Page 9 of The Way Back Home
This was a hell of a way to repay Mona for taking her in, not asking unnecessary questions, and appreciating the work she did. How many well-meaning souls had suffered because they had the soft hearts and bad sense to try to help?
Too many.
No matter how far or how fast she ran, trouble caught up to her.
Teagan settled in to wait on the off chance that the sheriff planned on doubling back. There was no doubt she’d have to leave now. Perhaps it was just as well. Shehadn’t planned on staying long, although getting through the worst of winter would have been nice.
She would miss it though. Sure, she’d only been around for a few weeks, but it had been a good three weeks. She loved the horses, especially Onyx. Mona was tough but fair and respected personal boundaries.
Teagan waited as long as she dared after the sound of the sheriff’s retreating footsteps faded away. The cold and damp had seeped into her bones, increasing her discomfort. She crawled out inch by inch with stiff limbs, pushing with her knees because her left arm was nearly useless.
Once out, she gulped in the brisk air to clear her head. Her shoulder was dislocated—she was sure of it. It had happened before and probably would again. There was no sense in crying over it. Her flannel shirt was stuck to her back and side, too, suggesting that she’d torn flesh as well as flannel when she vaulted over that fence.
The night just kept getting better.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she forced herself to stand and circled drunkenly until she spotted what she was looking for—a good-sized tree with low-hanging branches. Then, with a deep breath and a strangled curse, she threw herself against the base of the tree, popping her shoulder back into place. The action was even more painful than the original fall due to the swelling, but it needed to be done.
She fell to the ground in renewed agony, hot, salty tears flowing freely. A brief respite to gather her strength was all she could afford.
A rustle of underbrush nearby had her instantly alert, the tears ceasing as quickly as if someone had turned off a spigot. She listened hard and peered into the darkness intently, but all was still. Common sense told her that it was probably only a rabbit, but she wasn’t willing to take any chances. With slow, practiced movements that wouldn’t draw attention, she got to her feet and began to head for the creek, keeping to the shadows cast by larger trees and bushes in the moonlight.
Her body ached; her head pounded. She had painkillers and antibiotics in her emergency bag. It was only OTC stuff, but it would take off the edge.
She skirted the trails without thinking. The moon was clear and high in the sky, shining down through breaks in the trees, lighting the way for her. Reaching her stash tree took her longer than normal, but she did make it, only to look up and realize she’d made a critical mistake. Her pack was two levels up, and she hadn’t factored an injury into her escape plan.
She needed that pack. So, using her toes, her knees, and her one good arm, she shimmied up the trunk a few inches at a time until she reached the first crook. It was slow-going, but Teagan was nothing if not tenacious. Years of experience climbing into the hayloft, battered and bruised, came back to her.
By the time she heaved herself over the branch, she was breathing heavily. Pain and exhaustion, combined with a lack of food, sent dots swimming in her field of vision. That short climb—child’s play with two arms—had sapped nearly all of her remaining strength.
Climbing to the next level seemed impossible, so she opted for a reach and grab instead. With her good arm against the trunk and her injured arm hanging loosely at her side, she rose on shaky legs and stretched.
Her fingertips brushed against the strap, but she was unable to grab it. She tried several more times until she managed to snag it on her index and middle fingers and gave a quick tug. The pack came free, but the weight of it swung her away from the trunk, and between one breath and the next, she was grasping at empty air. The ground rose up fast, and with a muffled groan, Teagan hit hard. Her left ankle took the brunt of it, twisting beneath her, but her damaged shoulder caught the secondary impact, jarring her beyond her limits.
Fate, it seemed, had finally decided she’d been running long enough. That was her last thought before the darkness claimed her.
CHAPTER FIVE
NOAH
As the sheriff took off in pursuit, Mona begged Noah to do what he could. “You know these woods. Find T before Bill does.”
Noah didn’t hesitate.
The trail was easy to follow at first. The sheriff made as much noise as a bull in a china shop, but the kid moved like a wraith—fast, silent, all instinct, navigating the woods like he’d been born in them.
Noah kept to the shadows and followed from a distance, impressed by the kid’s choice to hide in an old bear den. The sheriff gave up after a while and turned back, but Noah remained where he was, silent and watchful.
Eventually, the boy emerged, limbs stiff and looking worse for wear—only to circle around once, twice, and then run full tilt into a tree. At Noah’s audible gasp, the kid’s head jerked up like a startled deer.
Noah quickly melted back into the shadows, afraid the kid would shoot off in a heartbeat if he revealed his presence.
Unbelievably, the kid got up after several long moments, dusted himself off, and shimmied wonkily up another tree. Another hiding place? It was a good plan. No one ever looked up.
Just as he thought that, he saw the boy drop. Heard the bone-wrenching crunch and accompanying moan.
Noah quickly abandoned hisobserve from a distanceplan and ran forward. When the kid didn’t react, Noah knew it was bad.
The kid was face down, arms spread-eagled, one leg bent at an awkward angle. His baseball cap had come off with the fall, releasing unexpected waves of dark hair that shimmered in the moonlight.
