A Very...Pregnant New Year's. Doreen Roberts
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bad news was that it would be next to impossible to climb out of there. Even if she could find a slight foothold in the sheer face of the wall behind her, her experimental wiggling of her right foot told her she’d either broken or sprained her ankle. The ledge was so narrow she was frightened to move. One slip and she could plummet anywhere from a few yards to several hundred feet, depending on the depth of the ravine. That was something she wouldn’t know until it was light enough to see. If she lived that long in this bitter cold.
For several minutes depression and panic overwhelmed her. She began yelling with all the breath she could muster, even though she had little hope of anyone hearing her. She yelled until she was exhausted, and finally her breath died on a sob. It was no good. She was going to die there, alone on the mountain.
She started thinking about her family, and how they must be feeling. She struggled to remember those last terrifying moments, and felt sure that Paul and her sisters had jumped clear of the avalanche’s fury. She wondered if the snow had covered the lodge, and if everyone there was all right. What if they’d all been buried? Her grandfather, her parents…what would Elise and Sharon do without them? Paul could take care of himself, but her sisters would be devastated.
A cold, wet tear slid slowly down her cheek, and she dashed it away with the back of her hand. She had to pull herself together. If she was going to die, she refused to go whimpering like a baby, she thought fiercely. She shifted her position, trying to get more comfortable, and realized one of her skis was still attached to her injured foot. The other must have come off in her wild tumble through the snow.
She couldn’t reach her foot to take off the ski, and she couldn’t pull her foot toward her because the ski was jammed behind the tree. She slumped back against the wall, fighting against the return of panic. In her entire life, she’d never felt so alone.
She thought about her grandfather, and tried to guess what he would tell her now. All her life she’d gone to him for advice, from the time when she was six and her parents wouldn’t let her have a puppy until four years ago when she’d wrestled with her decision to live in Denver. Somehow Grandpa James was easier to talk to than her parents, much as she loved them. Grandpa had a way of really listening to her, and never judged her—never laughed at her silly notions the way her father sometimes did.
She closed her eyes and imagined he was there with her, sitting by her side, listening to her woes. After a while she heard his gravelly voice, as clearly as if he’d spoken to her. Sing, he told her. Singing lifts the spirits. Make as much noise as you can. Sing your heart out, Anne. Sing!
She sang. Every song she could think of. And when she didn’t know the words she made them up. She was in the middle of a rousing chorus of “God Bless America” when a faint sound penetrated her high-pitched screeching.
She snapped her mouth shut and held her breath. If there was a timber wolf out there she didn’t want to let it know that its next meal was just a few feet away. In the silence that followed she thought she must have imagined the noise, and gathered her breath to blast out another chorus. Before she could let it out, however, she heard the noise again. Closer this time.
Excitement gripped her as she strained her ears. She was either suffering from delusion, or that was a human voice she’d heard. Tears welled up and ran unchecked down her cheeks when she heard the shout again. It was a human voice. And he wasn’t too far away.
Terrified that he’d pass right by her, she dragged in her breath and let it out in a furious bellow of desperation. “Help! Please help me!”
“Hang on, I’m coming. Just keep yelling.”
“I’m down here, in a ravine. Please, be careful.” The last thing she needed was a man’s heavy body tumbling down on top of her. More than likely he’d send them both hurtling to their deaths.
She refused to think about that, but waited in an agony of suspense until she heard another shout. It was much closer this time.
“Where are you?”
“Wait! Don’t move. You’re close to the edge of the ravine. Wait a minute and I’ll send up a snowball.” She quickly gathered up some snow and formed it into a ball. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, throw away!”
His voice sounded muffled, and vaguely familiar. Excited now, she braced herself against the wall. She would have to throw underarm…she had no room to bring her elbow back for an overarm throw. Praying she had the strength to lob the snowball high enough for her rescuer to see it, she leaned forward and flung her hand skyward.
The snowball shot out of her hand and she saw it silhouetted against the gray patch of sky, then it fell like a stone. She never heard it land. She tried not to think how far down it had fallen.
She peered up at the gray patch and yelled, “Did you see it?”
“I saw it.” Seconds later a beam of light flashed downward, blinding her. “I have to tell you, Annie Parker, that was the worst rendition of “God Bless America” I’ve ever heard.”
She blinked, her mind refusing to accept what her ears had heard. It couldn’t be. She was imagining things again.
Then he spoke again, chasing away any doubt in her mind. “I know how you big city dwellers crave excitement, but isn’t this going a little too far?”
She groaned aloud. Unbelievable. A whole damn mountain out there and Brad Irving had to be the one to stumble across her. In the next instant she was ashamed of her uncharitable thought. She could have died in that ravine if he hadn’t found her.
Concern crept into his voice as he peered down at her. “Are you hurt?”
His face looked ghostly in the reflection from his headlamp, but there was no mistaking those chiseled features. She roused herself to answer. “My ankle hurts, but otherwise I’m okay.”
“Is it broken?”
She wiggled it and winced. “I don’t think so. But my foot is jammed behind this broken tree and I can’t get my ski off.”
The light moved off her face and probed around her. For the first time she could see the edge of the ledge and the blackness beyond. Her stomach heaved. She had less room than she thought. She watched the headlamp’s beam move over the broken tree and her shattered ski.
“Looks like we’ll have to shift that tree before we can get you up,” Brad said, with a lot more confidence than the situation warranted, in Anne’s opinion.
“I might go down with it,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Suit yourself, but I don’t recommend it.”
His cheerful tone irritated her. The last thing she needed right now was his warped sense of humor. “So what do you suggest? That’s if you’re capable of coming up with a practical solution.”
“If I don’t, then I guess you’re stuck down there. If I were you I’d think about that, Annie, and try to be civil to me.”
Deciding to play it safe, she said dryly, “I’ll do my best, but my temperament is not at its greatest right now. For reasons you should be able to understand. And by the way, since you seem to keep forgetting, the name’s Anne.”
“Right.”
The light disappeared, leaving her in the cold darkness once more. She looked up, but all she could see was the patch of gray above her. For a terrifying moment of disbelief she thought he’d left her, but then the beam slashed across her face again, temporarily blinding her.
She could hear Brad grunting and cursing, and a shower of snow descended on her, then she saw his face suspended above her again.
“Can’t shift the tree from up here,” he said, sounding breathless. “You’ll have to try and shove it away from you at your end.”
“I don’t think I can,” she said miserably.
“You can if I’m