Chapter 1 #2
But that’s where the crying was coming from.
Stormi scrambled to the back door and worked it open.
A car seat was strapped behind the passenger seat, expensive-looking with thick padding.
A baby in a snowsuit lay nestled in the layers of blanket, pinned under the assault of the tree branch.
Maybe eight months old, eyes red, nose dripping with snot.
And screaming with the desperate fury of someone who’d been cold and scared and alone.
Hang in there, little one.
No wonder the driver had gone for help—and maybe they thought the baby would be safer here. Or . . . She tried to move the branch, but it wouldn’t budge, the baby stuck under it.
Maybe they simply couldn’t get the child free.
“I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” Stormi climbed out and ran to her SUV, opened the back. Her emergency supplies included, of course, a small saw, for moments just like this. She also had a small generator, an overnight survival kit, and extra food.
Because, you know, Alaska. So maybe Aspen’s worrying had paid off.
She returned to the SUV, Rome circling her, barking. “I know, I know, buddy. I’ll get her.”
The branch that pinned the car seat seemed about the width of her wrist, and she set her saw against it, trying to deafen herself to the baby’s wailing.
The tree fought her, the bark stiff with cold, but she braced herself and the saw bit in, chips sparking off. She managed to saw through it, and the branch released. She wedged it off the car seat.
Inside, the child lay seemingly unhurt, despite her shrieks. Stormi reached for her, pulling off her own thick mittens, fingers already stinging in the frigid air. The baby’s lips showed the telltale blue tinge of mild hypothermia.
She checked the baby’s pulse—fast but strong under her fingertips. She felt cold skin through the pink snowsuit but not the deadly coldness of severe hypothermia.
She’d found the child in time.
“Okay, we’re getting you warm.” She lifted the baby out of the seat, then tucked her inside her winter jacket, against her own warmth. The child gulped, still screaming.
“That’s right. You’re okay.” The wailing quieted to exhausted whimpers.
The car’s engine was dead, and cold had leeched out any remaining heat. She’d been here for hours, easily. Stormi reached into the front seat and picked up the woman’s purse. Then she headed back to her SUV and cranked the heat to maximum.
The baby settled, sniffing hard, hiccupping in residual panic. Stormi set her down on the seat, then pulled emergency blankets from her kit, the mylar crinkling as she wrapped them around the baby while keeping her close to her own body heat.
Her radio crackled. “Stormi, what’s your status?”
She keyed the handset with her free hand, careful not to jostle the baby. “Two victims. One adult female, deceased. One infant, alive but hypothermic. Treating on scene, then transporting to Copper Mountain Medical.”
“Copy. Emergency services en route.”
“How long?”
“Thirty minutes, maybe.”
“Negative. Don’t send them up here. Weather’s deteriorating rapidly, and we can’t wait. I’ll transport to the clinic myself.”
Static, then, “Understood. Drive safe.”
The baby had stopped crying, snuffing hard. Stormi kept her hand on her.
She needed that car seat. But the branch still wedged it in.
And the baby needed to get to help. Stormi reached over and belted the baby into the regular seat.
Please, God, keep us on the road.
Outside, Rome barked, alerted, maybe by the wind. She opened her door. “C’mon, buddy, we need to go.” The dog turned to her, his eyes bright, head tilted in that way that meant he was listening to something she couldn’t hear.
Then he bolted down the road.
What? “Rome! Come back!”
Not a hope. The dog was a bullet, running after . . . well, who knew? “Get back here!”
But he was already disappearing into the forest, his dark form vanishing between snow-heavy boughs.
Fine. Shoot. She glanced at the baby, then the car. No good choices here.
She called one last time, but the wind ate her voice. At least the dog was chipped. But . . .
Shoot.
She put her hand on the baby. “Stay with me, little one.”
Thank the Lord for her studded tires, for four-wheel drive.
The blizzard hit with full force as she reached the highway, transforming the world into a swirling chaos of white.
Her headlights barely penetrated five feet ahead.
She leaned forward over the steering wheel, hunting for the yellow center line that marked the road’s edge.
The baby had gone quiet. Please let her just be sleeping. “Almost there. Stay with me, sweetie.”
The Copper Mountain clinic was lit up like Christmas, the ER entrance lights a beacon of red and white. She pulled up and the automatic doors opened, spilling warm yellow light onto the snow.
Dr. Mitch Hutchins appeared at her door before she could turn off the engine. Two EMTs flanked him, their breath steaming in the frigid air.
“How is she?”
She unclipped the baby, pulled her into her arms. Still breathing—thank you, Jesus. “Mild to moderate hypothermia. Pulse is strong but core temperature’s low. I don’t know how much longer she had.”
“No car seat?” one of the EMTs asked as Stormi passed the baby into his arms, making sure the warming blankets stayed in place.
“She’s been alone in that car for hours. The woman was impaled by a branch. I had to cut her out of the car seat.”
Dr. Hutchins nodded grimly as they moved inside. “We’ll get her warmed up. Good work getting her here in these conditions.”
Right.
“Any idea who she is?” one of the EMTs asked as they headed into the ER. Already, someone had set up warming equipment—heated blankets, temperature monitors, IV supplies.
“Oh, I grabbed the woman’s purse.” She turned around and nearly ran into Deke, who’d appeared out of nowhere. Snow melted off his uniform jacket.
“Hey,” he said. “Good job. The volunteer crew was having a hard time assembling in the storm.”
“Which is why we need a full-time SAR team stationed in Copper Mountain.”
“Tell it to the county budget committee.” He’d followed her out into the snow. “Moose is working on establishing a private team here beyond Dodge Kingston and his chopper.”
She opened up her car door and grabbed the purse. Handed it to Deke. He took it and she followed him back inside.
Dr. Hutchins had peeled off the baby’s clothing and wrapped her in new warming blankets. His stethoscope moved across her tiny chest. “Temperature’s coming up nicely. Good work, Stormi. Another hour in that car and we’d be looking at organ failure.”
A nurse was changing her diaper. “Sweet girl. All this diaper rash too.”
Stormi walked away, back to the nurse’s station where Deke had started to go through the contents of the woman’s purse.
But the praise couldn’t chase away the worry gnawing at her stomach. She checked her phone—Rome’s GPS signal was still moving. He was almost two miles from her property now, heading deeper into the wilderness area where avalanche danger ran high during storm season.
Deke pulled out a driver’s license. “Abigail Walker.”
She walked over. “I think she was with a man. I saw boot prints leading away from the car, through the forest. Maybe he thought it was the closest route to help.”
Deke nodded, sighed. “They’re only a few miles from the ski resort, but . . .” He shook his head. Glanced at her. “People don’t survive an Alaskan blizzard if they’re not in shelter.”
He held her gaze and, shoot, probably saw the ongoing question there. And why not? She’d only called the sheriff’s office a dozen times over the past month. She dropped her voice. “Any sign of him?”
Deke shook his head. “Sorry, Stormi. We’ve been out to the crash site a couple times, even with Jericho’s search dog—Wilder’s vanished.”
She shoved her hands into her pockets, nodded, looked away.
Aw, her sister was right. It wasn’t her business, anyway.
It’s not like Wilder Frost had her on his personal radar.
Sure, she’d helped his sled dogs whelp for the past year, but the man probably had no room in his life beyond his six-year-old daughter and his sled team and, well, trying to stay alive.
Which, apparently, took a sudden slide toward disaster about a month ago when the plane he was on crashed just south of town. And worse, with a fugitive onboard. Not to mention that said fugitive left the pilot dead and the other two passengers on the run and . . .
Well, it just figured that the man she loved would die before she had a chance to tell him. And okay, the word love might be a little overcommitted, and declarations of the heart hadn’t been on her immediate to-do list, but she might have liked the chance. Someday.
Maybe.
Aw. See, this was her problem. She was a dreamer—always living the life of someday and maybe, following big dreams that got her in over her head and only led to failure.
Case in point—moving to Copper Mountain with a ragtag bunch of dogs, hoping Wilder would teach her how to mush, and along the way, maybe he’d fall in love with her too.
So, what? They could live their happily ever after under the aurora borealis?
Good grief. She turned to Deke. “I need to get back to the clinic. My dog took off.” She shrugged into her jacket, already dreading the drive through deteriorating conditions.
“Stormi.” The voice brought her around. Kennedy Bowie stood in the lobby, wearing her parka. “You okay?”
She frowned, and Kennedy pointed to Stormi’s jacket. Oh, blood, maybe from when she touched the victim. “It’s not mine. I responded to a car wreck—found a baby still alive and brought her in.”
Kennedy glanced in the ER. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah, but her mother’s dead.” Stormi made a face. “What are you doing here?”