Chapter 6
SIX
Selah was going to die.
The logging road twisted down the mountain, each turn plummeting a thousand feet—okay, that might be an exaggeration, given the fact that the rain and fog hid the perilous drop.
But in her wildest, darkest imagination, the concealed drop-off plunged to lethal depths, granite spires at the bottom ready to skewer her.
Yeah, she was tired. And cold. And wet. And hanging on to the four-wheeler behind a so-called businessman who navigated the ATV around mud-slicked hairpin turns, past fresh debris from the storm as if he were Ethan Hunt from Mission: Impossible.
She was bracing herself to sail off the top of the mountain and have him yank a parachute. It didn’t help her epic imagination that James still wore her backpack.
Sunset pierced the breaking clouds, turning the wet forest into a kaleidoscope of gold and shadow. Selah gripped the seat as they rounded another bend. Her clothes had dried stiff with mud, and her shoulder throbbed where she’d hit the windowsill during their escape.
“There.” James pointed ahead. Below them, the Wenatchee River curved through the valley, its waters brown and churning. A cluster of buildings huddled in the U-shaped small town with lights starting to wink on in the gathering dusk.
All she wanted was a shower. Okay, and some food. It felt like a thousand years since breakfast at the Paradise Café.
They slowed as they drove past farms and into the flatlands that led to the river.
They crossed the railroad tracks—she felt like she’d seen this townscape before—and headed down cracked pavement past small ranch homes set back from the road, a park with mud under swing sets and slides, and then across a small river bridge.
They followed the road as it turned into a more residential area, these houses with groomed lawns facing the highway, still another road away.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm as they passed a narrow road. A yellow cottage glowed against the darkening sky, set back from the road in a grove of dripping pines. A hand-painted sign swung from a post: Josephine’s Bed & Breakfast.
James slowed the ATV. “We’re staying here tonight.” He killed the engine. “You need rest.”
“What I need is a phone charger and—” The words died as she tried to stand. Her legs had stiffened during the drive, and she had to brace her hand on the seat before they could decide to buckle.
If they did, she’d probably just lie there in a ball.
The cottage door opened, spilling warm light across the wet gravel. A woman appeared, light-brown hair caught in a loose bun, wearing a cardigan that matched her butter-yellow house. Her face had the kind of weathered beauty that came from years of genuine smiles.
“Oh my, you two look half drowned.” The voice carried a rural western hominess. “Please tell me you didn’t come in from the crash site.”
“We did, ma’am.” James. Turning friendly and charming again.
Maybe she’d imagined the darkness from before…
“We had some first responders stay last night—they said it was awful.”
“It was.” James’s hand settled on Selah’s lower back, steering her toward the porch. “Just passing through. You have rooms available?”
“You’re lucky—two people just checked out.” She eyed their mud-splattered clothes. “With all the emergency personnel coming through, it’s likely there will be more asking, so hurry in. Roads to Leavenworth are closed—the train took out part of the highway, and the storm didn’t help.”
“Perfect.” James guided Selah up creaking wooden steps.
“I’m Josephine.” The woman held the door wide. “Been running this place twenty years with my husband, Henry. Sweet man passed away last year, but in all our years, I’ve never seen anything like this. Half the county’s emergency services passed through here today.”
The heat inside wove through Selah, touched her bones.
Yes, this was probably a good idea. The entryway opened into a living room with a river-rock fireplace, flames crackling behind an iron screen.
Handmade quilts draped overstuffed furniture.
Crystal prisms hung in windows, waiting for tomorrow’s sun.
“Up here, sugar.” Josephine led them up narrow stairs that creaked under the faded runner. Sepia photographs lined the walls—stern-faced families in their Sunday best, children on horses, a young Josephine with a tall man Selah assumed was Henry. “Watch that third step—it’s got a mind of its own.”
The upstairs hallway smelled of lemon polish and age. Vintage wallpaper—tiny pink roses on cream—and softly glowing wall sconces.
Selah could already breathe better.
“Here we are.” Josephine opened a door on the right. “Bathroom’s en suite, extra blankets in the chest. River view, if you’re interested.”
Not really. But the bed—oh yes, that brass bed called her name. It dominated one wall, piled with quilts in autumn colors. Lace curtains stirred in the draft from the window. A claw-foot tub stood visible through the bathroom door, its brass fixtures gleaming.
“Complimentary bathrobe is hanging on the hook,” Josephine said. She pointed to a fluffy white-velour robe.
James carried Selah’s backpack, and she retrieved it from him. He frowned, then said, “I’ll be downstairs.”
“Oh no, young man. You’re down the hall.”
James glanced at Selah with a smile as Josephine closed the door.
She couldn’t figure him out.
But this room…this room…She barely stopped herself from falling onto the big bed in her muddy clothes.
Selah opened the backpack. Found her clothes from yesterday in a dirty clothes pouch, and her last set of clean undergarments in a separate bag.
And…wait. A white plastic container. About the size of a Stanley cup, but sealed and locked, with a coded touchpad on the top.
She took it out. How…? What…?
It hadn’t been there before. She was certain.
Maybe it belonged to James. Although, when had he…
Footsteps on the stairs sent her shoving it back into the pack. A knock at the door, and she opened it. Josephine held a stack of towels.
“Thought you might need these. Had to wash a load after the last guests.”
“Please tell me you have a phone charger,” Selah said. She pulled out her phone. “I lost the cord.”
“Try the kitchen lost and found.” Josephine set the towels on the bed. “Got a whole drawer of things people leave behind. Including chargers. You look like you could use some tea too. Or maybe a nip of something stronger?” She winked.
“Tea is fine. Or coffee?”
“Fresh out, but I’ll fix you a pot of Earl Grey that will make you British. Would you like to wash your clothes?”
“Really?”
“Washer’s down the hall.” She pointed to an open closet. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” Selah followed her down to the kitchen.
The room belonged in a Norman Rockwell painting—white china on open shelves, copper pots hanging above a vintage stove. Something baked in the oven, filling the air with the scent of ginger, cinnamon, and spices.
“Cookies,” Josephine said, catching Selah’s expression. “Best cure for trauma I know.” She pulled open a drawer beside a cookie jar shaped like a chicken. “Here we go—chargers of all kinds. And there’s outlets everywhere. Henry was an electrician.”
James had come down the stairs and now stood in the doorway. “That smells amazing.”
Selah sorted through the charger cables. Behind her, she heard Josephine asking James about road conditions up the mountain, about whether they’d seen the wreck, about where they were headed.
His answers came easily, and he even made Josephine laugh. Not a mention of their crazy, harrowing escape, however.
Somewhere out there, Frank Hendrickson was probably talking to the police. She half expected her face to show up on television with the word wanted stamped under it.
Sheesh. She needed to get off this carousel of crazy.
Call North.
She found a cord and then a power block and pulled them out of the tangle.
“Over here, honey,” said Josephine and pointed to a plug in the wall over a built-in desk. “Roads’ll be closed through tomorrow at least, according to the news,” Josephine was saying to James.
The screen lit up—four percent battery. And as it did, her screen-lock photo lit up, clearly downloaded from her cloud.
Her and North at Christmas. Back when she’d thought he’d propose.
Back when she’d practically—okay, yes—followed him back to Mariposa.
She pulled up her mother’s number. The cord was so short she had to duck under the cupboard to press her ear to the phone.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Put it on speaker. We don’t care, right, James?” Josephine handed James a cookie.
He shrugged.
Selah flipped the phone to speaker as her mother answered.
“Selah Grace Silver. Where have you been?”
James took his cookies and left the kitchen.
“Mom.” In the background, she heard her father asking who it was. “I’m okay. I’m safe.”
“The news is crazy out there. They’re still finding people. Where are you?”
“I’m at a B&B. Eating cookies.” This she added as Josephine brought over a hot gingersnap.
“Oh good. Are you coming home?”
“As soon as I can figure out how, yes.” The answer came too fast, however. What about the camp? Oops. Clearly, her heart wasn’t in it, because frankly, she hadn’t given the camp a second’s thought since the crash.
“You sound tired, sweetheart.”
“I am. But I’ll be fine.”
“Good. Now call Jake and tell him that. He’s been driving me crazy with texts.”
Indeed, she spotted a number of texts coming in from her older brother. “I will.” Exhaustion pressed against her bones. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too. Be careful.”
Jake answered on the fourth ring. Country music played in the background, and she heard his wife, Aria, laughing at something. Oh, Selah had missed him since he’d moved to Houston.
“Selah. Sheesh. You okay?”
“Yeah. Mom told me to call you.”
“Listen, my old boss Hamilton Jones has been trying to reach you.”
She knew Ham, thank you. North’s boss. The guy that kept sending him on all those crazy out-of-country missions.