Hannah fastened her collar around her neck. “Let’s get her back to the house.”
Luckily, the dog had been nearly home when she’d been quilled. They tracked mud and water through the back door into the laundry room. In the bright light of the kitchen, Brody and Hannah examined the dog’s face.
“That’s a lot of quills, and some are in her mouth.” Hannah stroked the dog’s head. “She needs a vet.”
Brody whipped his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “I’ll call mine.”
“I doubt they’ll be open.” Hannah glanced at the clock. “It’s two in the morning. Is there a twenty-four-hour veterinary clinic nearby?”
“Dr. Albert will pick up,” Brody said. The vet’s groggy voice answered the call on the third ring. Brody explained the situation and disconnected in less than a minute. “He’ll open his office for us. Let’s get her in the car.”
They wrapped the dog in a beach towel and put her in the backseat of Brody’s vehicle. Hannah sat with the dog to keep her from pawing at the quills. “I know it hurts. It’ll be OK.”
Brody drove into town. Rain glittered on the blacktop. He kept one eye on the rearview mirror and listened to Hannah croon to the dog. The tough hotshot lawyer turned into a marshmallow when kids and animals were in need.
Ten minutes later, Brody turned into the parking area. The vet’s office was in a small building next to his house. Light glowed in the clinic windows.
Dr. Albert opened the door. He’d pulled his lab coat on over flannel pajamas and boots. His white hair tufted out from the sides of his head. “Bring her in here.” He gestured toward a lighted exam room. A tray of instruments, including a set of pliers, was laid out on the counter.
Brody introduced Hannah to the old vet as he picked up the big dog and hefted her onto the stainless steel table.
The vet set a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his nose and frowned. “I’m going to give her some anesthesia.” He patted the dog on the side, shaved a patch of fur on one foreleg, and set up a butterfly catheter. With a syringe, he pushed some medication into the line. The dog’s breathing eased, and her body went quiet on the table. For the next thirty minutes, the vet pulled quills out of the dog’s muzzle with pliers.
“Does anyone see any more?” He moved the overhead light and lifted AnnaBelle’s lips to inspect her mouth.
“I don’t,” Brody said.
Hannah shook her head.
“Then I’m going to give her a shot of antibiotics.” He filled a syringe and injected the retriever’s flank.
The dog stirred. Minutes later, her eyes opened, and she gave them a feeble wag.
“You can take her home. She’ll probably be tired tomorrow, and you might need to give her soft food for a day or two, but she should be fine. Don’t worry. She’s not my first patient who thought chasing a porcupine looked like fun.”
“Thank you.” Hannah reached into the slim purse that hung from her shoulder.
The vet waved her off. “I’ll send you a bill.”
Brody carried the dog back outside. The rain had picked up, falling from the sky in a curtain.
“Good night.” With a wave, the vet jogged across the gravel parking area and disappeared into his one-story house.
Rain hit Brody’s head, and the cold was a slap to his still-damp body. He shuddered hard, a wave of exhaustion sliding over him. Hannah opened the SUV door so he could put the dog inside. Rubbing her biceps, she huddled on the leather seat.
“You know your vet well enough to call him in the middle of the night?” Her voice quivered. A shiver shook her body.
Brody cranked up the heat in the car and directed the vents at Hannah. “My cat is a hundred years old.”
She raised a brow and tilted her head. “You’re a cat person? I thought men preferred dogs.”
“The cat came with the house. I’m not home enough to have a dog, but I like them both.” Brody turned the car toward Grant’s house. “You’re pretty good in the woods at night for a lawyer.”
“I told you. My childhood wasn’t typical.”
“Because your father was disabled?”
“That was part of it.” Hannah glanced in the back. Seemingly satisfied that the dog was fine, she settled down and raised her hands to the heat vents. “Even after he became a colonel, my father was an army ranger in his heart. After the explosion, he decided that if he couldn’t be a ranger anymore, it was his job to pass along all his skills to his sons.”
“Just his sons?”
“I had to beg to go along on all the survival training weekends.” Her face turned toward the passenger window.
“Survival training?” Brody prodded. “That sounds serious.”
“The Colonel didn’t do anything halfway. I remember one particularly bad trip when we lost Lee.”
Chapter Sixteen
Hannah dropped her backpack in the foyer. “I’m ready.”
The Colonel gave her a quizzical look. “Are you sure you want to come?”
“Yes.” Hannah dropped to one knee to lace her hiking boot.
Her father spun his wheelchair to face her. “This is not going to be a leisurely camping trip.”
She wasn’t slouching, but the Colonel’s scrutiny made her feel as if she were.
“I know.” She stretched her head toward the ceiling. In school, she didn’t advertise her height. At twelve, being taller than most of the boys in your class wasn’t an asset, but the Colonel valued size, strength, and intelligence.
“Wouldn’t you rather stay home and bake with your mother?” the Colonel asked. “She really enjoys doing that with you.”
Hannah flinched. “No.”
The Colonel didn’t understand why his daughter would want to traipse around the woods with the boys. The Colonel didn’t understand her.
“The boys aren’t going to slow down for you,” he said, maneuvering to inspect her pack. “And the weather isn’t on your side. It’s going to be cold and rainy.”
“Yes, sir.” Hannah lifted her chin.
“Women don’t belong in the field.” The Colonel had never been shy about voicing his opinion on women in combat. “You know I don’t believe in all that politically correct bullshit.”
“I do,” Hannah said. And so did everyone else. She had to fight for inclusion. Every. Single. Time.
He sighed and shook his head. “You can go.”
Why did he not see that she consistently kept pace with his sons, and in some areas, outperformed them? Because he didn’t want to admit his beliefs were outdated and maybe even wrong. The Colonel was old-school military.
Even though Grant was physically superior in every way, Hannah was the marksman. Mac never got lost. He had a wolf’s sense of direction. Sometimes she swore he smelled his way through the forest. Lee was the one the other three would have to carry for the next forty-eight hours, and they all knew it. They didn’t mind, though. It wasn’t his fault.
“Hannah won’t hold us up.” The oldest of the Barrett siblings, Grant, stepped up next to her. Six-three, well-muscled, and still growing, he shifted until he was shoulder to shoulder with Hannah. His sheer bulk filled her with confidence and simultaneously intimidated her. On one hand, she knew Grant would see them safely through the weekend. He always did. On the other, how could she ever compete with the likes of him? He was perfect in the Colonel’s eyes. Top of his class at the military academy and athletic, he was the boy his classmates turned to for leadership. Even at the age of seventeen, Grant was clearly senior officer material. But then, he’d been raised to continue the Colonel’s military tradition.
The Colonel turned away from her. “Grant, I’m counting on you to ensure nothing happens to my girl.”
“Yes, sir,” Grant said. No one argued with the Colonel, but the four Barrett siblings all knew it wouldn’t be Hannah who needed help.
With a shrug, the Colonel addressed his second son. “Lee, are you ready?”
“Yes, sir.” Lee pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. At fifteen, he was still waiting on a growth spurt, but it was already evident he wouldn’t attain Grant’s size or strength. Lee would rather hole up with a book than spend the weekend training in outdoor survival drills.
“Lee, I know you don’t enjoy these weekends, but every man needs to know how to protect himself and his family,” the Colonel said. “Someday you’ll thank me.”
“Yes, sir,” Lee answered automatically, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“Do you mind if your sister goes along?”
“No, sir,” Lee said. “She’s better in the woods than I am.”
The Colonel ignored Lee’s statement, but Hannah’s heart warmed at her brother’s praise. Grant spent most of the year away at boarding school, and Mac favored the forest over human companionship. Lee and Hannah shared a love for learning. Secretly, Hannah preferred books over hiking and camping, too, but she’d never admit that. Not to the Colonel. Today, with light rain beading on the windows, staying home for the weekend sounded tempting. But bowing out might get her labeled a fair-weather soldier. She could be excluded from future weekends. Most of the time the Colonel spent with his children was focused on survival training, shooting, and self-defense, as he sought to pass along all the skills he’d accumulated as an army ranger. It was as if, after that roadside bomb in Operation Desert Storm robbed him of the use of his legs, he was living through his sons, particularly Grant.
“Mac!” The Colonel shouted into the hall.
“Coming.” The youngest of the Barretts, ten-year-old McClellan, skidded into the foyer. His half-empty backpack hit the floor at his feet with the metallic clunk of a loose canteen. Whippet-thin, Mac was wiry, quick, and much stronger than he appeared. The Colonel didn’t bother to inspect his youngest son’s pack. Mac was part wild thing and could likely exist for years in the forest with nothing more than his instincts.
Their father wheeled himself through the front door and into the dawn.
“Ready?” Grant asked her.
“You bet.” Hannah feigned confidence. Honestly, the weekend was going to suck. Two days of trudging through mud and a night of camping on the wet ground didn’t appeal, but this was what it took to be a Barrett, and Hannah wasn’t going to be left out because she hadn’t been born with a penis.
Grant led the way into the light rain. The three younger siblings fell in behind him. Hannah hoisted her pack over one shoulder and headed for the specially adapted SUV their father drove. They piled into the vehicle, and the Colonel headed west into the mountains. Hours later, he stopped the vehicle, and the four children stepped out into a clearing. Hannah zipped her jacket and fished a cap and gloves from her pack. Early autumn had an icy bite. They lined up for last-minute instructions.
The Colonel stayed in the vehicle. Though he was fully capable of getting out of the SUV and into his chair solo, the process wasn’t quick, and the mud would be an issue. Depression dimmed the blue of his eyes. The Colonel did his best to ignore his paralysis, but he would have loved nothing more than spending the next two days playing Rambo.
He issued orders through the open window. “Grant, you’re in charge.” The Colonel held up a walkie-talkie. They all had matching units on their belts. “Stay together. You have the coordinates for the rendezvous?”
“Yes, sir.” Grant answered.
“Be safe. See you tomorrow.” The Colonel’s gesture was more salute than wave. The SUV turned around and drove away, leaving the four children alone in the dripping forest.
Grant unfolded his map. Lee, Mac, and Hannah gathered around. The Colonel was old-school. No fancy GPS equipment was allowed. Grant tapped a forefinger on a red dot drawn on the map. “Here’s where we are, and here’s our extraction point.” He pointed to another location.
Mac took one glance at the two dots and set off down the trail with a long and contented stride. “Water’s not going to be a problem.”
Trusting his internal compass, the rest of them followed in single file.
“Ready?” Grant asked Hannah.
“Always,” she answered his challenge.
Lee hunched his shoulders against the drizzle. “If we keep up a good pace, is there any chance we can finish this today?”
“No.” Grant studied the folded map as he walked. “It’s too far, most of it uphill, and we lost daylight to the drive.”
“Half the distance today and half tomorrow. We can do that by lunch.” As much as he hated these weekends, Lee’s optimism impressed her. “Suck it up” should have been their family motto.
The rain intensified until even Mac’s shoulders started to droop. Water found its way into the neck of Hannah’s jacket. She shivered as a rivulet snaked down her chest. She lowered her chin. Grant picked up the pace, anxious to cover ground. The incline steepened until she strained to keep up. Talking ceased as they saved their breath for the climb. Hannah was grateful the rush of rain on her nylon hood drowned out the sounds of her labored breathing. She stayed tight on her brother’s heels. Visibility worsened as rain became downpour. She slipped in the mud, going down on one knee.
Grant stopped to grab her elbow. He shouted over the rain, “Are you all right? Need to stop for a while?”
She shook her head. There was no way she was going to be the one to suggest they rest. No way. Not even if her feet were numb. She’d walk until her legs dropped off before she’d cry uncle.
“Suit yourself.” He turned and strode off.
Hannah scrambled to catch up. Rain washed into her eyes, and her legs trembled. Her jacket and boots were waterproof, but below the jacket’s hem, rain had soaked the thighs of her pants. The underlying muscles cramped in the cold. She tugged the brim of her hood down lower on her forehead. She could keep up with Grant. Pushing forward, she focused her gaze and her will on the back of his navy-blue jacket. Stopping would be the worst thing. Unless they found shelter and could start a fire, being still would only make her colder.
The rain slowed back to a fine drizzle.
Mac doubled back. Bareheaded, his blond hair was soaked, but he didn’t even look cold. “Hey, where’s Lee?”
“He was behind me.” Shivering harder, Hannah scanned the trail behind them. When had she seen him last?
“Shit.” Grant turned and hurried back down the path, Hannah and Mac close behind. “Where is he?”
The trail was empty.
Fear blasted Hannah with a surge of energy. Jogging next to Grant, she cupped her hands around her mouth and called, “Lee!”
“He was behind you. Didn’t you notice that he disappeared?” Grant asked.
“I couldn’t hear anything over the rain.” But it was her fault. She should have been watching out for him. But she’d been so obsessed with keeping up with Grant, she’d forgotten about Lee. “Damn it.”
Twenty minutes later, Mac came to a sudden stop. He pointed down the trail. “I see him.”
In a shallow trailside ditch, Lee’s bright blue jacket stood out among the brown autumn colors.
The path dropped off sharply for a few feet. Lee sat in a six-inch puddle of muddy runoff. Grant jumped down to land next to his brother with a splash. Hannah and Mac scrambled down the embankment.
“What happened?” Grant squatted next to Lee.
“I slipped. T-twisted my ankle.” Lee’s teeth chattered. His lips were blue. He’d been sitting in a cold puddle of water for at least forty minutes.
“Let’s get you out of the water.” Grant lifted him from the ditch.
Lee groaned, and his face went paper-white.
Grant set him on the ground. “We need a fire.”
“I’ll find some dry wood.” Mac scampered off into the woods.
“I’m going to take off your boot.” Grant loosened the laces. “Ready?”
Lee nodded, his eyes shining with moisture.
“One, two, three.” Grant slid the boot off. A moan escaped from Lee’s lips.
Hannah stared. Lee’s ankle was more than twisted. It was bent at a sharp angle—sideways.
“Shit.” Grant stood and rocked back on his heels.
“I’m sorry,” Lee said.
“Not your fault,” Hannah said. It was hers.
Mac came back with an armload of dry shrubbery. Hannah cleared a place for him to build a fire.
“We’re going to splint your ankle and call Dad.” Grant opened his pack and pulled out his first-aid kit. “Hannah, I need a straight stick about six inches long.”
“On it.” Hannah rooted through Mac’s pile of twigs and found one with the right diameter. She pulled the folded knife from her cargo pocket and sawed the stick to the correct length, then passed it over.
Grant handed Mac the map. “Find the closest possible pickup location.”
Hannah took over fire building, layering the dried brush over the bark scrapings he’d likely taken from the underside of a fallen tree. There was always dry timber somewhere if a body knew where to find it. She dug her waterproof matches out from inside her pack. In a few minutes, she was coaxing a tiny flame to life.
“Thanks.” Lee leaned closer to the small heat source.
“This is going to hurt,” Grant said.
The sky was darkening.
Squatting like a monkey, Mac tapped on the map. “This is the closest logging road. The terrain looks fairly flat. How are we going to get him there?”
“Going to be a hell of a hike, but I can carry him.” Grant glanced at Lee. “Good thing you’re skinny.”
Lee nodded, pain pushing him past where laughter was possible.
Hannah rooted through Lee’s pack for extra layers of clothing. She helped him take off his jacket and tug a fleece crewneck over his head. Then she zipped him back into his waterproof jacket in case the rain started again.
“Can you eat something?” She held a candy bar toward him. “The calories will help with body temperature.”
He shook his head. “I can’t.”
“OK.” She repacked her bag.
“We have a plan.” Grant unhooked the walkie-talkie from the side of his belt. They all stared at it for a solid minute, dread transmitting between them as if on a sibling frequency, before Grant radioed their father and broke the news. Concern—and disappointment—came across loud and clear in his voice as they discussed the pickup point.