Chapter One
New York, New York was belting out of the radio, and Micah Trant sang along, glad that his sister Naomi was nowhere nearby to hear him.
Lord knew, she teased him enough about him knowing all the words to every Frank Sinatra song going.
He laid the blame for that squarely at his Dad’s door.
Dad used to say it was evidence that he’d brought Micah up right.
Micah knew the truth. It was evidence, all right, but that Dad had played nothing but Sinatra when Micah was growing up.
And driving alone along the silent roads, the banks of snow several feet above the road’s gritty surface, Frank was a pretty good traveling companion, Micah had to admit.
Wright was about twenty minutes away, and the road was deserted.
It was almost eight o’clock and Micah should have been home hours ago.
He smiled to himself. There was always the pull of ‘one more photo’, and once the sun had gone down, the snow had taken on an eerie glow that he’d been unable to resist. The idea of a nightscape appealed to him: so far, he hadn’t done one of those.
Beside him on the passenger seat sat his most prized possession, his beloved Nikon, its memory card already half full of yet more images of Thunder Basin’s snowy landscapes.
He knew what his dad was going to say: ‘What, more pictures of the snow? You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.
’ Then he’d flash that grin of his, just to let Micah know he was only teasing.
Micah had overheard Dad bragging to Sherrie Longmire at the convenience store in Wright that his Micah was going to have an exhibition of paintings in Gillette the following year.
It had tickled Micah to hear the pride in Dad’s voice.
Hard to believe it was the same man who’d blown a gasket all those years ago, when Micah had announced he wanted to be a painter.
Still, he’d said nothing when Micah chose to study Art at college.
Of course, by that time, Mom had worked her magic.
As always, the thought tightened his chest. The anniversary of her death was coming up real fast, and Micah looked forward to that time like he looked forward to root canal work.
He and Naomi would be there for Dad, trying their damnedest to keep their own grief at bay.
Christmas had lost its sparkle and charm the last few years, but that was hardly surprising: losing your mom on Christmas Day was a surefire way of making you yearn for New Year.
Micah sighed. At least he could get Thanksgiving out of the way before he started dreading Christmas.
Frank was singing about that toddlin’ town, Chicago, when Micah spotted a dark shape ahead, by the side of the road. He instinctively slowed down to a crawl, hitting the brakes immediately when the car headlights picked out the splash of red against the snow.
What the hell? His skin went cold when he realized he was looking at a figure.
Micah reached into the glove box for his flashlight, and got out of the car, crunching over the grit and ice to where the figure lay huddled, half in the road.
He focused the beam on the still form, whose face was hidden beneath the dark coat’s hood.
Micah crouched down beside the… body?… praying that there was still life present.
Gently, he pulled the hood aside, revealing the bloodied face of a young man, maybe his own age.
His eyes were swollen shut, blackened and bruised, and there were cuts and bruises to his cheeks and jaw.
Micah did a quick appraisal of the rest of him.
He couldn’t tell if there were any broken bones, but thankfully, the guy was still breathing.
Micah stood up, trying to clear his thoughts.
Memorial Hospital was probably the closest, but there was no way he could get hold of help: the phone signal was for shit on that road.
So that meant no helicopter. His only other option was to lift the guy and put him in the car, on the back seat.
Not that Micah liked that option at all.
Lifting him could worsen what fractures and breaks he might already have, not to mention other possible injuries.
He stared at the prone figure, his gut roiling. “I’m guessing this is a risk I’m gonna have to take,” he muttered to himself. He opened the back door as wide as he could, thankful for the two blankets he kept on the seat.
Now for the tricky part.
As carefully as he could, Micah eased the figure onto his back, before slipping one arm under his neck and the other under his knees.
He gently lifted the young man, breathing heavily from the effort, and praying he wasn’t doing more damage.
Getting him onto the seat proved the hardest part, and he had to do that in two stages, reaching in from the other side to pull him across as gingerly as he could.
Once he had the guy covered with both blankets, Micah closed both doors, making sure he wasn’t about to crunch a limb in the process, and got back behind the wheel.
What bothered him most was not once had the guy regained consciousness.
Micah drove as fast as his snow tires would allow, but it was still getting on for over an hour by the time he pulled up in front of the hospital, his heartbeat racing.
Please, still be alive, okay?
He yanked open the main door and ran into the warmth. “Help! I need help out here! It’s urgent!” A couple of orderlies responded instantly, and he pointed out to the car. “Unconscious, in the snow, been like this for over an hour, possible broken bones.”
He watched as his passenger was wheeled into the hospital on a gurney, heading for the ER.
Micah went out to park the car in the first space he could find.
He placed his bag in the trunk, then ran back into the hospital, following the direction the orderlies had taken.
When he reached the desk in the ER, a nurse told him the guy had been taken straight in for assessment.
“Do you know him?”
Micah shook his head. “I found him by the road, about twenty minutes from Wright. I figured this was the best place for him.” The clinic in Wright was okay, but they weren’t equipped to deal with something like this.
“Okay, please take a seat. The police will want to talk to you. I’m just going to call them.”
“Police?”
She nodded, her eyes kind. “We don’t know what happened to him, but he’s clearly been beaten up. He’s in no state to tell us anything, and since you can’t give us any information, we have to notify the police.”
That made sense. “Okay.” Then it occurred to him that his dad would be going crazy right then. “I just need to make a call.”
“Sure.” Her face fell. “Poor guy. Someone sure made a mess of him.”
Micah had been thinking the same thing. How could someone leave him like that?
“Maybe whoever robbed him thought he was dead,” she suggested.
“If it was robbery.” There were other options that Micah didn’t want to think about.
He reached into his pocket for his phone and sighed when he saw the screen. Several missed calls, all from Dad.
Shit. He’d forgotten he’d had the phone on silent. He speed-dialed home.
“Where are you?” His dad sounded gruff. “We expected you home hours ago. I tried calling you a while back, but got nothing.”
“Yeah, the signal was lousy, and then I put it on silent. Dad, listen.” Micah took a deep breath. “I found a guy by the roadside, all beaten up. I brought him to Memorial Hospital.”
“Aww, Christ. Is he all right?” Micah caught the concern in his voice.
“He’s in the ER right now. I have to stay, because the police will want to talk to me. If it gets too late, I’ll see if I can find a bed or a chair for the night. I’ll let you know, all right?”
“Sure thing. Poor guy. Glad you found him. God, I hope he makes it.”
Micah hoped so too.
Two police officers had come and gone, after questioning Micah thoroughly about the state the guy had been in, where exactly Micah had found him, and what had made him stop in the first place.
They told him detectives would return the following day to check on the guy, to question him if he regained consciousness.
Micah sat on a chair, darting glances toward the door where he knew the young man was being treated. What are they doing in there? How long does it take to make sure he’s gonna be okay?
“Hey, honey?” He looked up, to find a girl holding out a plastic cup of something steaming. “Here. It’s just a little hot chocolate. You look like you need it.”
Micah smiled. “Thanks. That’s really kind of you.”
She returned his smile, her cheeks dimpling. “You’re welcome.” Then she walked toward the desk, waving at the nurse behind it. Micah’s perusal was interrupted when a doctor came through the doors he’d been staring at, heading for Micah.
“Mr. Trant?”
Micah put down his cup on the chair beside him, and got to his feet. “How is he?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t give out that information.”
“Can’t you at least tell me if he’s going to be okay?” Micah had sort of anticipated that response, but it still frustrated him.
The doctor’s expression was grave. “To be honest, he’s a very lucky young man. It could have been much worse.”
“Can… can I see him?”
The doctor smiled. “Once he’s settled in ICU, a nurse will take you to him. He’s very fortunate that you found him when you did.” He patted Micah on the arm and went back through the doors.
Micah retook his seat and sipped his hot beverage. He didn’t care what time it was: all he wanted was to see the guy breathing, to hear the reassuring beep of a heart monitor.
He could wait all night for that.