I could see that she kept trying to jolt up, straining against the restraints. They’d strapped her down at the head, chest and legs, and it seemed like her head being locked down was what was freaking her out the most.
“Amy, focus on me,” I said as Gabe started driving. “You won’t be strapped down forever. But you’ve got to let yourself calm into it. Okay? Do that for me, hon. It’s going to take an hour to get there.”
She stammered, “I’ve never liked feeling trapped. Can’t they just undo the head strap? Make them do that,please?”
“You and I both know the answer to that. Now they’re just doing what they think is best. You’re probably fine. But as Gabe so eloquently put it, there could be some danger in letting you move around before they’ve run some tests.”
I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. I got the feeling she was grateful for the connection.
“Just think about all the things you can do once you’re done with this experience. You’ll be so happy to be up and running around I could see you going hang-gliding down by Mount Magazine.”
She actually laughed at that, and I felt some of the panic leave her eyes. “I wouldneverdo that. I told you I’m not adventurous.”
“Mm. You look adventurous to me, Amy. Tell me what you would do for adventure if it’s not hang-gliding off the tallest mountain in Arkansas?”
I hated seeing her like this, strapped down to a backboard. But it would be even worse if something were seriously wrong with her.
Already I suspected her arm was broken. I just hoped that was the only thing that broke when she went flying off the mechanical bull.
Amy swallowed hard, and I could tell she was forcing herself to keep her panic at bay. “I already told you, Dawson. I’m a boring creature of habit. Coming out to the Bear Den was the most adventurous thing I’ve done in a year.”
“You want to hear a secret?”
She tried to nod, but the strap caught her head. “Y-yeah.”
“I’m not adventurous either.”
A tiny smile landed on her face, and I squeezed her hand tighter.
“What do you do when you’renotbeing adventurous, Amy?”
“Uh, let’s see. I work a lot. Doesn’t everyone? I’m a store manager at a gift shop.”
“Which one?”
“The Happy Pig. But it’s in Fernwood. You probably wouldn’t know it.”
“I suredoknow it. It’s over there off Cedar Street near the farmer’s market. I went in there once to buy a wedding gift for a friend of mine.”
She looked at me in surprise. “You know your way around Fernwood?”
The cargo van bumped cautiously down the road, taking the winding mountain curves slowly on account of the precious cargo back here with me. I just wanted to keep her talking so she wouldn’t panic.
“Sure,” I rumbled out. “I may be a country boy at heart, but I work in Fernwood. I’m there five days a week.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That’s quite a commute.”
“Yup. I was born and raised right here on Red Oak Mountain. This place is in my soul. But a man’s got to make a living. And itwas either the sawmill or the logging camp. Neither of those gave me a thrill.”
“What do you do in Fernwood?” she asked as she clutched my hand tightly.
This was good. She was askingmethe questions now. It meant she’d forgotten to be terrified of being strapped down.
I gave her the same answer I told every woman who asked. And I studied her reaction closely as I said it. “I make hubcaps, ma’am. I’m the best hubcap maker in the United States.”
Some women closed down immediately. Deeming me beneath their station.
I considered it a culling process on the way to my heart. I’d put some carefully placed roadblocks out there, and most women couldn’t see past them.
