Page 49 of The Inn Dilemma

“Do you have a blanket or something I can tie around myself to pull Titan up with me?” I ask, squinting up as the sun breaks through the clouds and an opening in the trees.

“Oh yeah.” Aunt Birdie disappears for a moment before throwing down what looks to be a baby carrier. “Put that on and Titan will know what to do.”

I strap the contraption on and turn to face Titan. His tail wags wildly as if this is an adventure and not a search-and-rescue mission. I scoop him up, and he practically slides himself into place.

Once I make sure he’s secure, I grab tightly on to the rope and slowly, methodically, pull us up, digging the toes of my shoes into any little crevice I can find as I ascend with Titan. My arms scream and my legs burn as I climb higher and higher until my nostrils are filled with fresh forest pine and not mud and earth.

The moment he can reach me, Holt wraps his hands around my upper arms and carefully pulls me and Titan the rest of the way up while I make sure Titan isn’t smooshed in the process. The cut on my leg scrapes against the edge and I hiss in pain.

“What’s wrong?” Holt asks, taking my shoulders and scanning me from head to toe.

He must find the cut on my leg because his expression turns concerned. “You’re bleeding pretty heavily.”

I wave him off despite the now growing pain. “It’s fine. Probably just looks worse now than it will after being cleaned up. I’d be surprised if I even need stitches.”

Holt grits his jaw as he removes Titan from the carrier and puts him on the ground. The second he stands up straight, he wraps his arms around me. He presses smallkisses against my hair, and I pathetically realize that falling down that ravine feels like it was worth it for this moment.

After Holt realizes I am indeed alive and okay, he scoops me into his arms as if it takes him no effort to carry me. This moment convinces me that Holt Graves is a superhero. Or at least my superhero.

Cradling me against his chest, Holt starts down the trail to the Storybook Inn, muttering “Sorry” all the way. Aunt Birdie trails behind us, muttering to Titan what a bad boy he’s been and how he better give me all the doggy snuggles I want to try and make it up to me. I peek over my shoulder and find Tootsie, oblivious or uncaring of the scolding her counterpart is receiving.

We reach Holt’s truck, and he doesn’t even put me down to open the door.

“What are you doing?” I mutter, trying to distract myself from getting too comfortable in his arms.

“I’m getting you to the hospital. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have taken you out there.”

I glare up at him. “It was my idea to sprint after Titan as if there aren’t obstacles around every tree trunk. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“I should have yelled louder or warned you about the ravine before we left the house,” he says.

Both Holt and Aunt Birdie look completely devastated by this accident.

“I’ll be fine. Just like I was when something similar happened.”

A shadow passes over Holt’s features. “This feels like that trip to the hospital all over again, except this time, it isn’t your fault. It’s mine.” He looks down at Titan, whois sitting and pawing at the air as if to say, “I said I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

“Keep me posted!” Aunt Birdie says before planting a kiss on my forehead.

“I will,” Holt agrees before closing my door.

With Aunt Birdie, Tootsie, and Titan safely on the porch, Holt peels out of the driveway and heads toward the same Denver hospital he took me to when I was ten.

Chapter Seventeen

Nova, Age 10

“I’m fine. Just leave me alone,” I say, pushing Holt away.

“You’re going to need stitches.”

I stare up at Holt defiantly. The dew on the grass seeps into my jeans, but I pretend like it doesn’t bother me. Just like how I’m trying to pretend like the cut on the side of my head doesn’t hurt like crazy. Without warning, Holt scoops his arms under my armpits and pulls me up so I’m standing and glaring up at him. Then he tugs me along until we reach the entrance of the Storybook Inn.

“Sit,” he commands, pointing at one of the rockers on the front porch.

I cross my arms over my chest and pout. “Fine.”

Holt is only gone a minute before he’s back and kneeling in front of me. He opens the first aid kit and pulls out the peroxide and a few cotton balls. He gently presses the peroxide-covered cotton ball against the cut and I grimace.

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