Chapter Eight #2
Abby flushed hot, a wave of embarrassment washing over her, competing with the residual terror. She slowly lowered the bear spray, though she didn't engage the safety.
"I'm sorry," she said stiffly, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. "I was unaware this was private land. I'll pack up my camp and leave."
She shifted her weight, intending to turn toward the tent to start gathering her sleeping bag. The moment she transferred pressure to her right leg, the injured knee buckled completely.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she pitched forward, the birch crutch slipping out from under her arm.
Will closed the distance in three long strides, his heavy boots crunching against the dirt.
He didn't grab her in a panic, but his large hand shot out, catching her by the bicep with a grip like a steel vise, arresting her fall just before she hit the ground.
He steadied her, taking the brunt of her weight until she caught her balance on her good leg.
"Whoa. Take it easy," Will murmured, his voice rumbling in her proximity. "Don't put weight on that."
Abby pushed against his arm, her independence flaring instantly. "I'm fine. Let go."
Will released her immediately, taking a deliberate step back to give her space. He looked down at her leg.
"Looks like you took a nasty spill," Will observed, his tone completely detached, like a mechanic inspecting a flat tire. His eyes swept over the neat butterfly closures and the clean, iodine-stained skin. "Good thing you had a decent med kit with you. That could have gotten ugly."
Abby froze. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at him. She opened her mouth to tell him she hadn't brought the kit, to ask him if he knew anything about it, but she snapped her jaw shut.
If I tell him someone’s been leaving things at my campsite, on his property, he’s going to assume the worst, and report it to the sheriff.
I’ll not only be kicked out, but I’ll be buried under police reports, and the locals will always refer to me as the crazy lady from Los Angeles for the rest of time.
"Yes," Abby lied smoothly, lifting her chin. "I had supplies in my car. I told you I knew what I was doing."
Will gave a low grunt that sounded suspiciously like amusement, though his face remained impassive. "Right. The badges."
He turned away from her and walked back to his ATV. He unstrapped a massive, five-gallon plastic jug of water from the front rack. It was frosted with condensation. From the rear rack, he pulled a small, heavy canvas cooler bag.
He walked back and set them in the shade near her tent, keeping a respectful distance from her.
"Here’s some water," Will said, keeping his tone light and strictly business. "And some ice. The heat index is going to hit ninety-eight degrees by two o'clock today. Property owners don't like the liability of trespassers dropping dead of heatstroke on their land."
Abby frowned, her pride stinging, but the sight of the condensation on the water jug made her throat physically ache.
"I don't need your charity," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"It's not charity, it's a courtesy," Will countered, his stormy eyes locking onto hers. "You can't hike down to that creek on that knee. You're dehydrated. Your lips are cracking and you're swaying on your feet. Drink the water. Put the ice on the swelling."
He didn't phrase it as a request. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a quiet authority that left no room for argument.
Abby found herself staring at the jug. She was entirely at his mercy. He had caught her trespassing, he saw she was injured, and instead of kicking her out, he was giving her a lifeline.
"Are you going to make me leave?" she asked softly, the fight draining out of her, leaving only the bone-deep exhaustion.
Will looked at her, his gaze softening.
"Technically, I should call the sheriff to tow your car," Will said slowly, adjusting the brim of his hat in his hands.
"But you aren't doing any harm to the timber, and you sure as hell aren't in any condition to drive.
I'll turn a blind eye for a few days until you can put weight on that leg.
But keep your fire small, and don't wander off the logging spur. "
Abby let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. A profound, overwhelming sense of relief washed over her. She was safe. She could stay. She could keep fighting her battle out here in the quiet.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Mr. Hammond."
"Just Will," he corrected mildly, settling his baseball cap back on his head. "I'll be back through this sector in a couple of days to check the boundary lines. Try not to fight any bears before then."
Without waiting for a response, Will turned on his heel and strode back to the ATV. He swung a leg over, fired up the engine, and didn't look back as he threw it into gear and disappeared back down the logging trail, swallowed by the dense Montana brush.
Abby stood alone in the clearing. The silence rushed back in, broken only by the cicadas.
She hobbled over to the water jug, sank to her knees in the dirt, and wept. Not from fear, but from the sheer, overwhelming grace of being left alone to heal.