Elizabeth checked the invoice. “It doesn’t say.”
“Okay. Let me see what’s going on.”
Elizabeth hung up and printed out the invoice just in case. She didn’t know Ryder well in recent years, but the guy she knew from before was not a thief. And if he was, he’d be smart enough not to sign his name.
4
When he came to, he was at the bottom of a small hill with pain searing through his limbs. The ground beneath him was a collection of forest growth, rocks, and tree roots.
With a deep breath, he tried to open his eyes. The slit of light he caught from between the dense stand of trees made his head throb. In his mind, he hollered for help.
Wanting to stay awake, he roused himself enough to sit against a tree and tried to remember what had happened.
—Fixing a fence on Wade Reed Road.
—Sounds of chainsaws.
—Yelling. Running. Tripping. Tumbling. A sharp pain in his shoulder.
“Okay, Donovan,” he muttered, the words clinging to his dry lips. “How are you getting out of this?”
The Middle Tennessee humidity blanketed him, but he needed to move. He felt along his belt for his phone, but the holster was empty. His firearm was also missing.
He opened his eyes enough to spy his cell phone a few feet away and stretched toward it with his boot. Yet before he could maneuver it toward him, he passed out, waking up with soft rain dripping from tree leaves onto his face.
He reached for his phone again, brushing the edge with the toe of his shoe, but not enough to pull it toward him. Finally, he lunged forward, reaching for it, sending a searing pain down his arm. And his left knee hurt like the dickens. He started to dial HQ, but between the trees and the clouds, he had no service. And where was his firearm?
Not good. Few traveled Wade Reed Road. He tried to stand, hugging the tree for support. But his knees buckled.
“You got this.” He’d been here before, hurt and alone.
Peeking through the trees, he gauged the direction of the sun and decided to hobble north, if possible, and toward the road.
Ten trees later, he was exhausted. Every part of him throbbed with pain. Inching into a clearing, he sank down to the soft grass, fell back, and closed his eyes.
This seemed like as good a place to die as any.
Why wasn’t anyone sending her updates?
Finding a break in Ella’s evening rush. Elizabeth checked her phone for the millionth time. No texts. No voice messages.
Tina leaned over her shoulder. “Jeff said he’d call you when they found him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elizabeth tucked her phone into her pocket. “I’m waiting for an email from Wharton.”
“Come on, I know a worried-about-the-boy-I-like look over an email-from-my-college look.”
“First of all, it’s not—” Never mind. She didn’t want to tell people she was wait-listed. It felt like a negative confession. “I don’t like any boy, Tina. But if you mean I’m worried about a friend lost, possibly shot, in Cheatham WMA, then yes, I’m hoping Jeff will call.”
“Hmmm, tell me, when did you move to Denialville?” Tina carried a tray of clean glasses out to the drink station. “Hey Lucy, did you get the tables ready for the party of fifteen? They called. Said they were on their way.”
Denialville? Tina thought she was so clever. Well, if anyone lived in Realville, it was Elizabeth Dorsey. She understood how life could upend a person at any moment. Therefore, nothing, nothing, not even a handsome ranger, could deter her. If any curveballs were coming her way, she’d be in the batter’s box, bat raised, ready to swing. She’d had enough derailment for her twenty-five years.
For a Monday night, the dinner rush started late and ended early. By eight o’clock, she let two kitchen crew members go after cleaning and shutting down one of the grills and fry vats.
At nine, she sent two servers and one busser home. Tina came out of the office with a bag of laundry and her handbag.
“I’m dropping these at the dry cleaner, then home to a luxurious hot soak in my deep, luxurious tub.”
