Rescue Team (17 page)

“Sure. The caregiver took the ladies to an appointment and I promised to check the fences while they’re gone. It’ll take another hour or so.”

“I’ll come there.”

“This is out in the middle of no—”

“I have GPS.”

She swore that his laugh tickled her ear.

“So you’ll need to give me the address . . . ,” she prompted.

Once he had, Kate disconnected from the call. She sat there for a moment, stunned by what she’d done. Then she began tapping the Braxton address into the GPS, a gift from her father when she left California. He’d preloaded it with the Sunnyvale address designated as “Home.” Though neither of them really expected she’d be back.

She watched the colored map come up, the display of the route to the rural destination and her expected time of arrival. Kate
shook her head. There was no map that could tell her where she was going with this unexpected meeting. She didn’t know that herself. She only knew that hearing Wes’s voice had erased some of the pain of her day. And that she’d needed the response he gave when she said she wasn’t like Wes or Sunni:
“I don’t expect that.”
It made Kate feel almost like she was okay. Acceptable. Despite everything. And that she wasn’t like Barrett Lyon, no matter how many times he told her she was.

Dinner with the hospital attorney or checking fences in the middle of nowhere—with the man he’d dismissed as an “Eagle Scout well digger.” She smiled at her choice. Then started the engine and let the GPS lead her to Wes Tanner.

“H
EY THERE.”
Wes watched as Kate negotiated the rock path to where he sat at the wheel of the Braxtons’ old Jeep. She was wearing boots, jeans, a green quilted vest over a thermal T-shirt—and yet another inscrutable expression. Still, Wes wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone who looked more in need of a hug. Was that why she’d come? He wasn’t about to risk a guess.

“Is that an old Willys?” she asked, eyes widening.

“A 1950. Original dust.” He glanced to where Hershey, tongue lolling, had wedged himself behind the Jeep’s seats. “Dog hair’s more recent.”

“Amazing.” Kate shook her head. “It looks like something out of an old
M*A*S*H
rerun.”

“Climb in.” Wes patted the sun-worn passenger seat. “I still have one more thing to check. Ride along with me.” The image
of Kate climbing into Lyon’s Mercedes rose.
And now she’s here.
Despite the irony, he wasn’t going to question it.

“I’m game,” she said, hauling herself into the seat beside him. She reached back to give Hershey a pet; then her eyes met Wes’s. There was discomfort in her expression. “I needed to get away. The walls were closing in.”

“No walls here,” he said, flattening the clutch pedal as the Jeep’s engine rumbled to life. “Or doors either. That’s a warning. Hang on.” Wes jiggled the gearshift, shoved it into first as Kate took hold of the grab bar. No luxury ride. He could imagine Lyon’s smirk. The Jeep lurched forward, tires grinding the chalk-soft caliche rock.

“I saw the horse trailer.” Kate raised her voice over the engine noise.

“Only Clementine. I tied her down in the grove and left her with a bucket of sweet feed. After what happened down there, I figured she needed to replace those memories with some good ones.”
Maybe we all need that.

“You come here a lot?” Kate touched a fingertip to the faded black-and-white snapshot that had been tucked into the Jeep’s windshield frame for as long as Wes could remember. A wedding photo of Amelia and her late husband. “To help the Braxtons?”

Wes nodded. “I do what I can. They’re neighbors. But we train here too—search and rescue. I did my survival night here.”

“Survival?”

“Part of the FUNSAR training—fundamentals of search and rescue. The trainee is left alone in a wilderness area for a full day and night. With his twenty-four-hour pack—” Wes pointed toward his pack, now serving as Hershey’s pillow—“and nothing else.” He saw the concern on Kate’s face. “Monitored from a distance by the team, but no contact. It’s a confidence builder; you
learn to trust that you have everything you need to survive.” Wes smiled. “All the right stuff.”

Kate’s stomach rumbled. She laughed. “I’m guessing there’s no cupcakes in there.”

“Sorry. GPS, Leatherman tool, headlamp, whistle, space blanket, rain cover . . . tape, hand and foot warmers, water bottle, sunblock, first aid kit.”

“So did you?” Kate asked. “Have the ‘right stuff’?”

“Guess so. I’m here now,” Wes told her, suddenly hoping he had the right stuff for what today held as well. What did Kate expect from him? He returned his gaze to the road in time to avoid a clump of prickly pear cactus. “We’re almost there now.”

“Where?”

“Right . . .” Wes slowed the Jeep, pointed toward a stand of scrubby trees and the tumble of stones that was once a cattle shed. “There.”

“What is it?”

“An old abandoned well.” Wes paused, then added, “And the site of a rescue.”

-  +  -

“But it’s just some old boards on the ground.” Kate watched as Wes tested the sun-bleached wood with his boot; it responded with a hollow thunk. “I thought wells were sort of . . .”

There was amusement in his expression. “Stone wishing wells with a wooden bucket and shingled roof?”

“Maybe.” Kate decided he didn’t need to know that the Callisons’ elderly neighbor had one exactly like that in Sunnyvale. Guarded by a tacky garden gnome—not too effectively, since the well was always filled with pennies, Popsicle sticks, and probably
some LEGOs, tossed in by every kid on the block. “But I will bow to your obvious expertise. Given the Got Water? shirt and engineering degree.” She watched as Wes knelt down, inspected the well cover. The afternoon sun splashed over his silky dark hair. “What did you mean when you said it’s the site of a rescue?”

Wes stood. “This well was drilled way back, one of the few that wasn’t my grandfather’s. There was a cattle shed here once, a watering tank.” He tapped the toe of his boot against the wood again. “The Braxtons built the ranch house where it is now, with a new well. This one was covered up—or so they thought.”

“Oh no.” Kate’s stomach tensed. “Someone fell in?”

“A three-year-old girl, Chrissy Faraday, back in 1991. I was twelve. The whole town was out here. National TV news teams too. Our family was called first, of course—Grandy, Dad, Mom. The old shaft had been filled, but the fill dirt settled with time and years of rain. The well cover rotted and—”

“Chrissy fell down it.” Kate winced, imagining her parents’ terror.

“About twenty feet. She tried to grab the rope the fire department lowered, but the dirt would fall and she’d get scared. It was getting dark, starting to rain. Nightmare situation.”

“So . . . ?” Kate watched Wes’s face as he recalled the details.

“They had a harness. But the hole was narrow. None of the firefighters or volunteers would fit. I was a skinny kid back then. Shoulders like a wimp. I hated it. Until that moment.”

Kate’s mouth sagged open. “They asked you to go down there?”

“No. They tried to talk me out of it—didn’t work. I’d latched on to the idea like a tick on a dog.” Wes shook his head. “My nose plowed dirt the first few feet. Then I was scared I’d step on the poor kid. Or cause a cave-in and bury us both. But the hole
widened out toward the bottom and I was able to get a flashlight focused.”

“You saved her.”

“I got Chrissy into the harness and they pulled her up.”

“You saved her life.” Kate realized that she’d stepped close to him, laid her hand on his arm.

“When I was buckling the harness—” Wes’s voice softened—“she kept saying this one thing over and over: ‘I’m not lost anymore. . . . I’m not lost.’ I couldn’t forget that.”

“That’s why you do what you do. Search and rescue.”

Wes swallowed. “Partly, I suppose.”

Kate was quiet for a few moments, thinking of what he’d told her. This man had been kindhearted and unselfish . . . heroic even as a youngster. Despite his modesty, Wes Tanner had the right stuff all along. For some reason it made her think of Barrett Lyon. And all the wrong stuff he was certain he and Kate had in common. Then she thought of the disappointment on her father’s face when she sent him away.

“I don’t . . .” Kate cleared her throat. “I don’t think I could have done what you did. I’m not that kind of person. I’m selfish and . . .” She took a step, felt the wooden well cover beneath her feet. Solid as truth. “I’ve made so many mistakes. Even today. With my dad.”

“Kate . . .” Wes said nothing further. He simply held her gaze.

Kate couldn’t stop herself from trembling—or continuing. “After my mother died, I ran away from home. I was gone for almost a year. It hurt him. I knew it would. And when I came back, we never talked about it. He wanted to . . . today.” The familiar threat of tears rose, but Kate shoved them down. Wes had taken hold of her hand, his tenderness compelling her far beyond her comfort zone. “The year I was gone was a terrible time in
my life. I can’t talk about it any more than I could climb down a well. Or believe that God hears prayers. I know you believe that, Wes. But I can’t.” She shivered. “I’m not the kind of person God would listen to. Should listen to. I’ve made too many mistakes. Unforgivable ones.”

“Kate, no. It doesn’t work that way. We all make mistakes. We’re human. We’re flawed. That’s where grace comes in. That’s the beauty of it—an undeserved gift.” Wes took a slow breath. “When I saw your father at the hospital, he told me he regretted the way he’d handled things when your mother was sick. I saw how much that bothered him. But I also got the feeling that he’s found some hope. I wanted him to share that with you. It’s the reason I gave him your address.” Wes’s thumb brushed the back of her hand. “And took the risk of making a mistake myself.” His lips tugged toward a smile. “Meddling. I’m a repeat offender. So—” He stopped short as his cell phone began beeping. “Rescue tone. Excuse me.”

Wes hauled it out of his pocket, checking the screen. “Amber Alert.”

“Do you have to go?” Kate asked, torn between regret that he would leave and relief that it would mean the end of this unplanned conversation. She’d driven out here today because the walls were closing in, but if Kate kept talking, she’d demolish every wall she’d put up to protect herself. She couldn’t risk that. Someone like Wes would never understand the truth about Kate. “Do they need you?”

“No.” He reread the message, pocketed his phone. “It’s in Austin. An eight-year-old. The majority of these are school bus mix-ups; it’s that time of day. I ask for all the alerts because I like to be prepared.”

Because you’ve got the right stuff.
Everything Kate didn’t have. What was she doing here with a man like this?

“So . . .” Kate felt suddenly awkward in the wake of her unexpected babbling. “The well cover’s good?”

“Yes. We’ll take the Jeep back. I’ll leave a note for Lily Braxton, then go get Clementine.” Wes glanced at his watch. “Hey, maybe you can help me out. Save me some time?”

“Sure. How?”

“Go to the grove with me. Drive the Jeep back and I’ll ride Clem.” Wes’s brows rose. “Or you ride Clem, and—”

“I’ll drive.” Kate wrinkled her nose. “I want to be able to sit down.”

“Good point. Because I want to take you to dinner tonight.” He waited. “This is where you say yes.”

“Yes,” she told him finally, promising herself she’d be more careful with further conversation. She’d missed lunch and was starving. And regardless of the fact that Wes was out of her league, there was something almost redemptive—if only temporarily—about saying yes to him on the heels of saying no to Barrett’s dinner invitation. She’d picked a man who risked his life for others over one who was unapologetically proud of his ability to “look out for number one.” Choosing the hero felt like a significant first.

She hung on tight as the old Jeep bumped along the rocky terrain toward the grove. And tried not to question why a man like Wes would choose someone like her.

-  +  -

“Kate? Are you there?” Lauren glanced at the parked Hyundai, then rapped on the lacquered green door again. “It’s Lauren. I—”

The door swung inward.

“I’m here. I’m sorry it took me so long.” Kate rolled her eyes. “I thought it was the police again.”

“Police? What do you mean?”

“Here, come in.” As Kate led her inside, Lauren noticed she’d done some things with the house: packing boxes gone, sweater-knit pillows on the couch, and a framed photo on the mantel. Lauren sniffed.
Potpourri? What prompted all this?

“A detective came by. They have the security tapes,” Kate explained as they sat on the couch. She had cotton balls tucked between her bare toes, protecting freshly painted nails. A polish bottle sat on the coffee table next to her cell phone. “Barrett said they’d be asking me more questions.”

Lyon?
Lauren hoped the potpourri and polish weren’t for his benefit. After everything Kate had said about her poor choices when it came to men . . . “What did the police want to know?”

“A detailed description of the girl. Everything she said to me. What I said to her.” Kate plucked at her hair; her fingernails were polished too. “Barrett said it was important that it didn’t appear as if this girl was looking to me as a Safe Haven provider.”

“They found her?” Lauren’s brows scrunched. “I didn’t hear anything about—”

“No. No, they haven’t found her.” Kate rubbed her neck. “Barrett’s just doing what he does.”

Barrett.
Again. Lauren decided she liked it better when Kate didn’t call the hospital attorney by his first name. “Strategy in the event that Austin Grace faces a lawsuit over the baby’s death?”

“Yes. But I don’t want to believe it will come to that.”

Lauren pulled a couch pillow into her lap. “Dana Connor went home sick today.”

Kate’s lips pinched. “I heard.”

“I’ve talked with her a few times as a peer counselor. She has a lot on her plate even aside from her nursing career.” Lauren ran a
fingertip over a row of cable knitting on the pillow cover. “Dana has to be worried that she could be targeted for blame in the Baby Doe incident.”

“Yes, well . . .” Kate glanced away, let her words trail off.

You wouldn’t do that. Would you?
Lauren dismissed the thought. She knew her friend better than that.

“I stopped by because I heard you left early; I wanted to be sure everything was okay.” Lauren’s eyes connected with Kate’s. “You’re good?”

“Yeah. Now I am. Rough morning: meeting with Evelyn, a humiliating skirmish with a Brownie troop . . .” She smiled at the confusion on Lauren’s face. “Nothing worth talking about. Then my dad showed up again.”