Washed Away Read online

  “Very last chance,” Cheryl corrected wryly, stepping back down from the Jeep and holding out a cookie, which was fast dissolving in the rain, to the shivering mutt. “Come on, little guy.”

  It wasn’t going to work, and even though Cheryl wasn’t the world’s greatest animal lover, it tore at her heart to turn her back. But a lost black dog must surely be way down on her list of priorities.

  He might not be lost, Cheryl consoled herself as she resumed what was becoming a familiar struggle to close the car door. He was probably hotfooting his way back to his home right now. But suddenly, with an indignant yelp, a wedge of wet fur clambered furiously onto Cheryl’s lap, then whining in protest as she pushed him over to the passenger seat. He agreed to stay put only when Cheryl placed a pile of Beth’s cookies on the seat beside her.

  “Somehow, I don’t think you were heading for home, little guy,” she said sadly, feeling the skinny ribs under the matted black fur. But there was no time for sympathy now. Slipping the emergency brake off, Cheryl glanced over at her companion, who was munching away, looking up every now and then with grateful eyes.

  “What shall we call you, huh? You need a name.” He was chomping away with gusto, somehow whimpering with delight at the same time. “Buster,” Cheryl said out loud. “We’ll call you Buster.” The dog looked up for a second and met her eyes. “Hey, Buster, save a couple of cookies for Hal.” Cheryl grinned as she drove on. “Or Beth will never forgive me.”

  There was the barn, just as Beth had said.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Cheryl peered over the flat landscape at the massive, deserted barn Beth had assured her she couldn’t miss.

  “Where to now, huh?” Despite the demister, the windows were steaming up at an alarming rate. She wiped the windshield with the back of her hand and drove slowly, visibility decreasing with every slow lurch forward.

  She’d have to call Mitch and tell him she was lost. As if that wasn’t just what the guy needed right now! But Mitch must have been thinking along the same lines, because before she’d even pulled out the cell phone he had given her, it rang shrilly in her hand.

  There’s a bridge. Beth’s instructions played over in her mind as Cheryl pressed the answer button. There was a bridge, but not for much longer, Cheryl thought darkly, watching the swollen river rising, torrents of water sweeping along the banks, huge branches circling like tiny twigs as the current swept them along.

  Pressing the phone to her ear, she braced herself for a few sharp words from the fire chief.

  “Where the hell…” He got no further before his voice broke up.

  Cheryl shouted back, not sure whether he could hear. “I’m five minutes away, Mitch. Beth told me that the storm’s heading this way!” She was at the edge of the river now, and pulled open the glove compartment. Finding a rag inside, she took a moment to wipe the windshield clear. “She told me a shortcut. I’m at Hansen’s Barn. I’m just coming over the bridge, so I should be with you soon.” Although she strained to hear, there was only a crackling noise, broken by occasional fragments of Mitch’s words.

  “I won’t be much longer, Mitch!” Cheryl shouted. “I can’t hear you, you’re breaking up. I’ll be back soon.” Putting the phone down, intending to resume the conversation once she was safely across the river, Cheryl edged the vehicle forward, her nose practically against the windshield now as she strained to see. She chewed her lip nervously as she eyed the rickety bridge. From what Cheryl could make out, the wooden structure looked about as stable as old Hansen’s Barn.

  But surely Beth would know, Cheryl reasoned. She was a local, for goodness’ sake, and already her directions had cut Cheryl’s journey in half.

  The windshield wipers might just as well have been off now. The river was rising with each passing moment and Cheryl’s mind flicked back to the triage area she’d set up at the station. Victims of the storm might already be there, injured and needing help.

  Urging the vehicle slowly forward, she glanced over at her little friend. Trusting, wide eyes looked back at her. “Almost there,” she said bravely, more for her own benefit than for Buster’s. “Almost there,” she said again. There was no thought of looking down. She was too damn busy concentrating on keeping the vehicle straight on the narrow bumpy bridge. As the Jeep lurched violently sideways, her first thought was a blown tire.

  Terrified, she forced herself to look out the window and actually witnessed the side rails of the bridge snapping like taut string. Buster started barking in frenzied terror, and only then did the inevitability of what was about to happen finally register. Cheryl heard herself scream as the vehicle took a nosedive toward the water.

  She’d expected to witness drama and excitement here in Turning Point, and inevitable casualties, but not for a second had it entered her head that today she might die.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HE’D LEAVE THE RADIO ON.

  Loud.

  It was the only thing Noah could come up with, the only thing he could think of that might offer some comfort to the animals while he went back into town to help Mitch.

  It was almost beyond his comprehension that he would be leaving them. These animals were so much more than his livelihood, so very much more than a job to him. But people came first, he knew that deep down. And today he had no choice.

  But, Noah thought now as he drove toward the clinic, the radio announcer might start getting anxious, and any urgency in his voice would only worry the animals. Perhaps CDs instead?

  Wiping the foggy windows with the back of his hand, he thought about all the jobs he had to get through when he finally made it home—locking up the animals, giving out some drugs, filling their water bottles and bowls, leaving out food. Yes, he’d stack some CDs on the portable player for them, a mixture of rock and dance, a couple of classical golden oldies for Georgina the miniature horse. He’d switch the CD player to batteries and leave it on low for them.

  “Mabel!” He shouted the name out loud as it sprang into his head, sending the animals in the rear into a frenzy. But Madge didn’t even turn a hair, more than used to her master’s occasional eccentricity.

  “She’ll freak,” Noah exclaimed, thinking of the massive pig in his shed due to farrow her first litter at any moment. “She’s going to freak, Madge.”

  Madge raised one tired eye and Noah swore the old girl shook her head, reassuring him just as she always did.

  They’d be fine.

  “No!” This time his shout was instinctive, guttural, his body rigid with disbelief. Madge was immediately standing on the passenger seat and barking, her ears pricking up.

  “No.” The word strangled in his throat and his van skidded to an untidy halt as he slammed his foot down hard on the brake. His eyes widened in horror as the reality of what he was witnessing sank in.

  Someone was on Hansen’s Bridge.

  On Hansen’s Bridge, for God’s sake!

  No one went on Hansen’s Bridge. It was derelict and had been closed off for as long as Noah could remember. There were Closed signs everywhere, a barrier even….

  But in this weather, who could see them?

  His eyes scanned the pounding water. The flimsy barrier wouldn’t have stood a chance against its force, but the locals knew it was a death trap.

  Only a fool or a stranger in town would be nudging his vehicle along the bridge and hoping to make it over to the other side, but someone was doing just that! Inching his Jeep along the rickety bridge before Noah’s disbelieving eyes.

  His hands raked through his hair, gripping it for a moment as he shook his head in horror. His breathing was so rapid he had to tell himself forcibly to slow it down, but he never even finished the thought. Instead he jumped out of the van, roaring at the driver on the bridge to get back. Although as he gestured furiously, Noah knew it was useless. There was no way the Jeep was going to make it. Already he could see the wood buckling. Any minute now, the whole bridge would collapse like a pack of cards.

  Think, Noah
!

  He raced around to the back of the van and wrenched the door open, shouting at the animals to stay back. Rummaging through the rope used to secure animals, he pulled out the longest before discarding the rest on the muddy ground beneath him. Slamming the door closed, he realized with a shock that he was already too late. A terrified female scream resonated in his skull as the bridge buckled farther and the vehicle lurched dangerously closer to the swirling water. He held his own scream in. He would need every last breath.

  Pulling off his boots and heavy jacket, he slung the rope around his waist, tying a knot, then securing the other end to a tree, praying, just praying there would be enough length. And if there wasn’t?

  The rope would come off.

  A tiny voice of reason was attempting to make itself heard, a tiny nagging voice that told him not to take stupid risks, that it was pointless losing two lives instead of one. But instinct was taking over now, and he felt no fear, only a sense of urgency as the bridge finally snapped, the Jeep lurching sideways, tossing in the foam like a child’s toy. Noah dove after it.

  There could be a family in there, a mom and dad, kids….

  Please, God, no.

  He forced himself to ignore the sting of water in his nostrils, choking him as he attempted to breathe, struggling to stay above the churning black water. His legs felt like lead. Every breath hurt now, and his pulse pounded in his ears as he fought his way to the vehicle. Relief clutched him when he saw the Jeep bobbing on the surface of the roiling river, but the back of the vehicle was dipping dangerously. Water gushing in through a broken rear window would soon drag the Jeep and its passengers under.

  The rope tightened around Noah’s waist as he drew close, pulling him back as he inched forward. The voice of reason could go talk to someone who was listening. Noah yanked at the knot, discarding his lifeline with barely a thought. He swam the last couple of yards with renewed energy. Feeling the solid metal of the hood on his cold fingers, Noah took a moment to regroup. He squinted his eyes against the rain and the waves to see who was in the car. Noah almost released his grip as the shock of recognition hit.

  Chocolate Girl.

  She was unconscious, those delicious velvet eyes closed now, blissfully oblivious to the danger that surrounded her. The water gushing in at an alarming rate was already up to her waist. He had to get her out, and fast! He pounded on the windshield with his shoulders until it finally gave way. His hands cleared away the splintered glass until he could reach in. A furious bundle of black fur bit through his sleeve as he grappled with the seat belt and somehow managed to drag the limp, rag-doll body up onto the hood. He held her tight as he rolled them both sideways, knowing they had to get away from the vehicle before it sank beneath the surface, taking them both down with it.

  Keeping her head above the water wasn’t an option when seconds mattered. Taking a huge gulp of rain-lashed air, Noah wrapped an arm around her and lunged into the water in a less-than-graceful dive, propelling them forward with his strong legs, calling on energy reserves that long ago should have been depleted. Only when they were marginally safer, away from the vacuum that had tugged possessively at them as the Jeep sank to the murky depths, did he rise to the surface. Pulling her up beside him, he gulped at the delicious air and snagged a piece of driftwood, blessedly allowing it to take some of their weight so he could assess how she was doing.

  Fear churned in him as he eyed her darkening lips and blank eyes. His legs furiously cycled below the water’s surface just to keep them afloat, even with the driftwood. Placing his mouth over her slack blue lips, he pinched her nostrils shut and exhaled his own life force into her, once, twice, three times. Kicking free of the driftwood, he cupped her chin in his hand and propelled them both toward the riverbank.

  The sweet feel of the muddied riverbank beneath his feet went unacknowledged. Instead, he rolled her onto her back, ripping at the navy jacket with numb fingers, watching for the rise and fall of her chest as his fingers deftly palpated her neck. The flickering pulse was still there, and arching her head backward, he pinched her nostrils and breathed into her again. When a violent coughing spasm engulfed her body, he rolled her onto her side and watched as her darkening lips turned pale. The cough turned to gulping breaths until finally she was breathing on her own.

  Only then did Noah collapse beside her. He closed his eyes for a moment, coughing the filthy water out of his bursting lungs. But they weren’t out of danger yet. The river was dangerously high now, and at any moment would overflow its banks, trapping them.

  “Hey!” If he’d had the energy, he would have reached a hand out to pat the black sodden bundle that hauled its way out of the murky waters and up the riverbank, stopping only for one quick shake before running over and nudging a black nose at its precious mistress, willing her to wake up. “She’ll be okay.” Dragging himself up to his knees, Noah went to comfort the animal, but it was a wasted gesture. The dog snarled at him, its dark eyes blazing and top lip curling. But Noah was way too used to angry, frightened animals to be intimidated.

  “Is that all the thanks I get?”

  He looked at the woman himself. The nasty laceration on her left cheek was void of blood, a telling sign that her body was in shock. She needed warmth and medical help. This nightmare wasn’t over. In just the short time they had been here, the river had risen dramatically, and it was already lapping at his boots. If they didn’t move now, they’d be stuck in a tree for the duration.

  Get her to Mitch, get her back into town. Over and over the words resounded in his head as he dragged his fatigued body to a standing position. But one look at the river and Noah knew that option was now closed to him. And unless he got the hell out of here now, they wouldn’t even make it back to the clinic.

  It was all the motivation he needed. Noah scooped her up into his arms and carried her along the muddy riverbank toward his van. After sliding her limp body into the passenger seat, he flew around the other side as her faithful dog jumped in beside her. Once in the driver’s seat, Noah rested her head in his lap and started the engine, ignoring the snarls of the dog. Driving at break-neck speed was too dangerous in these treacherous conditions, but hell, Noah would give it a try.

  There was now no chance of getting back to town.

  In his rearview mirror he could see the roads disappearing behind him. They looked like treacherous glass as the river engulfed them, but Noah’s only thought was to get her home, to get her to relative safety.

  When they reached their destination, Noah left the doors to the van open and hauled her into his arms. He ran the final steps to his house as the animals rather more gleefully made their own way out. Kicking the front door open with a stockinged foot as her dog nipped at his other ankle, he carried her through to the lounge, then laid her gently on the couch, rolling her onto her side before dashing off to the clinic to gather blankets, portable oxygen…everything he thought he might need.

  Only Georgina refused to cooperate. She curled her lip and whinnied in outrage as Noah tried to force her into a cage she clearly thought was beneath her.

  “I haven’t got time to argue, Georgina,” Noah shouted, but the horse refused to budge, planting her miniature but overweight butt on the tiled floor and showing too many yellow teeth for Noah’s liking. He relented. “You can come to the house, if you behave.” Noah didn’t have time to argue, and a stray horse, even if she was pint-size, could wreak havoc if left unattended in the clinic.

  But even though she was stubborn, Georgina, along with Madge and the little black dog, seemed to sense the seriousness of the situation. Standing at a respectable distance in the lounge doorway, they watched with worried expressions as Noah quickly made his way back to his human patient.

  She was seriously cold, Noah realized, his fingers brushing her icy flesh as he placed the temperature probe in her ear. Its reading confirming his diagnosis. She needed to get out of those wet clothes and beneath a space blanket to conserve her body heat. He pulled off he
r heavy boots and wrestled with the sodden woolen socks, which were obviously designed for a man. Noah blinked in confusion at the delicate feet that peeped out, the coral-tinted toenails, the soft underside of her soles. They didn’t quite fit the regulation work boots.

  “I’m helping her,” Noah shouted as the woman’s dog started to growl. “I’m not attacking her, I’m helping her.”

  Yanking at her pants, he tugged them off, rummaging through the pockets for ID, a MedicAlert card. Perhaps she was epileptic or diabetic…. He pulled a glucose monitor from his medical bag, and pricked her finger, willing the sixty seconds it took to get a reading to pass. He should have thought of this before. She could have been driving around dazed and confused if her blood glucose levels were low. That would explain the chocolate….

  The “normal” reading that flashed on the screen blew that theory. Still, Noah consoled himself as he drew her limp body forward, resting her head against his chest and pulling at the sodden T-shirt that clung to her like a second skin, he was a veterinarian, not some MD in a city hospital.

  It wasn’t his fault he didn’t have all the answers.

  After she was safely wrapped in a space blanket to raise her body temperature and he had checked her vital signs, Noah finally sat back on his heels and caught his breath.

  Unconscious but stable, he thought with quiet satisfaction.

  Now it was just a waiting game. Waiting for her to come around. Waiting for help to arrive. Other than keeping her warm, what else could he do?

  The gash that had been so pale was filling with blood now, reassuring Noah that her body was warming and her circulation was slowly returning to normal. He pulled out a wad of gauze and taped it to her cheek, then reached into his jeans for his cell phone. After pushing numbers for a moment or two, it occurred to him that his phone was as waterlogged as he was.

  Maybe he was in shock, too. For the first time since he had witnessed the Jeep on the bridge, Noah’s own condition registered with him: the chattering lips, the cough that had racked his body since he had hauled her into the truck, the cut on his arm where her dog had bitten him. And he could sit here and wait as patiently as you please, but unless he let Mitch know where he was and what had happened, the help Noah had stupidly assumed would descend at any moment simply wasn’t going to appear.