Saving Joe. Laura Altom Marie
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kisses.”
Listen to her, rambling on. Give it up, lady, the dog’s a goner.
“Great job.” Despite his internal warning, she persisted in comforting the dog. “I knew you could do it. Oh, thank you, more kisses, huh? You’re a sweetie pie, aren’t you? What a good boy. That’s it, just a little farther.”
Why was she doing this? Teasing him by making him believe the mutt had even a chance at being all right?
As if speaking to a child, she’d lowered her voice to a hypnotic, deceptively seductive tone. Over and over she crooned sweet nothings to the dog, assuring him that he would be fine because she had come to save him. How long had it been since Joe had heard a woman speak like that?
How long had it been since he’d wanted to?
Hot tears sliced the cold in his cheeks, dredging gullies in his fear.
Why couldn’t he be anywhere but this stupid cave? In here, the seduction of her strength, her compassion, echoed off the walls and the rocks and the water, filling a small corner of his mind and spirit with the crazy notion that maybe she was right. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe her words didn’t only apply to the dog, but to himself.
“Joe,” she cried, “I’ve got him. I just need your help to pull both of us out.”
No. She no more had his dog than he had his sanity.
“Joe, please. Help. The water’s rising.”
He swallowed hard, willed his legs to move, promised that if she helped see Bud through to safety, he’d cut her some slack.
She’d wedged herself into the crevice, and he set the flashlight on a protruding rock while settling his hands about her hips. While he pulled, she cradled his dog. Bud’s blood was smeared on her face and in great dark splotches across her coat. Yet for all the gruesomeness of that image, it contrasted sharply with the brilliance of her smile.
“Whew, thanks,” she said. “It was getting a little close in there.”
He helped her perch on one of the rocks, thinking the dog seemed ridiculously large in her arms.
“You’re smiling,” he said, more to himself than her.
“Well, yeah. Bud’s pretty banged up, but I don’t think that leg’s broken, after all. The bleeding was coming from this impressive gash.” She parted the fur on the dog’s left front leg to show him. A clean cut about five inches long looked crusty with blood. Tangled and matted into the dog’s fur were bits of dried algae, leaves and twigs. “I brought a first aid kit. When we get back to the cabin, I’ll fix this up. Maybe numb it, then stitch it a couple times. With rest, he should be right as rain.”
Her message sounded too good to be true.
“How do you know something’s not broken?” he said. “Or bleeding internally? And how would you know how to give a dog stitches?”
Settling her chin companionably atop Bud’s head, she cocked her own head and grinned.
The angelic sight took Joe’s breath away.
Mussed as she was by the events of the long night, she still looked beautiful.
Wholesome.
Alive. So very alive.
In the dim light, her eyes sparkled. Strands of tousled blond hair clung to her cheeks. “What do you mean, how do I know?”
It took a second to get past his unexpected appraisal of her appearance and remember what their conversation had been about. “The stitches. How would you know how to give the dog stitches? How do you know he doesn’t have more serious injuries?”
A cloud passed over her features and he wished he could take back the words. Had he always been such a grouch?
“Give me some credit. As for the stitches, I have had a little first aid training, you know. As for how I know Bud’s not more seriously injured…” She shrugged. “I don’t know how I know. I just do. Something about his eyes. It’s a gut feel kind of thing.”
And judging by the sincerity in her face, she was telling the truth. She truly didn’t know, and he liked that.
Earlier, Joe had vowed that if she helped rescue Bud he would in turn cut her some slack. She’d fulfilled her half of the bargain, so why wasn’t at least part of his quivery sense of relief caused by gratitude for her good work? Why did he still feel so empty inside and cold?
“Hello? Earth to Joe.” She waved her slender, bloodstained hand in front of his face. “Just because we’ve got the dog doesn’t mean we’re out of trouble. Have you seen the rising tide?”
He glanced over his shoulder.
Dark, churning sea choked the cave’s mouth. There was no telling if the inky black was inches or feet deep. With the strong currents and frigid water temperature, it’d be crazy to attempt to make it out that night.
“Come on,” he said, gently scooping Bud from Gillian’s cradled arms. Gillian. At the very least, he owed her the simple courtesy of calling her by name.
In the flashlight’s dimming glow, fear came alive in her eyes. “We’re not going to swim through that, are we?”
“No,” he said, already on the move. Leading more by memory than actual sight, he stepped onto the nearest boulder, praying he wouldn’t slip on the slick seaweed. He landed with a jolt, and the dog in his arms whimpered. “Sorry, boy. We’ll be there soon.”
“Be where?” she inquired from behind him, shining the light over his shoulder.
He shouted above the crack of waves against rock. “We’re going back to where you found Bud. You can push Bud through the hole he fell through, then climb up yourself.” He paused to gauge her reaction to his plan, but she’d stopped.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“You’ll never fit through that hole. How are you getting out?”
“I’m not.”
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing.”
“Joe…” She held out her hands, a feeble attempt to show him the danger of their surroundings. Her one word said it all.
To stay in the cave would be deadly.
He knew it.
She knew it.
“Go on,” he said. “I know what I’m doing. I’ll be all right.”
“The hell you will.”
A cold wave slapped Joe’s right foot and the numbing water seeped through his boot, wetting his thick wool sock, slithering like an icy vine around his ankle.
“Gillian,” Joe said. “You saved my dog and I’m grateful, but if you don’t get the both of you out of here soon, you’ll be trapped. By getting myself mixed up in that whole drug case thing, I’ve already taken more lives than I care to admit, and I damn sure won’t be held accountable for yours now, as well.”
“Your testimony saved lives. Hundreds. Maybe thousands.” Dammit if she didn’t raise her chin. “I won’t leave you.”
He looked away from her determined stare. Sighed.
“Up there,” she said, in a voice tinged with panic and cold, waving the ever-weakening flashlight toward the rear of the cave. “That looks like a waterline against the rock. I don’t think the waves break beyond that point.”
Bud whimpered.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Joe said. “If you take the dog back to the cabin and get him all bandaged and warmed by the fire, then I promise to spend the night in that hole.”
She