Chapters (62)
- Cover
- Half Title Page
- Books by Katie Powner
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“We told you all about it when you woke up this morning.” He speaks slowly and carefully like I’m three years old. “Do you remember that?”
I frown. I remember being cold. Really cold. I remember waking up. I remember the doctor and everyone talking, talking, talking. But what had they said about yesterday? My cheeks burn with shame. I want to remember. I shake my head.
Mitch stands and moves over to my bed. I can’t read what that is in his eyes. He puts a hand on my arm. “You walked away from the house when Dad was out riding. Got caught out in the snow. Bea found you and drove you up the mountain.”
My brows wrinkle. “Why would she do that?”
“She said you insisted. She said you were looking for someone. Do you remember?”
Icy hands press against my chest, making it hard to breathe. The snow is falling on my face. My son is out there somewhere, waiting for me. Wondering where I am.
“Mom?”
I take a deep breath. Mitch is my son. And he’s right here. I look up at his face. “Bea’s okay?”
He pats my arm. “She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.”
“Then why am I here?”
Mitch looks back at Rand, who clears his throat. “You have an infection, June. A bad one.”
“What do you mean? What infection?”
He looks embarrassed. “A urinary tract infection. They’ve got you on antibiotics.”
I scowl. “I don’t want antibiotics.”
“The doctors are also running some tests.” His look is more sheepish than embarrassed now. “On your blood.”
I stare at him, an ember of anger warming my chest where moments ago it had been frozen. They took my blood, and I didn’t even know it. I couldn’t even remember. Who gave them permission?
“We’re waiting for the results,” Mitch says. “They don’t want you to leave until you’re stable.”
I feel perfectly stable, but I say nothing. Whatever it is in Mitch’s eyes is in Rand’s eyes, too. Fear rises in my throat like words I wish I could say.
“How much longer?”
My son hesitates. “We don’t know yet.”
“I want to go home.”
“I know.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I know. But, Mom, you walked away into a snowstorm. You could’ve—”
He clears his throat. I blink. He straightens, standing tall. “You could’ve died. If Bea hadn’t found you . . .”
I try to push through the fog surrounding his words to hear what he’s really trying to say, but my mind can’t seem to fight its way through. The fog is thick and heavy. Shadowy. Dangerous.