Cynthia Cooke - Luck And a Prayer

“Yep, and seeing how you’re the only one who knows what the poor man looks like, you’re going to be the one to find him. I think a day or two in the wilderness will be good for you.”

“Wilderness?” Willa ignored the dread settling in the pit of her stomach. “You mean out there in the woods where the bears live?” She’d rather take on the animals stalking the strip.

“If you’d prefer, you can spend the rest of the weekend hitting the phones. Take your pick.”

“Fine, fine. I’m off. Gone. I’ll enjoy myself, I’m sure. Fresh air and all that.”

He looked at his watch. “I’ll expect you back Monday night with evidence that better knock my socks off.”

“Yep, sure thing.”

He handed her a slip of paper. “Here’s the name of the youth director that has the trails and campsites where you’ll find the pastor. I suggest you get a hotel in the area and try to catch them in the morning. You’ll never make it to the campsite before nightfall.”

“No problem. And Captain, after you see that poor little girl on the tape, you’ll be glad I stopped him.” Silently she added, Then you’ll rethink this whole desk-jockey shrink thing. I know you will.

By midafternoon, Willa was navigating the winding mountain road as if she’d been doing it all her life, not at all put off by the narrowing turns or the tall poles with painted red tops lining the sides of the road. Snow poles, the man at the service station had said. She shuddered. The very idea of being stuck in this place with that much snow on the ground made her turn down the air conditioner. She’d only seen snow once as a child, before her dad had died, when life had still been full of promise and happy days.

She glanced over at the new backpack sitting in the passenger seat. The man at Oshman’s had given her everything she’d need and more, even a new pair of hiking boots. She was all set, though she wasn’t sure why she’d bothered. They couldn’t have had that much of a head start on her. How far could one guy and six kids get? She’d have them tracked down within an hour, she reasoned.

A half hour later, she pulled into the campground parking lot and parked next to the church van. “Gotcha,” she said, smiling, then swung the pack onto her back and stretched her shoulder blades, at once thankful for the intense workout sessions she’d recently added to her routine. “This thing’s heavy,” she grumbled aloud, suddenly sure that salesman had sold her a lot more junk than she actually needed.

She stopped at the bottom of the hill and read the trail markers. There were several, offering paths for beginners to the more stringent superadvanced levels. She took out the sheet of paper the youth director of the church had given her with the proper trails marked.

Obviously, this pastor was no stranger to the woods. He started with an easy trail, then moved on to different ones, each rising in intensity as they moved deeper into the backcountry. Oh well, she was in shape. She didn’t spend three hours a week on the treadmill for nothing.

Two hours later, Willa’s thigh muscles burned with a fire she’d never before felt as she plodded up the hill, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to push enough air into her painfully constricted lungs. She stopped on a rock, took a swig off the water bottle from her pack and examined her notes one more time. There was no way she could be lost. They must have gotten a bigger head start than she thought.

She stood, groaned, pulled back her aching shoulders, then set out again. How could Ben say those things to her? She had a life. How many times had she sat at his dinner table and told him and Margo about the things she was doing? She shopped, she read, she jogged. She loved her fitness classes. She’d met a few people at the gym and had even dated a Neanderthal or two. “I’m just a very focused person,” she muttered. “Very focused on Jack.”

She swatted another bee out of her face. Lord, she hated the woods—the dirt, the incessant noise, the swishing of the trees and bushes. And to think people actually did this for fun. What she wouldn’t give for the corner booth in Starbucks and a large iced tea with a lemon slice floating on the top.

She dragged a hand across her damp forehead. Where could they be? How many miles had she walked? By the aching soreness in her tootsies, she guessed at least a hundred. She groaned as she crested the top of yet another hill. She couldn’t take any more. Not one more step. Slipping out of her pack, she stumbled into a lush, green meadow, fell flat on her back in the thick grass, and stared up at the blindingly blue sky.

Her throbbing muscles and bones settled into the soft earth. Oh, this feels good. When at last her breathing slowed and her body stopped creaking, she sat up and yanked off her brand-new, not-so-spiffy boots. Broken skin stuck to cotton as she pulled her sock mercilessly away from her foot. Her feet, red and swollen, were needled with broken blisters.

“Oh, no,” she moaned, and wished she’d stuck with her tennies. She took another swig of water, then glanced at her watch. She’d been tromping around for two and a half hours and she still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of one youth minister and six kids. She feared she might be on the wrong trail after all, or even the wrong mountain.

Then she heard something.

Her heart stilled. It’s nothing, she told herself. I’m hearing things. She sat up straighter and looked through the tall grass, trying to determine what the rustling sound could be. About ten feet away the green blades parted, billowing slightly, then falling down in quick succession toward her.

Willa screamed. She jumped up, then back, tripped over a discarded boot, and fell right back on her derriere.

The thing in the grass was still coming at her, faster and faster. Crab crawling, she scurried backward away from the slithering reptile, screaming again, demanding that it get away from her and breathing so hard she feared her lungs might explode.

Behind her, the bushes shook with the ferocity of a 7.0 quake. Good Lord, she’d roused a bear! Terror leaped into her arrhythmic heart and stopped it cold.

“What? What is it?” A masculine voice demanded. Not a huge furry brown thing after all, but a man—a fine-looking pastor whose sultry-smooth voice jump-started her heart and pushed the air back into her lungs. At least until it whooshed out again in appreciation of those wonderfully broad shoulders.

“A s-s-s—” She couldn’t say the word. Hyperventilating, she frantically searched the grass for the slithering monster.

“A snake?”

“Yes, uh-huh.” She nodded, vigorously.

“Okay.” He searched the grass. “It’s gone. You scared it away. You’ll be fine,” he said casually, too casually considering she almost lost her life. He gestured toward the area of flattened grass and her discarded socks and boots. “You really shouldn’t lie down in the middle of a grassy field.”

She guessed not.

He stared down at her bare feet. “Those look pretty nasty. Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk. I can go anywhere as long as I get out of here.”

He laughed; the deep warm sound resonated in his wide chest. She liked it. It sounded real, genuine and totally foreign to her. Sunshine glinted off sun-streaked hair and a sparkle twinkled in his eyes. Eyes as brilliant as that blindingly blue sky above her. She didn’t think it right that anyone should have eyes that color, or that it’d look so good on a mere mortal. And why on earth did she have goose bumps on her arms?

“All right, then. We’re camped not far from here. If you want, you can rest there and fix up your feet.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that. You don’t know how much. For a minute, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see a living, breathing, life-saving human being ever again.” Let alone one nature-loving heart-stopping youth minister.

His grin tilted.

She zipped her lips, then smiled back, wide and foolish. She couldn’t help it. His crooked little grin was infectious and she couldn’t believe he’d found her.

His gaze slowly perused her face. “I know this sounds crazy way up here, but have we met? I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something familiar about you.”

“Nope. Can’t say that we have,” she lied, suppressing a guilty twinge. They hadn’t, she told herself, at least not technically. She’d decided on the trek up there that the best course of action would be to go incognito, grab the pen and get out. If that poor girl was on the brink of falling into a life on the streets, the last thing she needed was for all her peers to discover what she’d already done—or had been about to do, she amended, hoping for the best. Who knew what the girl had told the preacher man. No need to make things more difficult for her than they already were.

“Welcome to our little corner of paradise.” He easily swung her pack onto his back, for which she was more grateful than she cared to admit, and led her out of the field. She picked up her boots and followed as quickly as she could, but found herself wincing each time she took a step. How would she ever get back down off this mountain? She played with the idea of getting the captain to airlift her out, but he was still mad at her, and then she would have to admit she couldn’t handle a few hiking trails and a little wilderness.

Maybe she could get this handsome man to carry her down. She smiled at the thought while watching him walk ahead of her. She lost her smile as she hobbled into the circle of tents and saw the expectant faces of six kids.

“Everyone, I want you to meet a fellow packer.” The pastor turned to her. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

She held out her hand. “Willa Barrett.”

“Miss Willa Barrett.”

Willa turned to the kids and plastered on a be-gentle-with-me-I’m-clueless-about-kids smile. They all greeted her warmly, all except the girl she’d taped selling her soul to Jack Paulson. Wariness narrowed the girl’s big, brown eyes. Surely she didn’t recognize her? If not yet, chances were good she would soon. Better to find the camera and get off this mountain as quickly as possible, before one youth minister and six scrub-faced innocents became entangled in the ugly side of life.

“Make yourself at home,” the pastor said, pointing to a chair.

A real canvas chair. Cleopatra’s throne wouldn’t have looked so good. After her tortuous hike up the mountain, their camp had the makings of a four-star resort. Seven small tents nestled in a cluster of pines surrounded a fire pit. The kids sat around it, resting on rocks and blankets.

“Wow, look at your feet.” A boy no more than thirteen stood before her staring down at her swollen toes.

She wiggled them. “Yeah, new boots,” she offered weakly, then collapsed into the chair.

“I have a first aid kit, if you’d like.” His cheeks turned a soft crimson as he pushed his glasses farther up on his nose.

She smiled at his awkwardness. “Yes, thank you. I’d like.”

“Good.” He turned and walked toward the green tent closest to them and started digging through his pack.

“I’m Jeff MacPhearson,” her rescuer offered. “We’re all on an outing from the Morning Star Church. I’m the youth minister there.”

“It’s nice to meet you all. I’m certainly lucky you came along when you did.”

“Especially since it will be getting dark soon.”

Willa looked up at the sky; it didn’t look anywhere near dark to her.

“You can set up camp here with us, if you’d like.”

“Here?” Willa looked at the dirt-encrusted ground and the multitudes of little-legged things crawling all over it.