Dixon falls.
I’m up off my knees, running for Dakota. I thunder up the steps and sink to my knees before her. Her sobs are muffled, and it tears me apart.
“I’m here baby, I’m here. It’s all going to be okay now.” I look into her eyes briefly, then study the bomb taped to her chest. Just as I thought, it’s rudimentary. Day one of EOD training taught me—
Dakota makes a noise like a strangled cry, and I look up. Her terrified gaze is trained behind me.
Another crack fills the air and Dakota releases a muffled scream.
My ears ring. I blink against the sound and look quickly. Dixon is crumpled at the base of the stairs.
I turn my attention back to Dakota. “Just hold still,” I instruct. When I ran to my cabin earlier, I’d grabbed everything from the bag I keep in the top of my closet, the same bag I haven’t touched in five years. My flashlight, my binoculars, and my clippers. I reach into my pocket and pull out the clippers.
I know this is the moment when I’m supposed to think of the woman and her child. The nightmare I’ve been having for years should be replaying front and center in my mind.
And maybe I’m thinking of them a little. But really, all I see is Dakota. My inability to save the others has no bearing on this moment. Maybe, if I hadn’t gone to the meeting, I’d be reliving my nightmare. But I’m not.
I snip the correct wire cleanly, and without hesitation. The clippers slice through the duct tape and I remove the deactivated bomb.
Warner appears beside me. He takes the bomb from my hands without a word and walks into the ramshackle home.
I reach around Dakota, untying the gag and flinging it aside.
Her relieved sobs fill the night air. I hold her face, press my cheek to hers, and rock with her. Her tears mix with my own. The adrenaline that fueled me slowly subsides, and I feel crushing exhaustion.
“Wes.” My dad’s voice sounds like gravel. “Cut her free and get her away from here. Take her to the house and let Mom look her over.”
I turn to look at him. He’s standing beside Dixon.
“But what about—”
His face is hard. “Do as I say, Son.”
I understand. Whatever is about to happen next, he doesn’t want Dakota around for it. I follow his instructions, cutting the tape at her ankles and ripping it off her jeans. Her wrists are trickier, because he taped her skin. I cut it, but leave the tape on her skin. When she’s free of the binding, she throws her arms around me. She rubs my neck, the back of my head, her fingers trickling over my face and chest.
“I know, I know,” I soothe her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s over now. Let’s go.”
I lead her down the steps. My brothers and my dad stand a few feet away, waiting on us to leave. Dakota pauses and shrugs me off. On unsteady feet, she walks over and hugs each one in turn. They nod at her, and then my dad looks at me only, inclining his head toward where we left the horses. His meaning is clear.Get out of here.
I take Dakota by the hand, using my flashlight to lead us back to the horses. We’re slow going, because her legs are shaking and she tells me they hurt. She also needs to pee, so I unbutton her jeans and tug them down, then help to keep her steady so she can go to the bathroom. She laughs shyly, and despite everything we’ve been through tonight, her cheeks flush.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Dakota.”
She finishes and I help her stand upright. Looking at her face, her strawberry hair, swathed in shades of darkness with only the flashlight to provide a slice of light, I’m overcome by how much she means to me.
She sags against me, and it reminds me of how much she has been through. I need to get her back to the homestead so my mom can look her over.
I untie Ranger and help Dakota up, then sit down behind her. She leans back into my chest, and we retrace our way through the woods, this time at a much slower pace.
The danger has passed.
I’ve got my girl.
And starting right now, I’m going to do things differently.
* * *
By now Iknow how I react to crises. I turn off my emotions, respond, and later, when I’m alone, I let go of the emotions I strangled. Tonight is no different. A lone tear slips down my cheek and I wipe it with my shoulder.
