Page 55 of Stitch & Steel
Nothing but wind and the distant howl of a coyote.
I checked the old lookout point. The stream trail. The wildflower field she used to pick from. The bench under the sycamore tree.
Still nothing.
An hour passed. Then two.
And then the call came in.
“She’s not up here,” Bear’s voice crackled through the line. “But we found tire tracks near the old orchard road. Looks like someone turned around in a hurry. Could be her.”
I gunned the engine and headed that way.
Minutes later, I found them—deep ruts in the dirt, like a car had skidded before veering off course. I followed the trail with my flashlight, heart thudding.
And then I saw it.
Her car. Nose-down in a shallow ditch. Empty.
“Gran!” I shouted, bolting toward it.
No blood. No broken glass.
Just her purse, her sweater draped over the passenger seat, and an open notebook with her chicken-scratch handwriting listing groceries and a reminder to buy Bella more peppermint tea.
I called her name again. And this time—this time—I heard it.
A faint sound. Weak. Cracking through the brush like a dry leaf underfoot.
“Over here!” I screamed into the radio. “She’s close! She’s alive!”
I crashed through the woods like a wild animal until I found her, slumped against a tree, confused and shivering, but alive.
“Logan?” she whispered, blinking up at me. “Did I… did I get lost again?”
My throat closed up. I dropped to my knees and pulled her into my arms, holding her like something holy.
“You’re safe now,” I said. “You’re coming home.”
And this time, I wasn’t letting anything take her away again.
Nineteen
BELLA
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead,too bright, too sterile, and nothing like the warm comfort of Gran’s kitchen. I sat curled up in the hard plastic chair, knees to my chest, arms wrapped around myself like armor. My hoodie smelled like pine and Logan’s cologne—like safety—but nothing could quiet the way my heart was still galloping in my chest.
Gran was behind those hospital doors. Sedated. Stable. But the weight of the night clung to me like wet clothes.
I kept seeing her—confused and alone in the dark woods. Her hair tangled with branches. Her eyes lost. It made my stomach twist.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. I looked up to see Logan coming toward me, shoulders broad, shirt damp with sweat and worry, a steaming cup in one hand.
He crouched in front of me, his big body blocking out the rest of the world. “Black, no sugar. Like you like it,” he said, handing me the coffee.
I took it with shaking fingers. “Thanks,” I whispered.
Behind him, I saw a few of the MC guys talking to the local sheriff, some slapping each other on the back. JD’s crew, Bullet,even Rafe from Arizona. They’d ridden all night and turned this town upside down to find Gran.
