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He needed to go visit Tristan. The crown prince had sustained extensive burns from a stupid kid’s jealousy and homemade pipe bomb. They’d recently brought him home, with medical personnel staying in the castle to insure he healed as well as possible.
Today Curt had hiked several miles straight east, to the base of one of the passes that led to the Austrian side of their Alps. It was picturesque, prettier than the Sound of Music—live and in full color. He’d stopped at his favorite waterfall, stripped down to his shorts and plunged in the icy cold lake at the base of the forty-foot fall.
Some people paid for cryotherapy or took ice baths. Curt dove in a mountain lake and got all the cold therapy benefits anyone could ask for. He forced himself to be still for a few minutes and then swam around the small lake, swimming under the pounding pressure of the waterfall and letting it massage his neck, head, and back. It was invigorating and his entire body was going numb. If only his heart and his mind could go numb.
The agony of not being able to save Suzanne and then having her family blame him for her death hurt. It hurt all the time. He’d quit climbing after she died. Suzanne had been a close friend. They’d had a lot in common and he’d appreciated having a willing friend to hike, climb, and explore with.
His brothers had been his best friends growing up, but all of them had found their own busy paths in life and now he was left behind to flounder and wonder what his purpose was. Firefighting was done for him. A passion for rock climbing, bouldering, and hiking wasn’t a productive career. Especially since he wasn’t climbing any more. Ray utilized him as a support to their border control and he didn’t think his brother was placating him that Curt was a ‘one-man protective army’, but he wasn’t certain.
He felt tremendous guilt for Suzanne’s death, but he didn’t mourn her like he mourned his mum. Memories of his mum, her laughter, sweetness, and never-ending love for him were bittersweet agony. He loved his dad but the hard-working, king of Augustine had heaps of demands and meetings. His dad and Tristan worked long hours to keep up. It was little wonder his dad didn’t think much of his fourth son wandering the woods and the media proclaiming him a ‘mountain man’.
How his dad, Tristan, Ray, Steffan, and Derek kept living and working and being productive after losing Mum was baffling to him. He’d quit climbing after losing Suzanne. He’d quit living after losing Mum.
He swam away from the falls, treaded water, gazing around at the verdant trees and undergrowth. The mossy green rocks framed the water spilling off the cliff. The falls were running high today, still full of spring runoff even though it was mid-June.
A scream of terror rang through the air as a woman plunged over the falls headfirst. Curt didn’t have time to make a sound of surprise before she hit the water and disappeared.
The lake wasn’t deep. Maybe six or seven feet. He and his brothers had of course climbed up to the waterfall and jumped off, but they’d hit their feet on some of the jagged rocks below. Some of them getting cuts and scrapes, but luckily no broken bones.
Please Lord, let her live, he begged. He had no clue who this woman was, but he couldn’t handle another woman dying on his watch.
Curt swam quickly to where she’d gone under and performed a shallow dive. She was right below him in the water, long dark hair streaming around her head, not moving. He grabbed her underneath her armpits and swam to the surface. Her eyes were closed and pink blood and water streamed down her face from a cut he couldn’t see, probably on the top of her head but covered by her hair.
Looping his arm across her chest, he tugged her to the shoreline. His mind scrabbled for first aid knowledge that he knew but hadn’t practiced in awhile. He’d trained as a firefighter and an EMT instead of going off to university like the rest of his brothers. He’d worked with his country’s wildland firefighters for stints and spent the rest of his time exploring and climbing. When he lost his mum he cut himself off from his firefighting buddies and didn’t take any proffered jobs. He couldn’t handle losing anyone else.
His feet touched the rocky bottom. He tugged the lady and pushed through the water until he was waist deep. Then he released his lifesaving hold on her, wrapped his hands underneath her back and thighs, and cradled her against his chest. He prayed she didn’t have a neck or back injury, but getting her out of the cold water and making sure she had a pulse and was breathing had to take precedence right now.
Lifting her easily, he cradled her close as he slogged out of the water. His mind was scrambling, frenzied, thinking of the next move and how to keep this woman alive and get her to help. But somehow the weight of this woman in his arms felt … right. As if he’d been waiting all his life to cradle her close.
He thrust that thought away. Stupid, sappy thoughts had no place in a rescue mission.
Walking barefoot onto the shore he settled her gently onto the flattest spot of ground he could find. Grabbing his shirt off his pile of clothes he wiped at the mixture of blood and water on her face and neck. With her eyes closed she looked innocent, young, and incredibly beautiful.
He pressed the wet, bloody shirt against her head to stop the head wound from bleeding. He’d have to worry about sterilizing the wound later. If she survived.
He was dripping wet but the sun was warm and the adrenaline warmed him as well.
With his free hand, he felt the pulse point in her neck. It was thrumming, strongly. Thank heavens. He put the back of his hand to her nose and was rewarded with warm breath. Saying a quick prayer of gratitude, he held pressure on the wound, thankfully the blood wasn’t seeping through his shirt.
A head injury. A beautiful woman. Him miles from help. Suzanne’s awful death played through his mind.
He reached for his backpack, yanking it closer to him. Since that awful day of losing Suzanne he’d bought a satellite phone and always had it close at hand. He had to release the pressure on the injured woman’s head to fish the phone out. Chad or Steffan first? Helicopter pilot or doctor?
Chad, he decided. His brother Tristan’s close friend was an accomplished pilot and had the military base resources and personnel at his fingertips. Major Chad Presley would bring the right help along, and get them to his brother Steffan and the country’s largest hospital in Traverse.
Curt and the woman were a fair distance from a spot the helicopter could land. They could lower a basket and get fairly close. The lake gave more clearance without trees than most areas in this part of his mountains but the forest butted up almost to the lake’s shores.
Pressing on his shirt and the head wound with his left hand again, he scrolled through and found Chad’s number with his right. Before the call could connect, the woman’s eyes fluttered open. Surprised and relieved, he looked into the most intriguing golden-brown eyes. Her long dark lashes were wet and framed her eyes so prettily he lost his train of thought.
She stared at him for a beat, her eyes wide, her pulse beating madly in her neck.
“Curt?” Chad said in his ear. “Everything okay?”
Curt had never reached out to Chad for anything besides an emergency. The last time had been eight months ago … He couldn’t think about Suzanne right now.
This woman was awake. That was incredible news. Suzanne had never opened her eyes after her head slammed into the rock wall of the cliff.
“A woman fell off the waterfall,” Curt rushed to explain. “She has a head wound and lost consciousness, but she’s coming around now.”
