Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Then they all turn away and walk back to the car. I want to run after them. I try but it’s like I’m frozen in place. I can only watch, tears streaming down my face, as they get in the car, my father at the wheel, my mother beside him, and Lainey in the backseat.
They all wave at me, blow me kisses.
“We love you,” Lainey shouts out the rolled-down window. “We’ll see you later, alligator.”
They drive off down the highway, now completely empty, disappearing from view.
And I realize what’s happened.
Where they’re going.
And why I have to stay behind.
I’m dreaming.
There is snow.
Monsters.
Blue eyes.
Lainey.
Blood.
I open my eyes and I see a night sky. Stars and a moon. Tree tops.
“Don’t leave me, don’t leave me,” a voice says.
I smile and stare into the night until all goes black.
“Aubrey,” my sister’s voice sings out. “Aubrey Strawberry,” she says my nickname. “Time for you to wake up now.”
I blink out of the darkness but there’s bright light behind my eyes. I don’t want to open them.
“Lainey,” I whisper.
“Easy now,” a voice says. It’s a woman’s voice but one I don’t recognize. “Wake up slow.”
“Who are you?” I whisper, my head rolling to the side. Then I remember.
I remember the cowboy.
“Where is Jensen?”
“Right here,” I hear his gruff voice, feel the pressure of his hand gentle around mine, and his face comes into view. I have to blink at him a few times because he doesn’t seem real. He’s not wearing his hat, his beard has been trimmed, and despite the scratches and cuts and bruises on his face, he looks as handsome as anything.
“And that’s Margaret,” he says. “You’re in good hands.”
“Where—?” I begin to ask but as I try to sit up, the room starts to spin, my blood thumping in my ears. Jensen’s hands are at my shoulders, pushing me back down.
“Relax,” the woman croons. “No sudden movements. You’re not out of the woods yet, so to speak.”
The woman—Margaret—hovers at the edge of my vision. She’s in her fifties, with silver-streaked dark hair and the no-nonsense demeanor of someone used to dealing with difficult patients.
“You’re at Lost Trail Ranch,” she explains, checking the IV in my arm with practiced efficiency. “Jensen brought you here Four days ago.”
Four days. The words don’t make sense at first. I try to piece together my last clear memories—the burning cabin, Adam’s death, the roar of snow rushing toward us, Jensen screaming my name as darkness closed in.
“What happened?” My voice is hoarse. “After the avalanche…I don’t remember.”
Jensen and Margaret exchange a look.
“You were buried,” Jensen says, his expression carefully neutral. “Head trauma, three broken ribs, broken ankle. You were unconscious when I dug you out.”
I raise my hand to my head, feeling the bandage wrapped around it. That explains the splitting headache and the fuzzy edges to my thoughts. My leg is immobilized beneath the blanket, and each breath sends a sharp pain through my chest.
“How did we get back?” The question feels urgent, though I’m not sure why.
“That’s a story for when you’re stronger,” Margaret says firmly, adjusting something in my IV line. “Rest is what you need now.”
But Jensen reads the fear in my eyes. “We’re safe,” he assures me, thumb stroking gentle circles on the back of my hand. “All of it is over.”
“How did you get us out?” I press, needing to fill the gaps in my memory. “The mountains…”
“Later,” Jensen says, but there’s gentleness in the word. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything. But Margaret’s right. You need rest.”
My eyelids are already growing heavy, whatever medication Margaret added to my IV pulling me under. The last thing I see before darkness claims me is Jensen’s face, lined with exhaustion but watching me with something like tenderness.
The next time I wake, sunlight streams through unfamiliar curtains. For a moment, panic surges—where am I?—before memory reasserts itself.
Lost Trail Ranch.
Jensen’s house.
I’m alone in the room, which must be the main bedroom. Jensen’s space. The realization brings a strange intimacy, lying in his bed, surrounded by his things. Portraits of people, maybe Jake and Eve McGraw, on the wall, family pictures of Jensen with who I assume are his parents, black-and-white photos of the ranch from way back when. A glass of water sits on the nightstand, along with several pill bottles carefully arranged.
Testing my strength, I push myself to sitting position. The room sways slightly but steadies. Progress. The IV is gone, replaced by a neat bandage in the crook of my arm. My ribs protest with sharp, stabbing pain, but it’s muted, manageable.
The door opens quietly, and Margaret appears, carrying a tray.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” she says, setting the tray on the dresser. “How’s the pain, one to ten?”
“Four,” I answer automatically. In truth, it’s closer to seven, but I’ve never been good at admitting weakness.