"Maybe she'll tell you sometime. It's not—"
"Wyatt." Sheriff Monroe's brisk voice cuts in. "Just got a call about two idiots rappelling Devil’s Canyon. Something went sideways and they fell. Lucky for them the rainwater from the high country washed in early. Just not enough of it."
When the water flows freely, it can be high enough to cushion the fall. A person could still die, but not with total certainty. The water gives them a chance they wouldn't otherwise have, and if they're lucky they'd be carried downriver, and crawl out somewhere past the canyon, where it's shallower and the terrain is kinder.
Not enough rainwater means they fell onto rocks covered by the equivalent of a prison mattress. Maybe nature stepped in and took care of the Marks brothers for me.
I cross my arms. "Why're you telling me?" I have no business in the matter.
"You know this place backward and forward. If there's a way we can get into that canyon besides helicoptering in, I need to know it. High country rain is headed our way now, and I don't want to put my men in harm's way if there's a better approach. I need your help."
I stop myself from telling him the people he's rescuing aren't worth putting good men at risk. Everyone should go home, crack open a beer, and watch the thunderstorm from the safety of their front porches.
But I've never been given a chance like this, never been so important to anybody but Jo. And having my dad as an audience to it makes all of it that much sweeter.
"Let's go," I tell the sheriff. "There's a little shelf on the north side of the canyon that can be accessed from a short hike. You'll have to pick through a shit ton of prickly pear though, so make sure everyone covers their skin or they'll be sorry."
I look at my dad. He nods at me to go. I'm nearly to the sheriff's car when Jo calls my name.
"Wyatt, what's going on?" she asks, jogging the last few feet to reach me. Behind her, Travis holds two brown bags and looks like he's not sure if he should be worried.
"There's a rescue in the canyon the sheriff needs my help on. Everything's fine."
Relief falls like a curtain over Jo's face. "Thank God," she breathes.
"Wyatt, let's get a move on," Sheriff Monroe calls from his police SUV.
I kiss Jo, short but passion-filled. "I love you."
"I love you."
She steps back until she's in line with Travis. With the midday sun on their faces, they look just alike. If he'd grown up here, if Jo's mother hadn't spirited him away, their secret wouldn't have stayed secret for long. Splinters have a way of working themselves out of the skin.
We speed off. Sheriff Monroe turns on his lights and glances at me in the passenger seat. "Bet you've never been in that seat before. You're used to being back there." He inclines his head to the back seat.
I grunt a laugh and adjust the visor to block some sun. In the distance, the sky is dark. "There's that rain you talked about."
Sheriff peers out over his steering wheel, then presses down on the accelerator.
I feel obligated to tell him who he's racing to save. "You know those guys my dad was talking about back in the town hall meeting? The ones looking for customers? That's who you're going to save right now."
The only way I know he's heard me is a small tic along his jaw. "You saying I should call off the rescue?"
"That's not what I said."
"What are you saying?"
"That maybe the people you're going to save aren't worth a whole lot of saving."
"I know you like to do things your own way, Wyatt, but I'm a law man. I believe in justice just like you, but in the kind that plays out in the judicial system."
I snort my disbelief. "Sure, Sheriff. Sure."
His snapping fingers get my attention. He holds his hand next to his chin and points down at the tiny body camera clipped to his shirt. "The judicial system is in place to remove the burden of responsibility from the citizens."
I nod once. “Gotcha."
“What do you think they were doing out there? Doesn't seem like a typical hobby for guys like that.”
