Chapter 18
Charlie
"Mitch!" The scream tore out of me as I threw myself flat at the cliff's edge.
Far below, Mitch dangled from the ledge, one hand locked around a gnarled tree root jutting from the cliff face. His shoulders trembled with strain as he held on with his body swinging over the churning water.
Doug was gone. Swept away.
Dirt ground into my elbows as I leaned out farther. "Hold on!"
He clawed for the root with his free hand. Missed. Tried again. His fingers closed around it, but the root shifted, dirt crumbling away in a shower of pebbles that rained into the water below.
Shit, that root can't hold him. It's going to break.
His boots scraped against the cliff face, searching for purchase. They found a small outcrop. He pushed up, taking some weight off his arms, and hauled himself higher. Muscles strained. Another foothold. Another pull.
Inch by inch, he climbed until finally his chest hit the ledge. He dragged himself onto the narrow shelf of rock and collapsed, gasping.
"Mitch. Are you okay?" My voice cracked.
He didn't reply. Just lay there, chest heaving.
"Mitch!"
"Yeah." His voice was hoarse. "I'm okay."
Relief flooded through me. I dropped my forehead to the dirt, a sob tearing from my throat.
Mitch and I were alive.
But Doug wasn't.
Blinking back tears, I peered over the edge again.
Mitch was on his hands and knees, gathering something from the ledge.
He's collecting the jewels.
My breath caught. He grabbed the pouch, tipped the gems and jewelry into it, then shoved it into his front pocket.
Doug had died for those damn things. And now Mitch was pocketing them?
He stretched out on his stomach, arm extending toward Doug's rifle. The strap had caught on a rock below him.
"What are you doing?" I called down. "Just leave it!"
He kept reaching, fingers straining.
Jesus, is he crazy? "Mitch, you'll fall!"
His fingers closed around the leather strap. He pulled the rifle back, checked it briefly, then slung it over his shoulder.
He looked up at me. "I'm coming up. Get back from the edge."
I didn't move. The universe had already proven it could take everything from me in an instant.
Mitch moved slowly, testing each handhold, pulling himself up.
"You're doing great," I called down, trying to sound encouraging. I pressed my chin to the backs of my hands, watching him, breathing through my panic.
He reached for another hold. His hand slipped, and a cry tore from my throat as he clawed at the rock face until his fingers gripped. He paused, and his body went rigid, like his limbs were seizing up.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I'm good." He glanced up. "Hey, I said get back from that damn edge, Charlie."
"No. Not until you're safe."
He muttered and reached up again. And again. Over and over he pulled himself toward me.
Finally, his bloody fingers appeared over the edge, trembling, and he groaned as he shoved the rifle ahead of him.
The sight of it made my stomach twist. I couldn't believe Doug had aimed that thing at me.
I couldn't believe Mitch had risked his life to retrieve it.
He curled his knee over the top, and I grabbed his upper arm and hauled back with everything I had.
With an agonized grunt, he surged upward, rolled over the edge, and collapsed, eyes closed, chest heaving.
I sat back, hands shaking.
Jesus. He's a mess.
Bloody scratches covered his face. A bruise bloomed above his eye. The front of his shirt was torn, revealing purple-black bruising across his ribs. Plus, his knuckles were split and swollen.
"Jesus, Mitch. You're bleeding."
"I'm okay." He opened his eyes. "Nothing broken."
"Your face..."
"I'm fine, Charlie."
Such an obvious lie.
His gaze found mine. "Are you okay?"
"Um, yes and no, I guess." I shook my head. "I can't believe Doug fell."
Mitch heaved a breath and pushed himself up to sit, pain flashing across his face.
I looked toward the brown water below. "We should look for him. Maybe he got out."
"Hey." Mitch wrapped his hand around my wrist. "He's gone, Charlie."
"You don't know that."
"Charlie. He couldn't swim. You saw him in the water before." His tone was gentle despite his certainty. "We need to take care of ourselves now."
Guilt settled heavily in my stomach.
"Can you walk?" he asked.
The question brought my attention back to my body, and the pain that had been throbbing beneath my fear. "Can you?" I shot back because he looked like he could barely stand.
"I asked first." A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, but his gaze dropped to my boots.
Shit. I'd forgotten about my blisters.
"I'll be fine."
"Good. Let's get going. We need to find some shade."
Mitch took two attempts to push himself to his feet. I forced myself up, too, and the moment my weight settled onto my heels, pain exploded up my legs.
A sound escaped me, half gasp, half whimper, and I stumbled.
Mitch caught my elbow, steadying me.
We stood there, both barely upright. Both broken and bleeding.
My chin trembled. Tears welled in my eyes.
Mitch pulled me against his chest, one arm wrapping around my shoulders. His heart hammered beneath my ear as I sucked in shaking breaths, trying to force down my emotions.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes softened. "We're gonna get through this."
"I know. Just one step at a time, right?"
Huffing, he nodded, and his thumb brushed my shoulder. “Exactly.” He stepped back, and I squinted at the sun. It was still morning, yet it was bloody hot.
"I bet you wish you had your cowboy hat."
"Yep." A wave of sadness crossed his face.
I dragged my gaze to the landscape stretching flat and endless in every direction. Nothing but red dirt and weeds for miles. "Where are we?"
"Koolaroo Ranch."
"Very funny. So, where's the ranch?"
He shook his head. "Don't know yet."
"What? So, what do we do now?"
"Start walking."
He reached down for the rifle.
Panic spiked through me. "What are you going to do with that?"
A muscle twitched in his cheek. He didn't respond as he hooked the leather strap over his shoulder.
Damn it. With one question, I'd shown him I didn't trust him.
He clamped his jaw tight. "Let's go." He strode away.
"But where are you going?"
"To find my horse."
Shit. He's not waiting. Clenching my jaw, I blocked out the pain and shuffled after him. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
"Wasn't planning on it."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
We both moved like we'd aged a decade in a day. Within a hundred yards, a blister on my right heel burst. Warm blood oozed inside my boot.
Each step was my own private hell.
But I clenched my jaw and kept going.
Because stopping meant dying.