Mountain Refuge. Sarah Varland
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to be thankful for our lives and to hold on to hope.
Along those lines, in this story, I finally came right out and touched on the subject of miscarriage. If, like me, you’re one of the women who has lost a baby and needs someone to talk to, please know that I would be happy to chat by email. Also know that you are not alone. And that God is still love, and still faithful.
Hearing from readers is one of my favorite parts of writing and I’d love to hear from you! You can get in touch through email at [email protected], or find me on Facebook at Facebook.com/sarahvarlandauthor.
Sarah Varland
Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast.
—Hebrews 6:19
To Elizabeth, my editor. I often think that the books should have both of our names on them for how much what you do impacts the story for the better. I love working with you, look forward to your comments and smile when I read an edited section we added to the book and can’t remember if I wrote the addition or if you did. I had no idea when I started writing how much polish an amazing editor like you brings to a manuscript. Thank you for every single book.
Contents
Summer Dawson was alone on a mountain when she heard the first out-of-place sound, felt the first inklings that something might be wrong, that danger might be close.
She’d been running uphill, relishing the burning in her legs and lungs that reminded her that she was alive, when something rustling in the bushes made her pause and listen.
Summer had stilled immediately and stood now, listening to the sounds she’d grown up with. The Alaskan mountain was full of life, even at ten o’clock at night as daylight was starting to fade. She should have started this run hours earlier, and usually did. Her busy schedule working at the lodge didn’t leave a lot of time for training, but mountain running was important to her, her outlet, her dream she didn’t like to talk about.
A dream she’d mostly given up on.
But still, she ran the mountains because it was what she’d always done.
Today’s run, like every Tuesday, was supposed to be up Hope Mountain, across Lupine Pass, then down Cook Mountain, where her sister, Kate, would be waiting for her. From there, they’d drive back to Summer’s car at the Hope Mountain Trailhead. Neither would talk about why Summer trained so hard when she didn’t compete anymore, not even at nearby Mount Marathon, but they did the same routine every week. Like clockwork.
Until now. A shiver ran through her, followed by goose bumps down her bare arms. She untied the jacket she always wore around her waist, put it on and hoped it was just the cold and the later-than-usual night that had her spooked. Much as she tried though, Summer couldn’t deny that something about the rustle in the bushes had her on edge. Her hand went to the bear spray attached to the belt she always wore when she ran. The Kenai Peninsula was known for its large brown bears. Summer had seen more than one in her time in the woods but never too close. So far she’d escaped any encounters like that.
Hesitantly she moved forward again slowly, not wanting to run lest she awaken a bear’s predatory instinct if one did have her in its line of vision.
Then she heard nothing. Just the normal sounds. She exhaled, picked up her pace slightly and removed her hand from the bear spray.
And then something had her, from behind, hands on her arms, rough, pulling, jerking her off the trail. She heard a faint jingle, like car keys on a key chain maybe. That was the sound she’d heard earlier—that’s why she’d been spooked. She opened her mouth and screamed, but the deep humorless laughter behind her reminded her how futile