nature and pray: for his daughters, for emotional peace and for the strength to get him through the upcoming Christmas season, the girls’ second Christmas without their mom.
It was unseasonably warm at the base of the mountain. Although a recent light snowfall dusted the area around the lake with a layer of white, it would probably melt off by noon. He smiled, thinking about how much the girls were looking forward to playing in the snow.
Then something else caught his eye across the lake.
A splash of red.
Curious, he pulled out his binoculars and peered through the lenses. It looked like a woman in a red jacket, jeans and hiking boots. Her long brown hair was strewn across her face.
She looked unconscious, or worse.
Will shoved the binoculars into his pack and took off. He had to get to her, had to save her. He glanced at his cell phone. No signal.
Please, Lord, let me save her.
As he sped toward the unconscious woman, he wondered how she’d ended up here. Was she a day hiker who hadn’t brought enough hydration? He didn’t see a backpack near her body, yet even day hikers knew better than to head into the mountains without supplies since the weather could change in a flash.
By the time he reached the unconscious woman, his heart was pounding against his chest. He shucked his pack and kneeled to administer first aid. “Ma’am?”
She was unresponsive.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
What had happened to this fragile-looking creature? He wondered if she got separated from her party or had fallen off a trail above.
He gently brushed jet-black hair away from her face. She had color in her cheeks, a good sign. He took off his glove and pressed his fingers against her wrist to check her pulse.
“No!” She swung her arm, nailing Will in the face with something hard.
He jerked backward, stars arcing across his vision. He pinched his eyes shut against the pain. Gripping his nose, he felt blood ooze through his fingers. He struggled to breathe.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
“I’m trying to help.”
“Liar.”
He cracked open his eyes. She towered above him, aiming a gun at his chest.
“Please,” he said, putting out one hand in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry if I upset you, but I really do want to help.”
“Yeah, help them kill me.”
He noticed a bruise forming above her right eye and lacerations crisscrossing her cheek.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
Will guessed she was frightened and confused. Maybe even dehydrated.
“I’m Will Rankin, a volunteer with Echo Mountain Search and Rescue.”
“Sure, and I’m Amelia Earhart.”
“Check my pack. My driver’s license is in the side pocket.”
It was worth a try, although he knew all the sensible conversation in the world may not get through to someone in her condition.
Narrowing her eyes, she grabbed his backpack and stepped a few feet away. Never lowering the gun, she unzipped the side pocket.
“May I sit up to stop my nosebleed?” he asked.
She nodded that he could.
He would continue to act submissive so she wouldn’t see him as a threat. It was the best way to keep her from firing the gun by accident. He sensed she wasn’t a killer, but rather she was disoriented and frightened.
Sitting up, he leaned forward and pinched his nose, just below the bridge. He’d have dual black eyes for sure and didn’t know how he’d explain that to his girls, or their grandparents.
You’ve got bigger problems than a bloody nose. He had to talk this woman down from her precarious ledge.
She rifled through his wallet and hesitated, fingering a photograph of Claire and Marissa.
“My girls,” he said. “They’re in first and third grades.”
She shot him a look of disbelief and shoved his wallet and the photos haphazardly into his pack.
“Did you fall from a trail above?” he asked.
“I’m asking the questions!” She straightened and pointed the gun at his chest again. “And you’d better give me the right answers.”
“Please,” he said. “My girls... I’m all they’ve got. Their mother...died.”
He thought he’d gotten through to her.
She flicked the gun. “Get up.”
He slowly stood, realizing how petite she was, barely coming up to his chest.
“Where are they?” she demanded.
“Who?”
“LaRouche and Harrington.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right, you randomly happened to find me.”
“I did.”
“Uh-huh. And you’re out here, in the middle of nowhere, why?”
“I’m spending a few days in the mountains for—” he hesitated “—solitude.”
“You’re lying. There’s more to it.”
“I’m not lying, but you’re right, there is more to it.”
She waited and narrowed her eyes, expectant.
“I come to this spot by the lake to find emotional peace—” he hesitated “—with God’s help.”
“Yeah, right. Great story, Will.”
He didn’t miss the sarcastic pronunciation of his name, nor the paranoid look in her eye.
She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out her phone. She frowned.
“You have a phone?” she asked.
“I do.”
She shoved hers back into her pocket. “Give it to me.”
He pulled it out, dropped it between them and raised his hands. “You won’t get a signal here,
