Finally, they did. It was a cabin, or at least some sort of small shelter with windows, made of weathered gray boards, the same color as the rocks around her. She braced herself for the fear that had crashed into her, that sickening familiarity, but it didn’t come. So she ran for the shelter with everything she had.
“Help! Help me!”
Michael Tang jolted in his saddle as the cry carried down the mountain through the wind.
He had been making his way up the snowy trail, but the moment he’d heard that voice, that cry for help, he’d given Dusty a kick and the horse had picked up her pace. Snow covered the forest, hiding the rocks and shrubs, but both Michael and Dusty could find the trail with their eyes closed. He’d chosen the mare today for that reason, along with the fact that she had both endurance and sense. She was used to the snow, used to making her way through hidden trails. It wasn’t the first time Michael had ridden this trail in the snow, on the lookout for stray cattle or stray backcountry skiers who’d somehow lost their way. But this cry didn’t sound like a wandering tourist’s. It was urgent, frightened. And it had cut him straight to his heart.
Even now, two years after Sunny’s death, Michael still woke up at night thinking of how much his wife had suffered in the end. The house, the stables, the trails—everything was a reminder of the life Sunny had wanted and lost.
But this wasn’t the time to think about the past. Right now, someone needed help, urgently, and the snow was coming down harder. It was easy to get lost in the mountains on a day like this, and the temperature was dropping. His father had heard some sort of argument earlier, which was why Michael had come out to investigate. That cry was still running through Michael’s head in a loop he couldn’t turn off. All of this added up to something he wanted no part of. Still, he wasn’t the kind of man who could ignore it, so he shut down all the emotions welling up inside him and focused on the storm.
Dusty rounded another switchback, turning into the wind, and big wet flakes slapped Michael in the face, finding their way under his Stetson. Two days ago, the sun had been out, melting the winter layers, but now the snow was back. Avalanche weather. The heavy snow was piling onto the soft, unstable layers of late winter thaw and, when it got too heavy, it would all come sliding down the mountain. Michael’s grandfather had chosen the location of their ranch wisely, farther down the slope, at the far side of the valley and out of avalanche territory. Yet the same couldn’t be said for the newer subdivisions a mile or two above their property. He made a point of staying away from the higher trails during this time of the year, but today was looking like the exception.
The line camp appeared in front of them and Dusty’s pace slowed out of habit. The camp was nothing much, just a little cabin next to a stream and an outdoor corral with troughs for the horses to drink while they rested. Next summer, when the ranch was fully converted to a tourist ranch, some new hire would take the visitors here. Michael would be long gone by then. Emotions swirled in him. He tried not to think too hard about leaving when he knew this was best for his parents, the only way he could be a good son for them. Instead, he focused on the cabin emerging through the snow in front of him. It made a perfect location for someone to take shelter in a storm, which made it the most obvious place to start looking.
Michael tugged the reins as they approached the camp, bringing Dusty to a halt. He searched the ground around the cabin door for prints, but as far as he could see, the snow looked untouched.
“Let’s go around,” he told Dusty, tugging her reins to the right and giving her a little kick. The horse responded, starting toward the forest, but as they approached the corner, Michael caught a flash of movement in the forest. He brought Dusty to a stop and squinted through the snow, straining to get a better look. Bright red hair was the first thing he saw, lots of it. A woman appeared through the veil of white, and she was running toward him. She was wearing a gray coat, the fancy kind that wouldn’t do much on a day like this, and her pants looked about the same. Her shoes were buried in the snow, but he was sure they were equally inappropriate for running through the winter forest. And she was running at full speed.
Michael knew the moment the woman spotted him because she came to a stop not far away, just ten yards or so. She stared at him, her gaze filled with fear. The woman was more striking than pretty, he couldn’t help noting, and everything about her suggested money. Lots of it. Her dark eye makeup was smudged at the tops of her pink cheeks, giving her a haunted look. She glanced behind her, as if someone was on her tail, then looked back at Michael again.
“I need to get away from here. On your horse.”
Her voice was low and urgent, and he had to strain to make out her words over the wind. It took a moment for him to process her request.
“You want my horse?” He would have laughed if she hadn’t looked so desperate.
“I need to get away from here,” she repeated, hurrying toward him. “Far away.”
“Do you know how to ride?”
The woman hesitated. “Yes... Yes I do.” She said it almost as if the answer had taken her by surprise.
Was she lying out of desperation or was there some other reason she’d hesitated? The whole situation was odd and made him uneasy. And yet...it touched on something inside that he thought had died along with Sunny. The urge to protect. Michael pushed that thought out of his mind. Focus on the person you can help, not the one you can’t.
“I’ll take you down with me. Get on back,” he said, taking his foot out of the right stirrup.
After one more look over her shoulder, she approached the horse, letting Dusty sniff her, then came around to the side. Up close, he could see constellations of brown freckles that dotted her pink cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were dark gray, and her red hair was covered in a halo of white snow. He couldn’t ignore the lines of deep concern across her forehead. She looked...desperate.
Michael reached out his hand and she took it. She slid her foot into the right stirrup and lifted herself up onto the horse with an ease that confirmed her words: she’d ridden before.
She put her hands on his waist. They were shaking, maybe from the cold or maybe from fear. That same instinct from before echoed inside him. Protect her.
“Let’s go,” she said urgently.
Michael had no idea what he was getting into with her, but he trusted that he was doing the right thing; that feeling that came from deep inside his heart, or what was left of it. He used to call the feeling a trust in God, but after Sunny had died, after the devastation of that loss, he wasn’t sure he trusted God with anything anymore. Still, right now, he knew he was doing what he was supposed to do.
“Hold on,” he said over his shoulder. He gave Dusty a swift kick and they were off.
Downhill was more dangerous than up in these conditions. The path had been trampled flat by decades’ worth of rides, at least for the most part. But the snow hid stray rocks, fallen branches and other hazards. Dusty moved faster now, and the sudden turns of the switchback upped the horse’s chances of slipping. Still, the mare knew her way, and when Michael leaned into the turn, the woman was right there with him. Yes, she definitely knew how to ride.
The storm was getting worse, and as they came to the road that ran through his family’s property, the forest on the other side was a faded green blur, the driveway to the ranch a narrow patch of white. Gusts of wind shot down the open two-lane road, slapping his cheeks. He ducked his head and urged Dusty across. The woman’s grip tightened around his waist and he felt her tense behind him. When they reached the driveway on the other side of the road, she tugged on his coat urgently.
“I hear a car,” she hissed over the wind.
The faint hum of an engine droned, but it sounded like it was farther down the road. “Okay?”
“We have to hurry. Get around the bend.”
He turned to glance at the woman. She was looking over his shoulder, like she was trying to assess their location, and there was fear in her eyes, fear his heart told him to listen to.
He gave a low whistle and nudged Dusty with his heel. The horse gave a snort then picked up speed. Michael navigated them down the driveway, toward where it curved around the stream that ran through the ranch. When they passed the first stand of tall pines, Michael drew back the reins. Dusty slowed to a stop and Michael turned them to face the road. They waited in silence, peering up the driveway. The woman shivered behind him.
“You need to get warm,” he said over his shoulder.
She shook her head, snow fluttering from her fiery hair. “I need to know if someone is coming for me.”
It was a fair point, but her shivering was getting worse.
Michael heard the engine slow before he caught sight of the vehicle hidden in a frosty cloud of snow. It was a large, white truck; the kind contractors favored, with black beams above the flatbed where someone might hang a ladder. The truck lurched to a stop directly in front of the driveway. Michael shifted, searching for something more identifiable on the vehicle, but the details were lost in the blowing snow. The engine quit and the passenger door opened. Someone in a dark jacket and dark hat stepped out, and the person appeared to be studying the ground.
An uneasiness crept up Michael’s spine. The person from the truck was looking for something—or someone—and by the way this woman sat, frozen against him, he suspected it was her. Did the snow and the forest camouflage them? Maybe, though the woman’s bright hair wasn’t doing them any favors. If he could see the truck, the man could surely see them if he looked down the driveway...
The woman shuddered behind him, and Dusty shifted. He patted the horse’s neck.
“Be still,” he whispered to the horse.
A mumble of conversation made its way through the wind.
