Page 2 of Willow Embers
He’s already racing down the trail with the black plastic handle dancing along behind him, and for the life of me, I can’t see what he’s chasing.
“Tiberius, stop! Heel! Come!” I yell every command I can think of as I scramble to my feet.
Dread swirls in my stomach.
No. No, no, no.
The contents of my pack are strewn on the ground around me and my bag is cutting into my neck. So, I do the only thing that makes sense in the moment: I rip the pack over my head, throw it down, and take off running after Tiberius.
This is his first time in the woods. We don’t live here. He has no home to return to if he gets lost. And we’re miles from town.
I run until my lungs are screaming and my thick legs are on fire, but I can’t see a single sign of him.
“Tiberius!” I bellow for the thousandth time, my voice hoarse from yelling and running. “Come on, buddy. Please, Ty! ” The words catch in my raw throat, sending me into a coughing fit that has me doubling over.
My heart is beating so hard it’s like a kick drum booming in my chest and head. I can’t get enough air.
I’ve no idea how long I stay hunched over —maybe two minutes, maybe ten— but eventually my strategic brain breaks through the panic and worry, and I remember who I am. I’m not just some helpless woman with dirt on her jeans and day-old mascara threatening to mutiny.
Hell, I’mtheNixie Jones, owner of Steadfast Strategy Consulting in Denver, Colorado.
My whole life is built around knowing what to do in a crisis. Granted, most of my work is reputational, and it all happens behind a desk or at a conference table, but the same principles apply. And if I were one of my clients, my first advice would be to take a breath.
So, I pull in a slow, deep breath and force myself up to check out my surroundings. What I realize very quickly is that Tiberius could be anywhere, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to find him on my own.
I check my pockets and hurl a few colorful curses at myself for ditching my bag. Shedding anything that could slow me down made sense in the heat of the moment, but that also meant I ditched my phone.
“Way to go, Nixie,” I chastise myself as I walk-jog back the way I’d come. I call for Tiberius about every thirty seconds, making kissy noises and clapping my hands.
What do I hear in response? Nothing, aside from the natural hum of the forest.
With every minute that passes, my anxiety inches higher. It’s one thing to be lost in the woods in the middle of the day. It’s another to be lost at night. Especially for a creature as sweet and unknowing as Tiberius.
By the time I make it back to my pack, the afternoon sun is starting its descent toward the jagged horizon. My hands are trembling as I unzip the front pocket of my bag and pull out my phone.
What if it’s busted? What if there’s no cell service up here?
A chill snakes through my middle, despite the way I’m overheating. I tap my screen and let out a tight breath when I see two little bars in the top right corner.
I call Breigh first. The phone rings four times before she picks up, which is unusual for her. That woman lives on her phone.
“Hey, hot stuff. How’s your head feeling?” she asks. Just hearing a friendly voice when my nerves are on edge has me on the verge of tears.
“I’ve been better,” I admit. Swallowing hard, I add, “I could really use your help.”
“Uh oh, what’s wrong?”
“I decided to come up to Cedar Edge for a hike with Tiberius while the realtor was doing her walk-through of the house, but then Tiberius took off. I ran after him, but I can’t find him anywhere.” As I talk, my voice picks up a high-pitched edge that makes me sound almost as desperate as I feel. “Can you drive up here and help me look for him?” Preferably with twenty or thirty of her closest friends.
“Oh, Nixie-girl, of course,” she says softly. “But I’m out of town. My guy got the day off and we headed to the big city for a while. I’ll head your way right now, but it’ll be a couple of hours before I get there.”
My stomach sinks. She is the only person —besides my mom— who I’ve kept in touch with since I left town thirteen years ago.
“No, don’t do that,” I say, swallowing against the rising nausea.
The woman would do damn near anything for me, just like I would for her. But the two of us fumbling around in the woods after dark is a recipe for disaster.
The idea of dialing 9-1-1 flits through my head, but I know better. Calling emergency services for a lost dog is a no-no, regardless of how important Tiberius is to me.
