Page 19 of Defiant Hearts

“She’s been sick too long,” Hitchcock stated what Wyatt was thinking.

He already knew it in his gut. After years as a ranger, his gut had rarely been wrong.

His chest ached with a specific dread he hated that he recognized. This wasn’t his first time standing beside a patient, feeling useless, watching someone he’d found too late slip past the line that separated them being saved from being lost.

Hikers who’d been out one day too many. An old man who’d wandered off during a cold snap and hadn’t made it to morning, found three days later, curled against a boulder like he’d just gone to sleep.

He knew what loss looked like, and he didn’t like the stillness that settled over this room now.

Hell, he didn’t even know her real name.

He skimmed his fingertip along her wrist again. Still hot.

“Help me roll her. I need to examine her back.”

Wyatt grasped her shoulder and her hip and gently rolled her onto her side. Holding her in place, he watched Hitchcock lift the hem of her top.

An old wound near her hip had healed to a jagged scar, about two inches long and pink along the edges. There was a story in that mark, but it wasn’t the one they needed.

Hitchcock leaned closer, tracing the wound with a gloved finger. “This healed beautifully. How long did you say she was up there?”

“She just said a while.”

“I’d say she gained this wound on the mountain. It’s impressive that it healed so well in wilderness conditions. Looks like she knew enough to keep it clean.”

Hitchcock gestured vaguely to the rest of her. “She’s reasonably clean. Hair’s a disaster, but her skin isn’t in the state I’d expect from months of zero hygiene. No lice that I can see.”

Wyatt thought of the little jar he’d found by the fire ring. The floral scent of petals suspended in some slick liquid. “She made her own soap out of petals, from what I could tell.”

Hitchcock’s brow rose. “Resourceful.” He picked up a pair of scissors and began slicing her shirt down the center.

“She’s a whole mystery,” Wyatt said just to fill the silence as he waited to see what was under that shirt.

“You don’t think her name’s really Jolene?” The snipping sound of the scissors continued.

“No. She wouldn’t look at me when she said it.” She’d looked away from him when she told the lie, and he thought about that while guiding her in a delirious state down the mountain to the road. Thank god he’d gotten that call out to the Black Heart and Gabe reached the road in time to help.

The shirt fell away, and the injury came into view. Angry, red and taut with infection.

He exhaled hard. “Jesus Christ.”

“Found the source of infection.” Hitchcock was already helping to ease her onto her stomach, positioning her head to the side and her arms on the cot. She didn’t make a single noise, which scared Wyatt even more.

“What do you think caused it?” His own lips were feeling numb as he forced his gaze away from the wound that wouldn’t be lethal this century unless it was left unattended and allowed to fester.

“Cut by rock or branch. Hard to tell. She couldn’t have reached it to clean it or tend it the way she did the one lower down.” Hitchcock rushed around, pulling open drawers and gathering supplies. He paused to look at her face again.

Wyatt’s stare followed. Her eyes were closed, a long dreadlock lying along her cheek. The color was hard to discern. Could be brown. Could be dark blonde.

The security team would need to run a background check on her. Fingerprints, a photo, anything to run against missing persons databases. Whoever she really was, somebody was probably out there looking for her.

And Wyatt didn’t yet know if finding her would place her in the very danger she was running from.

Hitchcock placed a sterile tray with instruments and medical supplies on the cart, then slid a mask over his face. “She’s septic.”

Wyatt stared at him.

“By bringing her here, you saved her life. Another day up there, maybe only hours, and that infection would have had her.”