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Grayson’s hands moved quickly, snugging Maverick’s cinch and sliding the bridle back into place. He led the sorrel out from under the trees and swung into the saddle.
Riding double was never the most comfortable thing. He lifted Beth from John’s arms and held her petite body tight against himself. “Thank you.”
The man nodded.
“Colleen, you’ve got things here?” Grayson swallowed. Because, yeah. Otherwise, he was leaving an entire crew of campers behind to fend for themselves in the middle of the North Shore woods.
“You take care of her. I’ve got this here.”
“Thanks.” Grayson turned Maverick away from the group, who wore heavy lines of worry on their faces.
“I need you to do this for me, Mav,” he said. “Slow and steady.”
Beth clung to him. So much wet and mud and blood. The bandages that Colleen had wrapped on Beth’s head had soaked through.
And the new front of clouds had rolled in, bringing with them enough rain to soak the Sahara. Grayson’s hat kept most of it out of his eyes, but he couldn’t do much for Beth.
He gave Maverick his head, and the gelding picked his way along the muddy trail. Not even the rolls of thunder shook the horse.
He was solid.
By the time they reached the rendezvous spot, Robin and Sammy were waiting with the fresh meals, parked right next to an ambulance. Noah and Anne’s vehicle was parked behind the bakery van.
Robin’s hand covered her mouth, and she let out a little gasp. “Oh, Grayson,” she whispered.
The medics opened the back of the ambulance and lifted Beth from his arms.
Noah stepped forward. “Go with her,” he said.
“The horses? The riders?” Grayson wiped the rain from his face.
“We’ll take care of it. I’ve got Walter coming up with a trailer, and the church is sending up a van.
“Walter’s here?”
“He just got back to town. Trust me—we’ve got this.”
Grayson leaned into Maverick’s mane. Rivulets of water ran down the horse’s sides. “Thank you,” he whispered.
He passed the lead line to Noah and climbed into the back of the ambulance before the doors closed.
* * *
Beth opened her eyes.White ceiling. Her bed in her bedroom in her dad’s house. Her bedside lamp was on.
She ran her fingers along the floral quilt, her fingers going up and down over the stitching.
She blinked, hoping that might clear the fog. She couldn’t remember getting into bed. Or why her head felt like a steam engine had run it over.
“Hey,” Dad said. He sat on the end of Beth’s bed. Haggard lines creased his face.
“What’s going on?” Beth rubbed her hands over her eyes and scooted into a sitting position. “What time is it?” She touched the wrap on her head. A bandage.
“Go easy.” He put a hand on her leg. “You’ll be able to take that bandage off tomorrow. You have a couple stitches. It’s almost eleven.”
Stitches? Eleven? Beth stared at her curtains. Darkness. “What day is it?”
“It’s Saturday night.”
