The One That I Want (Scorned Women Society Book 3) Piper Sheldon (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📖

The flap of his poncho that caught the railing. The log that popped out of the water, slamming into his ankle. There was nothing I could do but gasp and wait for the dominoes to fall. And fall he did. One second he was vertical. The next he was horizontal.

I gasped and lunged forward.

I was going to kill him. As soon as he came out of this alive, I would kill him. I could picture him, laughing it off, saying he’d felt like a swim. I half ran, half slid down the hill that led to the bridge about ten yards away.

But when he didn’t immediately pop back up, it was clear something was wrong. I could just make out the shape of him—unmoving—under the dark, rushing water. Skip had already jumped back toward the bridge.

On the walkie-talkie I shouted for help. I didn’t have time to hear their response. I tucked it away and ran to Skip’s side.

Skip was gripping the railings, fighting the now knee-high current.

“His leg!” I shouted and pointed to the log that was now stuck between Sanders’ leg and the bridge.

Skip’s pale face shot to mine. If he was shocked to see me, there was no time to acknowledge it. He nodded and shouted back, “I’ll get his head.”

We moved into action. Skip somehow straddled the railings to get behind Sanders as I waded into the rushing water.

“Can you lift his torso out? I’ll try and unpin him,” I yelled.

Fear gripped my heart. In all my years at the Lodge, there had been a few emergencies and typically I slipped into action mode easily. Each time I was able to take the necessary actions with clarity, following established safety protocol without hesitation. This time hot fear sliced through me, filling my mind with panic. Why wasn’t he out of the water? Just sit up, Sanders.

My fear went icy.

Sanders was unconscious. Pale as a sheet, his blond hair plastered to his forehead and his mouth slack. No time to think. I felt around his legs. Sure enough the current was pushing the log directly into his ankle, lodging it at an angle.

“Can you pull him back?” I yelled.

Skip hefted Sanders under his armpits. His face was taut with focus and fear. I gripped the log to keep the weight off as he worked. The freezing water made my fingers clumsy but pure adrenaline gave me determination. Distantly I was aware of the rough knobs and bark cutting into my fingers. The water was leaking into my ears, my whole lower body submerging in the frigid water as I dropped to leverage my weight. I shook with fear or cold. I couldn’t be sure. None of it mattered. There was only getting his leg unpinned. My hands kept slipping. Getting a grip was near impossible. I had to angle my feet on the opposite railing and shove with all my upper-body strength.

As Skip shifted the weight, there was just enough wiggle room to push back the log from its stuck position. Instantly, the gushing stream shoved the log roughly past. It floated away like a crocodile down the river, none the wiser that it almost killed a man.

Without discussion, I grabbed Sanders’ ankles, as Skip hefted the bulk of his friend’s weight across the bridge. It was a struggle. Sanders’ unconscious body was heavy. My galoshes slipped with every step. I fell to my knees. Skip yelled something at me but I couldn’t hear him. There was only carrying Sanders up the hill and away from the water. Finally, we made it to a picnic table a few yards away. It was up a mound and under some thick pines protected from the worst of the rain, cocooning us in dry safety.

Skip and I hefted him onto the table. Every muscle in my body strained at the effort. As soon as his back was on the table, Skip checked his mouth for obstructions as I pressed my ear to his chest.

Why wasn’t he responding?

I climbed on top of him, straddling his body so I could leverage my full weight. I hammered on his chest. His face was so pale.

“Wake up, dammit!”

Where was his ever-present smile? He looked so lifeless. I hit his chest with my fists. Why wouldn’t he respond? His heartbeat was strong.

I had been about to start mouth-to-mouth when he finally coughed.

“Let’s try getting him on his side,” Skip said in obvious relief.

I lifted off of him and helped Skip turn him on his side. Sanders threw up water and coughed out such a ragged gasp for breath, my own throat felt raw from sympathy. He lay back up and looked up at the sky, getting his bearings. He blinked rapidly as a few raindrops leaked through the branches and hit his face. I leaned over him to block them from falling on him. The moment I did his entire face transformed. His eyes widened and a huge smile revealed his goofy teeth.

I’d never been so grateful for a smile in my whole damn life.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi,” he said back.

I gently pressed my hand to his icy cheek. “I’m gonna kill you.” My voice shook with emotion I hadn’t expected.

“With kindness?” he asked.

A laugh-cough broke out of me. My own watery smile split my face at the sight of his. I couldn’t help it.

His gaze moved to my mouth. He closed his eyes with a sigh and dropped his head back to the table. “Totally worth it.”

Hands pulled me off him as two EMTs got to work checking on him.

As I moved back, it was like the rest of the world reappeared. It had been complete tunnel vision since the moment I saw Sanders fall. It felt like years of my life had passed but it could have only been a few minutes.

Skip came to stand at my side.

“He’s gonna be fine.” I said it to him as much as I did to myself.

Skip nodded. “He always is.”

Tension lined his gaze.