Page 50 of Colton in the Wild
Even coming through the speaker of the RTA walkie-talkie clipped to his belt, his father’s voice sounded…sharp. Harsh. Angry?
At his next thought, dread suddenly swamped him all over again. Had that not been anger he’d heard in Dad’s voice, but fear? He hadn’t heard any unusual noise, certainly not a shot, but…
He spun on his heel and ran to the mouth of the cave. Froze there, listening. Automatically, his hand slipped down to his belt, checking his knife.
“Spence Colton, get your sorry butt back here right now!”
He heard them both now: anger and fear. But if Dad was calling him back, the threat wasn’t there, or wasn’t active. Or anywhere near…or he wouldn’t be shouting. So he scrambled out of the cave and down the hill, trying to focus on getting there rather than what he might find when he did.
The moment he cleared the tree line, he saw Dad and Uncle Will standing near the helicopter. Had it been tampered with? Was the crazy guy still around? He started to run, and both men turned then, obviously spotting him. For an instant, he thought they both almost sagged a little, as if they’d each let out a huge breath. Of relief?
His brow still furrowed, he slowed when he got closer. He stopped a few feet away, warily. Because both his father and his uncle were not only holding their rifles, they looked…furious.
“What the hell were you thinking?” His father rarely yelled, and even more rarely swore, but he was doing both now. “Taking off like that and not letting us know?”
“I just went back to the cave because—”
“I don’t care where, or why, damn it. You were out of sight without a word, when we’re within a few yards of where some nutjob tried to kill you!”
Belatedly—far too belatedly—realization hit. His father had been scared, all right. But not for himself. For him.
It all tumbled into place; another time when a Colton had been found too late. The aunt he’d never known, who had been his father’s little sister. And for the first time Spence thought of that family history in today’s terms, of how he would feel if something had happened to Kansas. He would carry the scar forever and it would influence his reactions for the same length of time. He realized that now because he already knew he would carry the memory of his panic over Hetty the same way, for that same forever.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said humbly. “I didn’t think.” He glanced at his uncle. “You, too, Uncle Will. It was stupid. I should have at least used the radio to check in first.”
The two men looked a little surprised. And a bit deflated, which he hoped meant he’d taken a bit of the anger out of them. Not that they didn’t have the right to be, but he hated the feeling and wanted it gone.
Uncle Will, ever a wise man, nodded in acceptance then excused himself from the scene to go down to the plane, leaving them alone. And when his father spoke again, it was calmer, although a bit of an edge remained.
“Why did you go back to the cave?”
“I…wanted to clean up,” he said, gesturing with the shirt he was still holding. His father’s gaze locked on the bloodstained garment and he winced. “We left kind of a mess, in all the rush to…to…”
“Save Hetty’s life?” Ryan Colton suggested softly.
Spence met his father’s steady gaze, swallowed tightly and blinked a couple of times before giving up on speech and simply nodding.
“I get the idea something else happened up there that night that made you want to go back there.”
Not ready for this, not until he knew for sure where he and Hetty stood, he muttered, “Just wanted to be sure we hadn’t lost anything up there.”
“I think,” Dad said slowly, “that you didn’t lose anything. But just maybe you found something.”
Dad had always been too smart to fool for long.
Chapter 27
Hetty was glad when Spence left her alone at the therapy clinic. Not that she wanted him gone, she would much rather have been someplace quiet and private with him now that they were finally away from his parents’ house. But she was still new at this therapy thing, and she didn’t want him seeing her whimper when the therapist pushed her.
The fact that she had asked the woman to push her as hard as she could without doing damage—she wanted to be back on her feet, sans crutches or even the cane, as soon as possible—didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like crazy or that she didn’t yelp now and then.
And so she’d asked Spence not to hang around and watch, and Mrs. Cowell, who dealt with him like the former marine she was, convinced him of the wisdom of finding something else to do for a couple of hours.
This was not, Hetty thought as she gritted her teeth to do another leg raise, like it was portrayed in the movies. And the next time she saw a film where the protagonist got shot in the leg and the next day was up walking around with barely a limp, she was going to boo and hiss audibly. Maybe throw something at the screen if she was at home.
She pushed harder, until she could feel the tears gathering in her eyes from the pain. Her gut wanted her to push on through, but the therapist had cautioned her the first day that that could be one of the worst things to do.
“You need to listen to your body,” she had said warningly. “A little pain is fine, and expected. Agony, not so much. It will set you back, give your body more healing to do, and this will take even longer.”
