Chapter 2 - The Foothill Clinic
The helicopter set down behind a weathered timber barn just as the sun dipped below the jagged ridge of the Cascade foothills, turning the overcast sky a bruised purple. The pilot cut the engines, and the sudden silence felt almost heavy after hours of rotor roar. Roman helped me down the metal steps, supporting my weight as my boots crunched into the muddy slush of the rural airstrip.
A rusted green pickup truck idled near the barn doors, its exhaust pluming white rings into the freezing evening air. An older man with graying hair and a flannel shirt climbed out from the driver's seat, hurrying over with a concerned frown.
"Doc Miller has the back room prepped, Roman," the older man said, his eyes flicking briefly to my dirt-streaked face and the tear tracks frozen on my cheeks. "Got a heater going and fresh coffee."
"Thanks, Hank," Roman said, keeping a steady arm around my waist as we crossed the frozen mud toward the truck.
The clinic turned out to be a converted veterinary outpost behind a boarded-up feed store in a sleepy logging town that smelled of damp pine and woodsmoke. Inside, Doc Miller—a stocky woman with wire-rimmed glasses and practical gray hair—did not ask unnecessary questions. She guided me to a narrow examination table draped with clean flannel sheets, gently peeling away my damp sweater to check my vitals.
"The cold got deep, but the pulse is steady," Doc Miller said after pressing a cold stethoscope to my chest and performing a careful abdominal check. She looked up at Roman, who stood guard near the doorway with his arms crossed over his tactical jacket. "The baby has a strong heartbeat, Roman. Miraculously so, considering the exposure."
I closed my eyes, a ragged breath escaping my lips as the tension drained out of my shoulders in a sudden, overwhelming wave. My baby was alive. Despite the fall, the blizzard, and the hours spent freezing on that ledge, my child had held on.
"Thank you," I choked out, looking between the doctor and Roman.
"Don't thank us yet," Doc Miller murmured, handing me a paper cup of warm broth. "Word is already crossing the county scanners. Your husband reported you missing from a scenic overlook hike three days ago. Search and rescue teams are looking for a body near the glacier trail."
Roman stepped closer to the examination table, his boots clicking softly on the linoleum floor. "He's shaping the narrative early," Roman said, his voice low and analytical. "He wants people to believe it was a tragic accident during a solo hike."
"I didn't go hiking alone," I said, my voice hardening as the shock began to give way to cold anger. "I went to meet him at the wilderness lodge. He told me we needed to talk about the foundation's finances. When I got to the trailhead, someone pushed me from behind into the ravine."
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Roman leaned against a metal supply cabinet, his gaze unwavering. "And when you fell, your husband was sixty miles away at a charity gala giving a speech on civic leadership. Alibis airtight enough for a grand jury."
"Then we break his alibi," I said, gripping the edge of the examination table until my knuckles turned white.
