Hidden Heart Read online

  His friend the oak tree gave him a vicious stab in the side, and he hauled himself above water, sputtering and swearing, shouting “Fuck!” into coms that weren’t supposed to get wet and were crackling in and out.

  “Spence! Buzz crackle… at… ou?”

  Spencer looked up and saw Elsie had righted the chopper, and he was getting dragged down current behind the unlikely raft. The rope—fuck, was this a garden hose?—was getting winched up, and he was grateful he didn’t have to haul himself the whole way.

  “Get them to safety,” he gasped. “I’m fine. Come back for us.”

  “Can’t… eave… ou!”

  Bless her. “You can and you will!” he shouted, then sputtered through another mouthful of water. “Get those kids to safety, then get Glen Echo and Damien fucking Ward back here to bail my ass out of the fire. That’s your plan, Elsie,” he gasped. “Now go!”

  Her next words came in loud and clear. “Don’t fucking die!” And then the wind shear and the choppiness of the water eased off as she pulled the copter up and into a more controllable altitude. As the aircraft moved away, he saw the bay door close and gave a sigh of relief. At least Colonel hadn’t followed him. Thank God.

  Although he had a feeling that before this was over, he was going to miss his damned dog.

  The edge of the raft was looming, and he realized that he was going to have to grab what looked like a porch rail and pull himself to the front of the raft itself. He was too big to get between the first slat of the rail and the surface of the raft, dammit. He wasn’t quite there.

  With a grunt and a heave he started pulling himself along the edge of the raft, swearing as some of the rough edges of hastily cut posts ripped through his flight suit. He was going to be hamburger by the time he got aboard! As he made his way, he was aware that the last rescuee was urging him on like his own personal cheerleader, and if Spence could have talked through the cold and the pain, he would have told the guy to shut the fuck up and get off his back. Spence was getting there, goddammit, and he didn’t need any help.

  When his knees hit a mostly submerged set of stairs, he wanted to laugh, but he wanted to get out of the water even more.

  He dragged himself up the stairs, only peripherally aware that someone had grabbed the back of his flight suit and was hauling at it to help him up.

  Finally, he was on the deck proper, and with a heave and a grunt, he rolled over until he was flat on his back and looking up at the stormy sky that was still dumping rain on his upturned face.

  “Well,” he said, breathing heavily. “That sucked.”

  “The fuck were you doing?”

  Spencer pushed himself up, grunting again as a burning pain under his ribs hit him like a katana blade. “I was trying to get a hysterical kid into a helicopter,” he muttered. He squinted up through his goggles and the rain at the kid—well, a grown-up, but he had an open, appealing face and big guileless brown eyes, so he looked sort of like a kid—who had helped him up onto the porch. “I might ask you the same question.”

  “What?”

  “Well, the dam breaks at the base of a canyon, and you’re there with three teenagers and Grandma Moses? How did that happen?”

  “She lost power during the storm last night,” his new irritant said, staring at him like he was deranged. “We were heading to her place to make sure she was okay and we got told the dam had broken. We didn’t have time to get to higher ground!”

  Shit. “Well, that’s sensible,” Spencer said to himself. The deck was actually pretty stable, he had to admit. He thought for a moment about pulling himself upright and trying to stand to see if they could maybe steer this thing, but the searing pain under his ribs gave a yelp, and there was something going on with his shin and ankle that wasn’t shutting up either. “Fuck.”

  “Can I ask you again?” the guy with the sweet brown eyes insisted. “What in the heck were you doing?”

  Spencer grinned at him. “You said ‘fuck’ the first time.” It wasn’t his imagination. In the middle of the pouring rain, with brown hair plastered to his forehead and wearing a bright yellow jacket with a little green patch that said, “Sticky Parks and Rec” on it, the guy flushed.

  Spencer could almost see steam.

  “Yes,” he said with admirable dignity. “Yes, I said a bad word. But that’s not the point. What were you doing there?”

  Spencer scowled and gave a push this time—a real one—and managed to make it to his feet. Their raft pitched slightly as he stood, and he had to grab for the guardrail. He was shivering harder than he should have been. God, how bad was he hurt?

  “Well, we were up there,” he said, pointing behind them to the narrow canyon where two mountains came together. From their angle he could see the crumbling concrete and the fissure that was pouring water into this little valley, as well as the impervious green majesty of the mountains. “Up in those hills behind the dam. There’s a little town there—”

  “Splinter,” his new friend supplied.

  “That’s the spot. It’s got an airstrip. And we were running supplies to Splinter, and they were going to truck them down here to Sucky—”

  “Sticky.”

  “Yeah, sure.” With a sigh, Spencer unfastened his flight helmet, pulled it off, and dropped it to the deck gently. The electronics were probably fried, but a helmet was always a good idea. He wasn’t going to kick it into the grayish waters that surrounded their little craft. “Anyway, while we were in Splinter, a semi crashed into a big tree, which fell on the dam, and the dam started to give. My flight partner and I got a call from our friend who was down in Sickly—”

  “Sticky.”

  “—that there were some folks who needed help. We were literally the only chopper for a hundred miles, so we flew out.” Oh, hey. The raft gave a lurch again, and he scowled and grabbed the railing with both hands. Fuck. Fuck. Something warm and wet was trickling on the inside of his flight suit, and his leg wasn’t bearing any goddamned weight. Goddammit. This guy he was currently pissing off needed someone who could help him get out of this jam, and Spencer was not at 100 percent. That was unfortunate.

  “That was really dangerous,” the guy said. “You need more than two people to operate a helicopter with that kind of gear.”

  Spencer started to laugh, and his side gave a vicious snarl. He held his hand to it and was unsurprised when his glove came back covered in blood. “You think, Sparky? Yeah. But you guys needed us. This was just supposed to be a cargo run—we were supposed to run supplies. So no need for extra guys to operate the crane.” Spencer’s knees were wobbling. Fuck. He was going to have to sit down.

  He was terrified to sit down.

  If he sat down, he might not be able to get back up on his own, and then he’d have to throw himself off the damned raft because he’d be nothing more than dead weight.

  “Are you okay?” The man’s voice gentled a little, and Spencer looked at his hand again. That warm gushing feeling wasn’t getting any less intense.

  “Do you have any first aid supplies?” he asked frankly. “Some gauze, maybe. Some tape. I’d love some antiseptic—that would be fantastic. I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. I just need some—”

  The raft was floating downstream at a rather slow pace, belying the muscular current he’d fought when he’d been getting impaled by the damned tree. Suddenly it stopped, a jarring, painful stop that sent his friend grabbing for the fence rail and Spencer sprawling on his back.

  “Goddammit!” Spencer snapped, wondering if he was going to have to ask for a hand up to stand again.

  “Shit! I mean shoot!” His companion on the raft took a few steps across the deck to look down. “We’re hung up on a tree, I think. A snag of some sort. Shit. Shoot. Whatever.”

  Spencer looked around and frowned. “We’re not taking on water. We might just be okay for a minute. Maybe it’s blocking our forward momentum, but it’s not blocking vertical. That’s fine. That works.”

  “How does
that work?”

  “God, Boy Scout, calm down! It works because if we rise any more, and it’s not holding us down, we can float clear! Fuck!” Something smacked into them, and they were knocked loose and right into another tree, this one a tall pine that loomed over their heads, one that had endured a recent wildfire. The lower branches and needles had been scorched off—only a few charred spars sticking out—but the fire hadn’t killed it. The trunk was starting to grow over the scorch marks, and the foliage and branches started about fifteen feet over their heads.

  Spencer didn’t realize what a break they’d caught until their makeshift little vessel gave a deep shudder, and then, miracle of miracles, stayed put.

  “That’s not a branch or anything,” he rasped, his body aches getting worse with every shudder of the craft. “Right? That’s just the raft up against the tree—we won’t drown, we won’t break, we’ll just stay here for a little bit. Am I reading this right?”

  “Yeah,” said his new friend. “You’re reading this right.” He let out a breath. “And now I can tend to you.”

  Spencer scowled at him, although his vision was starting to blur. “I can take care of my own wounds, Boy Scout,” he mumbled. Was he passing out? He’d passed out a few times before, and this felt like passing out.

  “My name,” his young friend said, “is Theo. Theo Wainscott. Now stay there!”

  “Spencer,” he mumbled. “Spencer Helmsley. Charmed, I’m sure.”

  Theo’s snort was reassuring, really. Told him that this was the sort of kid who could hold his own in Snarkville, USA, which was probably way south of Sucky, Oregon.

  “Can you unzip your onesie?” Theo asked frankly. He was in the corner, where a blue ice chest was solidly anchored to a support post with bungee cords. “I’ve got first aid here, and if we’ve got some stability, I can make sure you don’t bleed out.”

  It was Spencer’s turn to snort. “It’s a flight suit,” he muttered. “’Cause we were up at altitude, and it’s fucking cold up there. Black Hawks don’t pressurize.”

  “Ooh,” Theo said, sarcasm almost oozing through the deck. “A flight suit. ’Cause you’re a big bad pilot, right? You fell out of your helicopter. Now unzip your onesie so you don’t bleed to death.”

  “Wow. You looked so sweet.” Spencer gave a drunken chuckle. “That’s fantastic. I drove you from sweet to snarky in about ten minutes. It’s got to be a record.”

  Theo was on his knees, rooting through the ice chest and gathering items. “Well, it’s an unusual day,” he conceded.

  Spencer peered up at the roiling clouds and the rain that was alleviated by the sheltering tree, but by no means eliminated.

  “In Oregon?” he asked. “Really? Is this an unusual day in Oregon?”

  “Oh dear God, could you give it a rest?” Theo snapped, slamming the lid of the ice chest shut. “I’m sure you’re considered a laugh riot among the flight-jockey set, but for those of us just glad we’re not swimming, you’re getting on my nerves!”

  Spencer grimaced. “I do that,” he conceded. “It’s probably why my dog is the best roommate I’ve ever had.”

  “You have a dog?” Theo asked, and he sounded relieved, like this was neutral ground.

  Spencer closed his eyes against the rain, the pain, and the exhaustion. “Yeah. Colonel. He’s not that bright, but then neither am I.”

  “A match made in heaven?”

  Spencer nodded, absurdly wishing Colonel was there right then. “A German shepherd mix,” he said. “My boss’s brother was training him—he was supposed to be a police dog. Kept getting confused. Thought my aftershave smelled like cocaine. Go figure.”

  Theo let loose a strained chuckle. “That’s… well….”

  “Not bright,” Spencer said, smiling to himself. Not bright, but Colonel loved him. So hard to find in a mammal these days.

  Theo was kneeling next to him now, and up close—and not blurred by rain—Spencer was as impressed by his apple-cheeked wholesome adorability as he had been on first sight. God, he’d been rescued by Junior Woodchuck here, and it was starting to turn him on.

  “Well, the dog isn’t the one who fell out of the helicopter,” Theo said, and Spencer grimaced.

  “Yeah. Told you we were a pair.”

  “Come on, Mr. Helmsley.” Theo’s hands, wet and red from the cold, were at his zipper, and Spencer grunted.

  “Here, let me do that,” he conceded. He unzipped his suit and thought that was it, but Theo started to strip off the arms. “Why? Why are we doing that? It’s cold out there!”

  “Your leg is bleeding too,” Theo said, voice matter-of-fact. “We can leave the flight suit on and cut the fabric of the leg, or we can take the whole thing off. I’m gonna leave it your choice.”

  Spencer’s body gave a hard, angry shudder, and his elbows clutched convulsively to his side. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to cut it off through the leg,” he said through clenched teeth. “I appear to need all the body heat I can manage right now.”

  “Fair enough.” Theo parted his flight suit and pulled up the T-shirt underneath, and for a moment, Spencer had all he could handle to not black out.

  “Please tell me there’s nothing jammed in there,” he muttered, trying hard not to throw up. “’Cause that would be gross.”

  “I’m sure there’s splinters,” Theo said, almost absently. “It looks like your suit ripped.” He scowled. “Was this why you fell out of the helicopter?”

  Spencer nodded. “Yeah. Usually those seams are pretty tight, but there was a lot of G-force there. I hooked myself to the frame, like I was supposed to, and the chopper heaved, and rip! Spencer gets to fly!”

  “Aren’t you a pilot?” Theo prodded, and Spencer laughed.

  “You might be a smartass after all,” he said approvingly.

  “Only on days I’m sailing someone’s porch down a flooded valley,” Theo murmured. Then he met Spencer’s eyes, his own brown and intent. “This is going to hurt. And we’re apparently pretending that the hurt is all okay right now, so if that’s what lets us function, that’s fine. But it’s going to hurt, so I need you to get yourself ready, okay?”

  Spencer swallowed and forced his mouth into its usual position of fuckitwhatever. “Done,” he said. “You do what you need to. I’m good.”

  Theo nodded and then dumped hydrogen peroxide on the wound.

  “You o—”

  “Ou—”

  “—kay?”

  “—chhhhhhh.” Spencer breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth and in through his nose and out through his mouth. He stared up past the branches into the gray tumult of the sky and pretended he was in the air, in a chopper preferably, but he was licensed to fly almost anything. Flying. He wanted to be flying.

  “Mr. Helmsley?”

  “Spencer,” he said again. “I’m good. Keep going, kid. Theo. Keep going. I’m going to check out here a little, okay? Don’t want to scream and flop around like a big stupid fish, right?”

  Theo’s voice didn’t have any snark in it this time. “No, sir,” he said. “You’re right. You go wherever you need to while I do this. I’ll try to make it quick.”

  “That’s kind,” Spencer said, and he stared at Theo’s profile for a moment. “You do look kind.”

  And Theo did something with a length of gauze and some tweezers, and Spencer had to stop looking at that appealing face and start staring at the clouds again. Far, far away, floating on the breeze, Colonel at his feet.

  As happy as he’d ever been in the world.

  New Skills

  THEO wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the search-and-rescue guy who fell out of his helicopter and then hauled himself up on the raft, but it hadn’t been the… the… snarky a-hole who had arrived.

  But then, that snarky a-hole had also done a bunch of incredibly brave things in a row, so Theo thought—now—that maybe he should cut the guy a break.

  It’s just that he never shut up!


  But looking at Spencer’s face—narrow, handsome, with a long jaw and stunning cheekbones and eyes as charcoal gray as the sky overhead—Theo got the feeling that with all that talking, there was something even bigger underneath that he wasn’t saying.

  He sure did seem good at avoiding the subject of pain because the mess at his side was something Theo, with his limited first aid experience, had never dealt with before.

  God, it was a mess. Something—probably a tree branch—had gouged him hard, and then tried to pull his insides with it as it left. The resulting disaster of skin and meat—and God, let it not be anything else—was something Theo was afraid to put back right. If there were splinters in there, the infection would be major, but on the other hand, leaving the mess as it was without repositioning it was asking for infection too.

  While Spencer checked out of his own head, Theo went over it with tweezers and water and hydrogen peroxide until he felt like he could dry it off and smear some antibiotic ointment on the gauze and hope for the best—or rescue as soon as possible.

  By the time he’d finished with that and zipped up the flight suit, Spencer was shivering, his teeth chattering hard, and Theo shucked one of the many pairs of sterile gloves that had been packed in the ice chest and risked a trip across the raft for a wool blanket.

  “Oh God,” Spencer muttered as Theo tucked it around his chin. “It smells worse than wet dog. Wow. This… this is special.”

  “My dad was retired army,” Theo told him, adding another one behind Spencer’s head as a pillow. “He said these things kept them warm when it was cold and kept the sun off when it was hot. He swore by them.”

  Spencer grunted. “Well, he’s not far wrong. Just… you know. I know my wet dogs. I had no idea wet sheep gave them a run for their money.”