Page 4 of Protected By the Lumberjack
Those Liz Taylor eyes cloud over before going back into hiding behind closed lids.
"Look, honey, I'm not trying to pry." I set the empty pouch from the chili and the spoon aside, resting my hand over hers, like I have the right to touch her. "You've obviously been through a lot. We need to get you to medical care. Your people are probably looking for you too-- "
Her closed eyes tighten. A tear leaks from the corner.
A thought strikes me and I'm suddenly bound up in worry and rage.
"Unless that's why you're out here in this state?" I take her hand in mine, doing my best to be comforting, and I like the way she wraps her fingers weakly around my own. "If you don't want to be found, you don't have to be," I assure her. "But you do need a doctor."
"There was an airplane... I don't know why I was on it. I don't know how I survived but... I can't remember anything from before I woke up. I didn't find any ID. I don't know who I am."
The delicate fingers wrapped around mine squeeze, mirroring the despair in her voice. Now the tears stream from her eyes, leaving trails over her pretty face where they wash away the grime.
"Hey now, it'll be all right. We'll work it out."
I sit there beside her, holding her hand like we're lovers, hating myself for wishing we were. This girl's been through hell already and has no idea if the life she can't remember was one she wants to go back to, while I've been staring at her half the night, getting used to the overwhelming need to make her part of mine.
She could have family desperate to find her.
She's young. I'd put her around the thirty mark, not quite half my age.
Does she have children somewhere missing their mother? A husband out of his mind with worry?
If she's talking about that plane that went down up on the Wisemen Outcropping, that was damn near a month ago. They only just found the wreckage last week. The county sheriff's helicopter has been flying overhead for the last the few days, taking officials up there to investigate and recover what can be brought down.
"Get some sleep." I tell my mystery girl. "I won't leave you alone, but we've got a fair hike out ahead of us before we reach anything resembling civilization."
She wipes the tears and I hand her my bandana.
"Thank you, Carver."
I return one last squeeze of those tiny fingers and reluctantly break contact with her.
Returning to my post by the fire, I resume watch while she easily fades back into sleep.
They found the pilot of that plane; still strapped into her seat, her spine broken in several places. They said there were no survivors of the crash.
So who is this woman? And what should I call her?
I stoke the fire and spend my night cycling through the short naps I perfected in the military-- fighting the urge to call hermine.
Chapter Three
Honey
"Private craft like that don't always name passengers. It's not really all that suspicious that there's no record of her on the flight...still..."
Carver stands close by, deep in conversation with the two other men while a nurse fusses over me.
The hike out of the woods yesterday was easier than the days I'd spent pushing my way through forest undergrowth. But then I had Carver by my side the whole way.
Once we arrived in the cute little mountain town called Moonshine Ridge, Carver took me to see two people; a woman doctor named Sage Jones, and the local deputy sheriff.
Justice Hawkins is an imposing man in a well-pressed uniform, a full beard, and a worried frown. But he's got kind eyes that soften every time he speaks to me and I like that he took time to hear Carver and me out before insisting I visit the hospital here in Slow River-- and discuss my situation with the county sheriff.
"I know what protocols are," Hawkins is telling his superior. "I'm pointing out that she may not have been listed as a passenger for a reason. Let's operate on that premise until we know otherwise."
Sheriff Henderson listens intently as both Hawkins and Carver catch him up on my story-- or, at least, what we know or rather, don't know, of it.
