Page 6 of Heston
Even if Alex hadn’t made complete sense, Murphy was smart. He’d know what to do. He’d investigate. He’d followthrough. He was Alex’s right-hand man. Well, one of them. By hell, Murphy’d move heaven and, well, hell, to find Kelsey—
If he’d understood and had actually heard that poor excuse of an SOS. Suddenly, Alex wasn’t sure of anything. Was anyone from his TEAM coming? What exactly had Murphy heard?
Truth was, Alex had also been shot, but wouldn’t accept aid until Kelsey was found. His heart hurt worse than his shoulder. Not his actual heart, he hoped, but his chest. His ribs. His sternum. They felt broken. Or cracked. Which was concerning. Because beneath that powerful breastbone was his damned heart, and he’d had problems with it before. He didn’t need those problems again. Not today. He didn’t need Ranger Bates’ help, either. Not like he was going to get it. Just a first-aid kit. That was all Alex wanted.
Bates jerked a walkie-talkie out of his parka pocket. “Listen, buddy, you’re not going anywhere. I’ve got the local ambulances on speed-dial. They’ll come from Eatonville or Enumclaw and it’ll take a while for them to get here, so sit tight and—”
“You’re just now calling them?” Alex climbed gingerly to his feet. “They should already be here. You knew my wife was in that river hours. Murphy Finnegan called you guys.”I know damned well he did.He got my message, damn it. He did!“I’m not leaving without my wife. She’s the one who needs help. Not me.”You son of a bitch!“Where’s Search and Rescue?”
“Sorry, mister… Err, what is your name anyway?”
One of many questions Bates should’ve led with the second he’d arrived on scene—if he honestly hadn’t known what happened or what Alex was talking about. If Murph hadn’t understood Alex’s SOS. If no one from The TEAM was coming.Shit.Maybe Bates was the only help around.
“Alex Stewart. My wife’s Kelsey,” Alex bit out, scrubbing a bruised hand over his wet, aching head, not giving into despair. Not yet. This was one time he wished he were Vice PresidentStewart. Bet Bates would be jumping through hoops to find Kelsey then.
“Well, Mr. Alex Stewart,” Bates replied with plenty of snark. “Stay put. I’m in charge now and I’ve got—” His walkie-talkie crackled with static. Pressing it to his ear, Bates ordered, “You’re cutting out, Wilde. Say again.”
Whoever Wilde was, he, make that she, enunciated slowly but loudly, “Search. And. Rescue. Units. Are. On. Their. Way.” Which told Alex he’d definitely gotten through to Murphy and someone was already searching for Kelsey. Thank God.
“I’m not deaf!” Bates yelled back at Wilde. “Who told you to contact S and R? That’s my call.” When no response came back, he yelled, “Answer me, Wilde. Who told you we needed Search and Rescue, gawddamnit?”
Again, Wilde didn’t respond. Which was interesting—if Alex had time to care about insubordination within USFS’s chain of command. “You’re pissed because someone else called Search and Rescue? Who the hell are you? What’s going on?”
Bates stuffed the walkie-talkie back into his pocket. “You heard. S-and-R’s on their way.”
“They should already be here! You knew damned well that my wife was shot, you son of a bitch!” Alex cocked his right hand back, ready to kill this useless excuse of a human being.
Bates turned toward his truck. “I’m outta here.”
“You call this help?” Alex spat. He stood there in the dark, watching Bates stomp off. He honestly didn’t know where to search anymore. In the river? Along the bank? Was he a fool for believing Kelsey had survived?
“Jesus,” he growled at the Lord. “She believes in you, damn it. Don’t you dare let her die!”
Remorse hit Alex hard. There he was, back at square one, back to the darkest days in his life, when cursing God was all he’d done. All he’d been smart enough to do. Supposedlyhe knew better now. Allegedly, he was a better, smarter man because of his wife’s faith. Kelsey had shown him a better way. He’d learned to pray, and he actually felt a connection with the Almighty sometimes. But it was easier to believe when Alex wasn’t faced with losing her.
Maybe that was what his chest pain was. Regret. Guilt. They hurt like sons of bitches, and they weighed him down like his water-logged boots had. He’d kicked the worthless suckers off the second he was on dry land. They signified everything he’d lost.
Would Kelsey have any doubt that you were alive if that was you in the river?
Alex had no idea his conscience could be so loud. He dropped back to his knees. “She believes in you,” he told the Man Upstairs. “With all her heart, she believes in you, and she trusts you. Please don’t take her. Take me. Lexie and Bradley need her more than they need me. You know that. Please…”
Alex forced a swallow that hurt all the way to his soul. He was every bit as lost as George Bailey had been, standing on that bridge in a blizzard, wishing he’d never been born, in that black-and-white film from 1946,“It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“Please take me instead of Kelsey, God. Please.”
Of course, God didn’t answer Alex tonight any more than he’d answered George Bailey then. God was sly like that. Silent when you most needed to hear His voice. When you most needed to believe. If Kelsey were there, she’d say this was what faith was about. Believing in the dark. Never doubting that He cared or that He heard. Trusting in Him when all others turned their backs on you. Which Bates had surely done.
It was damned hard to be humble, but Alex chose to believe Kelsey, and that God was silent because He was working too hard saving Kelsey to waste time answering.
Okay then. Alex lifted to his feet, a fraction of his energy restored. Or maybe that was his faith. Because God had already given him a sign in disobedient Ranger Wilde. She’d activated the Search and Rescue personnel without Bates’ permission. Good on her. Hopefully, she’d also ordered all available Forest Service personnel to the scene. Wilde was Alex’s miracle, his prayer answered, interestingly, before he’d offered it.
Right on cue, flashlights from other campers pierced the bleak darkness where Alex stood. Holy shit. Strangers were now tramping this side of the White, calling out loud and strong for “Kelsey Stewart!” Beams from their flashlights gleamed across the noisy river, into the late growth of spindly alpine flowers on the opposite bank.
A chill raced up the back of his neck. Every last one of those flowers would freeze in the coming storm. If they lasted the night. If Kelsey lasted the night… She was every bit as fragile as those damned flower petals. A thousand times more precious. And she was in the river—somewhere—not planted safely on some sandy shore. Not warm. Not within reach…
“Son of a bitch!” Alex hissed at the clouds covering Rainier’s three peaks. Like a stupid greenhorn, he’d handed Tom What’s-His-Name’s phone back to him and now had no way to contact his long list of resources. His pack with his gear was on the northern bank of the river. He had nothing but the borrowed clothes on his back.
His lashes fell at the awful truth. He’d saved his life, not Kelsey’s. What kind of man did that make him? A bastard. A low down, sniveling—
