Page 21 of Defended By the SEAL
Cowboy reached the bottom of the stairs, the full scale of the situation hitting him at once in a horrifying reckoning. An ice-covered tree had broken through the ceiling of the den, trapping and nearly crushing Grams where she sat in a recliner. Wind and snow blew through the opening, flakes swirling against dark fabrics and oldcarpets.
“Are you hurt?” he barked, climbing through branches and quickly reaching her side to assess her injuries.
“My arm,” she wailed. A branch had punctured her forearm and remained in her limb, the depth of the wound unclear. It was bleeding at a constant rate, a thick trail of blood running down her wrinkled skin. There was no telling what would happen when he removed it.
“Anywhere else?”
“I don’t… I don’t know. I think just scratches.”
He turned to Charlotte. “I need a tourniquet. Find something I can use.” She took off at a sprint just as Tom arrived.
“My God, Loretta! Are you okay?”
“I can’t get out,” Grams wailed.
Cowboy took in the size and breadth of the tree that held her trapped. It was massive, its trunk easily over two feet around, and it had to weigh thousands of pounds. But it was the opening in the ceiling that had him most concerned. The frigid air that was flooding the room would quickly chill the old woman.
Cowboy turned to Tom. “Do you have a chainsaw?”
“I don’t know.”
Grams spoke up. “In the shed.”
“Get it. Hurry,” said Cowboy.
“Behind the house on the east side of the yard,” said Grams. Tom took off at a faster clip than Cowboy would have thought him capable. He turned back to the tree, quickly assessing the points that needed to be cut to free Grams. One straight through the trunk, another through a major limb half its width. This was going to be difficult, if notimpossible,e to do on his own.
Charlotte returned with the belt from a bathrobe, and Cowboy tied it firmly on Grams’s upper arm to stem the bleeding. “Call 911 from the landline. If the bridge is out,we’re screwed, but we have to try to get help. Then bring blankets. Anything you can find to keep her warm. It’s going to take some time for us to get her out of here.”
From the alarm on her face, he knew Grams understood the gravity of the situation. The tree itself hadn’t hurt her too badly, but the storm raging overhead and cooling the room by several degrees every minute could easily be the death of her.
Cowboy met Gram’s frightened eyes, the resemblance to Charlotte obvious despite time and two generations. “We’re going to get you out of here,” he said. Every moment seemed to stretch, the urgency of the situation making time slow to a crawl as they waited for Tom to return.
Finally, his footfalls echoed through the house before he appeared in the entryway to the den. “I got it,” he said, clearly out of breath, his hair and clothing covered in a layer of snow.
Cowboy leaned through the branches to grab it, then yanked on the pull-cord to start the motor. Nothing happened. “Is there gas in here?”
Tom’s eyes widened with panic. “I don’t know. I have some I was using for the wood splitter.”
“Go!” snapped Cowboy, and the older man jumped, taking off at a run despite his age and obviously labored breathing.
Grams touched Cowboy’s arm. “It would be beautiful if it weren’t so damn cold. It’s snowing in my house!”
She almost seemed amused, and for the first time since meeting her, he thought of Charlotte’s mother’s concerns about possible dementia. As far as he could tell, Grams was as sane as Sunday. Any fears about her mental state were completely unfounded. “Charlotte’s getting you blankets.”
The wait stretched out before him.
“Cowboy,” she said, “I know how long this is going to take.” She looked at him with a serious stare.
His gut clenched. “Don’t you go giving up on me before we even get started, Loretta. You hear?”
She smiled sweetly. “I know you’ll do the best you can.”
“I got the blankets!” Charlotte ran into the room and awkwardly climbed over a tree limb, losing her balance and pitching forward. Cowboy caught her arm and righted her. “Thanks. Here you go, Grams. We’re going to keep you nice and warm.” She spread the blankets out and tucked them around the older woman as best she could with the tree in the way.
“Were you able to get through to 911?” asked Cowboy.
“Yes, the house phone still works. But they said the water’s too high. The bridges are submerged, and it’s too dangerous to approach by boat.” She turned terrified eyes to him. “They’re not sending anyone.”
