Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“Whatever. Semantics,” she says, gasping for air as we enter the woods. “Would you say the same thing if I ‘rescued’ a cat?”
Fuck no. Cats are evil. “If I wasn’t staying at the shop, I wouldn’t have considered a pet.”
“Oh, so we’re back to this?”
Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair is matted to her head from the humidity. I’d stop and kiss the hell out of her if my life weren’t spiraling out of control in every other way at this exact moment in time.
The path is uneven, with roots popping out of the ground every few feet. Trees have fallen across the dirt, making it difficult to get through.
Unless you’re a small terrier.
“Snaps!” I shout, my voice echoing through the forest.
His bark is far in the distance.
“Do we yell for the dog or your dad?” Lauren asks, hustling next to me. “This would be really funny if it wasn’t happening to us.”
I hold a tree branch back so it doesn’t smash her in the face.
“Such a gentleman,” she says, sliding by.
“Dad!” I shout. “Harvey!”
“Snaps!” Lauren adds, the word barely audible over a crack of thunder.
We slow our pace and listen. There’s no response.
Damn it.
“Should I go back and get the kids?” Lauren asks. “I feel like we got away from our game plan.”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight now. We’re already this far in. Dad! Can you hear me?”
Lauren gasps for air. “Jack, I’m worried. Wouldn’t he be answering us?”
Snaps’s bark sounds in the distance.
“I would think so,” I say, moving forward. “I don’t know whether to follow the dog or to start looking around the pathway.”
“Well, let’s be honest here—Snaps is no Lassie.”
I look at her. “If we’re really being honest—the dog is the only thing helping us right now.”
“Not sure I’d call it help. Harvey!”
“Dad!” I shout, slowing to listen.
“If he’s out here picking berries and he doesn’t need your help, he’s going to be pissed,” Lauren says. “And I’ll never be happier to see a pissed-off Harvey.”
“Me too. Dad!”
We go around a bend and hop over another fallen tree. The sky has just enough light to see, but it won’t be light for long.
We’re without a flashlight. Our phones. The emergency kit.
We have nothing.
“Lo, I think one of us is gonna have to—”
“Look!”
I pull my attention from her and to the path. Snaps is running toward us with something in his mouth.
“Come here,” I say, crouching down.
He runs full blast until he’s a few feet from me. Then he stops on a dime and sits.
Gently, Lauren reaches down and plucks the item from Snaps’s mouth. She turns to me, her eyes twinkling.
“Jack.” She holds out Dad’s red handkerchief he keeps in his pocket. “It’s your dad’s.”
I stand, my heart racing. “Hell, maybe I should’ve named him Lassie.”
Lauren looks at me, her chest rising and falling in big movements.
“Snaps. Take us to him, buddy,” she says.
He yelps and races back down the path.
Lauren and I follow, our hearts in our throats.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LAUREN
Ican barely breathe as we race down the path. Jack pulls ahead of me, trying and failing to keep up with Snaps.
Harvey’s bandanna—what does that mean? Is he lying somewhere hurt? Did he drop it and Snaps just happened to find it? Is he . . .
No. Don’t go there.
My heart pounds, sending tremors through my body with its force. A bead of sweat dots my forehead in response to the humidity and the adrenaline coursing through me.
Jack hops a fallen tree ahead of me and then disappears to the left into the trees.
“Please, God. Please let him be all right,” I whisper through the clog of emotions in my throat.
I make it to the spot on the path that shows Jack’s shoe prints detouring off to the side. I step into the grass and over a small stream of running water. Then I step under the canopy of trees.
My eyes adjust to the much dimmer light. I can’t see anyone, but I hear Snaps’s bark.
“Snaps,” I call out.
“Over here, Lo.”
I spot the top of Jack’s head next to a tree and sprint through the vegetation—getting whacked by sticker bushes in the process. As soon as they come into view, my feet fail to move.
My hand covers my mouth as I take him in.
Harvey is sitting with his back against a tree. His clothes are soaked, his hair drenched. One of his shoes is missing, and his blackberry buckets are strewn on the ground around him.
There’s a slice above his right eye that seems to have stopped bleeding. Dried blood crusts against his hairline next to his ear. A purple welt rises from the top of his right hand, and a matching one grows on his cheek.
“Harvey,” I say, dropping to my knees beside Jack. “Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?”
“One question at a time. What is this—a speed round?”