Knowing his Carlise had possibly been caught in an avalanche was more than he could handle. He couldn’t have fixed this, even if he’d been by her side. Couldn’t have held back tons of snow to protect her.
And right now, he couldn’t do anything but pray she’d somehow been far away from this position on the mountain when the snow had come crashing down.
Baxter barked again, repeatedly this time.
If the dog wanted him to follow, that’s what Chappy would do. It was possible Baxter could lead him over the snow to the other side, where he’d maybe pick up Carlise’s trail again.
The massive snowbank was as tall as Chappy, and he grunted with the effort it took to haul himself to the top. He followed Baxter . . .
But to his utter dismay, the dog stopped about halfway across the wide swath of snow—and began to dig.
“Shit!” Chappy cried, going to his knees beside the dog, digging with his bare hands. If Carlise was under the snow, he needed to get to her as soon as possible. She could be suffocating!
“No,” Chappy said out loud, digging faster. His hands quickly went numb. The rocks and ice tore at his flesh, but he didn’t feel the pain. All he could think about was getting to Carlise.
He didn’t know how long he’d been digging, but it had to have been thirty minutes or more when he slowly sat back on his haunches and blew out an anguished breath.
It had been too long. If Carlise was under there, she was dead. There was no way she could survive without oxygen for as long as he’d been digging.
“Baxter,” he said brokenly.
The dog ignored him, still trying to dig deeper into the snow.
“Stop, Bax,” he tried again. “She’s gone.”
But he didn’t even pause. His paws were bleeding, just like Chappy’s fingers, but the tenacity of the dog never waned.
Not wanting him to hurt himself any more than he already had, Chappy reached out to grab his collar. To his surprise, Baxter growled.
Chappy immediately let go, not wanting to get bitten on top of the hell that had already become his reality in the last hour.
As soon as he released the dog’s collar, Baxter went right back to digging. They’d made some progress, the hole they’d been working on was a couple of feet deep now, but from what Chappy could tell, they still had at least four feet or more of snow and ice and rocks to get through before they reached the ground.
He sat back on his heels and watched Baxter for a moment longer. Then he tilted his head back and stared up at the blue sky. Tears filled his eyes, and he let them fall.
He’d never felt as helpless as he did right that moment. He’d promised to protect Carlise, to keep her safe, and he’d failed. Big time.
When she’d needed him most, he hadn’t been there. If he hadn’t made that last stop at the lumberyard—he’d picked up some lumber to make Baxter a doghouse—he would’ve been at the cabin when Susie arrived. If he’d been faster at the police station, if he hadn’t had that cup of coffee with JJ, if he hadn’t spent so much time at the grocery store . . .
So many what-ifs. So many regrets.
“Chappy?”
He heard his name being called, and for a split second his heart soared. Carlise! She wasn’t under the snow. Baxter was wrong! He was digging for nothing.
But then his brain kicked into gear. The voice he’d heard was male. It wasn’t Carlise.
“Here!” he yelled back.
“We’re comin’！”
Chappy recognized the voice now. Bob. His friends had come. Had made damn good time getting up to his cabin. He had no doubt they’d driven way too fast and recklessly to get here . . . he just didn’t think it would be enough.
Turning, he looked across the snow and saw Bob, Cal, JJ, and Chief Rutkey jogging toward him. The rocks and uneven snow kept them from moving very quickly, but they were here. Even better, they were each carrying a shovel.
“JJ told us about the avalanche, and we figured these would come in handy,” Bob said, his grave expression no doubt mimicking Chappy’s.
“Shit, mate. Your hands,” Cal said with a frown after the men had scaled the tall snowbank.
“I’m fine,” Chappy said quietly, holding out his hand for one of the shovels.
JJ shook his head. “We’ve got this. Move.”
Chappy was about to tell his friend off, but Alfred, the police chief, took hold of his arm and hauled him to his feet, pulling him away from the hole Baxter was still frantically trying to dig.
“We’ve got this, son. Hold the dog so we can widen this hole and find your woman.”