In the end, Emma’s pet moose struck the fateful blow. The panicked bull finally found a foothold and pulled himself out of the water, his head lowered for purchase, and his single lethal antler rammed into Wayne Poulin’s ribs.
Poulin was thrown into the air with enough force to send him sailing out over the falls. He hit several outcroppings on the way down, finally landing in the pool at the bottom. Ben ran to the edge and looked down to see Poulin’s broken body floating facedown in the water.
Then he looked over at Emma.
Her head leaned back against the granite ledge, and her eyes were closed. She didn’t open them when she spoke. “Ben?”
“I’m here.”
“Get me down.”
She still hadn’t opened her eyes. She wasn’t looking down, and she wasn’t trying to look up at him.
“Are you afraid of heights, Emma?” he asked, understanding finally dawning when he saw her death grip on the ledge.
“Yes!”
Ben was incredulous. “You’re a pilot, for chrissakes. You spend most of your time in the air.”
“I’m not wearing any wings at the moment, Sinclair. Get me down—now!”
“I’ve got to go find my pack, Emma. There’s a rope in it.”
“Wait!” She finally opened her eyes and tried to look up, then gasped and shut them again.
“What?”
“Is … is Beaker okay?”
“He’s fine, Em. He’s standing right beside me.”
“And Pitiful?”
“I assume so. He ran off.”
“I heard Wayne fall, Ben. It was a sickening sound.” Her voice shook with distress. “Is he dead?”
“He’s dead.”
“I—I wish I wasn’t glad.”
“Emma, will you be okay while I go find our pack?”
“It’s probably all the way to Medicine Lake by now. Climb down and get me.”
She still refused to open her eyes, so she couldn’t see that it was a ten-foot drop to the shelf she was on. It was probably just as well. She also couldn’t see it was another thirty feet to the bottom.
Two quick gunshots cracked just below them, and Ben saw Atwood, Skyler, and Mike making their way to the foot of the pool where Poulin was floating.
“What was that?” Emma called up to him.
“Mike’s here with reinforcements. I bet the boy’s got some rope.”
He heard her sigh.
“Nem!” Mike called from below. “Are you okay?”
“Get me down, Mikey!” she hollered, her eyes still closed and her head still leaning against the cliff.
Mike looked up at his father and waved. Ben gave a sigh of relief, sat down on the bridge above Emma, and put his arm around the softly whining Beaker. The dog didn’t like seeing her distress any more than Ben did.
“Just a few more minutes,” he assured the dog. “We’ll get her up here safe and sound.” He petted him. “You did good, fella. I think there are a lot of cookies in your future.”
Still shaken from her ascent from the granite shelf, Emma found herself arguing with four determined males. The fifth, four-legged male hadn’t stopped licking her since she’d made it to the top.
“I am not flying out of here in a helicopter,” she told the men again.
“It’s already on its way,” Atwood said with a frustrated sigh.
Mikey should have been on her side, but the boy just kept shaking his head as he looked at her, the worry evident in his expression. “It’s the quickest way out, Nem. You can’t walk, and there’s no place for a plane to land.”
Emma grabbed Beaker’s nose in an attempt to get him to stop licking her. “I’m not getting in a helicopter, and that’s that.”
“Why the hell not?” Ben asked.
“Because helicopters are unnatural machines.”
Skyler snorted. “They’re remarkably nimble,” he said, apparently taking offense. “And perfect for situations like this one.”
“How are they unnatural?” Ben asked, looking genuinely interested.
“They don’t have wings. And all their spinning parts are trying to get away from each other. Do you see anything in nature that flies without wings?”
Her answer seemed to shock them. Except Mikey. He was well aware of her feelings toward helicopters. And although he might agree with her in theory, he obviously wanted her out of these woods badly enough to put her in a helicopter.
She wanted out, too. But in one piece.
She looked at Mikey. “I can make it to where the white water flattens out. There’s enough room there for a floatplane to land.”
“But there’s not a pilot in Greenville who’d be willing to try it,” he answered, shaking his head. “You’re the only one who would dare.”
Emma looked toward the sound of a helicopter approaching from the south. “That thing is older than I am,” she said as the aging Huey beat the air in heavy, pulsating thumps.
Ben got within an inch of her nose. “You’re getting in that helicopter and going to the hospital,” he said with the determination of a man who had been pushed past his limit.
“Someone’s got to lead Pitiful home,” she said. “He’s panicked from the earthquakes.”
“I will, Nem,” Mikey offered.
“That chopper can’t hover forever, Emma,” Ben interjected. “So what’ll it be? Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey or sitting in the basket like a dignified woodswoman?”
“You’re riding with me,” she countered, glaring right back at him.
The smile he gave her was purely male. “Oh, you can bet on it. I’m going to see that you’re examined from head to toe.”
Emma closed her eyes. And she didn’t open them for the hair-raising ride up the grappling winch, or the treetop ride over the countryside, or even for the gentle ride in the elevator of the hospital.
Because she fell sound asleep in the warm, safe, capable arms of the man she loved.
Chapter Twenty-three
It took the authorities nearly a week to find, identify, and finally release Kelly’s remains to Emma and Mikey. Her nephew had come to her two nights ago and asked if he could bring his mother home to Medicine Creek Camps for the wake, to let the townspeople pay their respects.
Emma had thought to have a quiet affair with only Ben and Greta present. But she soon realized how badly Mikey needed to perform this
