“Late twenties. Engaged couple from Washington State. They’re up here for a week of river rafting and fishing, pretty much like everybody else.” Papers shuffled on his end. “Johnny Wilson and Patty Young. Patty’s the diabetic.”
May catalogued the possible problems. “Do we know if she took glucose tabs or insulin?”
“We don’t.” Brock paused. “I’m assuming she did, so I’m not panicking about that. I’m more concerned about the storm and how late they are. They should’ve been back by now.”
May was already moving, mind ticking through scenarios. “I can go on the search. I’ll leave Ivy here to handle anything that comes in, just in case.”
“Remember the rules, Doc. Two by two.”
“I know the rules. I helped set them up,” she grumbled.
He chuckled, sounding like Ace. “I know. We’re using Sam’s Tavern as the command center. We’ll send teams out from there.”
“I’m on my way.” She ended the call. The distant thunder rolled low, more vibration than sound. It was going to be chilly, for sure. She grabbed her raincoat and gloves, slipped off her tennis shoes, and pulled on her boots. The familiar motions steadied her.
She crossed into the reception area where Ivy and Nancy Phylets were chatting. Nancy, in her early thirties, looked blissfully relaxed in that rare pocket of quiet she claimed the clinic gave her. Four sons at home would do that to a woman. Her hair was tucked beneath a hat, and her eyes carried that easy, borrowed calm. “Hey, Doc. What’s up?”
“We’ve got missing tourists and a storm on the way.” May glanced at Ivy, who’d received a lovely bouquet of flowers from Jack earlier that day. “I need you to hold the fort down while I go search.” She reached beneath the reception desk and pulled out her field kit. The weight of it settled into her hand, solid and reassuring, as thunder bellowed again over Knife’s Edge.
The door opened and Ace stepped inside. May’s breath caught before she could stop it. He looked even more handsome than usual with his dark hair ruffled by the wind and light green eyes intent and alert. A five-o’clock shadow traced the angled planes of his jaw. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, a loose jacket, and well-worn boots that carried the dust of the day. “Hey, Doc. I’m your partner for the search.”
Warmth slid through her, unexpected and low in her belly. She hated that her body reacted before her brain had a vote. “All right.” She ignored the interest that leapt into Ivy’s eyes and the small smile curving Nancy’s red-painted lips.
“We’re supposed to take Whisper Creek Trail, then turn north toward Deadfall Ridge. I know that area best. You okay riding with me?” Ace asked.
“Yeah. Definitely.” So okay. Way okay, in fact.
Ace nodded. “I had to give my spare four-wheeler to the other searchers. We really need to get more for the town.”
“Cotton balls first,” Ivy said dryly.
“Proceeds earned this tourist season should help,” Nancy chirped. “We’ve had a lot of visitors come in with really good insurance.”
May tugged on her gloves. “I can’t believe we think that’s a good thing.”
“Hey, cotton balls are expensive,” Ivy retorted. Then she softened slightly. “Check in, will you? I’ll let you know if anything’s happening here.”
“You’ve got it,” May said.
Ace held the door as she stepped outside. The wind hit her instantly, whipping against her coat and stealing the warmth from her skin. “Ooh, that’s a good one coming.” The temperature had dropped fast by at least ten degrees.
“Yeah.” Ace glanced up at a seaplane banking overhead. An unreadable expression crossed his face, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
She followed his gaze. “Are they using that for the grid search?”
“Yeah.” A muscle visibly clenched in his jaw.
“You want to be up there?”
“I’m… torn.” He dragged a hand through his wind-tossed hair and guided her toward his matte black Polaris Sportsman 570. The machine sat clean, as usual, dark and ready to go.
He lifted his helmet from the ATV rack. It was matte black with a faint gray osprey decal barely visible beneath a web of scratches. The finish had dulled with years of use, tiny scuffs catching the fading light like old scars. The distant thunder rolled again, low and steady, as the storm gathered strength over Knife’s Edge.
The helmet Ace handed her was white, glossy, and clearly newer than his. The surface was unmarked except for a thin silver stripe along the sides. The padding inside looked firm, barely broken in. “Passenger edition,” he said.
May turned it in her hands, eyeing him. “Why do I have a feeling a lot of women have worn this?”
Ace chuckled, the sound low and easy. “Not true. I’ll get you your own, May, if you want.”
