Page 4 of Willow Embers
I swallow down the bitterness that rises in my throat. No matter how many times I’ve told myself that lie, I still can’t stomach it. Because it was real, and losing her the way I did was entirely my own fault.
I tip my bottle his direction. “Don’t start with me, rookie.”
His grin is filled with mischief, but he must see the warning in my eyes, because he turns his attention to the guys and starts talking about our last deployment on the mountain. It was a blaze for the history books, and we spent two solid weeks in the trenches with hundreds of firefighters battling it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I check the screen, I don’t recognize the number. I almost send the call to voicemail, but a tingle at the base of my skull has me picking up. “Yeah?”
“Um, hi. This is Nixie Wells.” Even this many years later, I would recognize her voice anywhere. “My friend Breigh gave me your number.”
I sit up a little straighter and swallow hard, trying to find my voice. All I manage is a grunt.
“She said you’re with volunteer search and rescue. Or maybe you know someone who is. Honestly, she wasn’t really that clear about it. But I’m up at the Cedar Edge trailhead, and I lost my dog. He took off while we were hiking.” The more she talks, the faster her words come. “I’ve been searching for him for hours, and I can’t find him anywhere. And I’m getting a little desperate here. I know search and rescue usually doesn’t do dogs, and I know you don’t know me, but can you help? Please? Or… or maybe you know someone who can?”
It's not until she says ‘I know you don’t know me’ that it finally registers that she has no idea who’s on the other end of the line. Then my brain processes the rest of her rapid ramble.
I glance up at the sky. It won’t be long before the sun dips below the horizon, and her odds of finding her dog —alive— after dark will drop dramatically.
“What trailhead again?” I ask, but the voice that comes out doesn’t sound like mine. It’s rough. Tight. And the guys sitting around the table fall silent and stare at me.
Nixie repeats the name of the trail.
“His name is Tiberius. He’s a golden retriever, fluffy, about sixty pounds, super friendly. And pretty much my best friend,” she adds shakily. She takes a deep breath, and when she speaks again, her voice has a tactical edge to it. “He took off about two miles in, where the trail takes this big, sweeping curve.”
I can almost hear her pacing, and I know the trails around these parts well enough that I can picture the bend in the trail she’s talking about.
“Got it,” I say gruffly. “Stay there. Be there in thirty.”
“Oh my god, thank you. Thank you so much.” The raw emotion in her voice guts me, and all I can manage is another grunt before I hang up the phone and shove to my feet.
Jace stands too, but I put up a hand. “I’ve gotta go.”
“You need help?” he asks, his gaze assessing.
I shake my head. “Nope, just a missing dog.”
His brow creases.
“For a friend.” I wave him off when he starts to follow me around the house. “I’ve got it. Really. Have fun fighting over my steak,” I add, trying like hell to sound normal and not like someone just wrapped my guts in a fist and twisted.
The drive up to the old trailhead is a blur. I’m going too fast, but I’m not out of control. At least, not until I pull up and see a car with out of state plates parked at the entrance. There’s a part of me that desperately wants to look in the windows. To get a glimpse of the woman my Nixie has become before we’re face-to-face.
But I lost the right to see inside her life, didn’t I?
I don’t really know Nixie now. Hell, I’ve made it a pointnotto know. That girl back then tore me to shreds, but not with hate or anger.
She gave up on me.
She had every reason to, but somehow, it still did more damage than anything else life had thrown at me.
The sleeves of my T-shirt stretch a little when I pull my warbag from behind the seat and sling it over my shoulders. Then I give her car one last look before I take off down the trail at a jog. While I run, I keep my eyes on my surroundings, looking for any sign of her dog.
Golden retriever. Sixty pounds. Fluffy coat. Friendly. The details cycle through my mind. I note a couple of new game trails veering off the main path and mark them mentally. And before long, the trail opens up into a big, sweeping turn, and she’s there.
Nixie.
She’s got her back to me, with her hands on her full hips, but I know it’s her. Her worn blue jeans hug her body. Sweat darkens the middle of the back of her light blue shirt. And her golden-brown hair is pulled up in a tangled ponytail. She’s scanning the forest out in front of her, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. And just like that, the years drop away.
I slow to a walk and rub the back of my neck. Then I hike my bag higher on my shoulders, hoping the slide of the rough fabric and the jangle of the supplies inside will draw her attention.
