Thicker than Blood

  May held up her hand. “Don’t worry. Nothing matters except getting you out of here.”

  Beth leaned toward Chris. “Where do you hurt?”

  “Ankle.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  Chris’s face contorted. “Head.”

  May pulled the blanket up to her sister’s chin. The cruel wind tore through the ravine, and she wished she could shield her from it.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” May said, starting to choke up. Back there when she’d wavered, when fear threatened to wash her faith away, she had doubted God. But He’d still come through for her. He’d still spoken to her and made sure she and Chris would have another chance to reconcile.

  An eternity passed as they waited for the others and tried to keep Chris warm. When the radio came to life it was Sam who said they were nearing the trail.

  “I’ll go down and show them the way,” Beth said, handing the radio to May.

  “More help’s coming,” she said.

  Chris’s forehead wrinkled in agony. “It’s my . . . fault.”

  “Shh.” May took off her glove and touched her sister’s blood-streaked cheek. It felt like ice. “Don’t worry.”

  It seemed like hours before May saw flashlights bobbing up the mountainside toward them. “Down here!” she called, waving her own light.

  Beth led the group. Peggy and Ruth followed, carrying blankets and first-aid supplies. Jim and Sam brought up the rear with a sheet of plywood.

  “Keith and Jan are up in the top pasture,” Jim said. “They’ll meet us at the house.”

  “She okay?” Beth asked, returning to May’s side.

  “She’s drifting in and out.” May squeezed Chris’s hand. “We’re gonna have to move you.”

  Sam knelt beside his daughter and hunched over Chris’s leg and ankle, examining it like Beth had, with the care and precision of a man well accustomed to examining wounds. “Sweetheart, I’m going to put a splint on you so we can get you to the hospital.”

  Jim handed him a couple two-by-fours, and Sam laid them on either side of Chris’s leg. At his touch Chris cried out, and May could barely stand to hear it.

  They used the plywood as a backboard, and as carefully as possible slid Christy onto it, securing her with rope. What came next would be the challenge: carrying her up the ravine and down Squatter’s Mountain.

  May gave her sister another stroke on the cheek. “Ready?”

  Chris managed to nod.

  They took it three to a side, May and Jim right across from each other at Chris’s head.

  When Chris saw Jim she tried to say something to him. “Is . . . did Vince . . . ?”

  May perked at the question, and she and Jim made eye contact. Had Chris seen that guy today after all?

  “What about him?” May asked, but Chris couldn’t rally a response.

  It took two hours of slippery, treacherous creeping before they made it to the bottom of the mountain where Sam and Peggy’s Suburban and May and Beth’s horses waited.

  They hoisted the makeshift stretcher into the back of the Suburban, and May jumped in beside it. She covered Chris with more blankets as Beth, Sam, Peggy, and Ruth hurriedly piled in. Jim offered to bring back the horses.

  May reached for her sister’s hand and held it firmly between her own as they rumbled forward. “Hang on. You can do it.”

  But Chris gave no indication she heard. She’d stopped responding to their voices a while ago and lay still and lifeless.

  It was another thirty minutes before they made it back to the ranch, and her condition hadn’t improved.

  Sam revved the engine, and they started down the drive toward the Spanish Peaks Regional Medical Center, in this weather another forty minutes away. As they passed the barn, May glanced at where they’d found the Blazer earlier this afternoon.

  It was gone, and waiting at the gate was Nugget.

  Chapter 22

  Hunter sat alone in the darkness, his eyes dry and begging for sleep. He’d nodded off once or twice already, and he could barely keep awake now. He’d been sitting here all night, waiting. His back was stiff, his body aching. Dawn was near.

  When he heard the car, he was instantly alert. The garage door rumbled. Someone was coming. He froze.

  A car door clapped shut. The door to the house squeaked open.

  Hunter felt himself stiffen and tried to resist it. Stay calm. Stay cool.

  Footsteps edged toward him.

  This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Into the black study stepped a man. His silhouette was all Hunter could see. In one second the man would be getting a surprise.

  The room lit up as Vince turned on the light.

  “Nice place you have,” Hunter said.

  The look on Vince’s face was worth it all. He whirled toward Hunter, eyes wide, mouth open.

  Hunter immediately noticed the bruise on the side of Vince’s head that hadn’t been there two days ago. He leaned back nonchalantly into the white leather chair he occupied near the fireplace, as if it was perfectly normal for him to be here.

  “What are you doing in my house?” Vince was still in his coat, a parka Hunter had never seen before, looking tired, drained, and mad.

  “You have some beautiful books too.” Cat and mouse. He had to put Vince on the defensive.

  Vince’s gaze shot to the shelves, then quickly came back to rest on Hunter. His eyes fell on the book in Hunter’s lap.

  Hunter waited a moment, then calculatingly picked up the book and paged through it. It was For Whom the Bell Tolls, and he wanted Vince to see that clearly.

  “Answer me! How did you get in my house?”

  He didn’t tell him it was luck that Abby’s old key still worked or that he’d brought along a crowbar as backup. “Was time I came for a visit. I wanted to chat with you.”

  “About what?”

  “Maybe we could start with this.” Hunter held up the Hemingway as he stood. “Where’d you get it?”

  “You broke into my house to talk about a stupid book?”

  “It’s a very important book, and I think you know that.”

  “You’re crazy,” Vince said with a chuckle, doing a bad job of appearing at ease. His right hand was a balled-up fist. “And I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  “That you’ve got me.”

  “Do I?”

  When Vince spoke, his voice was deep. “You can’t prove anything.”

  “Then what’s this?” Hunter held up the book again. “Good enough for me. I know for a fact this book was stolen from the store, and here it is in your house.”

  Vince came toward him, and Hunter sized him up. They were almost the same height and build, but he was pretty sure he could defend himself if it came to that. He was quick, and chopping two cords of wood a week made him strong enough to easily take care of himself against a guy like Vince.

  When they stood eye to eye, Vince laughed. “You think this little book is proof?” He grabbed it from Hunter’s hand, and before Hunter could react, he ripped it in half down the spine. The sound of the tearing cloth was painful to Hunter, but he kept from flinching as Vince plucked out the title page with Hemingway’s signature, waved it at him, then shredded it too.

  “Proof?” Vince threw the pieces into the fireplace where they sent up a puff of soot. “I don’t see any proof.”

  “I had a feeling you’d do that.”

  Vince shoved him in the chest. “Get out of my house.”

  He stood his ground.

  “Did you hear me, or are you as much of a moron as I’ve always thought?”

  “Why’d you plant that book in Christy’s car?”

  “She got what was coming to her, and you’re just jealous anyway.” Vince grabbed the front of Hunter’s shirt. “Get this straight right now. You don’t have a thing on me.”

  Hunter deliberately waited to speak and placidly wrapped his fingers around Vince?
??s hand, squeezing harder than Vince could have imagined him capable. Harder. Vince managed to hide the pain Hunter knew he was inflicting. Had to give him credit for that. Harder. They stared each other down, Hunter boring his eyes into Vince, never breaking the stare, as if they were two wolves challenging each other in the wild.

  “I should’ve believed Christy,” Hunter said.

  Vince let him go and backed toward his desk. “You’re too stupid to understand.” He slowly eased into the chair behind his computer. “And so is your father. End of story.”

  Hunter seethed, and he couldn’t quell his feelings any longer. Squeezing Vince’s hand had somehow opened the door to his pent-up disgust for the man. His neck burned as he leaned into the desk with both hands, returning Vince’s glare. “Actually, it’s just the beginning.”

  Vince held a taunting grin. In one smooth motion he pulled a revolver out of his jacket, aiming it at Hunter’s forehead.

  Hunter didn’t move. He’d known coming here alone had been foolish, but he’d chosen to override caution to prove Vince was the thief. While he’d expected some trouble, he hadn’t expected this. “Shoot me and you’ll regret it the rest of your life,” he said, hoping there was still some sanity left in Vince.

  “Get. Out.”

  Hunter leaned in closer. It took all his resolve to keep from punching Vince, gun or not. “If you ever touch Christy again—”

  “Now!”

  He knew he’d gotten all he was going to get. But it was enough. What Vince didn’t know was that carefully stashed in his trunk was the real stolen first edition he’d found on the study shelves long before Vince arrived. The copy Vince tore up had been the decoy.

  And only when he was safely back in his car did Hunter turn off the handheld recorder in his pocket.

  ***

  Christy gradually realized she was lying in a hospital room. She had no memory of arriving or how long she’d been here.

  Daylight slipped through the slats of the drawn window blinds. She wasn’t in her clothes anymore but a hospital gown. She touched her head with her fingers and felt gauze, not bloody flesh. An IV was taped to her hand.

  Very carefully, she tried to move her leg, but the lower half was immobile, in a cast. There was less pain than she’d felt on the mountain. Just a nice headache and a dull throbbing in her ankle remained. She could feel her warm blood coursing through her body. Lying still, she thought about that for a long time. A few days ago she would have been disappointed. Today she wanted to live.

  Then she noticed the cot against the wall under the window. May lay sprawled on it, asleep. She was covered with a thin blanket, her coat piled on top, and her arm hung over the edge.

  Christy watched her sister sleep. How could she have put her through so much?

  Eventually May stirred. Seeing Christy awake and staring back, she threw aside her covers and slid into a chair at the bedside, barely awake.

  “Hi,” Christy said, her voice hoarse.

  May smiled, and it made Christy want to cry. After all she’d done, there was still love in May’s face. Nothing else. No anger or disapproval. No hidden agenda in her smile. Genuine love. And she’d done nothing to deserve it.

  Christy tried to smile back.

  May rested her hand on Christy’s. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Better, thanks to you.”

  “Your temperature was 89 degrees. It was a good thing we found you when we did. They took you into surgery last night after warming you up, and five screws went into that ankle.”

  “Can I walk?”

  “With crutches for a while. There’s some frostbite on your toes, and you had a concussion, but they say you should make a full recovery.”

  Christy feared the answer to her next question. “Is your horse okay?” Before May could respond she added, “I had no right to take him without asking.”

  “He did better than you,” May said. “Only a few scratches. Don’t worry about feeling sorry, okay? It’s really all right. I’m just glad you’re alive. We almost lost you.”

  Christy knew the time had come to throw everything out in the open, but knowing was always easier than doing. She wasn’t sure where to start. “Something happened to me up there,” she said, stringing the words together as they came. If she took any time pondering how to spill her heart, she was sure she’d chicken out like she usually did when faced with doing something right.

  “I was thinking about what you said to me about God, what all of you have said, and I want you to know I made it right with Him. Now I want to make it right with you.” Christy shifted in the bed and touched May’s arm. “Little sister, it’s time I was honest with you.”

  May looked down at the sheets.

  “When Mom and Dad died, I blamed myself. The only reason they were coming home early was for me. I can still see those officers at the door telling me they were gone.” The memory choked her up even now, but she had to get the rest out. “I’m not saying that to excuse what I did. I realize now how much I hurt you by leaving. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that.”

  May lifted her head, her eyes teary.

  Christy grabbed hold of her hand wanting her to know she meant every word. “I never hated you. It was never your fault. I was a selfish, rebellious teenager.” She felt her own eyes tear up. “I couldn’t take it. I ran off with Kyle. Remember him? I thought we were in love, but only I was. When I got pregnant, he ditched me.”

  She let go of her sister’s hand for a second. She remembered begging Kyle to marry her, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He’d stopped answering her phone calls, and she’d caved under the pressure thinking getting rid of the “problem” would win him back.

  It hadn’t.

  “The other night when we pulled that dead calf I told you I killed someone.” Christy sniffed. “Well, I . . . I did.”

  She saw the surprise on May’s face and could barely keep talking. “I had an abortion, and I’ve never been able to forgive myself. They told me it was just a blob of tissue, but . . . I saw.” Christy stopped and let the tears run down her cheeks. “I saw.”

  It took her a moment to be able to speak again, but May let her take her time.

  “The only way I could ease the pain,” Christy finally continued, “was when I drank.”

  May spoke quietly, “Even after seeing what it did to Mom and Dad?”

  “All I cared about was easing the guilt. And temporarily it always did. But it never lasted.” Christy closed her eyes and longed for a drink even as she spoke. It would help her find the right words and speak her thoughts clearly. Yet somewhere deep inside a small impression whispered she could do better without alcohol in her life.

  May squeezed Christy’s hand. That gesture gave her the strength to keep talking. “I’ve regretted what I did to you and my baby every single day. I was ashamed to come back. I didn’t want you, Aunt Edna, or anyone else to see the mess I’d made of my life. I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”

  “Oh, Chris. That never was true.”

  “I should’ve explained, but I wasn’t ready to let anyone in my world.” A part of her still wasn’t ready. The part that urged her to stop right here and let May believe better of her. She overrode it. Because as each truth poured out of her, she felt a new inner strength encouraging her to keep going.

  “What about that guy, Vince?”

  Defensiveness came immediately, and she felt herself recoil. How did May know about him?

  “We found his car behind the barn when we came back from church,” May explained. “But it was gone when we got back with you from the mountain.”

  “What about him?” Christy said, then caught herself. She couldn’t close up now. She had to quit that with May. More than once her sister had proved she’d accept her just like she was. And there was still more to reveal. She reminded herself that telling May all this had been her idea.

  “We lived together. He was good to me at firs
t, but after a few months he started getting violent. I paid the price, and then I left him. He’s been trying to get me to come back ever since.” She licked her cracked lips. “He followed me to the ranch.” She wasn’t sure she could tell May the rest. But she had to. “He tried to kill me.”

  Shock filled May’s face. “Kill you?”

  “He showed up right before I went riding. But I escaped on Spirit.” Christy talked quickly now, afraid if she stopped she’d never start again. “Here’s another thing I wasn’t truthful about. I told you I work at a used bookstore. I did. But because they found out about some shady stuff I did a long time ago, I was let go.”

  She told May how she almost went along with Vince’s plan to steal more valuable books from the Barn and about Vince framing her with the Hemingway.

  But when she got to her apartment fire, she balked. She didn’t want May to think she’d only come to see her because she was homeless. She made herself continue. “Vince set fire to my apartment because I wouldn’t do what he wanted. It was completely destroyed. All my stuff is gone. Even Aunt Edna’s books.”

  Christy didn’t allow May to respond until she got the rest out. “That’s partly why I came here. But I’d been wanting to come anyway. I was just so afraid to face you.”

  She waited for May’s response, half expecting now to be the time of rejection.

  “I’m glad you came,” May said.

  “Would you believe me if I said I am too?”

  May stood up and hugged her, and this time Christy hugged back without hesitation.

  “I love you,” May said and then started crying, burying her face in Christy’s shoulder.

  Christy held her. “I love you too.”

  They remained like that for several moments. When they let each other go, something was different. Every last vestige of the wall Christy had built up between herself and May was razed with that one hug. For even though May knew everything, she still loved her. And in that moment Christy knew for sure God did too.

  ***

  Hunter pressed the Stop button on his handheld recorder.

  Pop rubbed the side of his face and shifted in his chair. “Christy had nothing to do with any of it?”

  “No.” Hunter picked up the recorder. “It was all Vince.”

  “What about the deal with Fletcher? How could we ever trust her again?”