Page 2 of I’ll Be There (Montana Fire #4)

The rain poured down, drenching all of them, a ghoulish mist rising from the forest beyond the road.

Pete emerged, pulling the victim out by the shoulders, lifting him onto the sleeping bag.

Jed crouched in front of the distraught teenage driver, put his hands on his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Even Conner had to look away at the crumpled body of a fifteen-year-old kid.

Pete was working on him anyway, giving him CPR, breathing for him.

A feral whimper emerged from the driver, a keening that worked its way into Conner’s bones, his cells. One he too well recognized. Conner got up, his stomach writhing, pretty sure he might lose it.

The cruiser had crossed the highway, pulled up, and a state patrolman ran down into the ditch.

Conner lifted his head to the rain, closed his eyes.

“That could have been us, if it weren’t for you,” Reuben said quietly, coming up beside him.

Conner’s mouth tightened around the edges. “It was me, twenty-one years ago. I wasn’t driving, but...” he glanced at Reuben. “I don’t know what my problem is. It’s not like I haven’t seen a car accident before.”

Or watched people die.

But maybe that was it. He turned back, his gaze on the driver, now rocking, weeping as Jed tried to hold him together.

As Pete continued CPR on the whitened body.

It came to Conner then, the source of the roiling of his gut. The one person missing from this weekend was the one other person who’d survived the crash that killed their parents.

The one person who should be celebrating his wedding.

Justin.

Wow, he missed him, although he lived with the wounds scabbed over most of the time.

But maybe he’d gone too long without thinking about him.

Without remembering how his brother loved sunrises and fishing and harassing him until Conner had finally cheered when he left for the military.

Without caring that his brother lay in a crappy grave on a grassy hillside in Montana, his killer free, unknown, and with impunity.

And, thanks to one P.T. Blankenship, former lead investigator at the NSA, in charge of his brother’s murder case, never to be found.

Yeah, he should be here. Conner pressed a hand to his stomach and walked up to Jed. Crouched next to the driver. “What’s your name?”

A hitched breath. “Gunnar.”

“C’mon, Gunnar. Sit in the truck or you’re going to go into shock.”

Gunnar raised his gaze to him, brown eyes unseeing.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Conner said softly, but didn’t add any words of absolution. They wouldn’t set anyway. He grabbed Gunnar by the arm, hauling him to his feet. Led him across the grass and mud to his idling truck where he shoved him into the passenger seat.

Then he reached over and turned the heater on, full blast. Not that it would help.

The cold would seep in, latch on, and frankly, he doubted the kid would ever be warm again.

Conner grabbed his cell phone before he closed the door. He hunched over in the rain as he opened the text app and thumbed out a quick message for Liza. Will be a little late, sorry.

She didn’t text back, and he guessed the hour still might be early for her. He tucked the phone in his back pocket, folded his arms, and leaned back against the grimy truck, giving up any attempt to keep out the chill.

There’s nothing you can do.

Conner shivered against his own words.

A siren whined in the distance, an ambulance cutting up along the shoulder of the now parked traffic. The cruiser had pulled out, routing traffic down to one lane, away from the mess. In the distance, thunder pummeled the sky cracked from bursts of lightning.

The ambulance pulled up, and Conner stayed at the truck, partially to trap Gunnar as the EMTs resumed work on his brother, packing him up. Not as hurried as they might be, but unable to pronounce him here.

The patrolman, badge name Monroe, came over, his vinyl rain poncho squeaking. “I need his statement. And yours.”

“He needs a hospital, first,” Conner said, moving in front of the door. Jed came up to join Conner. “Let him ride with his brother.”

Patrolman Monroe’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Better hurry.”

Conner opened the door. Heat poured from the sauna inside. “You okay to ride with—in the ambulance?”

Reddened, swollen eyes. A swallow, a nod.

Gunnar climbed out of the cab, grabbed the side of the truck bed for a second, as if to steady himself.

Conner had the crazy urge to hook his hand under his arm, half carry him to the rig.

But he’d have to learn how to stand up, walk on, endure this wound soon enough.

“You’ll notify his parents?” Jed said behind him to Monroe as the kid headed to the ambulance. The EMTs were just loading in his brother.

Conner didn’t need to plead his case to the EMTs—it was enough that Gunnar just stared down at his brother, stiffening, unable to breathe.

Yeah, he needed a hospital. That would be the easy part.

Jed was giving his account to Monroe of what happened when Conner returned. Pete came up, wiped his mouth. Blood came away, across his sleeve. Conner reached into the cab, handed him a bottle of water, but Pete waved it away.

Turned, gripping his hands on his knees.

Reuben stood with his back to them, watching the rig pull away, cross the median ditch, and merge back onto the highway.

Conner’s back pocket vibrated. He clamped his hand on his phone, pulled it out, and thumbed in the unlock code.

The app opened with Liza’s return message. No problem! I can’t wait to see you! We’re going to have a perfect weekend. Drive carefully—it looks like it might rain.

Another text came in behind it. Love you. XOXO.

The ambulance siren blared in the distance, cutting through the weepy, raw morning.

And behind him, Pete lost his morning donut.

She’d survived too much to give up now.

“What do you mean, the guest list exceeds the fire code?” Liza hiked the phone against her shoulder as she pulled out the puff pancake her wedding coordinator-slash-caterer Grace Sharpe had made last night and shoved into her fridge.

“The community center can only hold 178 people. And Grace’s last estimates had you at 180—”

“What if we...I don’t know—stand up? Ditch the tables?” Oh, if Grace heard her, she’d murder the bride on the spot. Liza peeled off the cellophane wrapper, then set her oven to preheat.

“I’m sorry, Liza, there’s nothing I can do. That’s the fire code limit.”

Just perfect . She ran a finger against her temple, now starting to throb. “I’ll figure it out.” She hung up and noticed Conner’s return text.

Ok.

No smiley face, no I love you.

Just Ok.

Which probably meant nothing and she was simply hearing the voices that told her that the last thing Conner Young wanted to do was drive halfway across the country, don a tux, and stand in front of a crowd of her friends making promises.

The guy simply didn’t make promises. Not after he’d broken the most important ones in his life. So, him asking to marry her, to make an epic, life-altering, forever vow to her seemed like enough of a sacrifice.

But, no. She had to have the wedding of the century.

A wedding that was careening quickly out of control.

But she had no choice. The wedding had to go off, had to be amazing. Because then she might tell herself that she’d put herself back together. That she was strong enough to follow the man she loved back into her nightmares. Or at least tell him the truth: She didn’t want to move to Montana.

“Are you okay, Aunt Liza?”

Raina Christiansen let herself into Liza’s tiny cottage, setting two-year-old Layla down to run across the room, arms outstretched.

The little girl wore a pair of black leggings and a shirt that said “Nana loves me.” Clearly a gift from Ingrid Christiansen, who’d turned a little crazy over her grandchildren.

Liza scooped up her grandniece, kissing her cheek, running her fingers into her side to make Layla giggle. “How’s my favorite princess today?”

“Ina gonna be fwower girl.”

“Yes you are, baby,” Liza said, kissing her again before setting her down.

Raina dropped a bag of groceries on the round table. She wore her dark hair pulled back in an orange headband, a matching sun dress, a white sweater. “Okay, I picked up grapes, a melon, bananas, and a watermelon. Is Grace here yet?”

Liza peeked into the bag. “Not yet. But she assembled some sort of German pancake last night and left it in my fridge. I’m supposed to put it in to bake—oh shoot, ten minutes ago.”

“Let’s get going,” Raina said. “We have a little party to pull together.” She scooped up Layla, who was rummaging through the diaper bag she’d dropped on the floor next to the table, and parked the toddler on her hip.

“Casper said he’d scoot down and pick up Layla so I could stick around and help.

He’s helping Darek get the resort ready for tonight’s campfire. ”

Liza ran a hand across her forehead. “This was a bad idea.” She blew out a breath, staring at the food.

“What—what do you mean?”

Liza picked up her phone. “Conner’s going to be late.”

Silence. Then, “So what? So you push the surprise back a little. Have you even heard from his friends? You never know—their flight could be late. I heard a storm is headed up the shore.”

“Yeah, exactly. In the form of this crazy wedding.” Liza walked over to the front window, staring out past her porch to the pebbled beach along the harbor, the lake lapping the shore under the arch of the cloudless sky. All blue, nothing amiss. The perfect Deep Haven day.

“It’s just pre-wedding jitters,” Raina said. She’d set Layla on the sofa and was feeding her a cracker from the diaper bag. “I understand—I had them too, right before—”

“It was just you, Casper, and his family. I’ve invited half the town.”

Raina drew in a breath and Liza turned, made a face. “I’m sorry. Of course you were freaking out. Especially after...well, you’d waited so long to finally marry Casper, and with Owen there...”