Wyoming Mountain Escape
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Laura Scott
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16,7K
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19
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Chelsey Robards walked out of the Teton Valley Hotel and approached the grassy knoll where her wedding guests waited. She paused at the front of the aisle, her stomach knotted with tension. Wearing a white gown, her veil trailing from a ring of flowers pinned in her curly golden-blond hair, she looked apprehensively at Brett Thompson, her long-time friend and soon-to-be husband. Brett smiled encouragingly from his position near the right side of an arched lattice decorated with Wyoming wildflowers—the place they’d chosen to exchange their vows. Snow-covered Tetons, a section of the majestic Rocky Mountains, loomed behind Brett, creating a picture-perfect scene. Bars from “The Wedding March” began to play, but her feet refused to move.
This is a terrible mistake.
Chelsey had ignored the lingering doubts she’d experienced over the past week. The doubts had grown more pronounced when Duncan O’Hare, her and Brett’s childhood friend, had arrived to fulfill his role as best man. Chelsey’s friend and assistant manager, Trish Novak, was standing in as her maid of honor. Seeing Brett and Duncan together reinforced Chelsey’s doubts.
She couldn’t do this. Marrying Brett was a mistake. How had she let it go this far? She’d known Brett and Duncan from childhood, until her parents had moved to Wyoming the summer after her freshman year of high school. She loved Brett, but she understood now that she loved him as a friend.
Not a husband.
The song continued, her guests waiting expectantly. What should she do? She couldn’t embarrass Brett by refusing to marry him in front of their friends and relatives.
Duncan’s intense dark gaze caught her eye, his expression full of concern as if he sensed her inner turmoil. Drawing strength from Duncan, she forced herself to take the first step. And another.
The closer she came to the arched lattice where Brett waited, the more her stomach twisted painfully. She swallowed against the urge to throw up. Despite the sunlight overhead, she felt cold to the bone.
As she approached her husband-to-be, she abruptly stopped, unable to take that final step toward Brett. Every eye from those seated in the grassy knoll was glued to her and it was all she could do not to turn and run away as fast as her white ballet slippers would take her.
Brett’s smile never faltered. He waited patiently, having no idea how she felt. In contrast, Duncan’s dark brown gaze was serious, and she knew she wasn’t fooling him.
Not the way she’d fooled everyone else.
The song was winding down and she couldn’t postpone the inevitable any longer. She had to do this, even if it meant telling Brett afterward that she wanted an annulment. They could return the gifts and walk away as if this never happened.
Couldn’t they?
A sharp crack ripped through the air. It took a minute for her to notice the red spot blooming on Brett’s white shirt as he staggered backward.
“Get down!” Duncan lurched forward, grabbed her arm and dragged her away from Brett who’d crumpled to the ground.
He’d been shot!
Screams and bedlam broke out around them, the wedding guests scattering like mice, but Duncan didn’t let go of her hand. He dragged her away from the area, down the hill toward the wooded mountainside.
It was difficult to comprehend what had just happened. “Wait! We need to go back to Brett! He’s been shot!”
“He’s gone, Chelsey, but the shooter is still out there, somewhere. We need to keep moving.”
No! This couldn’t be happening! Brett! There wasn’t time to think, to truly comprehend. She followed in Duncan’s wake. Her bridal gown was long, and she kept tripping over the hem, the train picking up leaves and sticks as they raced for cover.
“But—I don’t understand.” Her mind was a chaotic, emotional mess. She didn’t want to marry Brett, but she didn’t want him dead. She loved him. He was a good friend. Dear Lord in heaven, what is going on? This didn’t make any sense. Who would shoot him? On their wedding day?
And why?
“Come on.” Duncan tugged on her hand, steering her toward a cluster of trees. It was mid-June and her white gown would be glaringly obvious against the green foliage.
“But—” Another loud crack echoed around them and Duncan yanked her down and behind the base of a large tree.
“We need someplace to hide.” Duncan’s voice was calm, as if running from gunfire was an everyday occurrence.
“My gown...” Her teeth began to chatter as if she were freezing cold. “W-we’ll be t-too noticeable.”
“It’s okay, I’ll protect you.” Duncan’s deep voice was ridiculously reassuring, even though she had no idea who he was protecting her from. He swept his gaze around the area, then gestured to the left. “This way.”
She wasn’t in a position to argue. He stood and helped her up, steering her toward another large tree. The air had fallen silent, and she hoped, prayed the shooter had cut and run.
They continued their zigzag pattern using the various trees and rocks for cover, moving from one place to the next. At some level she realized Duncan was taking them deeper into the woods and up the mountain. Her ballet slippers weren’t designed for this kind of rugged terrain, and she could feel every rock and stick poking at the soles of her feet.
Duncan didn’t let up his aggressive pace, moving swiftly and silently through the woods. She risked a glance over her shoulder. They’d gone so far that she could barely see the grassy knoll or the lattice arch. Only a hint of the log cabin frame of the Teton Valley Hotel was visible through the trees.
It was as if all evidence of her wedding had vanished.
A searing guilt stabbed deep. Was this somehow her fault? That her deep desire to avoid marrying Brett had caused this to happen? No, that didn’t make any sense, but she still couldn’t shake the shroud of guilt.
Poor Brett. No one deserved to die. To be shot in the chest at his own wedding. He’d always been nice and kind to her, especially when they reunited just a few months ago at her mother’s funeral.
Maybe it was the shock of losing her mother that had caused her to turn to Brett for comfort. That made her accept his surprising proposal. At first she’d felt complete, as if this was what God wanted—for her to move on with her own life.
Until the doubts began to creep in. Growing worse as the big day approached.
Her veil caught on a low-hanging tree branch. Tears sprang to her eyes as the flowered headpiece was yanked from her hair.
“Are you okay?” Duncan’s keen gaze didn’t miss a thing.
She nodded, even though she was far from okay.
She’d never be okay again.
They continued their mountain trek until she could barely move. Finally, Duncan stopped behind an outcropping of boulders.
“We’ll rest here for a bit.”
She dropped to the ground where she stood, pulling up the ragged, dirty hem of her gown to peer at her feet. The white ballet slippers were brown and already beginning to split at the seams. Full of despair, she kept remembering the bloodstain growing in the center of Brett’s white shirt directly over his heart. Yet the horrific memory didn’t bring her to tears. Her dear friend, the man she’d promised to marry, was dead. Brutally shot at their wedding.
Why wasn’t she sobbing buckets of tears?
“Chelsey, look at me.” Duncan’s voice penetrated her internal thoughts. She lifted her head to look up at him. “I need to find fresh water for us to drink, or we’ll become severely dehydrated out here. Will you wait here? Water is trickling nearby, but I’m not sure exactly where it is.”
Dehydration? Was that why she couldn’t cry? At least that made sense, a bit of logic in a world that had suddenly turned upside down. “I’ll wait.” The words came out as a hoarse croak.
Duncan’s hand gently squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll be back very soon.”
She nodded again, because frankly she didn’t have a choice. Now that she was sitting on the ground, she didn’t have the strength to go on. Not that sitting on the mountain all night held any appeal.
Duncan still wore his light gray tux and white shirt. His dark blue boutonniere had been lost along the way. Other than his chocolate-brown hair being damp with sweat, he didn’t show any sign of exertion. And when he moved out of her line of vision, her chest tightened with panic.
“Duncan, wait!” Her earlier exhaustion vanished. She struggled to her feet, unwilling to be left alone.
He quickly returned his dark gaze full of concern. “Easy, Chelsey, you’re going to be fine. We’re safe.”
“How do you know? What if the gunman followed us?”
“Based on the trajectory of the bullet, I believe he was on the roof of the hotel when he shot Brett. There’s no way he could have followed us through the woods.” Duncan sat beside her wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to be fine, Chelsey. We’ll get through this.”
She leaned against him, burrowing her face in the hollow of his shoulder. Maybe it was wrong to seek comfort in Duncan’s arms so soon after losing Brett, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
If anyone could get her out of this mess alive and in one piece, it was Duncan O’Hare.
Duncan cradled Chelsey close, inwardly reeling from the brutal slaying of Brett Thompson.
What in the world had his old buddy gotten involved in?
The hit had been done by a professional, there was no doubt about that. Chilling to realize just how close he’d come to losing Chelsey, too.
The second shot had been meant for her. It was the only explanation. Otherwise, why hadn’t the shooter taken off, disappearing amid the chaos?
Duncan had been in Jackson, Wyoming, for only five days, but from the moment he’d arrived, he’d sensed there was something going on with Brett.
The guy had been skittish, constantly looking over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to come up and grab him from behind. When Duncan had pressed him for information, Brett had shrugged off his concerns, focusing instead on how fortunate he was to have Chelsey as his fiancée. That he couldn’t wait to marry her.
Now Brett was dead. Shot at his own wedding. Duncan’s heart ached for what Chelsey had lost today. Not just a friend but her soon-to-be husband. He didn’t blame her for falling apart.
Chelsey stirred in his embrace and he reluctantly loosened his grip. “Better?”
She nodded and pushed a strand of her wavy golden-blond hair from her cheek. “I’m sorry to break down like that.”
“Hey, you’re entitled after everything you’ve been through. I’m so sorry about Brett. I know the reality probably hasn’t hit you yet, but I’m here for you, when it does.”
She stared down at the ground for a long moment. “Thanks.”
He glanced around. “I really need to find us water and shelter.”
“My shoes are about to fall apart.” She gestured to her mud-stained slipper-like shoes. “I’m not sure they’ll hold up to more hiking.”
The thought of her being barefoot concerned him. He lightly touched her bedraggled wedding gown. She’d looked so amazingly beautiful as she’d come toward Brett, but the poor dress had taken a beating during their mad dash through the woods. “I have a pocketknife. I think we should rip strips off your gown and wrap them around your feet.”
“That might work.” She didn’t look upset at the thought of destroying her gown. Not that it was salvageable at this point anyway.
“Here.” He dug the penknife out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Work on that while I’m gone.”
She took the knife and picked up her voluminous skirt. Without hesitation, she sliced through the fabric and began sawing back and forth, creating the strips he’d suggested.
He eased to his feet and hurried off toward the sound of trickling water. The Tetons had snowcapped peaks even in June and he knew much of the water was melted snow. Pure enough, he hoped, that they wouldn’t get sick.
Once he’d secured a water source, he could focus on a shelter and building a fire. Thankfully, his time in the army and being deployed overseas to serve in Afghanistan had provided the survival skills he needed to keep them safe.
The water wasn’t far, a couple of yards and he stretched out on the ground, lowering his mouth to the stream to take a drink. They hadn’t climbed up as much as they’d headed west, but it wouldn’t take long for them to feel the change in altitude. Keeping well hydrated was critical.
Now all he needed was a way to carry the water back to Chelsey. Too bad they hadn’t gone on the run with a water bottle. He stripped off the jacket of his tux and examined the pockets. They were a blend of polyester and cotton—not waterproof by any means, but it was possible they’d hold enough water for her to take a few sips.
After filling the pocket with water, he quickly carried it back to where Chelsey waited. The water seeped from the seams but remained halfway full by the time he offered it to her.
She eagerly drank, looking disappointed when it was gone.
“I’ll get more,” he promised. “But it would be easier if you could walk over there. It’s not far.”
“I only have two strips cut so far.” She held up her work.
“Here, let me wrap these around your feet—that should hold for now. We can cut more later.”
The strips helped to hold the flimsy shoes in place. He helped her stand and showed her the way to the brook. Once she’d taken her fill of water, she sat back with a sigh. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.”
He nodded, glancing around the area. “I need to find us shelter for the night.”
“For the night?” Her voice rose in alarm. “We’re staying out here all night?”
“Chelsey, we don’t have another option. It’s already eighteen hundred hours. I mean, six o’clock in the evening. Even with daylight savings time, the sun will be hidden behind the mountains soon. It will be dark here in the forest—we can’t risk hiking at night.”
“Why can’t we go back to the hotel? I’m sure it’s safe, the gunman is probably already under arrest.”
He wasn’t at all convinced. “Remember the second gunshot we heard?” When she nodded, he said gently, “Who do you think they were shooting at, considering Brett was already dead from being shot in the heart?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a long moment her voice came out in a squeaky tone. “Me? You think he was shooting at me?”
He hated upsetting her, but she needed to understand the scope of what they were dealing with. He glanced around again and gestured to the right. “I think that might be a small cave in the side of the mountain. I’m going to take a quick look.”
This time, she didn’t protest, clearly reeling from the idea that someone had just tried to kill her.
The cave was more of a shallow curvature in the rock. It wasn’t much. In fact, he didn’t think both of them would fit sitting together within the indentation. But Chelsey was slim and petite. She could use it and he would sit outside the opening, keeping the fire going.
He returned to get Chelsey, who took another long drink of water before following him to the shelter. She didn’t look impressed but sank down and leaned against the rocky wall anyway.
Scouting the area for firewood didn’t take long, and soon he had a nice pile of logs and kindling. He didn’t have a lighter so he used a flint rock and dried sticks, a trick the army had taught him, to create a spark. A bit of fabric from Chelsey’s dress helped.
The spark turned into a flame. Lightly blowing on the small flame, he added one twig, then another, nurturing the flame into a full-blown fire. When he was satisfied it was large enough, he added a log and scooted back to sit close to Chelsey.
“Are you hungry?” He glanced at her.
She shivered. “No. I can’t eat.”
He understood she felt that way now, but they’d be hungry by morning. The body had a way of overriding grief to sustain basic needs. What was left of the sunlight was already fading and hunting in the dark wouldn’t work, even if he had something to hunt with other than his penknife, which he didn’t.
There was no point in thinking about food now. Tomorrow he’d need to come up with another plan.
What that would entail, he had no clue.
“Take my jacket.” He tucked the edges of his tux around her shoulders. “The rock will be cold. Better that you stretch out on the ground instead.”
“Okay.” She did as he suggested, looking like a waif in her dirty and ripped wedding gown, wrapped in his tux. There was a long silence as they watched the fire. The flickering flames were mesmerizing, but now that he’d secured the basics of their survival needs, he wanted to understand exactly what had gone down earlier that evening.
“What was Brett involved in?”
She turned to stare up at him blankly. “What do you mean?”
“Brett must have been involved in something dangerous. Do you know anything about this new job he was all excited about? Something about working protection detail for a wealthy rancher who lived near the hotel?”
Her beautiful blue eyes crinkled with confusion. “What wealthy rancher? Brett worked as a project manager for Coyote Creek Construction. They construct businesses and residential homes. I don’t know anything about Brett’s alleged job of protecting a wealthy rancher.”
He wrinkled his brow in confusion. “How long has he been working for Coyote Creek Construction?”
“I’m not sure, maybe a couple of years? Why would he tell you some weird story about a new job working for a rancher? Especially a wealthy one? The only rancher we know is Elroy Lansing, and he certainly doesn’t need protection from what I know. Frankly, his ranch has been going downhill the past few years—rumor has it he’s selling land to anyone offering a cash deal.”
No wealthy rancher needing protection? It didn’t make any sense. Brett had obviously lied about his job, either to him or to Chelsey. And the more important question was, why? There was no reason, especially if he had a job working as a project manager for a construction company.
What secret was Brett covering up?
Whatever it was, it had likely gotten him killed.
And worse, put Chelsey in harm’s way.
