Chapter Twelve
Carrie
“We have to get her to a doctor! We have to call someone!” a pretty, raspy voice yelled out in a panic.
“Darlin’, the cell towers are down. The power was knocked out last night,” a deep voice replied.
I felt something warm touch my feet, a sting following it. I winced and mumbled something.
“Don’t,” the deep voice clipped.
“I have to check for frostbite, Mase,” another deep voice returned.
“You’ll hurt her,” the raspy voice said softly.
My eyelids fluttered open, and I was staring at a ceiling made of logs.
“Leave her be,” a dark, jagged voice commanded. That voice was different from the others, sounding further away than the rest.
Slowly, I turned my head, following the warmth and light coming from my right to find a rustic fireplace, orange and yellow flames dancing within it. I was warm—comfortable. I moved my arms and felt something heavy on top of me. I sat up slowly, groaning, and found a thick wool blanket with a blue and red pattern covering me. As it fell from the top half of my body, something moved on my left.
I snapped my head in that direction, jerking back at the sight of people.
“It’s alright,” the owner of the raspy voice, a woman around my age with long, wild red curls, said. She was sitting closest to me, on her knees, two feet of floor between us. “Would you like to be moved to the couch?” she asked, putting her hand on the piece of furniture beside her.
I shook my head quickly. I didn’t want to be touched or moved.
I wanted to know where the hell I was.
“What’s your name?” My eyes left the woman’s, trailing up to the man with dirty blond hair standing behind her. His jaw was covered in scuff, and he was wearing a thick flannel, dirty jeans, and boots. My brows furrowed as I studied him.
He looked so familiar.
Where had I seen him before?
We stared at each other for some time, and eventually, his brows came together, too.
Did he recognize me, like I recognized him? Did we know each other?
That didn’t make any sense, and before I could muster up the courage to ask who he was, the woman on the floor in front of him interrupted.
“Mason,” the woman in front of him said, gently warning him.
He blinked and looked down at her, his features softening. He looked back at me for a moment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” It sounded like he wanted to say more, but he left it at that, looking down at the redhead once more.
“Are you alright?” a second deep voice cut through the warm air.
I turned my head to find a man in a black cowboy hat with a dark beard standing at my feet, staring at me. He was dressed in a thick, black Carhart coat, dark jeans, and black boots. After taking him in, my eyes landed on his face, and I noticed his gray eyes…matched the blond man’s.
They must be related, but I didn’t recognize this man, only the blond one.
Slowly, I nodded, answering his question.
The dark cowboy narrowed his gray eyes. “You don’t have to lie to us. We aren’t going to hurt you,” he assured. “Your feet need to get checked for frostbite, but I don’t want to do that unless you tell me you’re okay.”
I said nothing.
“Maybe we should call Val,” the redhead suggested. “Maybe she and I could…” She trailed off.
The dark cowboy looked over to her. “No. She’s with Caleb and Nancy Jane. I don’t want them out in the cold.”
Nancy.
Nancy.
Nancy Cross.
The headstone. The graveyard. The man in the cowboy hat.
“If she doesn’t want to talk, then she doesn’t have to,” the jagged voice cut in, making me jump.
I looked around but couldn’t see the owner of the voice anywhere. However, I discovered I was in a cabin. My eyes landed on one of the windows beyond the couple to see heavy snowfall being whipped around by the harsh winds. That was all I could see, just a wall of white and gray. I felt something in my gut twist.
I was stuck here.
“Would you like some water?” the woman asked, pulling my attention back to her.
My eyes darted to the small kitchen in the corner and then back to her. I found myself nodding again, my throat desperate for moisture.
The woman gave me a small smile, and the man behind her helped her up. As she walked away to the kitchen, I pulled the wool blanket to my chest and stared at the fire.
I was safe.
I was safe.
These people weren’t going to hurt me.
I was safe.
I was safe.
These people weren’t going to hurt me.
Yes, they are. They are strangers. You can’t trust them. Don’t take the water. Get up and leave. You have to leave, or Brandon will find you—-
You’re safe now, Sunshine.
Grayson’s gentle voice cut through my anxious thoughts like a mighty sword, silencing them once and for all. My heart skipped a beat, and I wanted nothing more than to be in Grayson’s arms, to hear him tell me he loved me. Hell, I’d even take us arguing over Tic-Tac’s name at this point.
I just wanted to go home.
Tears formed in my eyes, and I bent my head, wiping them away quickly. I didn’t need any more strangers seeing me cry.
The two men in front of me conversed quietly as the woman made her way over to me with a tall glass of water. “Sorry, that took a second,” she apologized with a faint smile as she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “That’s not my kitchen.”
She held the water out to me, and with a cautious effort, I took the glass from her and brought it to my lips. The water stung the cuts and cracks in my lips, but still, I took a small sip, letting the moisture sit in my mouth for a moment before swallowing. I stared at the floor as I took a second sip, then another and another. It felt so good on my throat, my God.
Once half of the glass was gone, I clutched it to my chest and looked up to find the woman to thank her but stopped. She was staring at me, a gutted expression on her face, like I’d just given her the worst news of her entire life.
The words I’m sorry were on the tip of my tongue, but I held them in, not knowing if I should or not.
The man— Mase —looked back and forth between us, and I watched as a sense of realization hit him about something. Then, he stepped in front of her, partially blocking my view of her and whispering something as he backed her away from me.
My eyes widened, and I saw a flash of Brandon backing Monica into the bathroom.
I wondered if she was even alive…or did he finally succumb to all that anger lingering underneath the surface?
While that question hovered in my mind, another one shot to the front.
What the hell happened to my ex-husband’s little sister?
“Little Song,” the man— Mase —murmured to the redhead, stroking her cheeks as she looked up to him, love shining in her eyes.
My throat thickened.
I needed to find a phone. I needed to call Grayson. Then, he would come to me, and I would be safe. Then, he and the Red Snake boys would hunt down Brandon and Monica.
To do that, I had to speak to these people.
I looked back to the bearded cowboy and found him watching me, his mouth flat and those gray eyes guarded. I cleared my throat.
“C-could I b-borrow a phone?” The question came out weak, and more exhaustion slammed into me.
The cowboy nodded. “Absolutely, but right now, the phones are down because of the blizzard,” he explained softly, his eyes darting to the two windows on either side of the door.
My breath left me, but there was nothing I could do. I looked back down, watching the water gently move back and forth in my cup. I was truly stuck here. My throat began to burn, my chest aching in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time. I was trapped here, just like I had been at rehab.
“Miss, I need to check your feet,” the cowboy said softly.
My head snapped up, and I set the glass on the floor.
My feet.
I’d been in the snow, walking for miles… barefoot.
I let yet another fear drift around me, hovering over me like a raincloud, before finally settling on my shoulders. I took a small breath, holding it in as I grabbed the edge of the wool blanket, bracing for the horrible condition my feet might be in before yanking it off my feet.
My chest deflated as my shoulders sagged with relief.
They weren’t discolored.
The dark cowboy lowered down to his haunches, his eyes on my feet. “You had gloves on your toes,” he noted.
Was he the one who found me?
My eyes met his. “I’m sorry if they were yours,” I croaked, not knowing what else to say.
His lips twitched. “They weren’t mine,” he assured. “They belong to one of my ranch hands, Lance. He left his bag out there on accident.” His gray eyes met mine. “Though now, I’m sure he’d be relieved to know he left it there—for you.”
My bottom lip trembled. “I ate his jerky.”
A small, rough chuckle came from him then. “I’m sure he’ll get over it, honey. My name is Denver Langston. That’s my brother, Mason, and his wife, Harmony.”
Langston.
I’d heard that name before. My head snapped over to the blond man, and that was when it hit me.
That was Mason Langston . He was one of the best bull riders in the world. Even if you didn’t watch Pbr, you knew who Mason Langston was. My lips parted as I stared at him.
Mason’s head tilted to the side, a small smirk forming. “There it is,” he muttered.
Harmony swatted at his chest. “Quit being cocky,” she scolded softly, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, my husband is…something.”
Mason looked down at her, grinning. “Something, huh?”
“You both are something,” Denver muttered under his breath as I looked back to him.
He gestured to my feet. “Mind if I take a look?”
On instinct, I pulled my legs in, my feet covered once more as I shook my head. “Please don’t touch me,” I rasped.
I expected him to argue with me and voice his concerns about frostbite. I expected him to do it anyway, like they did at the rehab. They always touched me, even when I begged them not to. Surprise slammed into me as the cowboy raised his hands immediately and slowly rose to his full, towering height. He was a few inches taller than Grayson, at least. “I won’t touch you,” he promised me.
“Someone has to check her out,” Mason said.
“Taking her into town would be a risk,” Harmony noted and looked at me, her eyes soft.
“No one is going to touch her unless she gives us her consent,” the jagged voice clipped, and I found myself looking around for the owner again. Who was that?
Then, Denver turned to the side, his face turned away from me as he shot back. “Well, of course not.”
“When I brought her in, the gloves fell off and the coloring looked fine,” the jagged voice explained.
I looked to Mason and Harmony to find them looking in the same direction as Denver. I leaned over, trying to peek around Denver’s frame, and saw half a body, a broad shoulder and a thick arm covered by a white and black flannel, and a strong, long leg covered by dirty jeans.
“As I said before, leave her be,” the jagged voice growled, the tone lower than before. I heard something creak, like a chair or something, and then the half body moved, rising. I leaned back to my original position as this man came to stand beside Denver.
I was frozen in place.
I’d been describing Denver as a dark cowboy, but this man, the owner of the jagged voice, was one too.
The only difference between Denver and him was he was also a tortured cowboy.
I’d never seen so much pain in someone’s eyes before.
He was tall, almost as tall as the Langston's. He wore a black cowboy hat, and his dark hair stretched down to his shoulders, wild and untamed. Dark scruff covered his strong jaw, and his nose was slightly crooked, reminding me of Grayson’s.
Grayson had told me his nose was crooked because of a bar fight he’d gotten into while he was in the Marines. Maybe this cowboy’s nose had been broken before too. The cowboy was staring down at me, his dark eyes filled with regret, shame, and most of all, pain.
He looked like he’d been sentenced to serve a lifetime in hell.
“I’m going back out,” the unnamed cowboy announced, looking over to Harmony and Mason. “Stay here with her for another hour or so, yeah?” He looked to Denver. “Go back up to the house. Valerie needs you there during this storm.”
Then, he moved, heading for the door and nabbing a thick, brown coat off the wall before sliding it over his shoulders.
“What about the radio?” Mason asked, and my eyes slid over to him, a spark of hope igniting in my chest.
A radio?
They had a radio ?
“We could try to get a message out to Chase,” Harmony added, hope in her raspy voice.
The tortured cowboy was finished buttoning up his coat and reached for the keys on the next hook before looking over his shoulder. “Even if we did get a message to the sheriff, what would that do?”
“Mags is right. There’s no way he would be able to get out here,” Denver agreed.
My spine straightened. “What did you just say?” I breathed, looking up to Denver.
He gave me a sympathetic smile. “There’s just no way the Sheriff’s department would be able to send someone out here. The storm is too—”
“Not that,” I cut him off, looking over to the man by the door. When I looked back to Denver, I raised my arm, pointing at the man. “What did you just call him?”
“Mags,” the man said, answering for Denver.
I looked over at him, tears forming in my eyes. “Mags,” I rasped, inhaling a choppy breath.
He nodded. “That’s my name.”
“Mags,” I whimpered, sobs jerking my body now.
Something flashed within his dark eyes. Then, he was moving, coming around the couch as the rest of them closed in on me. “You’re Mags ,” I pushed out through my sobs, my emotions overwhelming me.
I was truly safe now.
I could breathe now.
“Sweetheart, what is it?” Harmony asked.
My eyes didn’t leave Mags as tears fell onto my cheeks, one after the other. “I’m Carrie,” I whispered thickly.
The keys fell from Mags’ hands as his face twisted in disbelief. “Carrie?”
I nodded, sobbing.
I would never forget the words he said next.
“You’re Grayson’s sunshine.”