He balanced on his elbows, tucked under his body, holding himself just barely above water. The look he gave her didn’t resemble a man stricken. Or even desperate.
He seemed angry. His jaw tight, his eyes dark. “Keely—”
“Grab my hand!” She stretched farther. He narrowed his eyes a moment, then shook his head and reached out, kicking.
He lunged for her. His hand grabbed her arm, and she grabbed on, and added the other. He latched onto her other arm, his grip burning.
“Pull!” he yelled to the team, then to her, “Don’t let go!”
She met his eyes. His jaw gritted as the men pulled the chain in. The ice broke beneath them, but Dawson held on, and in a bit, he got his feet under him, then climbed onto his knees on the ice.
She crawled back as Donald reached for one of Dawson’s arms, Griffin the other.
They hauled him to shore.
She stumbled behind.
“Let’s get him inside!” Griffin turned to River, who had come out with a toboggan. Apparently, they had a drill. But the men dumped Dawson onto the sled and dragged him to the house.
Keely followed the path, stumbling after them, Caspian behind them.
When she came inside, someone had already wrapped Dawson in a blanket. Griff was pushing him toward the men’s room, a locker room on the ground floor where they had showers. “Get in a bath and stay there.”
Dawson glanced at Keely, his mouth grim, then disappeared inside the room.
Over by the fire, another woman had peeled off Wren’s outerwear, wrapped her in a blanket, moved her to stand in front of it.
Caspian followed Dawson to the bathroom. Sat outside the door, whining.
Keely walked over to Wren, her heart still thundering. Sank into a chair and held her hands to the hearth.
“What were you thinking, Wren?” Donald’s voice rang over the room, and Keely watched him stalk toward his daughter, his hair askew from the wool hat, his eyes bloodshot, wind shorn.
Wren’s mouth tightened, and her eyes filled.
“Donald, she’s okay.” The woman with Wren stood up.
“But she might not have been, Nance. And she knows better!” His thunder had shut down all other conversation in the room.
Aw. “Just calm down, Donald,” Keely said, more strongly than she should have.
“You stay out of this.” Donald turned again to his daughter. “The old well in the front yard is dangerous—”
“It was snowed over!” Again Keely, now raising her voice. Goldie would kill her.
He turned and cut his voice low. “The last thing I need is her wandering off and getting lost. I cannot...” He closed his mouth, looked away, a muscle pulling in his jaw.
He shuddered. Then he turned back. “You are a guest here. Don’t forget that.” He crouched in front of his daughter, his voice softer, as if he’d come back to himself a little. “What happened, Wren?”
“I threw the ball for Caspian, and he chased it, but he wouldn’t bring it back, so I went to get it, and I fell.”
He closed his eyes, ran a hand down his face, then drew in a deep breath and looked at her. “No more playing with this dog.”
“Daddy—”
“And no more going outside.”
“What about sledding?”
