Julian’s heart swelled. She felt safe with him. As well she should. He was going to make sure that these two new experiences were nothing short of risk-free and epic.
“I’m ready if you are,” she told him fifteen minutes later after eating one of the blueberry muffins they’d made together the previous night. Julian’s sweet tooth had been calling to him before bed, and Petula had suggested whipping up the confections because it would suffice for breakfast, as well.
They’d had fun, and the upside of those late-night antics? When he’d lifted her up onto the counter for some kissing, she’d flashed him a breast.
Blueberry muffins might now be his new favorite.
“All set.” He grabbed the keys to the rental, which—like every other morning—they would drive to his father’s barn and swap out for his truck. The only difference was, instead of going tothe UPS hub, after, they’d head to the shop to meet up with the ladies.
Twenty minutes later, he and Petula walked into Diver Downeast to a scene of pandemonium. Equipment was being amassed on the counter, and orders were being shouted back and forth.
“What’s happening?” Julian managed to make himself heard above the din.
“Log drive gone bad up north,” Spencer told him. “A couple of the river-pigs are missing.”
“River pigs?” Petula questioned, her face puzzled.
“Log drivers,” Julian explained, kicking in to help with the rescue equipment they’d need. “They guide the logs downriver, at great risk to themselves, preventing jams and clearing snags with peaveys.”
“That must mean those long hooks I’ve seen before?” she clarified.
“That’s right,” Julian confirmed. He turned to Spencer. “What caused the accident?”
From what Julian understood from his many years in Maine, lumbermen were hardy stock and rarely made mistakes.
“They were timber-rafting this particular, small load,” Spence told him, “and the ropes lashing the logs together on one of their rafts, gave way.”
“Not something that normally happens,” Trask added for Petula’s benefit. “These guys are pros. It must have been a rookie mistake.”
The accident didn’t sit right with Julian. Even if a newbie had been responsible for tying the tree-trunks together, a senior logger would have checked and rechecked the work. That’s just how it went.
“Okay. I’m going, too,” Julian told his brothers and Tabbi, who looked like she was also joining the operation. He turnedto Petula as the team grabbed gear and began walking it out to the van. He took her upper arms, regretfully. “I’m sorry, but our outing will have to be postponed. You stay here with Sheila and Jett. Okay?”
Those two women, left to man the shop, were already on the phone calling EMS, and the appropriate police department to meet the team in the town where the rescue would take place.
Julian was determined to call it a rescue and not a recovery, at least until all emergency protocols had been exhausted and circumstances said otherwise.
“Of course it’s okay,” Petula told him. She threw herself forward, hit his chest with a thump, and wrapped her arms around him to squeeze. “Go. Find those men. Be safe.”
“I will,” he said, and with one final kiss to the top of her head, he loaded up with gear and took off after his team. “You, stay put here, okay?” he remembered to add.
“I will. Promise,” Petula told him.
Thirty-three minutes later,on a drive that would normally take forty-five, they came to a halt seeing police lights strafing the forest logging-road. A group of men, sopping wet, either sat on the shore of the river, or were busy going in and coming out of the water with dour faces.
The police were standing by. Clearly none of their small force had diving experience.
“Tell us what happened, and give us an update,” Spence barked out to the assemblage as Julian and the team unloaded gear and began to suit up.
A tall, bearded, bear of a man walked up, mopping his face with a towel. His chest was heaving as if he’d just swum amarathon. “It should have been routine,” he rasped, spitting off to the side to clear his throat. “Six men, two rafts, nothing unusual. Then one just…came apart.
“Luke, there,” he pointed to a shivering youngster, “was able to jump clear, but Bork and Halsy went under and were swept away. We’ve been searching for them, ever since, but with no luck. We aren’t equipped to be out in the cold water for very long, so we can’t get to where we think they might be.”
He pointed across the fast-moving water, a hundred feet or more to a bunch of logs that were snagged on an outcropping of rocks, mid-river.
The man looked devastated, as did all the others who had obviously been searching the best they could since the accident, attempting the long swim and failing.
Spence nodded. “Can you account for the rest of your crew before we go in? We need to be the only ones in the water,” he clarified.
