Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(58)

When the dog started to bark and Maaco took that as a sign to move faster, Melanie followed. At some point, she shook off Wyatt’s hand and damn near crawled on all fours to keep herself upright.

Maaco reached Bella behind a rock that protruded from the side of the cliff. The obsessive barking shot Melanie’s heart rate higher.

She scrambled faster, felt a sharp rock cut the palm of her hand when the ground beneath her feet let loose and had her gripping the side of the hill to keep from tumbling down.

“Oh, God!” Maaco shouted over the bark.

Melanie froze.

“She’s here!”

Every nerve ending in Melanie’s body stood at sharp attention, waiting for his next words.

“Alive.”

Tears were close, but she didn’t acknowledge them as she followed Maaco’s voice. Once she caught sight of Bella, Maaco looked uphill, waved both hands in the air. “Stop . . . stop!”

She couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see her daughter behind the rock.

“It’s unstable.”

“Hope?” Melanie called out.

“She’s out cold. Breathing. Nice and steady. Looks like she hit her head. Maybe a broken arm.”

Jo rushed up beside Melanie and Wyatt, heard the last of Maaco’s words.

“I need to see her.” Despite Maaco’s warning, Melanie started down the hill.

Wyatt grasped her arm. “Don’t be reckless now. We found her, she’s safe.”

Melanie looked to where her daughter lay and knew he was right.

Jo called into the radio, “We found her. I repeat, we found her. We need medical. Head trauma . . . I want a helicopter.”

“Late in the day for a chopper, Sheriff.”

Melanie caught Jo’s eyes.

“I don’t care. Make it happen.”

It felt like forever to be so close and yet not see her daughter.

Search and rescue were on them in minutes with pulleys and ropes. Everyone was moved to higher ground to keep them safe while the crew secured Hope into a basket and hoisted her to the top.

Once there, Melanie rushed to her side.

“Oh, sweetie. What happened to you?”

Hope was still unconscious, a nasty bruise already had five shades of color on her forehead.

Melanie leaned close, felt her daughter’s breath on her cheek, and kissed her. “Wake up, baby.”

“We need to move her, Miss Bartlett,” one of the medics told her.

Melanie gripped the side of the basket and didn’t let go. She’d never let go again.

A helicopter was on standby in the center of the clearest point of Miss Gina’s lawn.

Melanie vaguely caught the mass of people who watched from the side as someone pushed her into the helicopter and wrapped a seat belt across her lap.

The blades of the chopper started to turn, the noise drowned out everything.

Medics worked in frantic haste beside her daughter.

Melanie felt the eyes of someone and lifted her head to see Wyatt staring.

He lifted a hand as the helicopter pulled away from the ground.





His fingers gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.

He’d controlled it . . . the urge . . . the need. After all, he was a professional now. People paid him to take care of their problems.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have taken things as far as he had, but he had to prove to himself that he was in control.

One deep, satisfying breath helped him release the wheel and run his hands over his thighs.

He was in control.





The police escort to the hospital in Eugene reduced the normally two-hour drive down to an hour and fifteen minutes.

He’d attempted to text Melanie in hopes of an update, but didn’t receive a reply.

The stress, pain, and yes, even guilt of the day should have made him want to fall into a heap on the floor of his truck, but instead, he drove behind Jo’s flashing lights as they pulled into the emergency room parking lot.

“I’m going through the back,” Jo yelled as she ran from the car. “I’ll call you in the minute I can.”

Jo disappeared through the glass doors of the ambulance bay.

Wyatt ran a hand through his hair and proceeded into the busy lobby. It was after ten, children were everywhere, people sleeping in uncomfortable chairs with their knees tucked under them, heads rested against shoulders and walls. It smelled of illness and antiseptic.

Ten minutes passed before Jo poked her head through a door he assumed led to the heart of the ER and waved him in.

“How is she?”

“Responding, according to Mel. Broken arm. The head scan showed a small bleed behind her ear, which probably kept her unconscious.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

Jo shook her head. “She’s lucky we found her when we did. Her temperature was dropping, which wouldn’t have ended well.”

“What was she doing out there, Jo?”

Jo’s jaw physically tightened. “I don’t know. Between you and me, I don’t like it. Something feels completely off about this whole thing.”

A nurse brushed past them with an armload of IV solutions.

Wyatt moved out of her way and glanced around. “Where are they?”

Jo nodded in the direction she started to walk. “Mel’s a wreck.”