Wanting a Family Man (Raven’s Cove #3)

Chapter Seventeen

T rystan had had two hours to ponder exactly how he would handle this, but his normally clear mind was bouncing panicked thoughts off the inside walls of his skull.

Cloe would be fine. It was only a few hours. Animal attacks were actually very rare. It was a wet day, but well above zero. Toddlers wandered into the woods and came out alive. She was an adult with a good head on her shoulders.

She had been scared, though. She’d been mad . She was hurt and feeling scorned and had talked about trying to walk out on her own, which could turn to disaster very quickly.

Stay where I put you , he mentally shouted at her. A lost hiker was in a hell of a lot more danger than a stranded one.

He walked through the back door into the marina offices and climbed the stairs, accidentally letting the bottom door slam, which woke Storm.

She’d been grumpy for the first hour, then dead weight on his back. Now she began to wiggle and register her displeasure at having been stuck for so many hours in the pack.

Neither Sophie nor Logan was in the marina office, but thanks to their recent renovation, Trystan didn’t have to go downstairs, walk around, and come up into the resort office through the main stairs. He walked through the new door and down the hall, pausing when he came to the open plan area behind a public-facing counter. Umi sat at her desk, but the other two were empty. She was the one he needed, though. Along with being their head bean counter, she was their health and safety coordinator.

“Hello, stranger. Haven’t seen you for a while.” She smiled in welcome.

“Can you see if any of the local SARs are available for an extraction out of Caution Cove?” Trystan began unbuckling the backpack. “Cloe hurt her ankle. Boat is fine. We don’t need the chopper. We can wait until morning if necessary.”

The helicopter was in Bella Coola and this wasn’t life and death. Even so, it was bad enough he didn’t want to waste time getting back to her.

“Sure.” Umi was already reaching for her phone. “You’re going back out? Take a kit and radio.” She nodded at the first aid room where go-bags were kept prepared for emergencies like this.

“Is Logan—?” He nodded at Reid’s office.

“Yep.” Umi nodded and identified herself to whoever had answered her call.

As Trystan walked into Reid’s office, he had Storm in one arm, the backpack dangling off the other.

Logan was on the phone and frowned at the way Storm was bellyaching. He motioned at his call.

Trystan dropped the backpack and cut an urgent line across his own neck.

“No, that’s my brother crying,” Logan joked into the phone. “Lemme see what he wants. I’ll get right back to you.” He hung up and scolded, “Dude.”

“Cloe’s hurt. I have to get back to her.” Trystan passed Storm across the desk to him. “She’s wet, hungry, and fully charged on naps so yeah, I owe you.”

“Shit.” Logan took Storm, but kept frowning at Trystan. “You left Cloe out there by herself?”

“Didn’t have a choice.” Trystan nodded at the baby, who grabbed a handful of Logan’s collar and tried to eat it. “Cloe’s at the bottom of Pick-Up-Sticks Falls.” He grabbed a pen and made an X on the map on the wall. “Umi’s organizing an extraction from Caution Cove.” He gave that a little X, too. “I’m taking the company truck to the airport.”

“Keys are in it.”

It would only shave a few minutes, but Trystan was feeling really guilty about leaving Cloe alone out there. He had rejected her, then abandoned her to fend for herself. She was probably slotting him next to Ivan under the heading of Men Who Don’t Deserve Me.

“I’m taking a radio. I’ll let you know when I’m back with her.”

“Be careful.”

Trystan nodded and walked back to Umi’s office for the supplies.

“There are crutches in there, too,” she reminded him.

He nodded and left a moment later, slipping past Reid’s office where he could hear Logan talking calmly over Storm’s cries.

“…know you’re starving, but you stink so we’re dealing with that first.”

*

Was the next howl closer? The same? Farther away? It was impossible to tell.

It wasn’t here , Cloe reassured herself. That emboldened her to spend a few minutes gathering more firewood—half of which she had discovered only smoldered because it was wet, but she figured the smoke was a good signal to animals that they should stay away so she shifted herself out of the cloud as necessary.

When she tired of hopping around, she bunched the emergency tent around her middle like a sleeping bag. It was thin as tinfoil, so it didn’t cushion her seat on the rocks, or her back where she leaned against the log, but it was better than bare legs.

She did a careful inventory of everything she had, portioning out how to make her food last for two extra days if she had to. She would wait until dark to eat anything else. She would know by then if Trystan was really coming back or not.

Was he?

I’m sorry, Storm, but your auntie got eaten by a wolf. It was kind of my fault, but it was convenient for the rest of us that she just disappeared.

Trystan wasn’t like that, she scolded herself. None of them were. Maybe they didn’t really like her, but they didn’t hate her enough to kill her.

She was pretty sure.

She tried to calculate when to expect him. They had left Raven’s Cove around nine this morning, which had them eating lunch in the cove around noon. They had been there an hour or so and walking this far had probably been another hour so he’d left her around two or two thirty?

What time was it now? Four o’clock? Five?

The gray sky gave her no sun to watch. She had the sense that the afternoon was turning to evening, though. Her stomach was no longer satisfied with two cups of reconstituted soup. It told her it was dinner hour and she had expended a lot of calories today. A steak and loaded baked potato would be amazing, thank you.

This is how humans turned from seeing forest creatures as friendly companions to brunch , she thought ironically. Was that how the wolf would regard her? Was he hungry enough to take down something that would put up a fight?

Exactly how much fight could she put up when she couldn’t take two steps in a row?

She’d rather not test it. She began to sing, catching at whatever verse or chorus or spoken rhyme came to mind. Hip hop had been the anthem of her high school years. Tiff had been a fan of top forty and their mother had made them question whether “greatest hits of the eighties and nineties” was actually an oxymoron. The car dealership had played a relentless loop of yacht rock so she had lots to choose from in her mental playlist.

While she sang, she fiddled with trying to make her own crutch, but wound up breaking off one arm of the Y, which was disheartening.

More firewood , she reasoned and turned her attention to sorting the pebbles beside her into colors and sizes. She had never looked closely enough to realize there were mint greens and pastel pinks and ambient blues mingled with the slate grays and stark whites.

She was soothing herself with The Weeknd’s “Can’t Feel My Face,” reminding herself not to worry…“a-bout it”… She hummed the next line because she didn’t remember it, then something-something, “Ne-ver be alo-oh-ohne… Woo!”

She absently lifted her gaze and there he was, sitting like any house dog near the top of the waterfall.

Her voice, breath, heart all lurched to a halt. A zing of alarm went through her whole body, stinging her limbs so hard she was immobilized. It was the frozen bunny syndrome she had heard of, but never experienced, not like this.

She was terrified, but oddly, not afraid at all because her brain got busy trying to convince her it was a domestic husky or a German shepherd, but no. It was definitely a wolf.

He was twenty yards or so away up there. His black and gray and brown coloring blended into the wet rocks and striations in the bark of the nearby trees. He could lope down to her a lot quicker than she could get away, but as long as they were looking at each other, she figured she was okay.

Her ears stung, though, trying to hear any crack in the brush that might indicate there was a pack making its way to attack her.

“Did you have any requests?” she called up as she reached for the bear spray and stuck the end of her crutch into the fire. “‘Werewolf in London,’ maybe?” She didn’t actually know that song beyond the title. She only knew it existed because it was on every Halloween playlist with that other classic “Monster Mash.”

As time seemed to stretch out into a thin strand, the raven came back. Its wings made the swoop-swoop-swoop noise as it tilted through the branches and landed above her. It let out one of its rasping squawks.

After a moment, the wolf pushed himself to turn away in what seemed like contemptuous boredom. He melted into the woods, leaving her stomach in knots.

Cloe listened hard, trying to convince herself he had decided she was neither a threat nor easy prey. When she glanced up, she genuinely expected the raven to poop on her, but it gave another squawk and hopped off its branch, disappearing into the upper boughs of the trees.

Suddenly there was a loud crack behind her. Still holding the bear spray, Cloe whipped onto her knees and pointed—

*

“Don’t spray me!” Trystan hung back, even though he wanted to rush toward her and scoop her up, he was so relieved to see she was perfectly fine.

Cloe frowned with confusion and looked back at the waterfall before she sank onto her hip. “I didn’t realize you were so close by.”

“I told you I can move fast when I’m on my own.” He unhooked the radio from his belt and clicked it. “Office, I’ve got Cloe.”

A second later, Logan’s voice replied, “Received. What’s her condition?”

“How’s your ankle?” Trystan asked her. “I brought crutches.” He pointed to where they were duct-taped to the SAR bag he wore. “Can we limp you to the beach and leave by boat? Or do you want an airlift?”

“God, no! I can’t afford that. No, it’s swollen, but it only hurts if I put weight on it. I can make it to the beach.” That statement was mostly bravado, he suspected, but he nodded.

He didn’t bother explaining that she wouldn’t be charged for her rescue. Even if she was, it was his fault she was out here so he’d take care of it.

He relayed that a water extraction would be fine.

“Coast guard says high winds are forecast for tomorrow. They can be in the cove in an hour,” Logan said. “Can you get to the beach before dark?”

“We’ll do our best. Over and out.” Trystan ended the transmission and lowered the volume, then clipped the radio back onto his belt.

As he slipped off the bag, he took in the fire in its neat circle of rocks. Her clothes were staked out beside it, drying while also providing a screen to trap the heat. She had extra wood handy along with the bear spray and had amused herself by arranging colored pebbles into a crude mandala. The extra gear he’d left with her was either in use or stowed in the pack. She wasn’t a messy camper. Her foot was wrapped and her cheek was clean.

“You’ve been busy.”

“I would have erected a cabin, but I realized that was perpetuating the colonial mindset. It’s too bad I can’t stay. I’ve already met the neighbors. They seem nice.”

“Yeah?” He came to crouch in front of her, once again wanting to snatch her into his arms, but she stiffened and eyed him warily. “Can I see your foot?”

He almost thought she would refuse, but she poked her foot at him from beneath the shiny survival blanket.

“Are you naked under there?”

“Shorts.”

“Mmm.” He gently cradled her heel as he unwrapped the bandage, then very, very lightly probed the swelling.

She gasped and tried to jerk her foot away.

“On a scale of one to ten, ten being you slammed your finger in a car door, how much pain was that?”

“I’ve never actually slammed my finger in a door. I rammed my knee into a car bumper once. I saw stars and it swelled up like a balloon. I couldn’t walk for three days, but it wasn’t fractured. This is about that bad.”

“Hmph. Can you feel all your toes?” He squeezed each one.

“Oui, oui, oui.”

“Funny. This?” He ran his finger up and down her sole.

“Tickles more than it hurts.” Her foot twitched in his grip again.

“And what have you eaten?”

“One soup with noodles.” She looked toward her bag.

She’d been rationing, not trusting him to come back for her. He took that like a gut punch.

“Let’s eat a couple MREs before we go. Meal, Ready to Eat,” he translated. Dehydrated soups were fine on a day hike, but they’d both used a lot of calories today. He offered her a choice between the beef stroganoff and the mac and cheese with sausage bites.

She took the mac and cheese and they ate them cold, straight from the pouch. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible.

“I saw the wolf. He was up on the waterfall.”

“Yeah? Does that mean you’re nervous about going that direction?”

“They target the weak and injured, don’t they?” She frowned, perhaps thinking her dark humor was too close to the truth. “I don’t have a choice, do I? Let’s just go.”

He rinsed out their pouches when they finished, to reduce the smell, before he rolled them up to carry them out with the rest of their trash.

Cloe made a face as she pushed her legs into her dirty, still damp jeans. She tried her boot only to sigh because it was a lost cause. They took a minute to adjust the crutches, then she took a few strides with them.

“I’ll take our bags to the top of the waterfall, then I’ll come back to carry you up.”

“Why? The crutches are fine.” She demonstrated with a few more steps.

“On flat ground. I’m not risking you tumbling down the bank again.” He had a feeling he’d be snapping awake from that nightmare for a while. “Use this to start wetting down the fire.” He handed her a cup and stole her crutches.

“Hey!”

“So we don’t have to carry them when you’re on my back.”

“I’m not climbing onto your back,” she said behind him, but he ignored her, taking all their gear to the top of the hill in five minutes.

By the time he returned, she was using a stick to stir up the soaked fire pit, ensuring it was thoroughly out.

“Looks good.” He crouched in front of her, back turned.

“Trystan—”

She didn’t want to rely on him. In her eyes, he’d proven himself someone she couldn’t rely on. He knew that. He had come back, though, hadn’t he? He was going to get her out of the woods. Literally.

“You can walk when we get to the top. The slope is steep and narrow so get on.”

There was a pointed silence, then her hand fell onto his shoulder. The knee of her injured foot snugged itself against his waist.

He hooked his hand under it, waited for her weight to press onto his back then straightened, taking her other foot off the ground.

She gave a little “Eep” and her arms slid forward to brace against his collarbone, hugging herself onto him.

He wrapped his arms under her legs and started up the narrow, precarious path.

When they reached the top, he was breathing heavily. He carefully let her slide down to her booted foot, making sure to catch her arm to steady her.

For a moment, their eyes locked, but she quickly looked away, then bent to pick up the crutches, which were leaning on their backpacks.

“I can manage my own pack—”

“It weighs less than Storm. I’ve got it,” he muttered.

There was a moment of pointed silence, then she turned and clumsily began making her way along the path, soon beginning to huff with exertion.

He bit back a sigh.

*

It took close to two hours to reach the cove. When they arrived at the top of the trail, two men were already on the sand with a Zodiac beached beside them.

“I’ll take these down, then come help you,” Trystan said, motioning for the crutches. “You’re not going down this hill on those.”

Since her armpits were bruised and the rest of her felt like overcooked noodles, she begrudgingly handed him the crutches and leaned on a tree, slowly sinking to the wet ground to rest.

Below, she heard the men exchange greetings. A few minutes later, one came up with Trystan. He was old enough that his black hair had some salt in it and he had a reassuring smile.

“Hi, Cloe. I’m Jake.” He set down his first aid kit. “Can I take your vitals?” He checked her pulse and pulled her bottom eyelid down and asked a bunch of questions while he unwrapped her ankle, then rewrapped it. “Let’s get you down to the boat.”

With her arms over Jake’s and Trystan’s shoulders, and each of them gripping her thigh, she was down in seconds and seated in the bright orange Zodiac. It was bigger than the one on the Storm Ridge and was tricked out with two outboard motors and a steering wheel along with a winch and other bells and whistles.

She didn’t pay much attention. They put her under a blanket and elevated her foot, but her ibuprofen had long worn off. She was cold and uncomfortable and was starting to remember all the distressing things she had been able to forget—that she couldn’t work and didn’t have medical insurance and, oh yeah, she had been discarded by the man who was exchanging banter with the other two.

Cloe had crossed the passage enough times by now that she realized quickly that they weren’t taking her into Raven’s Cove.

“Where—?”

“Bella Bella. Get you an X-ray,” Trystan explained.

At least she didn’t have to ride the ferry for half the night.

She waited until she was at the clinic to ask with great trepidation, “How much is this going to cost? I don’t have insurance.”

“Yes, you do.” The woman behind the counter held up a yellow sticky note. “Umi called to say the company had some trouble registering you, because you didn’t have a permanent address here. That’s why you don’t have a card yet, but you have a number and that means you’re covered.”

“Really?” Cloe’s relief was so great, she almost cried again.

An hour later, she was diagnosed with a sprained ankle, given extra-strength ibuprofen, and told to treat it with RICE: rest, ice, compression, and elevation.

Trystan called Johnny, who drove them to the wharf where the water taxi had been dispatched after dark, especially for them.

“Do you want to come up to the house and hang out with Storm with me?” Trystan asked when he helped her disembark. He handed her the crutches. “I can get the company truck so you don’t have to walk.”

“I’ll lie down on the Storm Ridge , if you don’t mind.” She had to figure out what she was going to do. She had opened a bank account in Bella Coola so her paycheck could be deposited, but that single payday wouldn’t get her very far.

Trystan walked her to the Storm Ridge , then had to help her up onto the deck.

She couldn’t stay here beyond tonight, she realized. Not if she couldn’t get on and off the damned boat by herself. It felt like a last straw. It really did.

“Cloe,” he said as she bumped and thumped her way toward her cabin.

She paused and looked back at him. “Please not right now, Trystan. I don’t have anything left.”

He nodded once, but his mouth was stern and flat. “If you need anything—”

“I don’t. I’m fine.” She was such a liar. “Good night.”

*

Trystan had to walk all the way to Sophie’s to get Storm.

He knocked and entered without waiting because there was so much noise within, they wouldn’t have heard him anyway. Kids’ music was playing.

Glenda was at the sink, but everyone else was on the floor. Storm was shaking a baby tambourine and babbling in her high-pitched, repetitive “Ba-ba-ba.” She tipped to crawl across the playing cards spread on the rug.

“It’s still not your turn,” Biyen said and dissolved into giggles that had him falling over.

This was clearly a running joke because Sophie and Logan were on the floor with them, holding cards and laughing at Biyen’s helpless merriment.

“Oh, you’re here. Good.” Glenda was chuckling where she stood drying a dish. “I made plates for you.” She set the clean pot aside and looked past him. “Where’s Cloe?”

“On the boat. I came to get Storm.”

“We’re teaching her to play High Low Chicago. She’s on a hot streak.” Logan was sitting with his back against the sofa. He nudged his foot against Biyen’s leg. “This is the last time we use Cheerios as betting chips, though, isn’t it?”

“She ate the pot,” Biyen said with another fit of giggles.

“Take a load off,” Sophie invited, rising to wave at the table. “It sounds like you’ve had a big day. I’ll walk the plate to Cloe.”

“She went to bed.” Hungry, he realized, and his shitty mood grew shittier. “I just came to get Storm.”

“She’s finally in a good mood. Stick around. I’ll deal you in to our next hand,” Logan said.

“Respect the fucking shift, man,” Trystan snapped.

The room went so silent with shock, the only sound was the stupid music sing-songing about something inane.

Storm settled onto her diapered butt and her tiny mouth quivered as though she wasn’t sure if she ought to be upset or not.

“That’s five dollars in the swear jar,” Biyen said. “Prices have gone up now that Mom has a honeymoon to pay for.”

“Here.” Sophie shoved the covered plate into Trystan’s middle. “It’s my experience that children are grumpy when they’re tired and hungry. Take it to your room. I’ll bring Storm up when she’s ready for bed.”

He really wanted to tell her what she could do with this plate, but he was tired and hungry and behaving like a child. He took the plate and walked out.

The food was delicious, of course. No one made ribs and mashed potatoes like Glenda. It tasted like his childhood, specifically the part where a belly full of good food helped allay the conflict that also tasted like his childhood. The one that said he was making a wrong choice because he wasn’t able to be in two places. He wanted to be at Sophie’s, laughing it up and playing with the kids. He also wanted to be on the boat with Cloe, trying to smooth things over with her.

He couldn’t be in both, so he didn’t go to either. He ate, then he worked out with the handful of free weights that had been in the basement as long as he could remember.

All the while, he brooded over the fact that Cloe’s injury was his fault. He shouldn’t have slept with her. He knew that. But he had. Then he’d found the worst possible time to talk that out and did it in the worst possible way.

What the hell was he thinking, taking someone as inexperienced as she was on such a long hike, anyway?

He’d been distracted, already thinking they needed to cool things off. His way of dealing with any problem was to walk as far into the woods as he could get, but it was not an effective solve. Hell, the only reason he did it for a living was because he hadn’t figured out yet what he wanted to be when he grew up.

While running from his own troubled thoughts, he had tired her out, then pissed her off. Of course she’d fallen down a gulley. She’d been trying to get the hell away from him. Then he’d fucking left her there.

By the time he’d got her back on the Storm Ridge , he could see she was on her last nerve, but he’d wanted…something. Some tiny sign that she didn’t hate him through and through.

Why the hell wouldn’t she? He hated himself.

When his muscles were trembling from the punishment of too many reps, and sweat was running into his eyes, he jumped in the shower.

He came upstairs to find Logan coming down from the bedrooms. The baby monitor was in his hand.

“Did you put her down? I was about to come get her.” He glanced at the clock, realizing he’d lost track of time.

“I was going to wait for you, but she already had her bath and bottle at our place and was falling asleep.”

“I guess I’m the one who’s disrespecting the shift.” Trystan gave his damp hair a skim with his hand. “Pass along my apology, would you? Tell Biyen I’ll get him that five bucks soon as I get my wallet from the boat.”

“Don’t worry about it. We all had a beer. We’re over it.” Logan shrugged it off.

Prick. Of. The. Day. Trystan ran his tongue over his teeth.

“Is Cloe’s ankle broken or…?” Logan asked.

“Just a sprain.”

“She can’t work, though. Not for you.”

“Not on crutches, no. John already talked to Cheryl. She agreed to jump back onto this week’s cruise while we find someone for the rest of the season.”

“Mom called Fabiana. She’s going to Vancouver to see her grandkids. Her neighbor usually feeds her cats, but if Cloe wants to do it, she can stay at her place for the week.”

“Yeah?” A twenty-ton weight lifted off Trystan’s conscience.

“Fabiana’s place is one floor and she has a golf cart Cloe can use to get groceries. She can’t stay here. This place is nothing but stairs.” Logan jerked his head at the ones he’d come down. “She’d break her neck on day one. Same at Sophie’s, if she took the room next to Biyen’s.”

“Thanks.” Trystan gave his jaw a rub. “It was bothering me that I didn’t know where she’d stay once I left on Wednesday.”

“If she’s willing to paint, the marina can keep her on payroll. I’m almost finished gutting the Missionary II . She can get started whenever she wants.”

“That’s great.” Trystan’s first thought was to head straight to the Storm Ridge and tell her, to ease her mind, but he remembered that his baby sister was asleep upstairs.

“Are you all right?” Logan asked with a frown of concern. “’Cause shit happens. It’s kind of a miracle you’ve never had any other serious issues in the bush. Have you?”

“The number of ‘should haves’ that are pounding in my head right now are like a jack hammer. I’ll take a radio with me from now on.”

“That’s all that’s eating you?”

“If I need to talk about it, I’ll dial the therapy hotline.” Back off , his tone conveyed.

“Jesus, I’ll go have another beer, then. If you decide you want to talk, don’t call me. Try Sophie.” He saluted with his middle finger and left.

Trystan swore tiredly and decided to put himself to bed.