Chapter 12 #2
They’d left the rim before ten in the morning, Noah leading with the kind of confidence that should have steadied her nerves.
Should have. Instead, something twisted tighter in her gut with every step.
He’d navigated forgotten roads to a trailhead west of Nimue’s abandoned bus, the plan simple: intercept Liam and Nimue somewhere along the trails.
Except the canyon stretched silent and vast. No sign of them.
Maybe that meant they were safe. Already across. But the knot in Meg’s stomach said otherwise, and something about the guys’ relentless speed suggested they felt it too.
Noah’s hand shot up, halting them at a cluster of boulders. He pulled his water bottle free, eyes flicking to her with laser focus.
“Drink.”
She nodded, fumbling for her own bottle while avoiding his eyes.
His new look still knocked her sideways—short hair and clean-shaven jaw that made him look like a completely different man.
The scruffy, shaggy-haired Noah was gone, replaced by someone whose brown eyes suddenly seemed to see straight through her defenses and possessed the power to stir something deep inside her.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. She looked away, focusing on the cool water against her parched throat. And she thought her attraction to him before had been bad.
Teague barely looked winded as he scanned the trail ahead.
Show off. Her pack—stripped down to just first-aid supplies and water—felt like it was loaded with rocks.
Noah and Teague had insisted on carrying more of her gear at every stop, and she hated it.
Hated feeling helpless. Hated the voice in her head questioning whether she should have stayed behind.
But if Liam or Nimue was hurt, she was their best hope for medical care.
Yeah, right. Noah could probably splint a fracture as well as she could, and there was no way she was carrying anyone out of this canyon.
The trail forked—one branch heading southeast toward the distant glint of the Colorado River, the other northwest toward the cliffs where their friends had rappelled into the unknown.
“You good?” Noah asked.
She nodded.
Oops, that was a lie, but maybe she should have been honest, because they were up and moving again. The men set a brutal pace—not quite running, but definitely not walking. Her breath came in ragged gasps, eyes straining for any flash of color, any sign of life.
The silence between them felt heavy. Ominous. Broken only by boots crunching on gravel and the sound of her own labored breathing.
“What’s that?” Teague’s shout made her jump.
The trail ran parallel to churning brown water now—a wash swollen from the morning’s storm.
“Flash flood.” Noah brushed past Teague, long strides eating up ground. “Happens fast in storms.”
“Not the water.” Teague was pointing. “That red thing.” He took off toward it.
Noah barely paused before following, charging off-trail toward a crimson speck in the distance. Fearless. He dodged cacti like they were traffic cones while Meg followed more carefully, already mentally reaching for pliers and tweezers in case he got too cocky.
As she crested a small rise, Noah and Teague were hauling something heavy from the water’s edge.
Her throat closed.
Please don’t let it be a body.
The world tilted, colors washing out to sickly yellow. She was a doctor—she’d seen death, stitched wounds, held hands through final breaths. But this felt different. These were her friends.
At least Liam was becoming one.
She’d fled Colorado to escape exactly this kind of loss. The kind that cracked you open and left you hollow, wondering why you’d ever cared about anyone in the first place. Her knees buckled, vision narrowing to a tunnel.
“It’s Liam’s pack!” Noah’s voice cut through the fog. “It was snagged in some rocks.”
Pack. Not body. Pack.
The world went dark anyway.
Teague’s hand gripped her arm, keeping her from hitting the ground. “Meg, sit.”
She sank down, grateful for his solid grip. A water bottle appeared in her hand.
“Drink.” Noah’s voice, closer now. When had he gotten there? Time felt elastic, unreliable. But suddenly he was kneeling in front of her, brown eyes searching her face while darkness retreated. Teague hovered beside him, worry written in every line of his young face.
“Looks like dehydration.” Teague was digging through his supplies. “And low blood sugar. We should stop, eat something.”
Noah nodded, but his skeptical gaze never left her face.
“I’m fine.” The words came out slurred, unconvincing.
“Clearly.” Dry humor edged his voice, but it was gentle. He pulled his bag around, propped it behind her. “Lean back.”
Trail mix appeared in her palm, courtesy of Teague. “Blood sugar, doc.”
“Guess this means they’re without supplies.” Teague lifted Liam’s waterlogged pack, then dumped the contents on the ground.
“Why—” Meg started.
“We’re not leaving it, and I’m not hauling extra water.” He wrung out a soaked shirt, stuffed it back in.
“Which direction?” Teague looked to Noah. “Upstream or downstream?”
“Upstream.” Noah’s voice dropped to something close to a growl, his expression darkening.
Meg heard what he didn’t say. If they went downstream, they’re probably dead.
She forced herself to chew the trail mix, nuts sticking in her throat like sawdust. Liam was experienced—he’d keep himself and Nimue safe. But from what? What were they running from that was worse than flash floods and canyon walls?
Twenty minutes. Noah and Teague gave her twenty whole minutes while insisting it was simply dehydration and low blood sugar.
She wanted to argue, to explain that it wasn’t just physical.
The thought of pulling bodies from that churning water had nearly shattered her—the same panic that had driven her from emergency rooms, where loss was a constant companion.
But how could she explain that? She was supposed to be the strong one. The doctor. Not someone who crumbled at the thought of death.
Noah’s eyes lingered on her face, studying her, perhaps trying to read her thoughts. Like the other day when she’d nearly lost it seeing him covered in blood.
She didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m ready,” she said and pulled on her pack. Started down the trail that paralleled the wash.
Noah and Teague followed, but a grunt from Noah sounded behind her.
It wasn’t long before Teague passed her, his long legs—and too much energy—striding out ahead of them.
Noah fell into step beside her, matching her slower pace. “You sure you’re okay?”
She didn’t look at him. “Yep.”
A beat, then, “If something’s bothering you—”
“Noah!” Teague’s voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent. He stood at another trail split, arms spread wide. One fork led north toward the canyon wall, the other northwest along the wash.
“Left.” Noah motioned without hesitation. “The right’s just a loop.”
They pushed on, silence heavier now. Oppressive. Only their footsteps and the wash’s constant roar filled the air. The trail mix sat in Meg’s stomach like concrete, but she forced her legs to keep moving.
Fear for Liam and Nimue had become a constant ache.
“Look!” Teague again, ahead. He stood on a boulder, pointing across the raging water.
The opposite bank was littered with gear. Too much gear. Way too much for just two people. It looked like an abandoned camp.
Meg’s chest constricted as reality hit.
They weren’t just searching for Liam and Nimue anymore.
This had just become a multi-victim rescue operation.
She’d almost lost him.
The thought hammered through Nimue’s head with every step up the rocky trail.
Dusky shadows swallowed the path ahead, forcing her to feel for footing on stone that had seemed so solid an hour ago. Her legs trembled with exhaustion, each step a negotiation between muscle and will. Wet stone crunched under her boots, sending an earthy, damp scent into the air.
The sky was still light, but it had been a while since they’d seen the sun dip below the rim, and already the temperature had begun to drop. It would be a cold night.
Still, all she could think was…
She’d nearly lost him.
That moment kept replaying. Liam disappearing in the brown water, the rope’s frayed end floating downstream. Everything inside her had screamed, but no sound had come out. Just silence while her world tilted sideways.
Then his hand had broken the surface. His head. Gasping, alive, real.
She’d almost crumbled right there.
Two weeks. She’d known him barely more than two weeks, and this man had somehow smashed her defenses and made a spot for himself in her heart.
Her anchor. That’s what he’d become.
And losing him would have destroyed her.
What would that mean when this was over?
The way he’d held her in that cave. Those kisses that tasted like promises and hope. Everything pointed toward a future she’d never dared imagine. But what if she was reading too much into things?
Few people came into her life to stay, and even then…
Well, even Emberly had left her.
And sure, Boz and the rest of the Davidson clan—foster kids who needed family—were still around, but…
But she couldn’t lie to herself anymore.
She wanted Liam to stay. She wanted to stay. Plant roots somewhere and build something real. Build a life of color and hope and…love.
But what did she know about relationships? About commitment that lasted longer than a few months? What could she possibly offer someone like him?
“Got bricks in here or what?”
Liam, carrying her pack, now readjusted it on his shoulders. The teasing lilt in Liam’s voice made her breath hitch.
The gold bar.
She needed to tell him. If they had any hope of a future together, that needed to start with being honest. Transparent.
But if the gold wasn’t enough to satisfy Teresa’s demands, her life would become an endless cycle of hiding.
Running from one safe house to the next, always looking over her shoulder.
Pulling him into the weight of that information felt like too much after just knowing her for fifteen days.