Holiday Rescue
An Albertini Family Romance
Rebecca Zanetti
RAZ INK LLC
Copyright © 2021 by Rebecca Zanetti
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
This one is for my FB street team, Rebecca’s Rebels. I love you all!
Acknowledgments
Thank you to everyone who helped to make this book a reality!
Thank you to Tony, Gabe, and Karlina for being an understanding and fun family who let me bounce ideas (often odd ones) off them constantly;
Thank you to Craig Zanetti, Esq. for the help with criminal law and procedure. Any mistakes about the law are mine and mine alone;
Thank you to Asha Hossain of Asha Hossain Designs, LLC for the fantastic cover;
Thank you to Debra Stewart of Dragonfly Media Ink for the wonderful edits;
Thank you to Stella Bloom for the fabulous narration for the audio book;
Thank you to Liz Berry, Jillian Stein, Asa Maria Bradley, and Boone Brux for the advice with the concepts for this new series;
Thank you to my incredibly hard working agent, Caitlin Blasdell;
Thank you to Sara and Gwen from Fresh Fiction, and Cissy and crew from WriterSpace for helping get the word out about this new series;
Thank you to my fantastic assistant, Anissa Beatty, for all of the excellent work and for being such a great leader for Rebecca’s Rebels (my FB street team);
Thank you to FB Rebel Amanda Singletary for her creativity with helping to name this novella, and thank you to Rebel Kimberly Detillier Rogers for coming up with a series name if I bundle the novellas;
Thank you to Rebels Heather Frost, Karen Clemente, Karen Fisher, and Kimberly Frost for being proof-reading angels;
Thank you to my constant support system: Gail and Jim English, Kathy and Herbie Zanetti, Debbie and Travis Smith, Stephanie and Don West, and Jessica and Jonah Namson.
Contents
Note from the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Santa’s Subpoena
Holiday Rogue
Disorderly Conduct Chap. 1
Also by & READING ORDER of the Series’
About the Author
Note from the Author
Howdy everyone! Thank you for so much support for his new series of mine. Sometimes, as an author, you have to write something a little different. This series is that for me.
I’ve loved the emails and FB notes about this series, and I’m happy to keep writing about Anna and her family. Sometimes we need a little bit of humor, right? This is a side note for the family with a full romance, which was fun to write.
Also, I am a lawyer, and I might live in a small town, but this is in no way autobiographical. It turns out that the name Albertini is a distant family name of my relatives, which is pretty cool. However, the story is all made up. The characters are all fictional and so are the towns and counties (like usual). Also, the law is correct. :)
I hope you like Anna’s world as much as I do!
Also, to stay up to date with releases, free content, and tons of contests, follow me on Bookbub, Facebook, the FB Rebel Street Team, and definitely subscribe to my newsletter for FREE BOOKS!
Also, I like to pair up with other bestselling authors to cross promote and give away books in our newsletters, so I will be giving away copies of my friends’ books coming up. Just go to my website (RebeccaZanetti.com) to sign up for my newsletter.
XO
Rebecca
Chapter 1
A wet nose touched Heather’s, and she opened her eyes to see the prettiest brown eyes imaginable. Large and soft with a sparkle of puppy adoration and triumph in them. The dog licked her chin, sat on its haunches, and barked three times.
Heather blinked freezing snow out of her eyes and sat up straighter against the solid tree trunk, trying to get her bearings. Her butt and legs were chilled from the frozen ground. She must’ve drifted off beneath the sweeping pine boughs after pressing her personal locator beacon for help.
Pain ticked through her head, and she gingerly tried to move her injured ankle, biting her lip at the agony. That’s right. She looked over her shoulder at the rocky and icy terrain she’d fallen down after slipping on the trail near the top of the mountain. Her pack was next to her, and she patted it, wincing as wet snow splashed up. Then she focused on the quietly panting Black Labrador. “Hello.”
The dog’s tail wagged across the snowy pine needles. It wore a bright red Search and Rescue vest along with a wide collar with a box that had a blinking red light. Heather had fallen into some sort of gulley, surrounded by trees with one very rocky edge heading back up to the main trail. The rocks were black slate, icy, and sharp.
A whistle sounded from up above, and the dog barked three more times before laying down with its nose on its paws right in front of Heather. Snow scattered.
“Good girl, Zena,” came a masculine voice. “Hello? Can you hear me?”
Heather angled around the tree and tried to look up and beyond the jagged rocks. “I can hear you.”
“What are your injuries?” The man was tall against the rapidly darkening sky, and his face remained in shadow.
Heather swallowed. “A few bruises and I think a broken ankle.” There was no ‘think’ about it. “It’s broken for sure,” she yelled, trying not to shiver. Was she going into shock?
“All right. Two of us are coming down, so stay behind that tree in case we loosen rocks or ice,” he called down, his tone remaining calm.
“Okay,” she chirped. Then she hunkered down behind the tree. Oh, she’d definitely expected danger to come her way, but not out by herself scattering her grandma’s ashes on the mountain top. She’d worry about her disastrous life later. For now, she studied the rescue dog, which had the loveliest black coat she’d ever seen. “Zena, huh? You do look like a warrior princess.”
The dog kept perfectly still, watching her as if she didn’t want her prize to wander away. Her brown eyes were alert and smart, and she vibrated as the rescuers maneuvered down the large rocks toward them. Her training was as impressive as her obvious intelligence. Snow landed on her nose.
Heather listened as sure steps made their way down the craggy rocks, and soon a man stood before her. She’d been wrong. He had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen. They were a tawny brown, lighter in the middle of the iris, the color spiking out into deep chocolate rims. “Hi.” He dropped to his haunches to study her face.
Maybe she was still unconscious because no way was this guy real. Dark and mussed-up hair swept away from a rugged face with more than a couple days of whiskers across his edged jaw. His chest was broad, his hands wide, and his gaze intent. “Hi,” she whispered.
The dog perked up and moved to the man’s side, tail still wagging.
He patted the dog’s neck. “You’ve already met Zena, and I’m Quint Albert
ini. Want to tell me what happened?”
Albertini? Yeah, he looked Italian. “I was hiking down the trail and slipped.” Then she’d tumbled over the rocks, bruising herself, until landing next to the tree. “I think my ankle is broken.”
He reached for a flashlight in his pack and shone it at her foot, which she’d already wrapped before putting a warmer at her toes and struggling to wear another sock over it all. “Looks like a solid wrap.” He looked at her hiking boot, which was near her pack. “Good idea taking the boot off before the ankle got too swollen.”
Another man jumped from a rock and landed. This guy was also in his late twenties, maybe early thirties, and had dark brown hair and strong features. Like Quint, he wore hiking clothing, a red Search and Rescue vest, and a backpack. “What do we have?”
“Broken ankle,” Quint confirmed. “Her eyes are clear and I don’t see signs of a concussion.” He leaned toward her. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“Just bruised,” she admitted. “I’d walk but can’t put any weight on the ankle.” There was no way to hop back up the rocky embankment to the trail.
Quint looked over his shoulder. “This is Rory, my brother.”
“Hi. I’m Heather,” she said, the cold starting to get to her. She shivered.
Rory grinned. “Great job taking the PLB with you. Most hikers aren’t that careful.”
“I was hiking alone,” she said. “So I figured having a personal locator beacon was just smart.” She’d hit the panic button the second she’d landed and regained her pack.
Quint looked closer at her ankle. “As well as boot warmers, extra socks, and granola bars?” The remains of a wrapper stuck out of a pocket of the backpack.
“I like to be prepared,” she murmured, trying not to feel like a dork.
The wind sped up and splashed water off boughs toward them.
Rory peered up at the bruised looking clouds. “I know we’ve had a really late and light winter, but hiking Storm’s Peak in December is a bad idea. There’s another storm moving in, and we need to get going.” He reached for a radio and told somebody that they’d found the hiker. Then he paused. “Do we need the litter?”
She knew from her research that a litter was the stretcher rescuers used to carry an injured person down a mountain. While December wasn’t a good month to hike, she’d had to wait to get the permits for her grandmother’s ashes, and it had looked like the storm would hold off for another couple of days. The local weather forecast had been incorrect.
Quint looked her over, and her body somehow warmed. “I’d prefer not to use the litter. The terrain is too rocky and slick.” He leaned in. “In cases like this, it’s a lot easier to piggy you out. Are you up to it?”
Her eyebrows rose. “You want to give me a piggyback?”
Rory chuckled. “It is the easiest way, and we do it all the time. The question is if you can hold on.”
“I think you’re going into shock,” Quint said, eyeing her snowy and wet jacket.
She could handle this. “I’m okay. I can hold on.”
“Good.” His gaze lightened. “It’ll be a lot easier to climb up these boulders if you’re on my back.”
She breathed out and tried to sound cool and not like a love struck teenager. He was going to carry her out? Flutters wandered through her abdomen. “All right. Let me take off my other boot.”
He held up a hand. “You can keep it on.”
“No.” She tried to sit up straighter. “It’ll be easier for me to balance with both boots off, and that way, I won’t keep kicking you.” She winced. “I’ll apologize now for the late season huckleberry milkshakes I’ve been eating all week. I’m sure I was five pounds lighter last Monday.”
His smile warmed her enough to push the sense of shock away.
Quint kept a watch on the woman’s focus and complexion. Her eyes were clear but her mouth pinched with pain. She was pale but definitely putting on a brave face. Her eyes were the light green of his Nonna’s antique glassware and her hair a natural sandy blonde, and even beneath the snow gear, he could tell she had curves. A lot of curves.
He was a man who appreciated curves.
For now, he had to ignore her obvious allure and get her off this mountain before the next storm tried to take them out. It was a late winter, but they were about to be bombarded with snow. Thunder bellowed in the distance, promising rain first, and she jumped.
“It’s okay,” he said, turning his attention back to her ankle. “Your wrap is good, but I’m worried my movements will impact the ankle and really hurt you.” They could put her on the litter and lift her via ropes, but time wasn’t on their side. Carrying her out would be so much faster.
She gulped. “If I hold tight with my thighs, it’ll keep my ankle still. I can do it.” She glanced at the threatening sky, and her lips trembled.
That was not sexual. He mentally slapped himself in the head. Her scent of apple cider and cinnamon was going to drive him crazy, and he needed to get a grip on himself. He had a job to do.
Rory peered over his shoulder. “Your jacket will make it difficult for her to hold on, but she’s wet. Thoughts?”
Quint stayed on his haunches. “Heather? How do you feel about being inside my jacket? It’ll give you stability and I’ll keep you warm, but you’ll need to take off your wet coat.” He had to prevent her from going into shock, but he wanted to give her all the sense of control he could. The woman had to be terrified, even though she was trying to hide it.
“That works,” she said, her hands pressing the ground so she could stand.
“Whoa,” he said. “I’ll help you.” He held out his hands, and when she tentatively took them, he stood and gently lifted her with him. Her skin was soft and her wrist bones fragile.
She kept her weight on one foot with the injured ankle lifted. “You’re tall.”
He grinned. “So they tell me. You’re not.” He was about a foot or so taller than her at six-foot-two.
Her smile was pained. “I’ve heard.”
“All right.” He kept her hands. “Rory is going to help you with your coat while I assist with your balance. Don’t worry. He’s very rarely a pervert.”
Rory moved in. “Our mama would kick my butt if I even thought of being a pervert. That woman has been practicing Kenpo, too. She could probably do some damage.” His voice was cheerful and reassuring as he unzipped the jacket to reveal Heather’s plain white T-shirt and then removed the coat.
She looked down at her wet and slick pants. “I have leggings on beneath these.”
Rory folded her jacket and set it in her backpack. “I can help.”
She hesitated. “I, ah, feel like we’ve all bonded here and can keep a secret or two.” Her pretty face blushed, and a dusting of snow landed on her head.
Quint paused. “All right?” Curiosity grabbed him around the neck.
She sighed. “The leggings are my favorite, but I’d never wear them in public.”
Rory chuckled. “It’s okay. We all have pants with holes in them.”
She shook her head and looked down. “No. No holes. It’s just, they’re so comfortable. But they have…BABYCAKES across the butt.”
Amusement smacked into Quint. God, she was adorable. “We won’t tell a soul.”
She looked up, humor and pain still reflected in those unreal eyes. “Seriously. They were black, and I’ve washed them so many times that they’re a soft gray color now, except the letters are still bright pink. It’s like magic.”
Rory laughed out loud. “We have definitely bonded and will keep your dastardly secret. Let’s do this.”
“I can.” She released Quint’s hands and reached for the waist of her rain pants.
Quint grasped her shoulders to help her balance and protect the broken ankle. She pushed down the slickers to reveal very nice and form-fitting leggings that were, indeed, a well washed gray color. He helped her step out of them and then released her before shrugging off his jacket. “Rory?
” He turned around.
“Yep.” Rory moved toward the woman. “Heather, you reach for his shoulders and I’ll lift. Okay?”
“Okay,” she gasped.
Quint leaned down so she could reach his shoulders, and Rory lifted her onto his back. She gave a slight hiss of pain, and then her thighs clamped against his ribs. Rory took the jacket and helped Quint with one arm, set the material around them both, and then did the other arm before zipping it up.
The woman felt solid and cold against Quint’s back. “You’ll warm up soon. How’s the ankle?”
“Okay,” she whispered against his neck. “I think my arms should go under?” She moved her hands from his shoulders to beneath his arms, flattening them on his chest.
“Yeah,” he said, checking his balance. “If your shoulders start to ache, you can put your arms over my neck, but wait until we get to the top of this cliff, okay?”
“Okay.” She turned her head into his neck and snuggled, her body going soft and relaxed against him.
The trust blasted through his heart, and he took a moment. “You’re safe, Heather. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Her life was now in his hands, and as far as he was concerned, she’d never been safer. “Zena is going to lead the way up, you and I will follow her, and Rory will bring up the rear with the packs. You ready?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “Um, Quint?”
“Yeah?” He turned on his hat headlamp and scouted the best way up the rocks.
She cleared her throat. “I was a little cold and scared. I might cry a mite now that I’m safe.” A tear slid against his bare neck.
Holiday Rescue Page 1
