A Matter of Trust(74)
She set up the tent and unzipped the door. Then she pulled out her sleeping bag and Gage’s and unrolled them.
Despite her fear of breaking something else in his body, she took Ollie by the collar and tugged him toward the tent. Night was falling fast, the shadows thick. She would need her Maglite to start the fire. “C’mon, Ollie, work with me.”
He woke up to her exertions and groaned. “What’s going on?”
She hit her knees beside him. “Ollie, it’s me, Ella.”
His eyes focused on her. “Are you kidding me? What are you doing here?” He ended his question on a wince. “My stomach hurts. And I fell and hit my head. I have a raging headache.”
She wanted to get his helmet off, take a look at his head wound, but she was suddenly more concerned with the way he held his side.
“Let me get you into the tent,” she said. “Gage is getting help.”
“Gage Watson? Whoa—seriously?” He was inching his way backward toward the tent, helping her as she eased him inside. He settled onto Gage’s bag, moaning.
“Yeah, seriously,” she said as she took off his helmet.
She found a matting of blood, a little softness on the side of his head, but nothing that seemed devastating. She wanted to weep with relief.
“What’s the face for?”
“I saw your helmet earlier.”
“You found Bradley!” He leaned back. “How did you even know we were up here?”
“I’m your sister, you idiot.” She pulled up his shirt then, searching for bruising. Sure enough, a purpling along his lower right side. She pressed it gently, but he grabbed her hand.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing if you have a broken rib.”
“I probably do, but that’s not why I’m sick. I caught something—maybe food poisoning. I’ve been feeling sick for the last day. I was fine when we started down the mountain—it just caught up with me.”
She sat back. Stared at him. “Food poisoning? I saw blood in the snow after Angel’s Wings.”
“You did Angel’s Wings? Whoa.”
“The blood, Ollie. What’s with the blood?”
“Yeah, I sort of, well, that was pretty freakin’ scary and . . . I sort of lost it. And, like I said, I wasn’t feeling well, so I was drinking cherry Powerade—”
“Oh, I think I hate you right now.” She had a terrible urge to get up, strap on her board, go after Gage.
Because right now, he was risking his life for her not-so-injured brother. She sat back. Stared at him. Shook her head.
“I can’t believe you did Angel’s Wings.”
She got up and pulled the other pack into the tent. Sat on the sleeping bag, unzipped her coat, and hoped with everything inside her that Gage wasn’t impaled on a tree.
Outside, with the night falling, the wind picked up, shuddering the tent. And in its wake, she heard the faintest howl.
It lifted the tiny hairs on her neck.
Ollie pushed up on his elbows, then winced and fell back to the bag. “Is that a wolf?”
She looked at him. “Probably an entire pack. I hope they eat you.”
Then she pulled out the stove, set it on the ground. “All we have is chili mac. So I hope that’s okay.”
“That sounds delicious. I’m totally starved. I could eat a moose.”
She lit the stove and stared out into the darkness, listening again to the wolves howl.
Oh God, please keep Gage safe.
How Ty hated hospitals. The hurry up and wait of the emergency room. The expression of desperation and worry of family and friends in the surgical waiting area. And the helplessness of waiting for Brette to wake up from her emergency appendectomy.
Ty stood at the window, staring at his reflection against the black night. He needed a shave, a change of clothes, and a decent night’s sleep.
From behind him, Brette stirred and he turned, caught her moaning. She lifted her hand to the oxygen mask.
“Hey there—ease up,” he said as he moved to her bedside and caught her hand. “You had emergency surgery.”
She seemed to be trying to grasp her surroundings. A furrow crested her brow.
“Shh,” he said and slipped his hand into hers, smoothing back her hair with his other hand. “Your appendix burst in the emergency room—they had to put you out.”
She nodded, as if the memory was coming back to her. Frankly, he’d like to forget the entire episode, her howl of pain, the sudden frenzy of the ER doc, the way a nurse barred him from following their dash into surgery.
Not that he could have helped. He just wanted . . . maybe to tell her everything would be okay.
Again. “I don’t want to be a charity case. Please.”