Page 12 of The "I Do" Do-Over

I turn back to my beer. Glancing at my watch. I frown. Taryn’s late, which is unlike her.

No matter. It just gives me more time to drown my sorrows and numb my nerves before she comes and tears my heart out once and for all.

“Uh oh,” Pixie says. Looking up, I see her eyes are glued to the television on the far end of the bar.

It’s a breaking local news report about an avalanche.

Not far from Heartwood.

My jaw drops as I watch the story unfold. It was a small avalanche of loose snow called a sluff, not nearly as dangerous as big slab avalanches — usually. But there’s some concern from the nearby ski lodge, apparently. They’re worried that a local family that went out on cross-country skis a few hours ago may have been caught in the sluff. Ski patrol is looking for volunteers with snowmobiles to aid in the search.

I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved, heart galloping, a chill sweeping down the back of my neck.

Pixie’s head swivels to me as I throw cash on the bar and run for the exit. “Where are you going, Boone?” she calls.

“Taryn was out cross-country skiing with her family,” I toss over my shoulder, hearing the panic in my voice. “I’ve got a snowmobile. I’ve got to go help.”

I shove out the door and throw myself into my truck. It’s not until I’m at my place, trading the truck for my snowmobile, that I realize I left the divorce papers at Pixie’s.

I don’t care. I’ve got to find Taryn. I’ve got to make sure she’s okay, divorce or not.

The papers can wait.

I’d protested when Rex called her my woman. But at this moment, fending off fear as I slide the snowmobile out of my shed, I think he may not have been wrong.

She’s mine.

Maybe not mine to love as I’d like. But she’s sure as hell mine to protect. Wife or not, she’s too important to me for anything else to be true.

And right now, my woman needs my help.

Taryn

There’s something about being in an avalanche that makes you reevaluate your priorities. Finding the ground literally slipping out from under you, for example. Fearing for your life, for another.

At least, that’s what happened to me.

One minute I’m cutting up a gentle slope behind my folks, the snowy forest unfurling silently around us. The next, the snow beneath my skis shifts, then slides, carrying me with it.

I know right away that it’s not a devastating slab avalanche, thank goodness. But smaller sluff avalanches can get ugly too, and I’m not keen on getting carried by this one face-first into a tree.

I try to keep my balance, to ride the sluff like a surfer rides a wave. But it’s not long until I’m on my ass, skis tangling, poles carried away by the snowy tide. I glimpse my parents standing by outside the range of the sluff, watching helplessly with mouths agape as I sweep by.

My thoughts come staccato, like gunshots.

Relief that my parents are safe.

Fear of getting hurt, or lost, or both.

And, most shocking of all, worry that I’ll never see Boone again, never be smiled at or held or kissed by him again.

Yeah. That’s not what I would’ve expected to be thinking at this moment either.

But the sluff avalanche isn’t just tossing around snow — it’s unearthing feelings I’ve hidden for years, even from myself.

I flail against the pull of the moving snow, trying to find something solid to grab onto, gasping with terror when I can’t.

I wonder if I’m going to make it out of this alive.

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