moved easily up the rugged mountain, reveling in the beauty of her home.
She might not have come after the uncomfortable moment in the woods earlier if she hadn’t convinced herself the noises, assuming they were human, were from Braden sulking. That stopped her from mentioning the incident at the table while they ate, too. Although she should have said something, the meal was a joyful one with Meredith and Ian elated over their news, and it had been easy to keep her vague fears to herself.
A still, small voice whispered to her to wait, to take someone along, to not strike out alone in the woods. The only thing that gave her pause was leaving Meredith alone. But Ian and Tucker had always left Meredith when they went to the mines, so they must believe it to be safe. Amy ignored her doubts in favor of action.
Her mind firmly on Braden and the way he’d held her and then pushed her away, she only distantly noticed the terrain. She’d climbed this path before, after all. She reached the summit of the modest mountain that separated her from the rich salmon run. She paused at the top, drinking in the hundreds of scenic peaks that made this look like a footstool for God’s grand throne. The small mountain she stood on wasn’t even high enough to be capped with snow. She followed a trail that skirted a cedar stand on her right hand and on her left dropped away in a sheer fall.
Only a few stunted trees clung to the rugged mountainside. A lip of the trail stuck out far enough that the cliff face wasn’t visible for nearly a hundred feet. She looked over the edge and saw, far below, the silver waters of the stream she sought.
Beautiful—the rushing waters audible even from this high, the soft hush of the wind flowing over her like the breath of God. Sighing, inhaling the cold crisp air, she turned to head down.
Swift footfalls sounded behind her.
With only seconds to react, Amy whirled to face the direction of the running steps, but hard hands caught her before she could turn fully around. A vicious shove launched her into midair. As she fell, cruel, satisfied laughter rang in her ears. Laughter she now remembered. Laughter she’d heard in Seattle as she’d fallen under the hooves of a charging horse.
Eleven
Amy twisted and clawed at the cliff. A stunted tree grew out of the rock. Her chest slammed into it. The tree crackled, and the limbs cut her hands as she scrabbled for a hold. The impact jerked her fingers free, and she fell again.
A protruding rock jabbed her belly. Amy grunted at the blow, fighting to draw a breath. She hung draped over the rock, head and feet hanging down. The world swayed. The narrow rock under her belly gave her no room to balance. She began to slide feet first off the ledge. She grabbed at the jagged wall beside her, shredding her palm.
Her gaze darted around. A little crack in the rock formed a V . Amy’s left hand clawed at the fissure. Her other arm swung in a wild arc over the long drop.
Her battered fingers slipped from the niche. She clenched her fist and punched it into the fissure, ripping flesh. Her weight locked her fist in the narrow opening. The protruding rock now pressed against her face.
Her body hung, suspended from one arm, wrenching her shoulder. For a sickening second, only that tremulous fist stood between her and death. Her strength wouldn’t have held her. The rock pinched her fist tight, trapping her, saving her.
Amy turned her face away from the scraping rock and looked down. Below her kicking, dangling feet was a sheer drop of a hundred feet. Dizziness swept over her. Nausea twisted her stomach. She wrenched her head sideways to block her vision, choosing to focus on the rough rock scraping her cheek rather than the sickening knowledge of just how far she’d fall if her hand gave way.
With her other hand, she found a lip on the protruding rock and grabbed hold.
She fought her way back onto the tiny ledge. Once steady, she realized the rock she’d hit cut
She might not have come after the uncomfortable moment in the woods earlier if she hadn’t convinced herself the noises, assuming they were human, were from Braden sulking. That stopped her from mentioning the incident at the table while they ate, too. Although she should have said something, the meal was a joyful one with Meredith and Ian elated over their news, and it had been easy to keep her vague fears to herself.
A still, small voice whispered to her to wait, to take someone along, to not strike out alone in the woods. The only thing that gave her pause was leaving Meredith alone. But Ian and Tucker had always left Meredith when they went to the mines, so they must believe it to be safe. Amy ignored her doubts in favor of action.
Her mind firmly on Braden and the way he’d held her and then pushed her away, she only distantly noticed the terrain. She’d climbed this path before, after all. She reached the summit of the modest mountain that separated her from the rich salmon run. She paused at the top, drinking in the hundreds of scenic peaks that made this look like a footstool for God’s grand throne. The small mountain she stood on wasn’t even high enough to be capped with snow. She followed a trail that skirted a cedar stand on her right hand and on her left dropped away in a sheer fall.
Only a few stunted trees clung to the rugged mountainside. A lip of the trail stuck out far enough that the cliff face wasn’t visible for nearly a hundred feet. She looked over the edge and saw, far below, the silver waters of the stream she sought.
Beautiful—the rushing waters audible even from this high, the soft hush of the wind flowing over her like the breath of God. Sighing, inhaling the cold crisp air, she turned to head down.
Swift footfalls sounded behind her.
With only seconds to react, Amy whirled to face the direction of the running steps, but hard hands caught her before she could turn fully around. A vicious shove launched her into midair. As she fell, cruel, satisfied laughter rang in her ears. Laughter she now remembered. Laughter she’d heard in Seattle as she’d fallen under the hooves of a charging horse.
Eleven
Amy twisted and clawed at the cliff. A stunted tree grew out of the rock. Her chest slammed into it. The tree crackled, and the limbs cut her hands as she scrabbled for a hold. The impact jerked her fingers free, and she fell again.
A protruding rock jabbed her belly. Amy grunted at the blow, fighting to draw a breath. She hung draped over the rock, head and feet hanging down. The world swayed. The narrow rock under her belly gave her no room to balance. She began to slide feet first off the ledge. She grabbed at the jagged wall beside her, shredding her palm.
Her gaze darted around. A little crack in the rock formed a V . Amy’s left hand clawed at the fissure. Her other arm swung in a wild arc over the long drop.
Her battered fingers slipped from the niche. She clenched her fist and punched it into the fissure, ripping flesh. Her weight locked her fist in the narrow opening. The protruding rock now pressed against her face.
Her body hung, suspended from one arm, wrenching her shoulder. For a sickening second, only that tremulous fist stood between her and death. Her strength wouldn’t have held her. The rock pinched her fist tight, trapping her, saving her.
Amy turned her face away from the scraping rock and looked down. Below her kicking, dangling feet was a sheer drop of a hundred feet. Dizziness swept over her. Nausea twisted her stomach. She wrenched her head sideways to block her vision, choosing to focus on the rough rock scraping her cheek rather than the sickening knowledge of just how far she’d fall if her hand gave way.
With her other hand, she found a lip on the protruding rock and grabbed hold.
She fought her way back onto the tiny ledge. Once steady, she realized the rock she’d hit cut
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