Rough Deal (Coming Home to the Mountain)

That his body had been found.

That he was dead.

Everyone thought he just took the turn on Rickshaw Ridge a little too fast.

Such a tragic accident.

It was so unlike Luke to drive up there so late at night.

My father's best friend for 20 years. He'd been an uncle to us all.

I chop that wood harder until the sweat is rolling down my face.

It’s only thirty degrees out but I take off my flannel shirt. Wipe the sweat off my chest. I take a sip of that whiskey, hating the memories, knowing the truth.

It was not an accident.

I confronted Luke about what he'd done. He couldn't live with it.

I take the axe in my hand, and just as I'm about to swing it down on a log and split that piece in two, I hear a woman's voice.

“Oh my God, there’s someone here,” she says, voice filled with relief.

A flash of dark hair. Feet on fallen branches.

“I need help.”

Light cracking through cold air. A voice that sounds like an offering. Her words may be a cry for help, but her voice sounds like someone coming to rescue me.

“Please.” She steps out of the clearing. Shaking. Afraid. Frail. Alone.

I run to her, dropping the axe. I scoop her up in my arms as she collapses into me.

Fainting.

This woman looks like she fell from Heaven. Her long brown hair to her waist. Her eyes closed. Her skin smooth. Light as a feather. An angel.

“Wake up. Wake up,” I say, but she doesn’t stir.

I carry her to my cabin. Kicking open the door with her still in my arms, I carry her to the couch and lay her down. Then I grab a clean kitchen towel, getting it wet. Ice cold water from the well.

Kneeling before her, I run it over her forehead, over her cheeks. Her shoulders are bare.

The sweater she's wearing is falling from her.

She's thin, fragile, not wearing any shoes. Her dress is threads.

“Wake up,” I repeat. “I'm here, wake up.” I press my hand to her cheek. She's freezing cold.

I run the cloth over her neck, her cheeks, and her forehead. I clutch her hand, pressing my palm to hers.

I kiss her knuckles. Why? I don't know. I just need her to know I am with her. This woman who came through the woods like she was lost. Desperate to be found.

“Wake up,” I beg. “I'm right here.”

I tuck her dark hair behind her ear, taking in her features. So lovely. Her nose straight. Her lips plump. Her jaw so delicate, her skin olive, her eyebrows arched.

I want to run my fingers through her hair, over her everything.