by Elle James
His little sister wasn’t little anymore. She was a grown woman.
Bastian’s gaze switched back to Jenna, who was rounding the truck to the passenger side. She didn’t have to be his wife for him to show her that chivalry wasn’t dead. He treated all women with care and concern, when he wasn’t standing around ruminating about the past and everything he couldn’t fix in the world. Why the hell wasn’t he opening her door for her?
“Let me get that,” He hurried around and pulled the door open.
“I’m perfectly capable of opening my own doors,” she said.
He found himself smiling at her like Parker had smiled at Molly. “I know you are. But my mother taught me to be better. She taught me to open doors for old ladies at a very young age.”
Jenna paused with her foot on the running board and cocked an eyebrow. “So, are you telling me I’m an old woman, now?”
He back-paddled. “No, of course not. But you’re…older.”
“Older than what?” She shook her head. “Older than dirt?”
“No, no.” He ran a hand through his hair. Where had he gone wrong? He’d only wanted to make her feel special by opening the door for her.
“Quit while you’re ahead, Bastian,” Parker said. “Some battles you just have to walk away from.”
“Oh, hell.” Bastian gripped Jenna around the waist, lifted her up into her seat and closed the door. He stomped around to the other side, got in and started the engine. Before he shifted into gear, he turned to Jenna. “For the record, I don’t think you’re old. On the contrary, you’re young, beautiful and I admire your courage and spunk. Now, can we get on with this mission before I shoot myself in the foot again?”
Molly and Parker laughed out loud in the back seat.
Bastian gripped the gear shift and shoved it into drive. That’s what he got for trying to be nice.
A hand covered his on the shift knob.
He looked toward Jenna. Their gazes locked.
“Thank you,” she said. No sarcasm, no derision, just sincerity and a gentle smile.
But there was nothing gentle about the way her touch made his blood slam through his veins. He liked that she’d touched him. Liked it a bit too much.
Focus, frogman.
He eased the truck and trailer out of the barnyard, down the driveway and out onto the highway. They had a job to do, a mission to accomplish. He couldn’t be thinking about kissing a girl when his father was still missing. Not to mention, they were about to go horseback riding in the mountains where they could potentially run into heavily armed men who might feel like Jenna knew too much to let her roam free.
Yeah, he’d be better off focusing on the road ahead and the situation at hand, not the hand on his arm that made him want to park the truck and pull her into his arms.
Jenna had felt a rush of electricity blast through her system when she’d laid her hand on Bastian’s arm. She’d always had a thing for him as a young teen, but what she felt now was quite different. This wasn’t the school-aged crush of a fourteen-year-old.
Being with Bastian made heat coil low in her belly. Her pulse quickened and desire washed over her like a tidal wave. She hadn’t felt that kind of desire for a long time. No. She’d never felt that level of intensity. Ever. Not when she had a crush on him. Not when she’d dated and married Corley.
What had just happened was different. It was a rush of excitement, a burning sensation that spread throughout her body and made her want to rip her clothes off and make love to Bastian in broad daylight.
Wow.
She sat in her seat, staring out at the road ahead, afraid to look at Bastian in case he saw what she was feeling. It was so strong, she was sure it would be evident in her eyes. Or maybe she was overreacting. How could anybody be that turned on by just laying a hand on a man’s arm?
And what happened to her vow to remain abstinent and free of all men? Hadn’t she thought they were all sex-hungry control freaks?
She knew that was painting all men with the same brush, but after what Corley had done to her, she’d been afraid of trusting any man.
Thankfully, she was beginning to understand that not all men were complete bastards like Corley. Each of the McKinnon brothers and Parker, their foreman, had been nothing but kind to her.
After Corley had beaten her so badly, the counselor she’d seen said that she would probably suffer PTSD from the trauma. She’d handled it by swearing off dating. Besides, she was sure that, if she tried to date, Corley would have something to say about it and violate the restraining order. Not many men would want to step into a relationship with a woman whose ex-husband was prone to violence.
She dared to look at Bastian. He was a man who wouldn’t be afraid of Corley. And Corley wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight with this McKinnon, or any of the McKinnons, for that matter.
Jenna felt better knowing she could take care of herself. But it was nice to know the man she sat next to could take care of himself in the face of an angry bastard like her ex-husband.
They ended up parking the truck and trailer on Black Water Road, about a mile and a half from the driveway to the Mahon cabin. From there, Bastian and Jenna would ride up into the hills to the ridge indicated on the contour map.
Hopefully, they’d find Earl Monson at the first place they looked. If he’d let them, they’d ask him what he’d seen and glean any information he could tell them, whether it be by hand signals or drawings in the sand, Jenna didn’t know. Anyone who might help them locate the McKinnon patriarch was worth the trouble to find.
While Bastian and Parker led the horses out of the trailer, Molly stood with Jenna. “You can clip the walkie talkie to the lapel of your jacket, or if you’re afraid you might drop it, you can zip it into your pocket. It’ll be harder to get to, but you’ll have it in case you get into trouble. Bastian will carry one, too. Hopefully, you two won’t get separated. If you do, you’ll have the radios to help you reconnect.”
“Thank you,” Jenna said. “For being here, and for helping us with the walkie talkies.”
Molly hugged her. “Just promise me you’ll be careful out there. I don’t like the idea of you two going without the Montana National Guard. I don’t like that there are men in the woods armed with semi-automatic rifles. And I’m all for people owning guns, but not when they’re chasing my best friend.” Molly hugged her again. “If you see them, get the hell out of there.”
“Believe me, I will,” Jenna said. “Self-defense classes only go so far to protect you when you’re up against an unarmed man, or a man with a knife. All bets off when guns are involved.”
“Right.” Molly bit her bottom lip. “I feel like we should follow you out there. You know, for backup.”
“That’s why I have Bastian. Like he said, he has my six.” She liked the way that sounded. She knew it was something he did for his teammates. But when he’d told her about it, it had sounded a lot more intimate to her. Or perhaps, it was all be wishful thinking that he cared for her more than just because she was Molly’s friend.
Bastian cupped his hands and bent low to help Jenna up into the saddle.
She didn’t bother to argue with him. She could have reached her foot up into the stirrup and gotten herself up into the saddle. But it was nice of him to help.
Once she was settled, he mounted Little Joe, and Molly handed him a two-way radio.
“Comm check.” Parker held up his walkie talkie.
Bastian pressed the button on the side and whispered into the mic. “Test. Test.”
Parker nodded and spoke into his mic, “Read you loud and clear.” He nodded to Jenna.
She depressed the button on the side and spoke into the mic, “Test. Test.”
Molly and Parker both gave a thumbs up.
“Be safe out there and don’t be gone past dark,” Molly said.
“You sound like Mom,” Bastian said with a grin.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Molly smiled. “Now, go.”
<
br /> Jenna nudged Scout in the sides, and the horse broke into a trot.
Bastian carried the small contour map printout and turned his horse into the woods.
Jenna was content to follow his lead. He had training in land navigation through the Navy and BUD/S training. He’d find the cabin, if it was anywhere near that ridgeline.
Jenna shifted in her saddle, her bottom and thighs unused to riding. It had been a long time since she’d been on a horse. She hoped she could last as long as it took to find Mr. Monson.
She’d be damned if she uttered one complaint about the hard saddle. If Bastian could tough it out, so could she.
As they rode off into the woods, Jenna became more concerned about what moved in the shadows rather than her sore bottom.
Chapter 7
Bastian led the way into the hills, glancing back often to make sure Jenna was still with him. He preferred to move in on foot where he could control the sounds his movements made, but they had a lot of territory to cover. Especially, if the first cabin wasn’t where they would find Earl Monson.
He kept his jacket loose so that he could easily reach the pistol he’d armed himself with in a shoulder holster. The rifle in the scabbard affixed to his saddle was for bigger game.
Not only did they have to be wary of armed two-legged creatures in the woods, they had to be prepared in case they ran across wolves or bears.
He wished he could have completed this mission without Jenna. However, she might be right. If the old man shied away from people, he might not stick around for Bastian to ask questions. Hopefully, he would be more willing to talk to the woman whose life he’d saved.
They found an old trail leading along a creek bank that led upward. With the contour map and a compass in hand, Bastian navigated the terrain, taking detours where the trail was impassible and getting back on track when he could.
Eventually, they came to a wider trail that might once have been an old logging road, now overgrown with brush and saplings. Though it was headed in the direction he wanted to go, he didn’t like that it left them exposed to anyone who might be watching.
Hugging the sides of the road in the shadows of mature lodgepole pines, he nudged his horse into a trot, anxious to get to the first cabin. If they had to move on to the second one, they’d need to do so quickly. Already it was past noon, and the sun set thirty minutes to an hour earlier in the mountains than it did on the plains. They would need time to question Monson, and then return to the truck and trailer back on Black Water Road.
He smiled at the thought of Molly and Parker stuck all day at the truck and wondered what they’d do to pass the time. Molly could be impatient, and Parker seemed to be a man who preferred action to standing around twiddling his thumbs.
Parker Bailey was an interesting man with a background much like the McKinnon brothers. He’d been a soldier in the 101st Airborne Division. On his last deployment eight years ago, he’d been injured in a firefight. That injury had cost him his career in the military.
He’d returned to Eagle Rock, Montana, his home, around the same time as Marcus Landon, the Iron Horse Ranch foreman, retired and moved to Florida to live with his daughter.
James McKinnon, former military man himself and proud of his sons’ choices to serve, heard about Parker and contacted him immediately. At his interview, James hired him on the spot.
Parker had no experience ranching, but he was a decorated war hero and understood the value of hard work and wasn’t afraid of long hours. And the animals seemed to like him.
The only person who had any issue with him seemed to be Molly. Twelve years her senior, he ignored her or treated her like a child, which grated on Molly’s nerves.
Yeah, it would be a long day for Molly and Parker. If anything, the forced togetherness might help them form a truce.
Ahead, through the trees, Bastian could see a high ridge. The trail wound upward toward it.
The cabin, according to Sheriff Barron’s map, would be a few hundred yards below the ridgeline. They should be able to see it soon.
Trees and brush hung low over the trail in some areas, requiring Bastian and Jenna to duck on many occasions or be brushed off by a limb.
After ducking one such long limb, Bastian emerged on the other side into a small clearing with a log cabin tucked into the far shadowy corner.
He reined his horse to a halt and waited for Jenna to come abreast of him.
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered. “I could use a break from this saddle.”
Bastian would have laughed, but his tailbone was equally in need of relief.
“How do you want to do this?” she asked.
“I was going to ride across the clearing, dismount and knock on the door,” Bastian said.
Jenna frowned. “I think it would be best if I approach alone.”
Bastian’s fists clenched. “I don’t like it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’d like it even less if Earl snuck out the back door because he didn’t want to be bothered with us.” Jenna sighed. “Look, I’ll go all commando and ease in by sticking close to the tree line and shadows.”
“I like that only slightly better.” He studied the shadows near the tree line, imagining men in black combat uniforms standing ready to nab her and drag her off to wherever they were hiding his father. “Nope. I don’t like it any better.”
“Too bad. I’m going.” She slipped out of the saddle and staggered a few steps. “After I get my land legs back, that is.” When she could stand straight again, she gave him a crooked smile and looped her horse’s reins over a low-hanging tree branch. “You’ve got my six, right?”
He dropped out of his saddle, tied his horse to a tree and pulled the rifle out of the scabbard. “I do now. Go at the door from an angle so I can lock in on whoever comes out of the cabin. It might not be Monson.”
Jenna frowned. “Good point. I’ll do that.”
Bastian leaned against a tree, taking full advantage of the bushes and shadows at its base, and stared down through the sights at the shadowy tree line near the cabin.
Nothing moved. No men in black stood out in the brush. If they were any good, he wouldn’t see them. That’s what had him worried.
“I really don’t like this,” he murmured.
“I’m not comfortable with it, either, but someone has to go, and it has to be me.” She stepped out of the trees and walked across the clearing, moving quickly, leaving a clear line of fire between him and the cabin door.
Bastian’s senses remained on high alert as he scanned the trees, the ridgeline behind the cabin and the structure itself.
As Jenna neared her goal, the door burst open and an old man with a gray, scraggly beard burst out, holding a rifle across his chest.
Bastian aimed at the man and held his fire. “Hello, Earl Monson,” he murmured.
If the man brought the rifle up to his shoulder, Bastian would shoot him.
Jenna stopped and held up her hands. “Don’t shoot. I came to thank you for saving my life.”
The man with the beard jerked his head toward Bastian’s position.
Jenna nodded and glanced back at Bastian. “He won’t hurt you, as long as you don’t hurt me. Earl, I brought him for protection against the men who chased me yesterday.”
Monson didn’t raise his weapon to his shoulder. He freed one hand and waved at Jenna as if shooing her away.
Jenna shook her head. “I need to talk to you, Mr. Monson.”
Even from the distance, Bastian could see the man’s eyes widen and then narrow.
“I know who you are,” Jenna said. “I’m very sorry about your wife. You must have loved her dearly.”
Monson backed into the doorframe and started to close the door.
Jenna took several steps forward. “Please, Mr. Monson, I need to talk to you. We need your help.”
He shook his head.
“Please,” she said, her voice soft, insistent and compelling.
Had Bastian been M
onson, he would have given Jenna anything she wanted. He held his breath, waiting for Monson to give in and let Jenna talk with him.
Monson paused for a moment, but then shook his head again. The door was closing, along with their chance of getting any information out of him about torture cabin and the victim.
Jenna hurried forward. “Mr. Monson, please. Talk with me.”
Suddenly, a flash of fire arched through the air and landed on the wooden shingled roof of the cabin.
Bastian yelled. “Jenna, get down.”
She dropped to the ground and lay flat, her hand digging into her jacket for her handgun.
The fire had arrived on the tip of an arrow, fired from somewhere in the shadows of the trees.
Bastian aimed his rifle in that direction.
Another burst of fire launched from the underbrush and landed beside the first arrow, lodged in the wooden shingles.
The fire ignited the wooden shingles and spread across the roof.
Bastian pushed away from the tree and ran toward the position where the arrows had originated.
“Get Monson out of the cabin,” he yelled as he passed Jenna and ran into the underbrush.
The sound of an engine revving made Bastian alter direction. He leaped over a fallen log, dodged past a bush and slowed when he saw a man dressed in black, wearing a ski mask, racing away on a four-wheeler.
He didn’t go far before he was joined by several other men on a combination of four-wheelers and dirt bikes.
Outnumbered, Bastian turned about and ran back to where Jenna lay on the ground, holding her gun out in front of her.
“Get up. We have to leave. Now!” He bent, grabbed her empty hand and pulled her to her feet. “Run! Get to the horses!”
She pulled free of his hand. “Not without Mr. Monson. They’ll kill him.”
“Get to the horses,” Bastian insisted. “I’ll bring Monson.”
Jenna was hesitant until she heard the roar of motorcycle engines. Her eyes rounded, and she ran for the horses.
Bastian lunged for the cabin door and slammed his fist against the wooden door. “Monson! Your cabin is on fire, and those men are coming for you. If you want to live, come with us now, or stay and die.”
