Page 22 of Defended By the SEAL
Icy rain drops hit Cowboy’s face. The snow had that had changed over to hail earlier that morning was now a mix of freezing rain and fat, wet flakes. He cursed the weather. “Where the hell is Tom?” He broke off small branches with his hands, their surface encased in ice like wicks dipped in wax.
Charlotte brushed Gram’s hair out of her face, the strands sticking to her bloodied scratches. “Do you have a heating pad? An electric heater? Hairdryer? Anything we can use to keep you warm?”
Cowboy frowned. “The power’s out, remember?”
“Damn it,” hissed Charlotte. “I wasn’t thinking. What about a fire?”
He glanced around the room. “There’s no fireplace.”
“We have an opening for the smoke to go out,” saidCharlotte. “Grams, do you have a fire pit outside that we could bring in here?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Cowboy shook his head. “Don’t let the gingerbread trim fool you. This house is nothing but tinder. You can’t have a fire in here.”
A determined look settled on Charlotte’s features. “I’m not letting my grandmother freeze to death while you and Tom cut through that tree. I’m going to see what I can find.” She climbed back over tree limbs and jogged from the room.
Grams sighed. “She’s a firecracker, my granddaughter.”
“That she is.” Cowboy could see her jaw was trembling despite the covers meant to warm her. They had to do something, and much as he hated to admit it, Charlotte’s idea might be their only hope.
Tom finally returned, handing a red plastic gas can to Cowboy, who filled the fuel tank and winked at Grams. “All right, we’re going to get you out of there, young lady. You just hang tight.”
He pulled the cord several times, nearly giving up hope before the engine suddenly roared to life. Relief surged through him, quickly followed by a dogged realism that kicked all pleasant emotions out of reach. The tallest end of the tree rested on a piano, the surface of the trunk bowed upward like a shallow bowl. The more of the tree he got through, the greater force there would be on the two sides of the cut, binding up his blade.
He’d be lucky to get through the tree trunk at all.
He yelled to be heard over the chain saw. “We’ve got this, Grams.” The machine’s rotating teeth shredded bark and pulp, sending them flying. But no sooner did he get through the first centimeter of wood than the blade dug in and stopped.
With great effort, he freed the chain saw’s teeth from the fissure and pulled the cord on the engine. On the third try, the machine roared to life. “Piece of cake,” he yelled in an attempt to reassure her, knowing his words were lost to the din. He could only hope his face was equally inscrutable.
Grams needed to believe she could make it out of this mess, and Cowboy had never been good at lying.
11
Charlotte sat on a branch on one side of Grams, Tom on the other, the two of them shielding the old woman’s body from the worst of the storm as sawdust, smoke, and exhaust mingled with sleet in the air, making it hard to breathe. She wore her grandmother’s long wool coat, the freezing cold breeze skating up her neck and through her hair. Charlotte wished for a hat.
A small fire burned nearby in a metal wheelbarrow, the heat of its flames barely reaching them. Cowboy hovered over the women, working to saw through the trunk, but the chain saw clearly wasn’t cooperating with near constant starts and stops, its motor sputtering. This time, he was struggling to get it going again.
Charlotte squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “You’re doing great, Grams.”
“We have to hurry,” said Grams, her stare heavy with concern.
“We’re going as fast as we can.”
“But we need to get to the lighthouse. I can’t do it all by myself.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Can’t do what by yourself?”
“They must be freezing,” said Grams. “And they didn’t get their supper!”
“It’s the cold,” said Tom. “She’s delusional.”
Grams’s lips were blue, and she seemed to be getting tired. Charlotte didn’t know how long it had been, time warping and hovering with her adrenaline and the desperate nature of the situation. The chainsaw ran for several minutes before stopping again.
Cowboy cursed colorfully. Grams worked to kick off her blankets.
“What are you doing?” asked Charlotte.
