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He squeezed his eyes shut. “Your will be done.” It was a weak whisper. Only a seedling in his heart. But it was there, reaching toward the life of the Son. “Your will be done.”
The second time came stronger.
Hunter reached for his phone, sitting on the overturned log he used as a side table. Pulling up Janie’s name, he started a new text.
You are capable, Janie. You can do this.
Send.
He tipped his face so that he had a full view of the stars shimmering in brilliant light. So close he might reach out and finger the sparkle of each diamond.
Can You bring forth the constellations?
No, Hunter could not. God was God and he was not. With an intentional yielding of his heart, Hunter left Janie in the hands that held all of heaven and earth. And he prayed that she would win.
“Your will be done.”
Twenty-Six
Shewasn’tgoingtomake it.
Janie wrapped her flannel-clad arms around her legs and laid her head against her knees. Her back tinged with sharp ache, and her shoulders blazed with tight heat. The pounding in her head throbbed—this headache worse than it’d been the night before.
Three more days . . .
Just three more days of hiking, backpacking. Three more nights of sleeping on the cold, hard ground.
She could do three more days.
No. I can’t. And I don’t want to.
That was the raw truth of it. She wasn’t this girl. She wasn’t Hazel Wallace or even Grady’s college friend, Emma. She was just Janie. The girl who liked a good mattress and a warm comforter. The girl who thrived in a kitchen, not a canyon.
Maybe that made her a wimp. Right then, as her body sagged with exhaustion and muscles spasmed with pain, she didn’t care. Much.
The scuffling sound of rocks beneath shoes alerted her to someone coming from behind her. Janie couldn’t summon the energy to look back, but she felt fairly certain it would be Grady. He had consistently been the first one awake in camp, and by the smell of burnt coffee, she guessed he’d made her a cup.
“Morning.” And that masculine voice, quiet against the breaking morning stillness, confirmed it.
Janie pulled in a draw of chilly arid air. And forced herself to turn. “Good morning.”
She winced as she attempted to move. Grady held a staying hand, finished his walk toward her, then lowered onto the ground at her side. He passed her that steaming mug and settled his gaze on the eastern horizon.
A ball of golden-orange fire flickered above the rim of plateaued earth in the far distance, spilling its wealth of brilliant-yellow light into the canyon of hoodoos—an impressive gathering of spires—dialing up the natural pale orange and pinks of the sandstone to the richest orange red. Patches of snow and small areas of evergreens contrasted against the bowl of earthen fire. The breathtaking view was worthy of silent awe.
Light crawled up the canyon, and as the sun fingered her limbs, welcome warmth seeped into her tired muscles. Janie sipped the coffee Grady had brought her, grateful for the heat in her belly. She drew in a long breath and released it as a sigh of relief.
“You’re tired.” Grady reached to massage her neck with one hand. Rarely did he touch her—a hand here and there when there was a steeper section of trail. Fingers brushed her shoulders when he helped her relieve the burden of her pack. But something more personal? More tender?
Not really. Even this . . . His fingers were firm and kind, but the sensation behind it was friendly concern.
Janie released another sigh. “I am. This is . . . I’ve never done anything like this.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. Then he rubbed his palm along the width of her shoulders. “Don’t take this wrong, Janie.” He paused, pulling his touch away. “I’m not trying to be cruel, but I think you need to go home.”
His tone had been anything but mean, but tears pricked Janie’s eyes just the same. She adjusted so that she faced him. “I’m holding you guys back.”
He shook his head and then met her eyes. “That’s not a worry—we’re not in a race here. And no one is upset, so don’t let your mind go there. The thing is . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze drifting back to the spectacle of the canyon below. Then he looked back at her. “The thing is, I know you don’t really want to be here. And I’m not sure that you’ll make the Under-the-Rim Trail. If we’d done it first, maybe . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to attempt it at this point.”
