Chapter One
Russellville, Arkansas:
Max Bridger was leaving the house that had sheltered him, with what was left of the woman who’d raised him, on a quest to fulfill her dying wish.
He had been dreading this day for weeks, and now that it had arrived, he was torn between wanting to get it over with and the grief that came with it.
The weather report was iffy. Rain was predicted around noon or later, but leaving this early meant he’d be home well before any of that occurred.
Since his muster out of the military was so recent, his choice of civilian clothing was still sparse, and old Levis, a sweatshirt, and hiking boots for the trip were all he had. But he had packed a change of clothes in his backpack, in case he was soaked by the time he completed his quest.
At the last minute, he went back and put a hooded rain-proof jacket into the backpack, pocketed his wallet, grabbed his keys, and left the house. When he got into the Jeep, he buckled the backpack into the passenger seat, gave it a quick pat, then backed out of the driveway.
Today was a bitter end to life as he’d known it.
Retiring from the military after twenty-five years of service then coming home to find Deidre Lewis, the woman who’d raised him, in the last stages of pancreatic cancer had been an unexpected end he had not seen coming. She’d given him roots, purpose, and more love than he’d ever known, but had passed before her sixty-sixth birthday.
As he drove away from the house, he was remembering his homecoming three months earlier.
**
Max had been on the road since mustering out of Fort Liberty, and all he wanted was to get home to Dee. It had been eighteen months since his last visit, but this time there would be nothing to rush away for. He was home for good.
He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he passed the city limits sign of Russellville, Arkansas. He’d lived there since the age of nine. Gone to school there. Played football and baseball for the high school teams, and knew the streets like the back of his hand. When he finally pulled into the driveway and parked, he half-expected her to come running out to meet him. She knew he was coming home for good, but she didn’t show.
He didn’t think much of it as he palmed his keys, grabbed his bags, and hurried up the steps to let himself in. The moment he closed the door behind him, he called out.
“Mom! I’m home!”
Then he heard a weak voice coming from down the hall.
“I’m in here, honey!”
He dropped his bags and headed to her bedroom, then stopped in the doorway, shocked by the sight of her. She was at least twenty pounds thinner than the last time he’d seen her and wearing a sock cap, which he supposed was to keep her head warm, since all her hair looked gone.
“What the hell?”
he said, then rushed to her bedside. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
She patted the bed beside her. “Sit here, love.”
“What’s wrong?”
he asked, as he eased down beside her.
“Final stages of pancreatic cancer. Incurable. I didn’t want to worry you, because there was nothing you could do. I’m dying, but not this minute. I’ve been waiting for you to come home. You were in too many war zones the past twenty-five years for my peace of mind, and I’m worn out from praying to God to keep you alive. I wasn’t going to be cheated out of seeing my boy again, after all that praying.”
His eyes welled as he kissed the palms of her hands, then held them against his cheeks.
Dee grimaced. “Don’t cry, Maxie . . . don’t cry. I’ve made peace with all this, and your presence in my life has been a God-given gift. Even though MaryJo gave birth to you, you’re the child I took to raise. I am so proud of the man you became.”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember anything good about her. You’re my mom.”
Dee gripped his hand tighter. “She loved you, darling.”
“She was an addict. She was chasing the next fix, not chasing after me,”
he said. “You, and every bouncer and dancer in the club took better care of me than she did.”
“I know, but she was just as sick in her addiction as I am now with cancer. A disease is a disease. The tragedy was you being the one to find her body. That was a hell of a thing for a nine-year-old child to see.”
Max shook his head. “I’ve seen far worse since in war-torn countries,”
he muttered, then stood and kissed the side of her cheek. “At any rate, I’m home, you’re here, and I’m going to unpack. You and I are doing this together, understand?”
Dee finally gave way to tears. “I don’t know how to die, but I’m guessing all I have to do is let go, and having you here now takes all the scary away from the thought.”
He kissed her cheek again. “I’ve got this. You just rest. Love you.”
**
Two months later, she was gone. And here he was, three weeks afterward, on his way to scatter her ashes at Falling Water Falls up in the mountains above Russellville. The day was clear, but his heart was heavy. The finality of it all was weighing on him as he drove. Once again, life had thrown him a curve ball he hadn’t seen coming, but he’d made her a promise he intended to keep.
Normally, there would be plenty of cars on this road. The Ozarks were beautiful this time of year, and the hiking trails and waterfalls were favorites of both locals and tourists. But today, the traffic was sparse, and he was guessing the morning weather reports of an impending storm front were likely responsible. He wasn’t worried, and it made the trip easier not having to deal with traffic. He had plenty of time to get to the falls, scatter the ashes, and still make it home before the storm hit.
All of his years in the military had taught him to be prepared for anything, but this morning he hadn’t given any thought or consideration to the local wildlife, and he should have.
One minute he was driving along, admiring the fleeting glimpses of sunlight coming through the forest around him, when a flash of sun bounced off the hood of his Jeep and into his eyes. He blinked, and when he looked again, there was a full-grown deer standing in the middle of the road.
He swerved to miss it, and hit a small tree on the side of the road, instead. The collision was bone-jarring. His head hit the driver’s side window as his safety belt tightened against his chest. Then to his horror, the small tree gave way, and he and the car began sliding down the side of the mountain, gathering speed at an alarming rate.
Everything was a blur of green, coupled with the slap and cracks of limbs and bushes against and beneath the body of the vehicle, until it slammed to a halt, caught in the heavier tree growth below.
He woke up with blood running into his eye. His head was throbbing, and he was in enough pain that for a few moments, he couldn’t think what to do.
He glanced up where the rearview mirror used to be, but it was lying on the dash beside the tree limb that had come through the windshield, barely missing his head. He was on his own, and so far out of sight of the road above that he knew he’d never be found unless he got himself out.
He turned off the engine, used the key fob to unlock the doors, then found his cellphone and tried to call for help, but there was no cell service. The backpack with Dee’s ashes inside was still buckled in the seat, and he wasn’t leaving her behind. He released his seatbelt, reclined his seat, then ducked under the limb to release the backpack, too. He grabbed hold of it, and began crawling into the back of the Jeep, but the doors were jammed.
His head was pounding as he began kicking until one of the doors popped open, and he eased himself out. But once he was on solid ground, the slope was so steep that standing upright was almost impossible.
He leaned slightly forward to get better footing so he wouldn’t slide backwards, took a swipe at the blood running down the side of his face, then shook off a moment of nausea before strapping on the backpack and began to climb.
For every yard of distance he covered, he slid a back a foot, catching himself by digging the toes of his boots into the earth, and grabbing at bushes, clawing at trees, crawling over the stubble of what the Jeep had destroyed.
Slowly he began making headway. What had seemed impossible was happening. He couldn’t see the road yet, but he knew it was up there, and traffic was passing. He didn’t bother shouting for help. They wouldn’t hear him, and he needed to save his breath for the climb.
**
Skye Raley woke with the sunrise, and went through her usual morning routine while listening to the weather. Her home—a big sturdy log cabin—built years ago on the mountain above Russellville, had once been her parents’ holiday destination. Her move to this place had been both escape and self-imposed exile, but the solitude had healed what life had broken.
When she heard there were thunderstorms predicted to hit the area by noon, she began to hurry. If it rained too much, the low-water bridge between home and the main road would flood, and she wouldn’t be able to get out until the water went down. She’d been putting off making a grocery run, but now it was a necessity, so she uploaded a piece to her daily blog that she’d previously written, and went to get ready for the trip down the mountain.
**
At the age of thirty-five, she’d been a widow longer than she’d been a wife. She had a brother, Sean, in Oregon, a sister Marie, who lived in Los Angeles, and her mother, Donna, who had moved to Florida after Skye’s dad passed away.
Skye had been twenty-three years old, and working as a physical therapist when she’d married Paul Raley, a fireman who worked for the City of Hot Springs, Arkansas. They’d settled into their happy little home, and were there for four years before Paul died on the job, and her fairy-tale life came to a horrendous halt.
By the time all of the details of his death had been dealt with, she was numb. Learning she would receive monthly widow’s benefits answered one question, but everything about the city reminded her of him. She couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t eating. She began dreading going to work each morning to the looks of sympathy on everyone’s faces. Emotionally, she was gone.
It was the call from her mother that had saved her sanity.
“Skye, darling . . . the last time we spoke, you mentioned how difficult it was to stay in Hot Springs alone. It occurred to me that, if you don’t mind the isolation, the family cabin outside of Russellville is still there.”
Skye was surprised. “I thought you sold that after Dad passed.”
“I thought about it, but I didn’t. It’s in good condition, but it’s been empty a while. I’ve talked to your brother and sister, and we all agree that, if you want it as your home, then I’m going to deed it to you.”
Skye started crying. “Mom . . . I don’t know what to say other than thank you. Yes, a thousand times, yes. I can’t bear to be here, and that cabin was everything special when we were kids. All the Christmases and summers we spent there . . . It has nothing but wonderful memories for me.”
“Then it’s yours. I’ll FedEx you the keys and the little book your dad kept about the upkeep of stuff. You move at your leisure, and I’ll have my lawyer deal with the deed. The utilities are on. If you need me, I’ll fly back to help you.”
“You’ve already saved me. You don’t need to help me move. Tell everyone thank you for me. You all mean the world to me.”
**
After that, Skye’s despair shifted to purpose. She still grieved the loss of Paul, but she’d been left behind to figure this out on her own. Between her widow’s benefits and a rent-free home, it eased the financial pressure.
She was still working as a therapist once a week in a physical therapy clinic in Russellville, and at random times when they needed extra help. But she had refused to work there full-time. The long drive up and down the mountain each day wasn’t something she was interested in doing.
At first, beginning Skye on the Mountain as an online blog had been for her. But that had been eight years ago.
Since then, she’d written about weathering blizzards, flooded roads, and power outages. About the wildlife, and the old bear named Grumpy that meandered through the woods around her cabin now and then, and an owl named Greg, who lived somewhere in the trees outside her cabin and hooted at her every night.
As time passed, she gained a following and advertisers that added to her income, and she’d thrived. The isolation was a small price to pay for the security, solitude, and comfort of the big log cabin, and it had healed all the raw, sad pieces within her.
**
Today was just another day. The predicted weather was just another storm. She had her grocery list in her purse. The empty gas cans were in the truck bed to be refilled and on hand for the generator in case of power outages. Just to be safe, she grabbed a raincoat as she went out the kitchen door and into the garage. As she was backing out, she made sure the garage door was down before driving away. In the mountains, anything left out or uncovered was fair game for bears and raccoons.
The boards across the wide, low-water bridge rattled as she crossed it, and then a couple of minutes later she was at the main road and heading down the mountain.
**
Max was still climbing, but flat on his belly now and trying to catch his breath. At best guess, he was still a hundred yards from the top. It had taken him more than thirty minutes of getting one yard up and sliding one foot back just to get this far, and he didn’t dare look back for fear he’d slip again. He just needed a minute to reorient himself and give his strained muscles a rest.
But he laid there too long, and one minute turned to two, and he was close to passing out when he heard a large vehicle on the road above. The sound roused him enough that he shifted his backpack, dug his fingers into the dirt, and then reached for the closest bush. As soon as he had a good grip, he started climbing again, but this time without stopping. If he was going to pass out, he needed to be on flat ground when it happened.
When he finally reached the top and crawled out onto the main road, he was so exhausted every muscle in his body shook. He went from his hands and knees to sitting upright, trying to decide whether to go back down the mountain for help or finish what he’d come to do and go up.
It was the soldier in him that decided the issue. He was mobile, and to hell with hurting. He had a mission to complete. He never thought to check for cell coverage again. He just pushed himself upright, swiped at the seeping blood, readjusted the backpack, and started walking toward the falls. One step, then another, and then another—uphill all the way.
He thought the sun had just gone behind the clouds until he heard a clap of thunder and felt the air turning cooler with every step. The first raindrops hit him in the face, and then began falling harder. He paused to get the hooded jacket out of the backpack and put it on, then pulled the hood up over his head before shouldering the pack and moving on.
Rain was now a curtain between him and the world. It blurred his vision to the point that everything before him looked like a mirage. There was no place to take shelter, and the traffic he’d heard on the road earlier was absent. The air was as cold as the rain, and the higher up he walked, the colder it felt. He didn’t know he had a rising fever. All he knew was that the cold felt good on his face.
He didn’t know where he was now, or how far he had left to go, but the decision to go up instead of down might become the end of him. He was staggering and sweating beneath his sodden clothing, wondering why he’d stayed alive all those years in the military just to come home and die on a mountain, in the rain.
**
Skye shopped with an eye to the clouds and wasted no time heading home. She had a month’s worth of groceries in the back seat of her pickup truck, three gas cans full of fuel in the truck bed, and an order she’d picked up at the deli to take home for lunch.
She was more than halfway there when it began to rain, which prompted her to speed up. She had to get back across the bridge before it flooded, or she’d be spending the next few days back in town.
Within five minutes of the first drops hitting her windshield, it had turned into a deluge. Her windshield wipers worked overtime, and her fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles had turned white.
Then, between the wiper swipes, she saw something moving on the road ahead. At first, she thought it might be a deer or a bear, but in this rain, most animals took shelter. As she came closer, she realized it was a man. A big man, stumbling and staggering.
Her heart skipped as she watched him stumble far too close to the edge of the road. Either he was going to fall in front of her or down the slope. She didn’t know if he was drunk or high, or if he’d been injured. But she couldn’t bring herself to drive past him and leave him out in this storm.
And just like that, the decision had been made. She’d been bringing home strays all her life. What was one more? If he was a bad guy, he would have to get well before he could kill her. So, she slammed on the brakes and stopped in the middle of the road, pulled the hood up on her raincoat and got out on the run.
**
Max didn’t hear the vehicle behind him. He was just struggling not to pass out when all of a sudden there was someone beside him. He got the vague impression of a woman’s face. Thinking he was dreaming, he swiped his hand across his face to wipe away the rain, but she was still there talking, and then he felt her arm around his waist and her voice shouting to be heard above the rain and rolling thunder.
“You need to get out of the storm. Come with me,” she said.
One moment the rain was in his face, and then he was in the front seat of her truck with his backpack in his lap. She was a blur as she circled the front of the truck to get in, and then she was in the seat beside him.
He still wasn’t sure this was happening, or if he was hallucinating, and reached toward her, touched the side of her face, then dropped his hand in his lap. “You’re real. I thought you were an angel,”
he mumbled, and then leaned back, still mumbling beneath his breath.
Skye thought she heard him saying something about “going to heaven in a red Chevie truck,”
and then he closed his eyes.
“Hang tough, mister. I have to get us home before the road floods,”
she said, and took off again, driving as fast as she dared.
He closed his eyes, and knew whatever happened next was up to her. Wherever she was taking him, it wasn’t home. Home didn’t exist anymore.
Skye glanced at him once just to make sure he was still breathing, and then noticed there was blood on the side of his face. She hadn’t seen it before because of the rain. He’d either had some kind of accident or been in a fight, but right now, he wasn’t a danger to anyone but himself.
She kept her eyes on the road, driving into the wind-driven rain until she finally came to her turn-off, made a quick left, and headed into the forest on the gravel road, anxious for the sight of the bridge.
A few inches of water were already moving over it when she arrived, but she’d made it in time. She drove through the flow, and as she sped the last thirty yards toward the house, pressed the remote to raise the garage door.
By the time she got there, the door was up. She drove inside and hit the remote again, finally breathing easy as it closed behind her. Rain was hammering the roof and blowing against the windows, but they were safely inside. Now all she had to do was get him into the house, which turned out to be easier said than done.
She jumped out and ran to open the door that led into the kitchen, then circled the truck to get to him, but he was already fumbling at the latch on his seatbelt. She reached inside and released it, then patted his arm.
“Okay buddy, we need to get inside. Let me have your backpack, and I’ll—”
He pushed her hand away. “No. I promised,”
he muttered.
She sighed. “Okay, that’s fine. Can you stand up?”
He slid out of the seat and stood.
Moments later, her arm was around his waist. “Lean on me,”
she said, and so he did.
They made their way into the cabin with him stumbling and mumbling, then down the hall to one of the spare bedrooms, dripping water all the way.
“Sorry about this buddy, but you need to get dry and warm. Put your backpack down, and hold out your arms. I’m going to help you out of your clothes, and don’t freak. I’ve seen naked men before.”
He blinked, slowly lowered the backpack, then steadied himself by putting his hands on her shoulders.
She started with removing his jacket, then his belt and shirt. She worked his sodden clothing down around his ankles and pulled back the covers on the bed. She couldn’t help but notice how physically fit he was, but it was the bruising that was beginning to appear that worried her most. “Sit please. I need to get your boots and pants off.”
Max sat, but the moment he felt the soft mattress beneath him, he laid back.
“Alrighty then,”
Skye said, and untied and removed his hiking boots, then the rest of his wet clothes. She started to help him get his legs up on the bed, when he waved a hand in the air.
“I can do it,”
he said, and scooted himself into the bed.
She pulled the covers over him and checked his pulse. It was strong and steady, but when she felt his forehead, it was too warm, and the cut was still oozing. “Your head is bleeding. I’m going to go get my first aid kit. Can you tell me your name?”
“Max . . . I’m Max.”
“My name is Skye. Rest easy, Max. I’ll be right back,”
she said, and ran to the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit then hurried back into the bedroom.
She moved with purpose, cleaning the open wound, applying antiseptic to the cut before pulling it together with little butterfly strips and a gauze pad over the cut to absorb the seeping blood. The whole time she was working, she was also studying his face.
She didn’t know if he had passed out, or if his eyes were closed against the pain. She guessed he was probably mid-forties. His nose had once been broken, and he had some fairly horrific scars on his back. His eyebrows were as black as his hair and lashes, and she already knew his eyes were brown. He had a broad forehead and what she would have called a stubborn jaw. He was a good-looking man, and she couldn’t help but think of the people who must be worried out of their minds at where he was.
“Max, can you hear me?”
she asked.
He didn’t answer. She was worried about concussion, or a more serious brain injury, and dared to open an eyelid enough to check to see if his pupils were dilated. They looked normal, but bruising was already forming on his chest. There was dirt beneath his fingernails, and his hands and legs were severely scratched. Best guess was he’d been in a wreck.
She tried to call emergency services, but her cell phone had no signal. So, here they were, and she still had a truck full of groceries and fuel to unload. The fuel would be fine in the truck bed until the rain had passed, but she needed to get her food in the house. She emptied his pockets of their contents, left it all on the table beside his bed, then gathered up his wet clothes and took off on the run.
As soon as she had the clothes in the washer, she brought the groceries inside, ran to check on him again, and found him still sleeping, then she ran back to the kitchen and began putting things up.
She hadn’t eaten breakfast, so she started a pot of coffee. As soon as it was done, she poured herself a cup, grabbed her food from the deli, and took it back to the bedroom to keep an eye on him while she ate.
The backpack he’d refused to relinquish was on the floor beside his bed. She couldn’t help wondering what was in it that was so important, but wasn’t going to snoop. Whatever it was, it couldn’t fix what had happened to him.
The battery on his cell phone was down, and she still had no signal, but she’d found a charger cord when she’d emptied his jacket pockets, so she plugged it in. After checking him one more time, she sat down, took her first bite of the cold shrimp and pasta salad, and made herself relax. For now, she’d done everything she knew to do for him until he woke up enough to tell her where all he hurt.
She ate in silence, listening to the rain and to him muttering in his sleep. When she noticed his hands kept clenching and unclenching, and the dark lashes on his eyelids were fluttering, she guessed he was dreaming.
School was out, and Max was in line with the other fourth graders waiting to be picked up. Today was Thursday, which meant Ray, who was a bouncer at the club where his mama, MaryJo, danced, would be taking him home. Ray did Tuesdays and Thursdays. Corky, the other bouncer, did Monday and Friday. DeeDee, who danced at the same club, did Wednesdays. This was nine-year-old Max Bridger’s normal. And when Max saw Ray’s old Corvette pulling into the line of waiting parents, he called out to his teacher.
“Miss Ellie, Ray is here. Can I go?”
Max asked.
“Yes, but walk, don’t run,” she said.
Max obeyed, and was grinning at Ray when he got out of the car and opened the door for him.
“Get in kid,”
Ray said. “Look at those clouds. It’s gonna pour before I get you home.”
Max jumped into the passenger seat, dumped his school bag in the floorboard, and buckled up as Ray got in.
“Is that my snack? Max asked, pointing to a bag of chips and a can of Mountain Dew.
“You know it,”
Ray said, smiling as he watched the brown-eyed boy tear into the bag of chips. When Ray got the all-clear from another teacher doing bus duty, he pulled away from the curb and drove off, talking as they went. “Did you have a good day, buddy? Today was spelling test, right? How did you do?”
Max stuffed a chip in his mouth as he popped the tab on the can of pop, chewing as he answered. “I got an A,”
he said, and grinned.
Ray stopped for a red light and winked at him. “Way to go! You keep studying and get yourself really smart. Don’t wind up like me. Do something important with your life, you hear?”
Max nodded. Ray and Corky and DeeDee all said the same thing. He liked it when they bragged about him. Mama didn’t know today was spelling test day, so she wouldn’t be bragging. She didn’t know anything about Max’s life. They just lived under the same roof.
When it started raining, Ray turned on the windshield wipers while Max ate the rest of his chips, absently counting how many times the wipers swiped in a minute, then downed the whole can of Mountain Dew before Ray pulled up into the driveway.
“Okay kiddo, here you go. Go tell your mama I’m waiting to take her to work, and she needs a raincoat.”
“Okay Ray. Thank you for the snack,”
Max said, then grabbed his book bag, jumped out of the car, and took off running. He wore the key to the house on a chain around his neck and pulled it out to unlock the door. “Mama, Mama, I’m home!”
Max shouted, then slammed the door shut to keep out the rain, and dumped his bookbag on the sofa. MaryJo didn’t answer, but he headed for the kitchen, following the sound of the radio.
She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabinet beneath the sink. There was a hypodermic needle stuck in her arm, and a dirty strip of elastic still tied around her arm. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving.
“Mama? Mama? Are you okay?”
When she didn’t answer, he squatted down beside her and patted her face. It was cold. She needed a blanket. He shook her shoulder to wake her up, but when he did, she fell sideways onto the floor without a word.
Max’s heart skipped. He patted her face again. “Mama. Mama. Wake up! Wake up!”
He was waiting for a response when he saw a cockroach crawl out of her hair and across her face. When she didn’t blink or scream, that’s when he knew she was dead. He scrambled backwards in horror, jumped up and ran for the door and out into the rain, wild-eyed and screaming.
Ray’s heart dropped when he saw Max’s face, and he got out on the run, picking the boy up. “Maxie, Maxie, what’s wrong, buddy?”
But Max didn’t stop screaming, and that’s when Ray went back into the house with him, saw MaryJo on the floor, called 9-1-1, and then the police.
And then he called Dee.
Deidre Lewis was getting ready to go to work when her phone rang. She saw it was Ray, but when she answered and heard Max screaming, her heart stopped.
“Ray! What’s wrong?”
“Max just found MaryJo. She’s on the kitchen floor with a needle in her arm. Looks like she’s been dead for hours. I’ve called 9-1-1 and the cops. I need help.”
Max woke abruptly as the dream began to fade, but he was disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. He remembered seeing an angel, but couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here.
Then he saw a young woman sitting in a chair near the window by his bed. She had a cup of coffee cradled in her hands and seemed lost in thought as she stared through the rain-drenched panes.
There she is. There’s my angel. Is she real, or am I dreaming?
He thought about trying to get up, then realized he was naked beneath the covers. He had a vague memory of someone helping him get undressed. His head throbbed, but when he touched the place where it hurt the worst, he felt the bandage.
Clearly, the angel he thought he’d seen was a real one, with hair the color of cinnamon, a profile of solemn beauty, and a gentle touch. He’d never felt her tending to his injuries.
As if sensing she was being watched, Skye abruptly turned to look, then leaped up with a smile and came hurrying to his bedside.
“Oh, thank God. You’re awake!”
She laid her hand on his forehead to test the temperature of his skin. “You’re still feverish, and you must be confused. I know you’re Max, because you told me your name earlier. My name is Skye Raley. I have a hundred questions, and you probably do, too. But let me get you some water. Are you allergic to anything?”
“No allergies, and yes, I’m Max. Max Bridger.”
She patted his hand. “Good. I’ll be right back. Are over-the-counter pain meds okay?”
He squinted against a stabbing pain. “Yes, and thank you,”
he said, then watched her dart out of the room. He could hear her footsteps as she hurried away, and then found himself listening for the sound of them coming back. He had a moment of d é ja vu , and being in a MASH unit somewhere in Iraq, waiting for a doctor to come stitch up a shrapnel wound on his back.
Only this time, he hadn’t been carried off a battlefield. He’d been picked up off a road in a storm and taken to shelter under the care of a woman named Skye. The name fit the angel she was to him. She came hurrying back with water and Advil, and sat down on the side of the bed beside him.
“Can you sit up a little?”
she asked, then when he did, the covers slipped down around his waist. The bruises across his upper body were telling. One ran across his chest, where a seatbelt would have been, and the other was along the left side of his rib cage, on the same side of his body as the cut on his head. She’d seen him naked, and she’d already seen the two scars on his back, one of which was a good eight inches, and long since healed. Without commenting, she shook two pills out into his palm, then handed him the bottle of water. He swallowed the pills and handed her the bottle back.
She set it on the table within his reach. “Max, there’s a bathroom behind that door if you need it. But I’m kind of afraid to let you get up on your own. You were staggering all over the road when I found you.”
“I’m naked,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’m the reason you’re naked. Don’t worry. I didn’t faint. I had a husband once . . . for four years. He was a fireman in Hot Springs. He was killed on the job, but that was in another lifetime,”
she said, then grabbed the lightweight blanket from the foot of the bed. “Your sarong awaits.”
Max liked her. She was matter of fact and kind. But when he threw back the covers and sat up on the side of the bed, he grabbed the mattress with both hands.
“The room’s spinning. Give me a sec.”
“Take your time,”
Skye said. “Neither of us is going anywhere until it quits raining and the water goes down. The low-water bridge into this property always floods, but it runs off just as quickly.”
Finally, Max stood, and when he did, Skye wrapped the blanket around him like a sarong. “Okay, lean on me as we go,”
she said, and felt him slide a hand across the length of her shoulders and hold on.
He made it back to the bed on shaky legs, then eased himself down onto the mattress with relief, dropped the blanket, and slid back between the covers.
As soon as he settled, she sat down beside him.
“Is there someone you need to call? A wife. Children. Any kind of family?”
“My mom, Dee, was my only family, and she’s gone. Never married, and no children. Came close to getting married once, but military life and constant moving did not appeal to her. That was years and years ago.”
“Understood,”
she said. “So, what happened? How did you get hurt?”
“Had a wreck. A deer jumped out in front of me. I swerved to miss it, hit a tree. Then went over the edge.”
Skye’s eyes widened. “Wait. What? You went off the side of the mountain?”
He nodded.
“Oh my God, Max. Oh, my God. How far?”
“Far enough that I had no cell signal. Took me a really long time to crawl back up to the road. I think I slid backwards more than I moved forward, but it put all my army survival skills to work.”
“You served in the military?”
“Twenty-five years. Colonel Bridger, recently retired. Over and out. Then I came home to find my mom, Dee, in the last stages of pancreatic cancer.”
Skye’s eyes welled. “I’m so sorry—for such a horrible accident, and for . . .”
Her voice broke. “Just everything.”
Max reached for her hand. “I’ve always associated rain with the worst day of my life until you. You have forever erased every negative aspect of it, and I am grateful.”
The last time she’d purposefully held a man’s hand in this way, he had been lying in a casket, and she had been trying to find the words to say goodbye. But now she needed to know the story behind the rain.
“If you don’t want to tell me, then forgive me for asking. But what’s the story with the rain?”
“It’s not a pretty story,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’ve had my share of bad, sad days.”
He saw patience and compassion on her face and then let himself go there. Back to that time.
“I was nine. Came home from school one day in a downpour, and found MaryJo, my birth mother, sitting on the kitchen floor with a needle in her arm. She was an addict. I thought she was asleep, but she fell over when I touched her. I still didn’t get it until a cockroach crawled out of her hair and across her face. Her eyes were still open, but she didn’t blink, and that’s when I realized she was dead. I ran out into the rain, screaming. Don’t remember much after that except Dee taking me home with her. She was a dancer at the same club where MaryJo danced. Everybody at that club was responsible for raising me, getting me back and forth to school, helping me study . . . the whole nine yards. They were the people who kept me out of foster care. They took care of me for the first nine years of my life, and Dee was already my legal guardian. When MaryJo died, Dee quit dancing, moved us to Russellville, and became Mom. She got a job as a teller in a bank, and that’s where I finished growing up. I joined ROTC in high school, and after I graduated, I went straight into the army with her blessing.”
Skye was in shock. “Is she part of the promise you have to keep?”
“She’s all of it. She wanted her ashes scattered at Falling Water Falls. That’s where I was going when I nearly got sideswiped by a deer.”
Skye looked down at the backpack beside his bed. “Her ashes are in that bag, aren’t they?” she said.
He nodded, and now that I think of it, I have a change of clothes in there, as well. I don’t know if they got wet, too.”
“Oh, no,”
Skye said. “Would you like me to check?”
He nodded.
She pulled the bag between her feet and unzipped it, pulled out a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved pullover, socks, and underwear.
“Good backpack,”
she said. “They’re dry. I’ll leave them out for you.”
She saw the black box tucked into the bottom of the pack as she zipped it back up. “Everything else is safe and secure.”