right?" I ask. I can't hear anything but the rain.

I open my mouth to reassure the horse everything is fine, when something rustles off to our right. Shorty reverses course with a quick backwards step, and my pulse takes off like a shot, my inhalation loud as I tighten my hands on the reins. I'm about to encourage Shorty forward again when something races out in front of us.

It happens so fast.

The small animal—a racoon—freezes like a deer caught in the beams of an oncoming car. Panicked by our presence, it makes a mad dash, ending up beneath Shorty's front legs as Shorty rears up, hooves leaving the dirt before slamming back down again. He tries to back up as the raccoon scrambles underfoot, each attempting to avoid the other in the span of mere seconds that seem to last a lifetime. Shorty rears again, his back hoof slipping at the edge of the softened trail, and my gut does a nosedive, my world going temporarily weightless as I'm thrown from his back.

I don't remember the fall. Don't remember how long I'm in the air. But I remember slamming onto dirt, pain searing through my shoulder as I slide down the steep slope for what feels like an age. Rocks, branches, who-knows-what-else scrape against me as I grapple to find a handhold, unable to in time. The ground disappears right out from under me, and everything goes weightless once more.

I land with a thud, my breath leaving me. For a moment, all I can do is stare up at the canopy of trees above.

Finally, I suck in a gasping breath. And then another. Rain drops softly onto my face as I take stock of the situation. I try to sit up, but the sharp, glass-like pain radiating out from my shoulder has me flat on my back again in an instant.

"Fuck," I mutter, fighting the urge to throw up. " Fuck ."

I wait longer this time, cataloguing the pain as I work to slow my breathing. There are tiny, stinging scrapes all over my body. A dull ache at the back of my head. I lift my good arm to feel the area, relieved, when I bring my hand in front of my face, to see there's no blood. I let loose a breath, marginally reassured. But my shoulder is a problem.

Slowly, I press my arm against my body and hold it there, gritting my teeth and fighting back a scream as I get myself into a sitting position. After catching my breath, I stand, nearly throwing up again when my shoulder shifts.

I think I dislocated it. Hopefully it's not broken.

I look up at the steep mountain face in front of me. No help there. Turning, I find the ground I took a tumble down. It starts at eye-level, which explains the second fall. The hill is steeply sloped, the path I carved down it visible as an irregular streak through the leaves and dirt. My breath whooshes out of me when I see Shorty looking down from atop the hill. Thank fuck . He's still on the trail, maybe forty feet away.

"Hey, buddy," I call. "You okay?"

His ears flick, and his hoof stomps the ground.

"Yeah, okay. Let's see…"

The second I try to heft myself onto the slope, I know I'm not going anywhere. Pain sears through my shoulder, and I pant through it, my chest resting against the lip of dirt. Finally, I let myself fall, dropping the short distance back to the ground.

Using my good arm, I fish my phone from my pocket, astonished it's even still there. I swear aloud when I see the screen, cracked and clearly broken. I swear again when the phone won't turn on.

"Goddamn it!" I shout, my voice echoing inside the pit I've found myself in. Once I'm calm, I look around again. Every which way, there's a steep climb.

I don't have a choice. I have to try again.

Girding myself against the pain I know will come, I grab onto the thickest sapling I can reach on the hill I fell down and hoist myself up. Stars dance in my vision, a ragged sound leaving my mouth as I inch myself a little higher…little higher…

As soon as my hips clear the edge, I roll onto my back and suck in breath after breath, still holding the sapling tight. My arm is shaking, my other a useless weight at my side. Slowly, I wriggle upwards until my feet can find purchase. Knees bent, I push with my heels, trying to slide myself up the hill a little further.

It works. Kind of.

I grab for another sapling, smaller than the first, and pray it holds my weight. Again, I dig in my heels and push, but the ground is so wet, my feet kick out. Taking a calming breath, I try again, going slower, getting myself up another half-foot on my back before needing a new hand-hold. I arch my neck, finding Shorty watching me from atop the hill.

"Coming," I assure him.

Every muscle in my body protests as I inch myself up the incline. I'm soaking wet. Muddy. I don't have a hand to clear the moisture from my eyes. My teeth are chattering, adrenaline the only thing letting me block out, even a little, the pain radiating out from my shoulder.

Doesn't matter. I push myself up another few inches. Another few. I find another handhold, heels dug into the earth.

The tiny tree I'm holding gives.

"No, no, no," I say, frantically trying to stop my momentum as I slide down the wet earth. I grab at dirt, rocks, branches. Kick my feet…

And fall back into the pit.

I black out for a second. Spots dance in front of my eyes as I lie on the ground, my head swimming, my dislocated arm wedged beneath my body at a horrible angle.

"Shorty," I call out, voice hoarse. "Can you go back? Can you go get help? Please?"

I have no clue if he even knows what I'm trying to say, but when I get myself turned around, my jaw aching as I strain not to cry out, I can see him still up on the trail, tail swishing.

"Shorty," I yell again. "Go home? Run home?"

He doesn't, and as darkness crawls along the edges of my vision, the pain threatening to pull me under, I hear a sound. It's quiet at first, so quiet I assume I'm imagining it. But then it gets louder and more distinct, and there's no mistaking what I'm hearing.

The tinkling of a bell.

A bell .

In the middle of a forest in Darling freaking Montana.

Good fucking grief.

"Please, please don't bite me," I mumble with the last of my waning strength.

And then everything is black.