Chapter 42
Chapter
Forty-Two
Wren managed to stand on the second try.
Cold poured through the front door. Past the frame there was nothing but dark yard.
She put weight on her right leg and staggered forward, pain shooting through her hip.
She ignored it and glanced toward the front of the cabin.
It would only take four steps to get to the door. She could make it that far.
She took them one at a time, holding the back of the couch, then the wall.
Her promise to Nash filled her mind, and she shoved the door shut. Threw the bolt. Leaned her forehead against the wood.
Breathe, Wren. Breathe.
She forced air into her lungs and out again.
She reached for her phone, but it was gone. She must have lost it when the man knocked her down.
Her gaze skittered around the room. Finally, she spotted the device.
It was there. Under the edge of the couch.
She lowered herself onto her good knee. Her injured hip went white-hot, and she stopped. She waited out the pain. Then she grabbed her phone.
Wren pulled up her sister’s name and looked at it.
One call and the whole house would awake and worry. That wasn’t what she wanted—not unless it was absolutely necessary.
Mom had just gotten her son back. Wren wanted to give her more time before adding this stress. This was the happiest her mom had been in years.
Instead, Wren called Luke.
He picked up on the fourth ring. “Wren?”
“Somebody was in my cabin,” she rushed. “He knocked me down going out the door, and Nash went into the woods after him.”
A bed creaked on his end. “How long ago?”
“Four or five minutes.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m going to be sore, but I’m fine.”
“Doors locked?”
“Yes.”
“Then stay where you are.” Fabric moved, a drawer shut. “I’m probably twelve minutes out. Do not go outside. Do not go after Nash.”
The line went dead.
Wren made it to the window and stopped there.
The woods stood pitch black past the edge of the yard. Nash was somewhere in their depths.
What if he was hurt? What if he was lying out there in the dark and nobody knew it?
She had no way to find out.
She shifted her weight and her hip lit up. She shifted it back.
Then she made herself count. One breath. Two. Somewhere around eight, something moved across the yard.
Wren froze and watched.
Someone stepped out of the trees.
She couldn’t see any details from here. Not how big he was. Not how he walked. Not whether he was the man who’d knocked her down or the one who’d gone in after him.
He started down the slope toward her cabin, and she didn’t know whether to hide or if she should run toward him.
Wren’s heart slammed into her chest as she waited for the figure’s features to emerge.
Halfway down, the man turned his head, and the porch light caught his face.
Nash.
Relief swept through her.
She had the door open before he reached the porch.
“You’re supposed to be locked in.” Nash hurried up the steps.
She stepped back to let him in and shut the door behind him. “Did you see him?”
“No.” He put a hand on the back of the chair and leaned on it. “I got maybe a hundred yards downslope and lost him.”
“Luke’s on his way,” she said finally. “He should be here in a few minutes.”
“And your sisters?”
“I didn’t call them.”
Nash narrowed his eyes in confusion.
“I know what you told me,” she explained. “But if I wake that house up, my mother will be standing in this room in about ninety seconds. I’d rather not upset her again.”
He looked at her a moment longer. “All right.”
She stared at him. “That’s it? All right?” She’d been expecting an argument, but he hadn’t given her one.
“You thought it through. That’s all I ever ask anybody to do.” He straightened. “I want to walk the outside of the cabin before Luke—”
He stopped. Looked past her.
His gaze latched onto something in the distance.
Wren followed his gaze.
Through the side window.
Near the corner of the barn, something moved.
Nash’s arm came across in front of her. “Get back from the window.”
“But—”
“Wren.”
She stepped back and continued to watch until the shape resolved.
The figure was kneeling and working the ground with both hands, scooping and throwing, scooping and throwing. A low dark mound of dirt rose beside him.
The porch light caught the white of a bandage on his right hand.
“Nash.” Wren’s voice didn’t sound like her own. “That’s Christian.”