18
Brandon
The plan was to return to Norland Park for Labor Day, but I decide to bump up our trip to this weekend.
Edward wants me there to go over some renovation plans, but I would be lying if I said that was the only reason I’m loading up the car with our luggage.
The chance to see Annie again—just to see with my own eyes that she’s okay—is a powerful motivator.
Except I’m worried it might be incredibly awkward because we’ll be staying in the same house.
They’ve already started work on the larger cottages Pepper and I normally stay in, and the rest of the park is booked, so Elinor and her mother graciously offered to let us stay in Bumble Cottage.
In fact, they kind of insisted. And what was I supposed to say?
Sorry, Mrs. Greenwood, I’m completely in love with Annie, and I don’t want to intrude on her breakup grief .
. .? At least Pepper is beside herself with joy.
“Do you think I can stay in Annie’s room?” she asks on the drive over.
“Um . . . probably not. You’ll get the couch, or you can share with me.”
“Well . . . but we’ll still be there in the morning together. Annie can make me breakfast.”
“Pep, you know that just because Annie is no longer dating Jack doesn’t automatically mean things will work out with me. She’s probably too upset to date right now. Or make you breakfast.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know all that . . . just let me dream.”
“Just as long as you know that it’s way too soon for anything to happen.” I’m probably saying this as much for myself as for Pepper.
“Yes, I got it, Dad. You are going to move at a glacially slow pace. I would expect no less from you.”
“And I would expect nothing but sass from you.”
***
It’s raining slightly when we arrive at Bumble Cottage.
“Brandon!” Elinor runs out the front gate to meet me as I step out of my car. “Thank goodness you’re here. Edward just called me. Annie’s missing!”
“What! Why?” Pepper voices my concerns as we walk through the wet garden, Annie’s flowers drooping in the rain.
“Jack returned!” My stomach pools with dread. “He showed up right after Annie’s performance, and I guess they went on a walk up Ralph’s Ridge. Jack just made it back down the mountain. I’m not sure he would have told anyone, but Edward saw him and started asking questions.”
“And he just left her? On the trail?”
“Apparently, she was pretty mad at him and stormed off.”
“He still shouldn’t have left her.” I check my watch. It’s nearly six-thirty. We have two hours till sunset, and the rain is picking up.
“Annie’s a decent hiker,” explains Elinor, “but it’s been raining. And she’s in sandals, and her ankle has been bad all summer.” I need to get up the mountain now.
“If you watch Pepper, I can be ready in a couple of minutes.”
“Yes, of course,” says Elinor, taking Pepper’s bag from me.
“And boil some water. She’ll need something hot to drink.” I’m worried about hypothermia. With this storm, the temperature is dropping fast. It will be even colder higher up the trail.
Elinor hurries back to the house. I dash back through the garden to my Bronco parked outside the front gate. I put on my hiking boots.
“Will Annie be okay?” Pepper asks as I lace my boots.
“She’s going to be just fine. Now you need to go inside. I don’t need you catching cold in the rain.”
“Cold weather doesn’t make people sick. I saw a YouTube video on that.”
“Technically, you’re right.” I say as I grab a day pack with dry clothes, water, and protein bars, plus a headlamp and first aid kit. “Germs make people sick. But when you get too cold, your body is not as good at fighting germs. And I don’t want you sick.”
“What about you?” Pepper asks, her hair already damp from the light rain.
“I don’t get sick.” And right now, nothing could keep me from going up that trail.
Mrs. Greenwood runs down the steps with a thermos. “I made cocoa—it’s Annie’s favorite.”
“Thank you.” I stash the thermos in my pack. “I’ll bring her back,” I say with a confidence I absolutely do not have.
“I know you will. It’s fortunate you showed up when you did.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I find her,” I say as I climb into the driver’s seat and head to the trailhead.
The trail is wet and muddy and requires a lot of mental attention to keep from tripping, which is for the best. This is not the time for my mind to wander.
I can’t afford to imagine the worst. Not tonight.
I’m going to bring Annie back safe and sound.
I wasn’t there when Daphne went missing.
I was on the other side of the Atlantic.
I never had a chance to save her. But with Annie . . . I can do something.
A half hour up the trail I meet a couple coming down the hillside. “Did you see a woman hiking? Curly red hair?”
“Yes!” answers the male hiker. “We saw her about three miles back. We told her to turn back, but she wouldn’t listen.” Sounds like Annie. Well, at least she was up and walking.
“She was making good time. But the poor thing was soaked through,” says the female hiker. “And not at all dressed for this weather.” Yep, definitely Annie.
‘Thank you!” And off I run. I pick up my pace as the sky darkens.
I’m getting into a rhythm, grateful that I rarely skip my daily run.
My lungs and legs burn, but I keep running.
I feel like I could go all day. I’ve never felt more motivated.
My alarm goes off after ninety minutes. I set it to make sure I refueled.
I can’t risk crashing out. Not when Annie’s counting on me.
I eat as fast as I can, take a swift drink of water, and then I’m running again.
The rain has stopped, but the trail is still muddy and quite slippery, and it’s getting harder to see.
I slow down a little to keep from slipping.
As I make my way up a series of switchbacks, I see a spot of color on the trail up ahead.
I sprint as fast as I can, silently praying that it’s Annie and she’s okay.
She’s slumped with her back against a tree trunk; her legs and wet skirt are sprawled across the trail. Her head is down. She might be asleep. I kneel down beside her.
“Annie,” I whisper. She looks up. Mud streaks her pale face. Her green eyes flash open, wide and very alert.
“Brandon!” she says my name with urgency. “Is it really you?” She places a cold hand on my cheek. “You found me. I wanted you—and you found me.” So help me. Her words nestle in my heart.
“I’m here.” I hold her chilly hand. “I’m going to get you home safe.”
“I don’t know how!” She says despondently. “I think I broke my ankle—I can’t walk on it. I tried, but it hurts too much.”
This isn’t good. We are at least five miles up the mountain. Annie has an injured ankle and possibly hypothermia. I rapidly think through my next steps.
“Okay, Annie, listen to me. You’re freezing—we need to change you out of your wet clothes and put on dry ones. Are you up for that?”
“Of course I’m up for it,” she shivers. “I just have a bad ankle.”
“Good, I was worried. I wasn’t sure if you were conscious when I found you.”
“I was just wallowing in my pain,” she says with a pathetic laugh. “Trying to get up the courage to take another step.”
I take a flannel shirt out of my pack and hand it to her.
“Mmm . . . your shirt smells good. Why do you always smell so good?”
“I shower daily.” Annie laughs at my comment far more than it merits. I begin to wonder if she’s as with it as she claims to be.
She begins to take her tank off. I swiftly look away.
“Always such a gentleman,” she snickers. I take it as a good sign that she has enough energy to tease, but I plan to keep an eye on her.
She tosses her wet tank top on the ground beside me. I pick it up and squeeze out the water before putting it in my pack. Soon the blue skirt lands by me. Again, I squeeze out the water before tucking it away.
“Okay, you can look. I’m decent now.”
I’m not sure I’d call Annie-in-nothing-but-my-blue-flannel decent. Even if it is so big on her that it goes mid-way down her thighs. I toss her a pair of my joggers.
“These are huge. I won’t be able to walk in them.”
“They’re just to keep you warm. You won’t be hiking. I’m carrying you down.
“Can you do that?” she asks as she puts on my joggers. Or I assume that’s what she’s doing. Once again, I’m looking away to give her privacy and to keep myself from getting too distracted. Right now, I need all my focus to be on getting Annie home safely.
“Yes, easy.”
“You’re lying. It won’t be easy.” She’s right.
Carrying her down a muddy trail after dark will be challenging and slow going.
“Hey, can you help?” I glance over. She’s struggling to get the pant leg over her ankle.
It’s already more than twice its normal size and beginning to turn purple. It looks incredibly painful.
“Of course.” I gently pull the pant leg over her swollen ankle.
“I got it.” She shimmies the joggers on. “Thank you.” Her voice is a little strained from the effort. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I should have turned back earlier.”
“No, more apologies. We’re going to get you home safely. But first, I’m going to make you take pain medicine and drink something hot.”
“That sounds dreamy,” she murmurs. I’m worried.
I can’t tell if she’s just exhausted or if this is the beginning of the delirium that comes with hypothermia.
It’s dipped below fifty degrees, and while I’m burning up from hiking, her wet skin is freezing.
I pour the cocoa into the thermos cup and help her drink it.
“Mmm . . . very good,” she says after a sip. “Did I mention how happy I am to see you?”
“You did.”
“Well, I am . . . I missed you.” Her dear mud-spattered face beams up at me with genuine affection. My heart beats fast. I’m sorely tempted to pull her into my arms and kiss her with reckless abandon. But she’s chilled to the bone. I can’t lose my head right now. I need to get her home quickly.
“I missed you too, Annie.” I pat her icy cold cheek, before I put away the cocoa. “Now I’m going to lift you? Are you ready?” She nods.