Page 7 of Rockstar Rescue
I heave upward, and Charlie Boy circles us, barking encouragingly.
“You can lean on me,” I offer, though it’s laughable given our size difference.
He towers over me—I’m barely five-two, and he must be at least six-five. His arm feels heavy as a tree branch across my shoulders. I stagger slightly under his weight, which has to be double mine.
“Easy does it,” I say, taking baby steps toward the car as he leans on me. I can feel his warm breath against my hair as we walk.
When we finally reach my vehicle, I yank open the passenger door.
Charlie Boy’s eyes follow me as I help the stranger fold his long body into the seat.
As I reach to fasten his seatbelt, I catch a whiff of leather mixing with the metallic tang of blood.
Then the stranger’s head lolls slightly as I click the buckle into place.
“Charlie Boy, let’s go,” I call, opening the back door. He jumps in, settling with his nose practically touching the stranger’s shoulder.
I slide behind the wheel and drive, pushing the speedometer higher than I normally would on these winding roads.
The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the familiar curves I’ve driven a thousand times.
The cabin is at least twenty minutes away, with nothing but forest between here and there.
No hospitals.
And now, no cell service.
Just me, my dog, and this semi-conscious man.
Our only hope is to get him somewhere warm and safe as quickly as possible.
CHAPTER 6
GINNY
The SUV claws its way up the mountain road, tires grinding against packed snow. Wind scrapes over the windshield in long, whistling breaths.
When I was a kid, that sound used to freak me out. Especially when dad drove me up here on Halloween night.
“You handle these roads well,” he murmurs, voice rough from exhaustion.
I glance sideways.
The wounded man stirs from a trauma-induced sleep, eyes flickering open.
He's dazed but alive.
Relief ripples through me.
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my hands tight on the wheel. “I’ve been doing this since I was 12.”
“Mountain local? Billy Goat?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. A weak attempt at humor.
“That was my nickname,” I admit, surprising myself with a grin. “Still is to a few folks.”
The SUV creeps higher, engine straining.
