Page 20

Her boot slides out from under her.

She goes down hard on one hip and slips fast down the wet bank toward the water. I lunge and catch her by the pack strap before she hits the creek, but not before her right leg slams into a rock at the bottom.

She yells, a sharp sound, and every muscle in my body locks.

I haul her up the embankment and set her down on the road. I’m on my knees in the mud in front of her before I’ve even decided to move.

“I’m okay,” she says, her face white. “I’m okay. Ow. Okay, that one hurt.”

Her pant leg is torn from knee to ankle, revealing a long, ugly scrape down her shin, oozing red through the dirt.

My training takes over. My hands are steady, my voice is calm, and my focus is on my patient.

“Look at me, Wren.” I raise one finger. “Squeeze.”

She squeezes with a sure grip.

“Wiggle your toes.” She does. I run my palm down her calf to her ankle, feeling for any sign of a problem. “Push against my hand. Okay. Pull. Great. Does anything feel off that isn’t the cut?”

“No. It just stings like crazy.”

“Hold still.”

I rinse the scrape with my water bottle. The cut is long but not deep. I take a gauze pad and a bandage out of my pack and wrap her shin, fast and firm.

“You carry all that each day?” she asks.

“Every single day.”

“In case someone falls down a muddy bank in a thunderstorm.”

“On the off chance it’s you.”

Her eyes go soft. I look away and tie off the dressing.

Thunder cracks overhead, much closer now. The rain comes down harder, drumming on the road. Below us, the creek churns brown and fast.

The crossing, usually ankle-deep over a line of flat rocks fifty yards downstream, is currently submerged under a wide sheet of churning water.

“How deep?” Wren asks.

“Knee-deep on me. The middle might be thigh.” I watch a spinning branch carried past by the current. “The bottom’s solid. It’s the speed that’s the problem.”

She looks at the water, then at me.

“Are you going to carry me?” she asks.

“I am.”

She grins, despite her pale face. “Carry-on luggage. I fit in the overhead bin.”

I don’t laugh. The water is still rising, and I’ve pulled bodies out of creeks like this one. She sees my expression, and her grin fades.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “Okay. I trust you.”

I crouch down with my back to her. “On.”

She climbs onto my back and wraps her arms around my neck. I hook my hands beneath her thighs and stand. Her wet hair brushes my jaw. Her breath is warm on my ear.