Redemption FinalWPF6 7
Read Redemption FinalWPF6 7 Online
Authors: L. E. Harner
Redemption: Three’s Allowed is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by
Laura Harner
Cover photograph by
DWS Photography
Cover Art by Laura E.
Harner
All rights reserved.
Published in the
United States by Hot Corner Press
ISBN: 978-1-937252-20-5
Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any many without written permission, except for brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this
copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including
infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable
by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. eBooks are not
transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an
infringement on the copyright of this book.
Contact the publisher for further information:
[email protected]
To my loyal readers. The Three’s
Allowed Series has always been your favorite, so I thought it fitting to place
this story in Grand Canyon National Park, a place I lived and worked for eight
years.
I would also like to offer a special
thank you to Jae Ashley, Lee Brazil, and Tom Webb for your many contributions.
And as always, thank you Dan for
helping to bring the image in my head to life through your photography.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners
of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:
Suburban: General Motors Corporation
Sig: Sig Sauer Inc.
Table of Contents
The doors opened with a whoosh and Dr. Richard Gabriel
pushed through, blasted by the baking heat of a late summer night in Phoenix.
The sirens growled to a stop, and blue and red flashed from the vehicles in the
drive. Orders were shouted, emergency gurneys snapped into position, and the
tense EMT at his side murmured updates even as the hospital staff rushed to
take possession of the patients.
“Gabe? Doctor Gabriel! Did you hear me?” Toby, one of the
older paramedics yelled over the commotion. Grabbing Gabe’s arm and tugging, he
brought Gabe’s focus to the stretcher and the young man who needed his help.
“He hasn’t regained consciousness. Blood pressure is still
dropping. Had to wait for Fire Rescue to cut him out. Right leg looks to be
just about gone,” Toby reported tersely as they ran toward the treatment room
in the ER.
“What happened?” Gabe asked.
“Dust storm on I-17. No idea how many cars. This kid was in
an accordion. Name’s Kirk Garland. Sixteen, on his way back from a weekend
baseball tournament in Tucson. Fuck.”
“Carter,” Gabe called to the head triage nurse. “I need this
one to go straight up to OR—”
His words cut off as the heart monitor went from an erratic
pattern to a steady tone. There was a momentary a lull and all faces in the
crowded emergency room turned in his direction. He saw the looks: anxiety,
pity, grim determination. Then the other ER staff went on with their own
crises, and prayed the same thing wouldn’t happen to them.
“Crash Cart, Code blue,” Gabe snapped. “On three, transfer.
Toby locked the wheels and the staff surrounding the kid
used the edges of the sheet to shift him to the more stable ER bed.
Everything happened according to the way they practiced.
Bare chest. Paddles. Clear. Spasm. Stethoscope. Nothing. Paddles. Clear. Spasm.
Stethoscope. Nothing. And again. And again. Until hands pulled him and the
voice penetrated his saturated brain.
“He’s gone. Kirk is gone and we’ll never get him back. You
fucking killed my son! You drunk son of a bitch, you killed my son!”
With a startled gasp, Gabe woke, feeling disoriented, lost in
the nightmare.
A quick flare of orange told him exactly where Melody stood
in the dark room. He heard her hard pull on the cigarette, then the prolonged
exhale. As his head cleared, the fuzzy realization hit that she had been
standing there watching him fight his demons and had done nothing to help.
*
Two hours later, Gabe shoved the final box into the back of
his SUV and slammed the cargo door. He wished he could close the driver-side
door with the same finality and leave, but good manners demanded otherwise.
“You don’t have to go back, you know,” Melody said.
For
perhaps the hundredth time in the past two weeks.
“Yes, Mel, I do. You know I do. Look, we’ve been over this.
We both knew this was a temporary gig for me. Just a way to get out of the
Phoenix heat for the summer. I have to get back to my practice.” Gabe climbed
the steps to the singlewide trailer that served as employee housing for the
transient medical staff of the clinic in Grand Canyon National Park. He took
the petite blonde’s face in his hands and felt the slight trembling of her
body. After their short eight weeks together, he realized what she would try to
disguise as pain or passion was nothing more than rage at her status as dumpee
rather than dumper. Knowing made the goodbye much easier. He just wanted to be
finished.
“Look. We agreed, Mel. Neither of us was looking for
something permanent. Don’t make this any harder. I’m not going to change my
mind.”
“Well, God forbid! I wouldn’t want to make anything too hard
for the self-important Dr. Richard Gabriel. Go ahead, Gabe—go back to your
life, to your boy toys, your kinky club, to your bottle. I’ll be watching for
the headlines when you crash and burn!”
“Wow. The real Melody Case just showed up to the party, huh?
I thought we had a chance to remain friends, even though we both knew we
wouldn’t stay lovers. Guess I can just add this time with you as yet another of
my failings. Good to know.” With a wave of his hand and without a backwards
glance, Gabe climbed into his SUV and backed out of the small lot.
*
After a quick stop at the small market, Gabe was ready for
the final two weeks of his summer hiatus. He parked as close to the lodge as he
could and made one last phone call.
“Hello?”
“Marcus! I’m checking in before I head down…as I promised,”
Gabe told his old friend.
“Hey, Gabe, all packed? And did you dump the old bag?”
Marcus and his partners Jolynn and Max had visited the Grand Canyon for a long
weekend and been less than impressed with Melody. Now that his three friends
were in a committed relationship, they’d forgotten what it was like to be
lonely. It was galling to admit they were right.
“Yep. You were right; she didn’t take it well. Anyway, my
boxes are in the Suburban. I sent my full pack and sleeping bag down yesterday
with the supply mules. I’ve got a cabin at Phantom Ranch for two days, then
I’ll be in the backcountry for the rest of the week. My hiking plan is on file
with the permit office. Quit worrying, Marcus. I saw enough hiking and heat
related injuries working at the clinic this summer. Believe me…I know how to
stay safe.”
Gabe tucked his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he
could stuff the fifth of whisky into his daypack. He slipped in a couple of
smaller bottles.
Just in case
. He wasn’t going to mention his last
minute purchases to Marcus. With a jolt, he suddenly realized his friend’s
concern might be related to After Hours, the ultra-private BDSM club owned by
Max and Marcus. Gabe served as the club’s on-call physician, in the rare
instance someone got hurt, despite the rules and the member screening.
“Dr. Jerome is still covering for me, right?” he asked.
“Don’t be an ass, Gabe. We miss you. We’re worried about
you
.
Not the club.”
“Well, stop. I’m not one of your subs, Marcus.” He laughed
at the thought. “I’m just going on a hike. I’m looking forward to finally
getting to the bottom of this big ditch and see what I’m made of.”
“All right, Gabe, but you call me the minute you get back to
the top next week. Stay sober, babe. See you soon.” Marcus sounded especially
serious when they ended the call, and guilt washed over Gabe. He made a silent
promise to stop drinking after he finished the bottles he’d just tucked away.
****
“If you tell me to hurry up one more time, Uriah Wadsworth,
I’m going to push you off the next available ledge.” The harsh words snapped
off with the precision of gunfire, but the woman’s voice was soft southwest
layered with maybe a little bit of Texas. Considering they were at Indian
Garden, with another three miles of descent before they reached the floor of
the canyon, it wasn’t exactly an idle threat.
“Fuck off, Diane. Pick up your damn pack and let’s go. We’re
over halfway to the bottom. You know what they say…
it’s all downhill from
here.
” The male’s sneering counterpoint sliced across any further comment
the woman might have made. Without waiting to see if she followed, the man
loped off down the trail, leaving his companion scrambling to her feet from the
small wooden bench in the shade.
Huh…Uriah Wadsworth and Diane
. Gabe watched the little
skirmish with interest. He was an unashamed voyeur of everyday life…and other
things. These two definitely tweaked his interest.
Talk about a match made
in hell
.
With a little grunt, the woman bent to pick up her pack from
the dirt. She managed to get the bag onto her shoulders without help, but Gabe
could see her strap was twisted, and the tube from her hydration pack swung
uselessly behind her back. As she tried to steady the bag with one hand, she
flailed the other hand behind her, trying to locate the tube that ran through
her pack to the lifesaving water she would carry deeper into the canyon.
Gabe stood a little too quickly, ignoring the protest of his
thighs at the sudden movement. Contrary to popular belief, it was the downhill
portion of a hike in the canyon that was the hardest on the body. “Let me,” he
said. He caught the rubber mouthpiece and threaded the tubing back through the
plastic clips. He turned the pad and smoothed the nylon shoulder strap so it
rested comfortably.
“There you go,” he said. He gave the woman’s shoulder a
friendly pat as she fastened the waist strap. Her movement drew his attention
to the damp T-shirt that clung to high, tight breasts. A good looking woman who
nearly matched him in height at just a couple of inches less than six feet,
with long, honey legs that seemed to stretch forever below her hiking shorts.
Her long hair was matted with sweat and the color obscured by dust, but judging
from her skin tone and hazel eyes, he thought she might be a dirty blonde. He bit
back the laughter that threatened.
Dirty blonde. God, I crack myself up
sometimes.
“Thanks, sugar,” she said, but her gaze was turned toward
the trail. Looking for her companion…or husband? Although he’d only gotten a
quick glance, the man had seemed a little young for her. Maybe it was his
attitude. Or maybe it was the long hair and rakish bandana he’d wrapped around
his head to keep the sweat from his eyes.
