Page 58 of Romantic

It’s raining slightly when we arrive at Bumble Cottage.

“Brandon!” Elinor runs out the front gate to meet me as I step out of my car. “Thank goodness you’re here. Edward just called me. Annie’s missing!”

“What! Why?” Pepper voices my concerns as we walk through the wet garden, Annie’s flowers drooping in the rain.

“Jack returned!” My stomach pools with dread. “He showed up right after Annie’s performance, and I guess they went on a walk up Ralph’s Ridge. Jack just made it back down the mountain. I’m not sure he would have told anyone, but Edward saw him and started asking questions.”

“And he just left her? On the trail?”

“Apparently, she was pretty mad at him and stormed off.”

“He still shouldn’t have left her.” I check my watch. It’s nearly six-thirty. We have two hours till sunset, and the rain is picking up.

“Annie’s a decent hiker,” explains Elinor, “but it’s been raining. And she’s in sandals, and her ankle has been bad all summer.” I need to get up the mountain now.

“If you watch Pepper, I can be ready in a couple of minutes.”

“Yes, of course,” says Elinor, taking Pepper’s bag from me.

“And boil some water. She’ll need something hot to drink.” I’m worried about hypothermia. With this storm, the temperature is dropping fast. It will be even colder higher up the trail.

Elinor hurries back to the house. I dash back through the garden to my Bronco parked outside the front gate. I put on my hiking boots.

“Will Annie be okay?” Pepper asks as I lace my boots.

“She’s going to be just fine. Now you need to go inside. I don’t need you catching cold in the rain.”

“Cold weather doesn’t make people sick. I saw a YouTube video on that.”

“Technically, you’re right.” I say as I grab a day pack with dry clothes, water, and protein bars, plus a headlamp and first aid kit. “Germs make people sick. But when you get too cold, your body is not as good at fighting germs. And I don’t want you sick.”

“What about you?” Pepper asks, her hair already damp from the light rain.

“I don’t get sick.” And right now, nothing could keep me from going up that trail.

Mrs. Greenwood runs down the steps with a thermos. “I made cocoa—it’s Annie’s favorite.”

“Thank you.” I stash the thermos in my pack. “I’ll bring her back,” I say with a confidence I absolutely do not have.

“I know you will. It’s fortunate you showed up when you did.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I find her,” I say as I climb into the driver’s seat and head to the trailhead.

The trail is wet and muddy and requires a lot of mental attention to keep from tripping, which is for the best. This is not the time for my mind to wander. I can’t afford to imagine the worst. Not tonight. I’m going to bring Annie back safe and sound. I wasn’t there when Daphne went missing. I was on the other side of the Atlantic. I never had a chance to save her. But with Annie . . . I can do something.

A half hour up the trail I meet a couple coming down the hillside. “Did you see a woman hiking? Curly red hair?”

“Yes!” answers the male hiker. “We saw her about three miles back. We told her to turn back, but she wouldn’t listen.” Sounds like Annie. Well, at least she was up and walking.

“She was making good time. But the poor thing was soaked through,” says the female hiker. “And not at all dressed for this weather.” Yep, definitely Annie.

‘Thank you!” And off I run. I pick up my pace as the sky darkens. I’m getting into a rhythm, grateful that I rarely skip my daily run. My lungs and legs burn, but I keep running. I feel like I could go all day. I’ve never felt more motivated. My alarm goes off after ninety minutes. I set it to make sure I refueled. I can’t risk crashing out. Not when Annie’s counting on me.

I eat as fast as I can, take a swift drink of water, and then I’m running again. The rain has stopped, but the trail is still muddy and quite slippery, and it’s getting harder to see. I slow down a little to keep from slipping. As I make my way up a series of switchbacks, I see a spot of color on the trail up ahead. I sprint as fast as I can, silently praying that it’s Annie and she’s okay.

She’s slumped with her back against a tree trunk; her legs and wet skirt are sprawled across the trail. Her head is down. She might be asleep. I kneel down beside her.

“Annie,” I whisper. She looks up. Mud streaks her pale face. Her green eyes flash open, wide and very alert.