The Forest Ranger's Child. Leigh Bale

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СКАЧАТЬ your arms and legs around me like a python and don’t let go no matter what. I’ll pull us to safety.”

       She did as told, lying against his back as she knotted her small hands in a fist across his chest. With her behind him, he took hold of the rope and pulled, hand-over-hand. The current swept them away and the woman cried out but she didn’t let go.

       “I’ve got us. Just hang on.” His words were meant to encourage her and to give himself the nerve to keep going.

       The rope burned through his hands, but he found a harder grip. Thank goodness for his gloves. His palms would have been shredded to the bone without the protective layer.

       He and the woman jerked hard, tossed in the water like a tiny twig. He pulled and pulled until his arms trembled with fatigue. The frigid water sapped his strength. If he let go, they’d lose headway and he’d have to start over. They still could drown. His stamina wouldn’t last forever. He must make every movement count.

       He didn’t look up, focusing on the length of rope directly in front of him. It was a gargantuan effort not to let his gloved hands slip again. His fingers felt like clumps of ice and wouldn’t obey his commands. Hand-over-hand. Again and again. How long was this rope?

       Finally! Finally he felt solid ground beneath his feet. He kept walking, carrying the woman on his back as he trudged up the muddy bank, his booted feet sinking deep. He staggered to shore.

       Rivulets of water drained from his drab olive-green shirt and pants. As he walked, his work boots felt like heavy bricks of cement strapped to his feet. Looking down, he noticed he’d lost his ranger shield, a small hole in his shirt showing the only proof that he’d worn the badge that day. Blood soaked his side where the tree branch had lacerated his shirt and skin. He scanned the injury with his eyes. Just a flesh wound. He’d survived worse injuries riding wild broncs on the national rodeo circuit, but he’d never been this scared even when he’d faced an angry bull.

       He dropped his hands to the shore and the woman slid away. She lay on the ground beside him, her blue jeans splotched with dirt. One foot was bare, her tennis shoe and sock obviously sucked away by the flood. Her wet shirt clung to her rounded tummy. Definitely pregnant but not real big yet.

       He knelt beside her, touching her face with his shaking hands, searching for life. “You okay, ma’am?”

       A single, brief nod.

       “How about your baby?”

       In response, she slid a pale hand over her abdomen. He had no idea if her baby was alive. He’d heard of traumatic events like this throwing a woman into early labor. She didn’t look far enough along for the baby to survive if it were born now.

       A sense of urgency swept him. “Can you stand?”

       This time, she didn’t move or open her eyes.

       Standing, he tried to pick her up and almost dropped her in spite of her slim weight. The effort to get her to shore had sapped the strength in his arms.

       Changing his tactics, he untied the ropes from around them, then took hold of her shoulders and half carried, half dragged her to his truck. Once he got her inside and buckled in, he wrapped a woolen blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders and feet. The chattering of her teeth told him she was still alive and suffering from the beginnings of hypothermia. The shivering would help warm her body, but he had no idea what the impact might be on her baby.

       With slow, awkward movements, he removed the roped clips from the fender and tossed them aside in the brush. He climbed inside and started the engine before turning on the heater full-bore. He had to get her warm. He breathed deeply, wanting to rest but not daring to do so yet.

       With jerky movements, he shifted the truck into gear and turned it around in the sagebrush. As he headed back to town, he sped all the way. The truck bounced over the rutted road like a flat basketball hitting pavement.

       Glancing at the woman, he noticed her chest moved with each shallow breath she took. She murmured several words, not making any sense. Her spiked eyelashes lay closed against smooth, ashen skin. Her long hair lay in sodden, dark strands around her shoulders. Even in this condition, he could tell she was beautiful. With her thin arms and legs, he couldn’t help wondering how she’d clung to that rock. How long had she been out there? He hoped she hadn’t suffered any trauma to her abdomen. How had she survived the ordeal?

       Within fifteen minutes, he pulled into the parking lot of the small clinic in town. He pressed on the horn long and hard to draw attention, then stumbled around the truck to open the door and get the woman out. His strength had recovered a bit and he picked her up, staggering to the sidewalk where Clara Richens met him with a wheelchair.

       “What happened?” the nurse asked.

       He set the unconscious woman in the chair. Her head rolled back, her hands resting lifelessly in her lap. She looked dead and a blaze of panic overwhelmed Nate. She just couldn’t die. Not on his watch.

       “She was caught in a flash flood in Emerald Valley.” Together, he helped Clara wheel the woman inside.

       “Do you know who she is?” Clara eyed his soggy clothes and bloodstained shirt.

       “No. I just found her and pulled her from the flood.” He stood back on wobbly legs.

       Clara looked at the woman’s face, her eyes filled with sympathy. And then her expression changed to stunned recognition. “Oh, my goodness. It’s Lily!”

       “What? You know her?” Nate asked.

       Without another word, Clara motioned to an orderly to come and help.

       As they whisked the woman away, Nate called after them. “She’s pregnant and worried about her baby.”

       Clara nodded. “I can see that. I’ll warn the doctor.”

       They disappeared behind the swinging double doors and Nate just stood there, adrenaline and fear pumping through his body. Clara must know the woman.

       Lily. A pretty flower, just like the woman he’d rescued.

       “Nate, you look awful. What happened?”

       Nathan turned to find Shelby Larson standing beside him. In this small town, almost everyone knew everyone else by name. Shelby was married to Matt, Nate’s ranger assistant. A pleasantly plump woman, she wore a white nurse’s smock on top of her street clothes.

       “Hi, Shelby. It’s been quite a day.” He chuckled and raked a hand through his damp hair before explaining the events that had led him to the clinic.

       She touched his arm. “Come with me so I can take a look at that wound on your side. Maybe we’ve got some dry clothes around here somewhere.”

       “It’s okay. I’ve got an extra change of clothes in my fire pack. I’ll get them and be right back.”

       “But your wound…”

       “It’s just a scratch. I’ll let you look at it in just a moment.”

       He left, going to retrieve the spruce-green Nomex pants and yellow fire-resistant shirt from his fire pack before returning and changing in the privacy of an examination room. He had two СКАЧАТЬ