High Intensity (High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G #2)

Chapter 4

Four

Wolff

All it takes is a large wet tongue on my face to snap me out of my momentary disorientation.

Peanut’s large head hovers over me when I blink my eyes open, and it all floods back to me. I’m stranded at Jillian’s place and ended up crashing on her couch.

The first thing I notice is how bright it is, clearly morning, and it looks like the storm has cleared. But when I flip back the blanket Jillian gave me last night, the intense cold hits me. One glance at the fireplace shows me the two logs I recall tossing on sometime during the night, in an attempt to keep the small fire going, have completely burned up.

My bladder is about to burst, but it’ll have to wait until I get that fire going again. I swing my legs down and plant my feet on the floor.

Fuck, that’s cold.

My ass has barely left the couch when Peanut curls up in the warm spot I just vacated. She’s cold too. Last night all six dogs disappeared into the bedroom with Jillian, and I remember suppressing a fleeting moment of jealousy that they would get to snuggle up with her.

Luckily the wood is nice and dry, so it takes hardly any effort to get the fire going again. Then I take care of business in the bathroom. Despite trying to be as quiet as I can, the activity seems to rouse a few more dogs that slip through the partially opened door to Jillian’s bedroom.

It’s her dog Murphy, the Lab mix, who makes a beeline for the back door. Yeah, they likely need to pee as well.

“Hold on, buddy,” I mumble, quickly grabbing my boots and my parka.

I’m assuming—since she went out to keep an eye on them last night—her backyard may not be fenced in. At least not completely.

The sun greets me when I have to force open the back door against the drift that formed during the night. The snow is thick. It’s hard to tell because the wind was blowing it around, but I’m guessing we got a good foot.

Murphy squeezes past me in his rush to get outside, and judging from the clicking of nails on the wood floors behind me, the rest of the pack needs relief as well. I wade through the snow to the railing to keep an eye out.

The view is phenomenal from here.

It doesn’t really show at the front of the house, but it’s built on a slope, so the back looks to be higher than the front. The yard slopes down into the tree line, which is pretty barren looking now, but I imagine will fill out nicely in the spring. Because of the lack of foliage, you can see the creek that runs behind the property. Of course, there’s no missing the mountains beyond and they are as stunning in the summer as they are now, covered in a white blanket.

We’re not out here long. The dogs quickly return to the deck once they’ve done their business, eager to get back in. I stomp the snow from my boots and toe them off as soon as I step inside.

“Morning.”

I look up to find Jillian curled up on the couch in front of the fire, wrapped in the blanket I left there. The dogs are already climbing up there with her.

“Hey.”

“Thanks for the fire. It was cold in bed with all my doggie heaters gone.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep from offering to wrap my body around her to keep her warm.

“I tried to keep it going overnight, but unfortunately fell asleep on the job,” I tell her instead.

I shrug off my parka, toss it over a stool and grab the pot she used last night for water, fill it at the tap, and pop it on the butane burner.

“Coffee or tea?”

She points at the copper pot on the counter next to the stove. “Coffee, please. And there’s a reusable filter in the coffee maker, or I can go dig up my French press, which is somewhere in the leftover boxes I haven’t gotten around to unpacking yet.”

“Don’t bother,” I tell her, pulling the effectively defunct coffee maker toward me. “I’ll use this.”

I like that she doesn’t jump up and take over, but seems perfectly comfortable snuggled in with her dogs as she watches me putter around the kitchen.

“Have you tried your cell phone yet?” she asks at some point.

“I haven’t,” I admit.

I’m not ready to examine too deeply why it is I didn’t do that first thing when I woke up. Or why I left my phone in my coat pocket instead of keeping it close all night in the first place. In fact, I should’ve thought to bring a two-way radio from the ranch office, but didn’t.

No longer able to feign ignorance, I reach for my coat and dig out my cell. I notice it’s already after eight.

“Looks like it’s still down,” I inform Jillian.

“I’m sure with the storm cleared out, they’ll have things up and running again soon enough,” she volunteers, looking pretty comfortable and not at all put out by our current predicament.

It shouldn’t surprise me she seems unflappable, the work she does requires being adaptable to all circumstances. Although I hate to admit it, I’m pretty sure my impulsive attempt to somehow rescue her was entirely unnecessary. She was already well on her way to rescuing herself by the time I got here.

I watch her untangle herself from the pile of dogs and notice the long johns and fuzzy socks she’s wearing, as she bends over to throw another log on the fire.

The woman has a great ass in jeans, but it’s fucking spectacular in thermal underwear. She catches me looking, so I pivot around and busy myself scooping ground coffee in the filter. Damn .

“I’m thinking the plows are already out. After coffee, I’ll probably head back to my truck, but first I’ll shovel your driveway…you do have a shovel, don’t you?” I catch myself.

“I do.” Her voice is closer than before. “I’m pretty sure it blew off my porch sometime during the storm though, but I’ll dig for it after, and I promise I can manage my own driveway. You’ve been helpful enough.”

I hold my breath when I feel her place a hand in the middle of my back. I’m almost afraid to turn around, until I hear her question, “But first, how do you feel about oatmeal?”

“Oatmeal?”

My voice comes out hoarse and I clear my throat.

“Yes,” she confirms, her hand falling away when I turn to face her. She’s wearing that lopsided grin. “It seems most people either love or hate it. What camp are you in?”

“It’s a good solid breakfast. I like it all right.”

She nods. “Good. I’ll make us a quick pot before you head out.”

We move around each other surprisingly smoothly in the relatively small space, as I work on the coffee, and Jillian does something with bananas and cinnamon that makes the oatmeal smell fantastic. I pour us coffee, while she ladles the oatmeal in bowls, and we sit down at the small kitchen table.

“This is good,” I share after scarfing down half of my bowl.

It earns me one of her grins. “Good. It’s the way I used to cook it for—” She appears to catch herself. Her face blanks as she lowers her eyes, nervously tucking a strand of her messy hair behind her ear.

I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong, when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

“It’s Jonas,” I tell her when I check the screen.

Clearly service is back up and as I answer, I watch Jillian dart down the hallway to her bedroom. I assume to grab her own phone.

“Morning.”

Not one for pleasantries, Jonas gets right to the point. “Where are you?”

“Went to check on someone and got stuck here.”

“Well, get yourself unstuck, we’ve gotta mobilize the team.”

Jillian

“I promise I’m fine. I’ll drop by with River as soon as I can get out of my street.”

Cell service is obviously back up, and electricity came back on maybe half an hour ago, not long after Wolff left. I’d just gotten out of the shower when Sloane called me back. I’d left her a message earlier.

“I’d swing by, but Aspen is running a fever, and Dan had to go in to work early. Apparently, some plane went missing and the team’s being called out for a search.”

“I heard,” I share without thinking.

After Wolff got off the phone, he told me the team had been called out to search for a smaller airplane that had gone missing in the mountains during the storm last night.

It’s been on my mind since he left. I can’t help but think, if that plane went down with the storm raging out there, the likelihood there are any survivors is virtually nonexistent. It makes me sad, how one moment we’re here, and the next all we are is memories.

“You did?” Sloane interrupts my wandering thoughts. “Who’d you talk to?”

Oh dear, here we go. I’m not about to make up some story, since I can’t lie for shit, but I’m afraid my friend’s imagination is going to run amok at the truth.

“Wolff. He was here when Jonas called him.”

“Wolff?” There’s a brief pause, and then at a slight increase in pitch, “At your house?”

“It’s not what you?—”

“Oh my God, I knew it! I could tell there was something going on at Thanksgiving. Wolff looked like someone gut punched him when he caught sight of you. When did this happen? Boy, he did not waste any time, did he?” she rambles excitedly. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to tell. Nothing’s happened. His truck got stuck in a ditch when he was dropping off some survival stuff for me, so he rode out the storm here. That’s it. You’re creating fantasies, my friend.”

“Well, shoot me for trying to find something happy to think about.”

My antennae perk up.

“Did something happen since you dropped off the dog yesterday?” I probe. “Did you buy a test? Talk to Dan?”

She scoffs, “I never had a chance. I barely made it home last night, and then Aspen was sick and Dan had been waiting for me so he could head over to the ranch on the snowmobile to help out with the animals. He was there all night. I didn’t even talk to him until he called me this morning to let me know the team was being called out. I was so annoyed, I ended up doing the pregnancy test I picked up on my way in to work yesterday. I intended to do it with Dan there, but since he wasn’t and I didn’t feel like waiting…”

It’s like she suddenly runs out of energy, or maybe she’s simply done venting, but she doesn’t finish her sentence.

So, I gently prompt her, “And?”

“You were right.” She sniffles softly. “And now I don’t know when Dan will be back…and Aspen is sick…and I don’t have my dog…and I’m just a mess.”

“You’ll be fine,” I try to appease her.

“I’m a mess,” she reiterates with emphasis. “It’s like I have no control over anything. Not even myself.”

In the background I can hear her daughter start wailing, which only makes Sloane sniffle harder.

“Oh God, I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can,” I tell her firmly. “Take a deep breath, go look after your daughter, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As soon as I can still ended up taking a couple of hours.

It’s after noon by the time I pull up to Dan and Sloane’s brand-new log home. It was a pleasant surprise to find their driveway plowed. After spending the past two hours breaking my back shoveling my own, I’m seriously considering hiring a service to take care of snow removal in the future.

I considered bringing my guys for a visit as well, but thought better of it. They may have just added to the chaos. Instead, I let them have a good run in the back before I left, and they’re generally quite content at home.

Beside me, River starts whining when he recognizes where we are.

“Hang on, buddy,” I tell him when he tries to climb over me to get out when I open the door. “I’ll come grab you from the other side.”

The moment River’s paws hit the ground, he takes off for the house, where Sloane is already waiting in the door holding Aspen. As soon as I reach them, I pluck the baby from her arms and shoo Sloane inside before closing the door.

The poor little one is like a stove, so warm, and rather lethargic. I manage to shrug out of my coat by shifting her from arm to arm, and kick off my boots in the entrance before following Sloane into the living room.

“Has she had any fluids today?” I ask, noticing a bottle and a child’s cup with a straw on the coffee table.

“Probably not enough. I’ve tried. We’ve been up all night,” Sloane shares, looking—and sounding—exhausted.

“What about you?” I press on as I lay Aspen down on her back on the couch.

“I…I can’t remember. I had tea at some point.”

She moves closer as I unzip Aspen’s sleeper and inspect her, running my fingers lightly over her chest and belly.

“What are you doing?” her mother wants to know.

“She seems to have a bit of a rash on her torso,” I report as I gently flip her over and check her back. No rash there.

Next, I palpate her throat with my fingertips and find her glands substantially enlarged.

“I’m gonna need your help for a sec,” I tell Sloane. “If you can lay her on her back on your lap so your knees support her shoulders. I want her head to fall back a bit so I can have a look in her throat.”

Sloane sits down and does as I asked. Then I gently press on Aspen’s chin. She’s not happy with me and makes it known. Her crying actually helps me have a quick look in her mouth using the flashlight on my phone. Her little throat looks raw, and I notice some white dots.

“Oh, you poor baby. Auntie Jillian thinks you have strep throat,” I coo at her. I lift her off Sloane’s lap and cradle her against my shoulder. “You may want to give your doctor a call, she probably needs to be seen.”

“I already tried calling this morning. The message says he’s out of the office until next Monday and for anything urgent to go to the emergency room. I wanted to take her but was afraid I was overreacting. Do you really think she has strep? I don’t know where she would’ve picked that up.”

I pat her knee. “Sure looks like it. Come on, let’s bundle this little nugget up, and I’ll take you. My SUV is already warmed up.”

Ten minutes later we’re on our way into Libby. I was able to move the car seat from Sloane’s Jeep to my Toyota, so Aspen is safely strapped in and it looks like she may be nodding off.

“Looked like you knew what you were doing back there,” Sloane observes. “Do you have medical training or something?”

I guess it was inevitable the day would come I’d have to share more about my past than perhaps I’m ready for. It has nothing to do with trust, it has to do with not wanting to open up wounds that always stay raw right under the surface.

“I do. I’m a registered nurse.”