Page 22 of Heart of the Mountain
She helps me find my purse and phone while I put on my shoes. Tears spring to my eyes as I remember the last time I wore them.
“Suck those tears back in,” Gabby commands. It sounds harsh, but I can tell she’s not comfortable with emotions. She’s trying to help in the only way she knows how. “Let’s get going before Mr. Morgan the Asshole gets back. Cindy probably wouldn’t appreciate me punching him.”
I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. Gabby gives me a little smirk, and yeah, I can tell we’re going to be friends.
Ten minutes later, we’re heading back down the mountain, though it’s not the way I took when I first came up here a few days ago. Gabby pulls the car around to the west side of the property, where a barely-perceptible road is mostly hidden by thick brush and overhanging branches.
“How did you find this? I tried searching for a path up to the cabin but got hopelessly lost.”
“Google Earth,” she answers. “I looked up the address, went into Street View, and searched the surrounding area for any hint of a path up to the house itself.”
“That’s smart. I wish I had thought of that.”
Gabby tries to hide her smile at my compliment, but I see it anyway. I’m guessing she didn’t have a lot of love or kind words in her childhood. Something we have in common.
We ride in silence, which I’m thankful for. Usually, I’d be crawling out of my skin to start a conversation or recount random facts or stories. Today, however, the only thing on my mind is Cutter, and I definitely don’t want to talk about him.
Gabby drives into the town of Hope Mountain, and I gaze out the window at the shops and homes passing us by. She takes her time driving around and pointing out potential areas Top Spot Realty could purchase. I’m sure Cindy sent her out here to collect me and to do some recon work herself.
Cutter’s words from that morning in the garden come back to me.They want to take everything good and unique about this place and turn it into some master-planned community.
He’s right. Cindy would hate the eclectic assortment of storefronts, some pristine while others could use a bit of a facelift. The main road through town is cobblestone, which is charming, but not at all what tourists and rich potential-buyers want. They want wide, smooth roads to haul their expensive boats and luxury campers more easily.
My breath is caught in my throat when Jay’s Lumber and Hardware comes into view. I bet Cutter couldn’t stand to look at their large sign with big blue letters scrawled on it, so he moved far enough away not to see it every day, but close enough to be near the memory of his father.
A flash of lightning jars me out of my depressing thoughts, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Gabby jumps in her seat, the car swerving slightly with the motion. I look over at her, concerned when I see her gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn her knuckles white.
It’s only sprinkling out, but Gabby is acting as if we’re driving through a hurricane.
“We can stop somewhere in town to wait out the storm,” I offer.
My co-worker doesn’t respond at first, but eventually shakes her head no. “I’m fine. It’s fine. We need to get back.”
The cobbled road of Main Street turns into a dirt road leading us out of town. We’re barely past theNow Leaving Hope Mountainsign when the sky breaks open and unleashes heavy sheets of rain.
Gabby turns the windshield wipers on high and slows to a crawl, though she refuses to pull over. “We have to keep going,” she says more to herself than to me. “We have to make it through.”
I nod, though I don’t think she’s even aware of my presence. Gabby seems to be somewhere else, as if the storm brought back a memory.
The car lurches to the left, splashing into a giant pothole in the road. Gabby turns the wheel to avoid getting stuck, but the motion sends the car spinning as it hydroplanes over the nearly washed-out road.
I brace myself with one arm on the dashboard while the other clutches my seatbelt. “Gabby!” I shout over the roaring thunder and pounding rain. “We have to pull over!”
The words barely leave my lips before the car splashes through a deep puddle and sputters to a grinding halt. Now that we’ve stopped, I look out the window and see that the water level is nearly to the top of the tires, and rising.
“Gabby,” I say again, this time resting my hand on her forearm.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I can’t tell if she’s talking to me or a ghost. She’s looking straight ahead, her eyes glossy with unshed tears.
“We need to get out of the car,” I tell her.
Two headlights flash in the rearview mirror, and for a moment, I’m sure I made them up. The longer I stare in the mirror, however, the closer the lights get, until they stop a dozen feet or so behind us.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and shove the car door with all my might. It barely budges thanks to the water pressure from the flood. I look over at Gabby, who still seems to be in shock. Her face is blank, but she’s trembling from head to toe, her fingers wrapped tightly around the steering wheel as if it’s the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
Moments later, Cutter’s face appears in the rearview mirror, along with another man. I blink a few times, my heart stopping in my chest when I realize it’s really him. Cutter might hate me,but he cared enough to come searching for me during the storm. That has to mean something, right?
