“Emma, will you be okay while I go find our pack?”
“It’s probably all the way to Medicine Lake by now. Climb down and get me.”
She still refused to open her eyes, so she couldn’t see that it was a ten-foot drop to the shelf she was on. It was probably just as well. She also couldn’t see it was another thirty feet to the bottom.
Two quick gunshots cracked just below them, and Ben saw Atwood, Skyler, and Mike making their way to the foot of the pool where Poulin was floating.
“What was that?” Emma called up to him.
“Mike’s here with reinforcements. I bet the boy’s got some rope.”
He heard her sigh.
“Nem!” Mike called from below. “Are you okay?”
“Get me down, Mikey!” she hollered, her eyes still closed and her head still leaning against the cliff.
Mike looked up at his father and waved. Ben gave a sigh of relief, sat down on the bridge above Emma, and put his arm around the softly whining Beaker. The dog didn’t like seeing her distress any more than Ben did.
“Just a few more minutes,” he assured the dog. “We’ll get her up here safe and sound.” He petted him. “You did good, fella. I think there are a lot of cookies in your future.”
Still shaken from her ascent from the granite shelf, Emma found herself arguing with four determined males. The fifth, four-legged male hadn’t stopped licking her since she’d made it to the top.
“I am not flying out of here in a helicopter,” she told the men again.
“It’s already on its way,” Atwood said with a frustrated sigh.
Mikey should have been on her side, but the boy just kept shaking his head as he looked at her, the worry evident in his expression. “It’s the quickest way out, Nem. You can’t walk, and there’s no place for a plane to land.”
Emma grabbed Beaker’s nose in an attempt to get him to stop licking her. “I’m not getting in a helicopter, and that’s that.”
“Why the hell not?” Ben asked.
“Because helicopters are unnatural machines.”
Skyler snorted. “They’re remarkably nimble,” he said, apparently taking offense. “And perfect for situations like this one.”
“How are they unnatural?” Ben asked, looking genuinely interested.
“They don’t have wings. And all their spinning parts are trying to get away from each other. Do you see anything in nature that flies without wings?”
Her answer seemed to shock them. Except Mikey. He was well aware of her feelings toward helicopters. And although he might agree with her in theory, he obviously wanted her out of these woods badly enough to put her in a helicopter.
She wanted out, too. But in one piece.
She looked at Mikey. “I can make it to where the white water flattens out. There’s enough room there for a floatplane to land.”
“But there’s not a pilot in Greenville who’d be willing to try it,” he answered, shaking his head. “You’re the only one who would dare.”
Emma looked toward the sound of a helicopter approaching from the south. “That thing is older than I am,” she said as the aging Huey beat the air in heavy, pulsating thumps.
Ben got within an inch of her nose. “You’re getting in that helicopter and going to the hospital,” he said with the determination of a man who had been pushed past his limit.
“Someone’s got to lead Pitiful home,” she said. “He’s panicked from the earthquakes.”
“I will, Nem,” Mikey offered.
“That chopper can’t hover forever, Emma,” Ben interjected. “So what’ll it be? Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey or sitting in the basket like a dignified woodswoman?”
“You’re riding with me,” she countered, glaring right back at him.
The smile he gave her was purely male. “Oh, you can bet on it. I’m going to see that you’re examined from head to toe.”
Emma closed her eyes. And she didn’t open them for the hair-raising ride up the grappling winch, or the treetop ride over the countryside, or even for the gentle ride in the elevator of the hospital.
Because she fell sound asleep in the warm, safe, capable arms of the man she loved.
Chapter Twenty-three
I t took the authoritiesnearly a week to find, identify, and finally release Kelly’s remains to Emma and Mikey. Her nephew had come to her two nights ago and asked if he could bring his mother home to Medicine Creek Camps for the wake, to let the townspeople pay their respects.
Emma had thought to have a quiet affair with only Ben and Greta present. But she soon realized how badly Mikey needed to perform this act for the woman for whom he’d had so many conflicting feelings for most of his life. So she had agreed, and they’d made a place for Kelly’s closed coffin in the living room.
And the townspeople, themselves likely sorry for having judged her, had come.
On the day of the funeral, the procession to the graveyard where Charles and Miriam Sands were buried was a long one. Cars and pickups and even logging trucks lined the road beside the small cemetery. The ceremony was brief, the faces of Medicine Gore contrite. They were all guilty of condemning a woman who had tried her best to keep her son safe from the evil that had been living with them for sixteen years.
Flowers overflowed the gravesite, spilling onto Emma’s mother and father’s graves. The weather was glorious, warm and embracing.
Emma didn’t cry. She had purged herself that afternoon on the mountain, high up in the land her family had called home. She had made her peace with her sister, silently thanking Kelly for Mikey, and laid her quietly to rest, knowing the boy was finally safe.
As for Mikey, it was as if he’d suddenly had a weight lifted off his shoulders. The burden of being abandoned by someone who was supposed to love him was gone. Though sad and remorseful, he walked taller and seemed more peaceful.
So Emma didn’t cry for her sister as the minister finished his eulogy and the townspeople gave her their sympathy on their way out of the cemetery. Nor did she cry when Ben led her away.
She didn’t shed a tear until she turned back looking for Mikey, and saw him all alone, his jacket on the ground and his sleeves rolled up, slowly shoveling the earth over his mother.
Then she doubled over in pain.
Ben turned her into him, burying her face in his chest. “Sshhh, Emma. It’s okay.”
“I can’t stand for him to do that, Ben. He shouldn’t be alone. He shouldn’t be doing that!”
“He has to, Em,” he told her, hugging her close. “It’s the last act a son can do for a mother he loves.”
“Help him.”
“No, honey. He doesn’t need me. He needs to be alone with Kelly. Come on,” he said, turning them toward his truck. “Everyone is waiting at Greta’s house.”
The entire town was gathered on the lawn, the porch, and inside the huge kitchen and parlor, as they had been when Sable died.
Emma had her emotions under control by the time they arrived, and felt she held up well, even when the condolences turned to questions. She actually smiled when the questions turned to apologies to Ben.
John LeBlanc led the crusade. “Well, Sinclair. We’re sorry for thinking you had anything to do with the dam being blown up sixteen years ago. It came as quite a shock to learn that it was Poulin.”
“It was Poulin who first cried that Sinclair was responsible,” Durham added, coming up and handing Emma a glass of punch. He looked at Ben. “I’m, ah, sorry for the little misunderstanding that day, Sinclair. No hard feelings?”
Ben didn’t answer immediately. “I’ll get back to you on that,” he said, his arm around Emma’s waist.
“Rumor has it you’re planning on marrying our Emma Jean.” John looked at Ben with assessing eyes. “That right?”
“Next week,” Ben confirmed. “The day after Thanksgiving.”