Page 22 of Revival in Laurel Valley

“Maybe two miles.” Grant’s arm tightened around her waist. “But we’re circling around her now. She went north. We’re going northeast. She’ll have to backtrack to find us, and by then we’ll be at the cabin.”

If we make it, Liza thought but didn’t say.

They pushed on through the darkness, leaving the sound of the creek behind, climbing higher into the mountains. Every step was agony. Every breath burned. But Liza kept moving because the alternative was unthinkable.

Grant moved ahead of her with surprising quiet despite the rough terrain. She tried to match his pace, but she was a baker from Vancouver, not Robocop or whatever he was. Every step felt loud, clumsy.

They pushed deeper into the forest, the grade growing steeper. Liza’s lungs burned and her legs ached, but she kept moving. Above them, through breaks in the canopy, stars wheeled across the sky. Grant used them to navigate, always heading north.

“Tell me about this cabin,” Liza said, needing something to focus on besides the pain. “Is it actually habitable?”

“The O’Haras use it for hunting season. Should have a woodstove, bunks, basic supplies.” Grant helped her over a fallen log. “It’s remote enough that Caine won’t stumble on it by accident. She’ll have to know where it is.”

“And if she does?”

“Then we don’t go in. We find somewhere else.” His hand tightened on hers. “I’m not walking you into a kill zone. Can you make it the rest of the way?”

Every part of her hurt. Her head, her feet, her lungs. But she thought about the alternative—being caught by that woman on the motorcycle, the one who’d already tried to kill them once today.

“I can make it,” she said.

They pushed deeper into the forest, leaving the road and its dangers behind.

Liza focused on putting one foot in front of the other. On not falling. On not thinking about how impossible this all was.

Chapter Six

The ground gave way beneath her feet without warning.

One moment she was following Grant through the darkness, the next she was falling through rotted wood and empty air. She didn’t even have time to scream before she hit bottom.

Pain exploded through her ankle and up her leg. The breath left her lungs in a rush. Above her, she could see the ragged hole she’d fallen through—maybe fifteen feet up. Moonlight filtered down, barely enough to see by.

“Liza!” Grant’s voice, sharp with fear. His face appeared at the edge of the hole. “Are you hurt?”

“My ankle.” She tried to move it and gasped. “I can’t tell if it’s broken.”

“Don’t move. I’m coming down.”

“Grant, no⁠—”

But he was already lowering himself through the opening, finding handholds in the coarse timber supports. Within seconds he dropped beside her, his hands immediately going to her ankle.

“Old mine shaft,” he said, gently probing the injury. “Must be dozens of them up here from the silver rush days.” His touch was careful, professional. “Can you wiggle your toes?”

Liza tried. The pain was intense, but her toes moved. “Yes.”

“Good sign. Probably sprained, not broken.” He pulled the supply bag closer and dug through it, finding the medical kit Wyatt had packed. Inside was an ACE bandage and medical tape. He wrapped her ankle carefully, firmly enough to provide support but not so tight it would cut off circulation. “Can you stand?”

She tried and immediately crumpled. Grant caught her before she fell.

“Okay, new plan.” He looked up at the opening. “I’m going to lift you up, then pull myself out. Think you can hold on to the edge while I get up there?”

Liza nodded, not trusting her voice. The pain was making her nauseous, and her head was pounding again from the concussion.

Grant positioned himself beneath the opening and laced his fingers together. “Step here. I’ll boost you up.”

It took three tries—each one sending fresh waves of agony through Liza’s ankle—but finally she got her hands on the edge. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase on the rotted wood while Grant pushed from below.