Page 72 of Hearts Don't Lie
Stowe came to, chilled to the bone and sopping wet in the dark, shivering in waves, the scree and sharp stones covering the uneven ground biting into his back. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his head made him dizzy and nauseous. Remembering some of the basic first aid his mom and Uncle Mike had drilled into him, he turned his head just before the meager contents from his stomach spewed forth. He wiped at his mouth carefully. Every movement hurt. His left ankle and left arm felt like they were on fire.
His surroundings came into focus. He was at the Zoo, a popular low rocky outcropon the outskirts of Piñon Ridge where he, Beck, and a lot of other local kids liked to go bouldering. He remembered how he got here.
After tearing out of the Urban, Stowe’s fear and confusion about what he had heard between Hardin and the horrible old people morphed into anger. He had turned north. Stomping, then running. When Stowe’s initial anger was spent, he had slowed to walking, not having a plan, not paying attention to time, eventually finding himself on the outskirts of Piñon Ridge at one of the closed mines.
The temperature had dropped noticeably, and the wind picked up. Goose bumps covered his bare arms.
Glancing up, he saw the thick, angry clouds swelling above the peaks and moving over PR quickly. Thunder boomed and lightning forked across the sky. There was nowhere to shelter in the open, but the Zoo was close. If he could get to the Perch—the natural indentation under the topmost overhang where he and his friends like to sit out of the sun and take a breather from bouldering—before the storm broke, he’d be safe. Stowe ran toward it.
He had almost reached the Perch when the first fat raindrops splattered on the crag. His hold slipped and his ankle twisted under his weight. Stowe screamed in pain and dropped, hitting the ground hard, unprotected by a helmet or any crash pads. There had been more pain and then nothing.
Now it was twilight. The storm had moved on, and in the diffuse light he could see the sky awash with stars and the moon waning to its full quarter phase. Scorpio was easy to pick out, and he focused on the long string of bright stars, drawn to the one that looked red. Antares, he thought. Or was it Aries? Stowe was having trouble remembering, his mind jumbled and fuzzy. He had chosen astronomy as one of his science modules last year, begging for a telescope after he finished the class, so enthralled was he with the topic. His mom couldn’t afford what he wanted but promised to contribute to his telescope fund. He had pooled his birthday money and was still saving what he earned from odd jobs. Mom. She was the best. A tear slid down his temple. Then more. What if they didn’t find him? No one knew where he was.Stupid.He knew better than to go out of PR by himself. It was one of his mom’s foremost rules, and she had a long list of them.
Trying to calm himself, Stowe studied the skies some more, his eyes latching onto something that seemed familiar. Triangle. Season. The Summer Triangle, that’s right. His mom had shared some myth about a goddess and a mortal forbidden to see each other. She had looked so sad, he remembered. What were their names? Vega and Altair. Stowe yawned. He was so tired and gave in to the need to sleep.
When Stowe woke again, he was cold. So cold and still drowsy. The stars and moon were brighter now. His head pounded like a jackhammer, and his whole body cramped painfully because of the shivering. Yeah, he’d been so upset hearing the argument. The words. The anger. The things they’d said about his mom. They hated her. How could anyone hate his mom? He should have stayed, but his fear drove him away and now he was in trouble. He prayed his mom and dad would find him. MomandDad. Stowe smiled and succumbed to sleep again.
“Mike! I found him!” Emory shouted, jogging toward the Zoo.
As mission coordinator, Mike had directed the team to stage their vehicles and other equipment on the old mining road, feeling it was the best place to search from. The surrounding area—replete with crags; boulder formations; and abandoned, boarded-up mines—was a favorite of local kids for bouldering, fishing, tanning, and hooking up. Their rescue group had responded to numerous calls to this place over the years.
The team secured the litter on the ATV they had brought in addition to the emergency response vehicle. They were going to have to carry Stowe out.
Mike ran toward Emory, who was kneeling next to an unmoving form on the ground. They were speaking quietly. That was a good sign.
He knelt next to her and began assessing his nephew. “Hey, buddy. I’m going to ask you questions, check you out. All right if I touch you?”
“Uncle Mike,” Stowe said, smiling through another wave of shivering, then grimacing. “Sure, just be careful. I hurt.”
Mike gently pushed the wet dark mop off his nephew’s face. “Tell me where.”
Mike called Kenna as soon as Stowe was en route to the hospital, letting her and Hardin know their son was on his way to Peaks County for further evaluation. He shared his field assessment that Stowe was concussed, had sustained fractures of both bones in his forearm, and probably had a sprained ankle.
“He’s going to be okay. Have Doc drive you. Please. You’re too emotional to be behind the wheel. I’ll meet you there.”
The sun was rising when Mac and Hardin arrived back at her house. Mac was out the minute her head hit the pillow. At the hospital they’d been told they could probably bring Stowe home in a few days.
Their son had indeed fractured both bones in his forearm, but they didn’t affect his growth plates or require surgery. Stowe would be in a cast for three to four weeks. In addition, he’d sustained a serious concussion that warranted ongoing monitoring and treatment. None of the bones in his ankle were broken, but Stowe had sprained it and would be following the RICE protocol during his one- to three-week recovery. Their very active son was not going to be happy following the strict resting, icing, compressing, and elevating protocol the doctors had set out. He would be more unhappy when he found out that bouldering was over for the foreseeable future, as was soccer and even riding his bike.
Hardin couldn’t shut his thoughts down. He entered Mac’s bathroom and stripped, stepping under the cool spray. Maybe a long shower would clear his head. In the span of a week, he had found Mac, realized the love between them was deeper than ever, and learned he had a son and come to love him in a way that was wholly unimaginable before arriving in Piñon Ridge. He would give his life for him. The events of last night had made that crystal clear.
Stowe could have died. Why had the fucking door to the hall been open? But honestly, even if it had been closed, Stowe would have overheard. He had been pissed and loud.
Guilt and responsibility weighed heavy on him. How did Mac do it, parent with such grace? He was raw, scared shitless, all too aware that he was inept in the father department. He would continue to improve, to be what Stowe needed. A knock on the shower door got his attention.
Mac cracked it open, a towel wrapped loosely around her. In a sleepy voice she asked, “Hey handsome, are you going to use up all the water?”
Hardin’s blood heated as Mac opened the door farther and her smile turned naughty, her swollen eyes full of emotion. She looked exhausted.
“I know it’s a tight space, but can I join you? I’ll wash yours if you wash mine.” Her eyes dropped to his bobbing erection. “I take it that’s a yes?” The towel fell to the floor and she stepped in. “Someone left me in bed all by myself.” Her hands slid over the ripped planes of his chest and abs, then traced lower, fisting him and kissing him senseless. Mac rubbed herself against him, panting.
“I thought you were out cold.” He hissed through his teeth as she pumped his rigid length.
“Mm. I guess just a catnap. I need you, baby,” she said, hoarse and gravelly, weeping. “Right now.”
“I need you too.” Hardin lifted her, cupping her ass. “Grip tight,” he said as he thrust into her, wave after wave of heat consuming him as he plunged repeatedly, the water cascading over them.
She whispered, “I’m never letting go.”
He looked deep into her eyes. The fever in them matched the heat coursing through his body. “Me either, honey.”
