Holiday Homecoming. Jillian Hart
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Luckily, driving took all his energy. He didn’t have to think about anything other than this moment and keeping the car on the road. It was like driving in a dark tunnel. He glued his attention to the tire tracks barely visible in the sheen of the headlights.
The road beneath them seemed to heave, tossing the SUV around. Fear hit him and he swung the wheel left, but it was too late. A tree bough swiped across the roof. The passenger-side tires dipped low into the pitch of the shoulder.
He saw it all in a flash, the sharp drop, the void of a forest. Already he was picturing what it would be like to crash through those thick limbs and plunge into the darkness, out of control. Flashes of car-accident victims he’d treated in the E.R. haunted him and he fought to stop the inevitable as the top-heavy SUV began to tip.
Please, Lord, he prayed as, teeth gritted, he fought the jolting steering wheel. A little help, please. Crashing into old-growth trees was going to be a very bad thing. Time slowed down. He saw the minute detail of the pine needles on the limb swinging toward them. Beside him Kristin gasped, grabbed the dash, expecting the worst, too.
Then, miraculously, the tires dug in. The vehicle swung left toward the level road, and he eased it to a shaking stop. Thank you, Father.
Adrenaline pumping, he tried not to think of everything that could have happened, how hurt they could have been and what those tire tracks meant. “That was a close one. Are you okay?”
Sheet white, Kristin studied him with wide eyes. She nodded. “But whoever is in that car isn’t.”
He didn’t answer. He flicked on the overhead dome light to see as he searched the dash for the hazard lights and hit them on. “Check around and see if there’s a first-aid kit. Then button up and come with me.”
Gone was the hint of the boy he’d been. He was all man, mature and focused. Reaching beneath the seat, Kristin’s fingers tapped over the nubby carpet and bumped into a plastic edge. She got down on all fours to extricate the small box and realized that Ryan was already climbing outside. The brutal subzero winds cut through the warm passenger compartment as he slammed the door shut. The night and storm stole him from her sight.
The box came loose. It was a first-aid kit, as she’d hoped it would be. Relieved, Kristin twisted back onto the seat, dug her mittens out of her coat. Her door swung open. Ryan stood just outside the light, shadow and substance as she held up the kit for him to see.
He took it from her. “Do you know how close we are to the next town?”
“I’m guessing maybe twelve, thirteen miles.” Kristin sank to midcalf in drifting snow. “It might be quicker heading back. We went, what, ten miles?”
It all added up to potential disaster. He ignored the bitter wind and the sting of flakes needling his face. All that mattered was helping the people in that car.
If he could. If it wasn’t too late.
He yanked his cell out of his pocket. Lord, please let this thing work out here. He hit auto dial and prayed for a signal.
There were no other sounds but the rapid-fire beat of his heart, the tap, tap, tap of snow and the howl of the wind through the trees. He shook his phone, not that it would do a lick of good. C’mon. Connect.
He heard the squeak of leather shoes in the compact snow behind him. One glance told him Kristin was managing. He kept in front of her, taking the brunt of the blizzard hiking along the tire tracks as they rolled through a jagged hole in the guardrail and into the darkness.
His phone beeped. He froze in place. He had a signal! There was a ring, and an emergency operator answered. It sounded like a small county station; he could hear the buzz of activity in the background. It was a busy night for the sheriff’s department, and about to get busier.
“I have a single-car accident on highway 84.” He squinted at the milepost marker hanging from a jagged arm of the guard post and reported the number to the operator.
What was he going to find? His guts twisted as he swept the miniflashlight on his key ring through the darkness. Nothing. Only horizontal snow in a black void.
Please, Lord, be with whoever is in that vehicle. Or was. Ryan steeled his spine. Prepared for what he might find, he took a step and skidded down a nearly vertical slope.
Not a good sign, either. He dug his heels in before he crashed into a tree. With pine needles cold against his face, he flashed the small light through the underbrush. Nothing. No, wait. There was a faint something. Squinting, Ryan swept the area again. Sure enough, there it was. The edge of a broken taillight reflecting some of the light back at him despite the heavy downpour and thick foliage.
It was enough of a miracle on this brutal night, that Ryan gave thanks as he crashed through limbs and over dormant blackberry bushes, following the ragged trail of tracks that led to a small sedan. The vehicle was dark and still. A very bad sign.
Help me, Father, he prayed as he snapped limbs and tore branches out of his way, sidling along the quiet car.
Too quiet. That couldn’t be good. Between shock, trauma and the freezing cold, he didn’t expect to find anyone alive.
“Hello?” Calm, focused, he broke the icy layer of snow off the driver’s window with the side of his hand. The glow of his flashlight showed a lone driver with a mass of dark curls slumped behind the wheel.
He tried the door and the handle gave. The passenger compartment was cool, but not yet cold. He began talking, calm and steady, in case the young woman could hear him. So she wouldn’t be afraid.
He wasn’t aware of Kristin crowding close to see if she could help or the snow slicing between his neck and his coat collar or the wind as he worked.
Wow, he’s sure something. Kristin’s heart hitched as she watched him work, methodical and skilled. He pressed two fingers to the woman’s jugular and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. She was alive.
Kristin leaned against the car. She’d never felt so helpless in her life. If a rental car had been available, then she may well have been here alone to help the injured driver. What good could she have done? Ryan was a blessing. He checked the young woman’s pupils while talking to her, low and soothing.
I bet he’s a great doctor. Admiration for him filled her up. She loved medical dramas on television, but this was something greater. This was real. Somber lines dug deep in Ryan’s face as he turned to her in the faint glow from his flashlight. How badly was the woman hurt?
“What can I do to help?”
“Go through the trunk. I’ll pull the latch. See if there’s anything to wrap her in. Blankets. Sheets. Something. We’ve got to get her warm.”
At least she was alive. That was something. Praying, Kristin scrambled to the back of the car, lifting the trunk after it popped up. How could he be calm and steady? Okay, he was a doctor, he was used to this, but she wasn’t. Fear jittered through her veins, leaving her quaking and her fingers clumsy as she began to push through the crowded trunk. Full laundry bags, textbooks, a laptop case… She spied a flashlight and tested it; it worked. She tucked that under her arm.
As she kept digging, Ryan’s voice pulled at her like a fish on a line. She was hooked and unable to turn away. Had she ever heard a man sound like that? A deep gravelly baritone that was both hard-edged man and infinitely caring. Powerful and dependable. A man who could make anything right.
Please, Father, help guide his hands tonight. Kristin moved aside a University of Idaho book bag, realizing the young driver was a college student, probably heading home for Thanksgiving, too. Would she be all right?
She wasn’t moving. She was unconscious. At least Ryan was here. He knew what to do. Clutching the stadium blanket she’d found beneath the book bag, Kristin carefully picked her way through the knee-deep snow.
Ryan must have heard her coming. Crouched in the open door, he twisted toward her. Worry lines furrowed deep in his forehead, but he managed a strained