Mountain Rescue, page 1
Also available from Sandra Owens
and Carina Press
Operation K-9 Brothers
Keeping Guard
Also by Sandra Owens
Blue Ridge Valley
Just Jenny
All Autumn
Still Savannah
Caitlyn’s Christmas Wish
Dark Falls
Dark Terror
Dark Memories
Aces & Eights
Jack of Hearts
King of Clubs
Ace of Spades
Queen of Diamonds
K2 Team
Crazy for Her
Someone Like Her
Falling for Her
Lost in Her
Only Her
The Duke’s Obsession
The Training of a Marquess
The Letter
MOUNTAIN RESCUE
Sandra Owens
This book is dedicated to every reader who has said, “Just one more chapter!” (I think that covers all the book lovers in the world.)
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Excerpt from Keeping Guard by Sandra Owens
Chapter One
The passengers on the red-eye from Salt Lake City to Atlanta were asleep. All but Dallas Manning. He didn’t trust his nightmares. They were persistent fuckers, rarely allowing him to sleep through the night. The three weeks he’d been home at his family’s ranch in Montana, his screams had disturbed his family’s sleep, too. He wasn’t about to chance scaring the hell out of a plane full of strangers.
Unable to take another day of his family alternating between smothering him and tiptoeing around him, he’d jumped on his friend’s invitation to come to Asheville, North Carolina. Not that he blamed his family for their worry. He was damn lucky to be alive after enjoying a two-week stay at Hotel Hell on Earth as a guest of the Taliban. He snorted. Enjoying. Yeah, right. But he’d survived the torture, the starvation, and the mind games.
His body was a bit messed up, and he’d have permanent scars, but he’d held strong, never giving his captors more than his name, rank, service number, and birthdate. If his SEAL team hadn’t found him when they did, he didn’t doubt for a minute that he’d be dead by now. His captors, frustrated and angry that he wasn’t spilling his secrets, had been growing more creative by the day in their efforts to make him talk. The bastards’ last gift to him was the damn nightmares. After the first one his family witnessed, they’d treated him differently.
He couldn’t take their pity, their need to baby him, never mind that he was the youngest. He was a damn SEAL, not a baby needing coddling. He loved his family, would willingly die for them, but his former teammate’s invitation felt like a lifeline.
Jack Daniels had started a foundation, Operation K-9 Brothers, training service dogs for their military brothers and sisters suffering from PTSD. Another former teammate was also working there with Jack. If anyone could understand what Dallas had gone through and what he was dealing with now, it would be his SEAL brothers. One thing he could count on, neither man would try to baby him.
In Atlanta, he changed planes, cramming his body into the seat of the commuter plane that would take him to Asheville. Fortunately, the last leg of his trip only lasted an hour. He had difficulty being in small places thanks to the two weeks he’d spent in a cell where he could stand in the middle and reach all four walls. After deplaning and getting his suitcase, he headed for the short-term parking lot and found the Jeep where Jack had said it would be. When he had refused Jack’s offer to pick him up, since he was arriving in the middle of the night, Jack had insisted on loaning him one of Operation K-9 Brothers’ vehicles.
After tossing his suitcase and carry-on in the back, he got in the Jeep, then reached under the seat for the envelope with the keys and address to the cabin. Jack had invited him to stay with him and his new wife, but Dallas needed a place of his own, where he could get away from people when he needed to.
Turned out Operation K-9 Brothers owned a cabin, and Jack had said he could stay there. He programed the cabin address in the GPS, adjusted the seat and mirrors, then headed out.
Thirty-five minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of a small log house. He couldn’t see much of it in the dark, but he didn’t care what it or the surrounding area looked like. It was a place to crash and hide out for a while.
Inside, he dropped his suitcase, found a light switch, and glanced around. The place had an open floor plan, living room, dining room, and kitchen. It wasn’t as rustic as he was expecting, and he was kind of disappointed. A stone fireplace on one wall with floor-to-ceiling windows along both sides were the best part of the place. The furniture was sturdy and basic. Brown leather couch, two leather recliners, TV, and coffee table in the living room, and a dinette with four chairs next to the kitchen. Deciding to unpack in the morning, he left the suitcase, and taking his carry-on, headed down the hall.
The first room he came to was a bathroom, and he made a pit stop, then checked out the next one. The bedroom had twin beds, a dresser, one chair, and a TV mounted on the wall. He continued on to see if there was a room with a bigger bed.
He’d taken two steps into the next room and was reaching for a light switch when something came at him. Instinctively, he dropped his carry-on and put a hand up, wrapping his fingers around what felt like the rough bark of a tree branch. He pulled it to him, bringing his attacker with it, and found himself with an arm full of enraged wildcat in possession of a woman’s body.
She went for his eyes, and he grabbed her wrists, gentling his hold so that he didn’t bruise her. When she tried to knee him, he flipped her around and wrapped his arms around her, her back to his chest.
“I’m rather fond of that part of me, sugar.”
Robert’s people had found her, and this was the day she was going to die. Rachel Denning refused to make it easy on Robert Hargrove’s man, though. She stomped on his foot, but because she was barefoot and he wore boots, that was about as effective as slapping his face with a feather.
A fight scene from a previous movie where the villain had her in a similar hold flashed through her mind. In the scene, she’d gotten away by slamming the back of her head into his nose.
The problem with that scenario was that this man was a good head taller than her, so no way she could reach his nose. His chin, maybe, but it was worth a try, better than doing nothing. She leaned her head forward, then slammed it back as hard as she could, taking satisfaction when he grunted. Unfortunately, the stunt worked better in the movie.
“Easy, wildcat. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Yeah, right, and unicorns existed. “Let go of me.” He wouldn’t, she knew asking was futile, but it was all she had. He was stronger than she was and had her in a hold she couldn’t escape.
Keeping one arm around her, he reached for the light switch, and she blinked against the sudden brightness. Then he lifted her right off her feet as if she weighed less than a bag of potatoes, carried her to the bed, and dropped her. Facedown on the rumpled cover, she waited for the blow...or whatever he planned to do to her. Oh, God, what if he raped her?
No, she wasn’t going to wait around to find out what he planned to do. She flipped to her back, searching for a weapon. When she’d arrived at the cabin, she’d gone out and found a tree branch, wanting something handy to protect herself if she had to. She should have brought the whole damn tree in.
She had a knife from the kitchen under her pillow. She hadn’t started with that because she’d thought she would have a better chance with the branch. Her plan had been simple. Bash him upside the head and when he was out cold, disappear.
If she could get to the knife, maybe she could hurt him enough to escape. Keeping her attention on the man, she inched her hand toward the pillow. His gaze followed her hand before shifting back to her.
“You got a weapon under there? Go ahead. See if you can get to it before I have you in my arms again. Been a while since I’ve had this much fun.” His smirk faded as his eyes held hers. “I meant what I said. I’m not going to hurt you.” He chuckled. “Even though you did try to bash me in the head.”
Something wasn’t right. The man wasn’t acting like a killer. The men who worked for Robert were as cruel as he was. They didn’t tease, and if they called her anything besides her name, it would be bitch. They especially didn’t smile as if the y really were having fun. If he was one of Robert’s men, he would just kill her and be done with it.
Now that she could study this man, he...well, he was gorgeous in a rough bad-boy kind of way. A trimmed beard, more like a few days of scruff really, covered his face. A fresh scar ran from the corner of his right eye and down his cheek before disappearing into his beard. She almost cringed at seeing how close he’d come to losing an eye.
No, she wasn’t giving him her sympathy, not when he was here to hurt her. Yet his eyes weren’t mean or cold. The only thing she could see in them was curiosity as he stared back at her. They were pretty eyes. Hazel, the kind that would change with the color of shirt he wore or his emotions. Dark brown hair in need of a haircut scraped across the neck of his T-shirt. Then there was a body worth drooling over.
Stop it, Rachel. Stop noticing how hot he is. She was totally stupid for letting her mind wander when there was danger in the room. Because, while he was a feast for the eyes, she had no doubt the man could be dangerous when he wanted. Still, he wasn’t emitting dangerous vibes, and that confused her because if Robert had sent him, she should be dead by now.
“What do you want from me?”
His gaze slid over her body, those hazel eyes heating. “I have some ideas if you’re interested in hearing them.”
She had the distinct feeling that he was amused. Not at all how a man Robert would have sent would be acting. Also, that heated stare reminded her that she was wearing nothing but an almost transparent white T-shirt and purple panties. She grabbed the corner of the quilt and pulled it over her. Certain it would take at least a week for Robert to find her, and she planned to be long gone by then, she’d worn her favorite sleep shirt to bed. She should have slept fully dressed, and she wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He laughed. “Too late.” He pointed to his head. “Pretty in purple is already imprinted in here.”
Best to ignore that comment. “Did Robert send you?”
“Who’s Robert?”
It was weird, but she wasn’t feeling threatened by him anymore...well, still a little, but not like when he’d first walked into the room in the dark. It was her first night here, and used to the night noises of LA, she’d been unsettled by the silence. It hadn’t bothered her when she’d stayed here while attending Nichole and Jack’s wedding, but she hadn’t been someone’s target then. This time, every creak the cabin made shot her nerves through the roof.
When she’d heard footsteps coming down the hallway, she’d thought her heart was going to stop. She hadn’t known how Robert had found her so fast, but she wasn’t going to go easy. That was what she’d thought, anyway, but in seconds, the man had shown her how unprepared and helpless she’d been.
His answer penetrated her mind. “Robert. The man who sent you.”
“I don’t know a Robert, and no one sent me.”
“Who are you?”
He lifted his brows. “Who are you, and what are you doing in Jack’s cabin?”
“You know Jack?”
“The question is, do you?” He glanced around. “You needed a place to stay...” Shrewd eyes landed back on her. “Maybe a place to hide out from this Robert person, so you broke in?”
“I did not break in,” she said, affronted. Well, she kind of had, but not in the way he was insinuating. “Tell me something about Jack that proves you know him.”
“Easy. He has a dog, Dakota. Jack was his team’s dog handler until he and Dakota were hurt by a roadside bomb.”
That was true. She supposed Robert could have found that out, but there would be no reason to pass that particular information on to his men. She still wasn’t going to turn her back on this man, but she no longer believed he was here to hurt her.
“Now, back to you. If I call Jack and ask if he knows...what did you say your name was again?”
“Nice try, cowboy.” There was that amusement again. Why? Because she’d called him a cowboy? He did make her think of one with those cowboy boots and that belt buckle with a bucking horse on it.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“That’s fair, I guess, but only first names. I’m Rachel.”
He tipped an imaginary hat. “Dallas at your service, Miss Rachel.”
Jeez, the man even had a sexy cowboy name. “Okay, Dallas, if Robert didn’t send you, why are you here?” And please don’t say you’re planning to stay.
“Same game. I’ll tell you why if you reciprocate.” Dallas sighed when she pressed her lips together, clearly having no intention of sharing.
He didn’t know what to make of the woman. She was obviously afraid of this Robert person. An abusive boyfriend maybe, and that didn’t sit well. She’d also obviously broken into Jack’s cabin, but he wouldn’t kick her out in the middle of the night or report her to Jack...at least, not yet. Tomorrow, he’d figure out what to do about her.
What he didn’t appreciate was that the image of her in those purple panties and a T-shirt so thin that he could see the outline of her nipples was imprinted in his mind. Long legs, honey-blond hair, and golden-brown eyes the color of Macallan—his favorite whiskey—did nothing to dim the desire that had shot through him as his gaze had roamed over her.
The intent had been to unnerve her, but the joke was on him. Purple might be his new favorite color, and that pissed him off. He didn’t need an irresistible wildcat in his life, not now. He eyed the king bed she’d claimed, then sighed and turned to leave. It appeared it was going to be a twin for him.
“Where are you going?” she said.
“To the other room, unless you want to invite me to get in that nice big king with you.”
She snorted. “Dream on.”
“Was afraid you’d say that.” He should have brought his cowboy hat on this trip so he could tip it to her. She had no clue she’d nailed it calling him cowboy. He tipped a nonexistent one. “Good night, wildcat.”
“Wait. You didn’t say why you’re here.”
“Visiting a friend for a while.” He’d give her that much. “You?”
“You aren’t going to call Jack, are you?”
So she was going to ignore his question. “Not tonight. I don’t make any promises for tomorrow. Depends on what bullshit story you give me.”
“You can’t stay here.”
He laughed. The woman really was amusing. “You’re a funny girl.” He stepped over the tree branch, picked up his carry-on, and closed the door behind him, pausing long enough to hear the click of the lock on her bedroom door. “Good girl,” he murmured. He retrieved his suitcase—not that he didn’t trust her, but why take a chance—and headed for the other bedroom, where he’d probably spend most of the night staring at the ceiling in a bed that was too short for him.
Who was Rachel, and how much danger was she in? The last thing he needed was a female in distress. Yet, he’d felt more alive while sparring with her than he’d felt since the day he’d been captured.
Not good that females in distress were his kryptonite.
* * *
The next morning, after a sleepless night—no surprise there—Dallas sat in a rocking chair on the porch and watched the sunrise. He liked that the cabin was isolated, surrounded by woods on three sides, with a clear view of the valley below from the front. No nosy neighbors wondering who he was or wanting to chat, a definite plus to his mind.
The Blue Ridge Mountains were the complete opposite of the mountains in Montana. Jack had stocked the kitchen, and as Dallas drank his coffee, he debated which he preferred, the beautiful, lush green and gentle slopes of the mountains here, or the rugged and desolate beauty of the ones at home.
From mountain comparisons, his mind turned to the woman in the king bed he coveted...the bed, not the woman. Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that. He’d half expected Rachel to take off after she thought he would be asleep, but she was still here. Thanks to his captors, he’d gotten good at sensing the presence of others even when he couldn’t see them. That skillset was apparently still active.
Little did she know if she’d tried to skip out on him, he would have been on her tail, something he would have cursed himself nine ways to Sunday for. But he would have done it anyway. He knew what it was like to be afraid, and she was one scared wildcat in need of protection, in spite of the bravado she tried to wrap around herself.
