His Christmas Carole (Rescued Hearts Series Book 1)

by Alexis Lusonne Montgomery

  “Come on, big guy. Settle down.” Hap grasped the horse’s bridle. “Trouble’s over. But we’ll have to go find this trespasser before she gets herself killed.”

  If she wasn’t already dead in the landslide.

  Quickly, he saddled Rustler,

  mounted, and followed the footprints toward the tree line.

  Why in the world would she climb up this plateau wall—in the snow—with a storm coming? Whoever it was had gathered an armload of twigs and just tossed the bundle and headed for the trees. But why? Her behavior just made no sense.

  Maybe this person wasn’t dealing with a whole deck. What possessed her to leave the shelter of the cabin with bad weather clear to see approaching on the horizon?

  As he tracked her, Hap noticed where she’d slipped and landed hard on one knee. A small handprint still made a sharp outline on a snow-covered rock.

  Farther on, the snow was deeper and her progress slower. Why hadn’t the fool woman turned back? The going was difficult enough on an experienced ranch horse. On foot, foolhardy. Not willing to risk concealed dangers,

  he and Rustler trudged on, keeping to the path she’d dredged before them.

  At some point, Hap knew he’d have to leave the stallion and continue alone. The trail was becoming steeper and rockier, and he had no intention of risking the future of his breeding program on some tenderfoot who didn’t have sense enough to stay inside and out of bad weather.

  Rustler managed to keep fairly good footing until they reached the base of the slide area.

  Then Hap dismounted, drop-tied the reins, and reached for the binoculars he’d stashed in his saddlebags.

  He searched the rockslide and the surroundings. The massive base of the pine had lost its hold on the mountainside and slid down to the valley floor, looking like a giant’s Christmas tree, thrown out when the festivities ended, and nobody wanted it anymore.

  A glint of scarlet drew his attention to the tree’s roots.

  He turned his head slightly and lost sight of the color.

  Then something bright caught the light. There.

  He squinted against the sun to see a patch of red, just next to that big exposed root. Although he couldn’t make out anything clearly, Hap had the horrifying thought he’d just found his trespasser trapped in that monstrous tangle of dirt, rocks, and roots.

  He raced back to Rustler, dumped the field glasses into the saddlebag and retrieved his rope. The first soft snowflakes whispered across his cheeks. His timing, as usual, proved pitiful.

  “Wait for me, big guy. I’ll be right back,” he said, patting the horse’s neck.

  He climbed up the incline to the top of the ridge, skirting the edge of the slide area as quickly as the tenuous trail would permit. At the top, he looked down. He could make out a balled form tucked under one massive bare root. A tangle of scarlet scarf and red-gold hair reflected the waning light.

  Hap tied the rope around another big evergreen, but not before checking that the pine wouldn’t tumble like its brother, and then looped the other end around his waist to ensure he wouldn’t follow the tree to the valley floor. After knotting the rope, he began rappelling to the fallen interloper.

  Please don’t let her be injured.

  Please don’t let her be dead.

  Certifiably crazy was enough for any poor cowboy to cope with. And she had to be nuts to be up on this slope with a snowstorm wailin’ in.

  If she wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t injured, and she wasn’t honest-to-goodness crazy, he was going to strangle her.

  Oh. Good. God. Hap wasn’t sure if he was cursing or praying. Probably both, cursing her foolishness and praying for her deliverance.

  Still no movement.

  “Hello?” he called. “Hello? Are you hurt? Can you move?” He took another step, and the ground under his foot started to slide. “No, don’t move,” he muttered, easing carefully over the loose dirt. “Don’t move!” he yelled. “I’m coming to you. Hold still.”

  Hap had no idea whether or not she could hear him. There was no response, no flicker of movement. Refusing to consider the possibility she could be dead, he pushed aside that thought, struggling through the debris. The ball of the tree root shuddered, threatening to continue sliding down the valley’s slope. Only the pine’s branches, lying like mighty broken wings in the dirt and snow, kept the loosened earth in place.

  Hand over hand, he held onto the gnarled roots and pulled himself toward the scarlet patch. Peering around the roots, he could see her head was tucked under an arched root, shoulders scrunched up around her ears. Her arms covered her face and forehead, but frothy copper-colored hair escaped, reaching for the light. She’d rolled herself into a tidy protective ball, and the dirt filled in around her like a cocoon.

  If he were ever going to get a Christmas wish in his whole miserable life, let this be the one.

  Please don’t let her be dead.

  He maneuvered around the roots, finally able to crouch next to her and brushed the hair off her face. He didn’t recognize her. She was a small woman—some might say petite—hardly more than a girl. Is she breathing?

  Hap pulled off a glove and tucked it in his coat pocket. His hand shook, but he pushed aside her coat collar, sliding shaking fingers against her neck to find a pulse. Her skin felt chilled but alive.

  When his fingertips found the steady beat of her life, a shudder of such intense relief went through him, he could have passed out.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he whispered. “Wake up now. We’ve got to get you out of here. Come on. Wake up, little lady.”

  He pushed off rubble, brushed aside broken branches and reached under her to get a grip on both shoulders so he could pull her away from the tree. She wore men’s dungarees that were covered in muck and damp from the snow. With a brief moment of wonder at her unusual apparel, he ran his hands over her limp body, relieved to see no blood and feel no broken bones. Her hair and the scarf must have protected the back of her head and ears from greater injury. Hopefully, she’d regain consciousness soon.

  The snow began to fall in earnest. They needed to get back to the cabin before all hell broke loose.

  He tugged her free and gathered her into his arms, deciding there really wasn’t much to her. He hoped any internal damage done by moving her would be minimal.

  He noted her boots were those fancy kind city girls bought when they were playin’ cowgirl—not worth more than a twirl around a dance floor—certainly not enough to be out in this wilderness. Maybe she’s not too crazy, just a greenhorn. Still, even a newcomer should know better to go running around in the snow without more layers of protection. He needed to get her back to the cabin before she froze to death.

  He settled her securely in his arms and turned to move back along the root.

  She stirred, groaned and then her arms grabbed for his neck.

  Her face pushed up under his chin, and she hung on like a frightened kitten about to be tossed down a well. Her warm breaths heaved in and out, and he could feel her soft breasts push against his chest, leaving no doubt she was a woman grown.

  “Shush, darlin’. You’re all right now. I’ve got you,” he crooned the same way he would coax a young filly to cooperate. “I won’t let anything happen to you. We’re going to get out of here.”

  From the increased pressure around his neck, he didn’t figure she was buyin’ a word of it.

  “Come on now. You’ve got to help me get us out of this slide. All right?” He waited for a reply, afraid to move farther in case she began flailing to be free.

  The nodding of her head under his chin gave some assurance she understood the situation.

  “Good. Now, here’s what I need you to do.” He kept his voice low and soothing. Both of them could still end up at the bottom of this landslide if she spooked.

  “Ease up. I need to unbutton my jacket and fasten it around you.”

  She loosened her grip but kept a hold of him.

  He pulled the rope from
around his waist, unbuttoned his jacket and tucked her inside, then secured the buttons. “Now, slide your legs around me. We’ll do a backward piggyback ride. All right?”

  Another quick nod collided with his jaw, nearly causing him to bite his tongue, but she eased her legs around his waist and adjusted her grip on his collar. He flinched. Her fingers were like ice against his neck. Wrapping one arm tighter across her back, he slid the rope through his gloved fist to slow their descent in the treacherous scoot down the rockslide.

  Oh Lord, thank you for the wish, and if you could see your way to getting us out of this mess in one piece, I’d surely appreciate it.

  Chapter 7

  Carole clung to the big man who’d promised to get her out of this nightmare. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he’d directed.

  Her arms circled his neck in a death grip. Clutching the collar of his shearling jacket, she hung on like a terrified tick.

  The scramble through pine boughs and shale slide while attached to the man’s hard-muscled chest was a blurred blend between gut-twisting fear and a feeling of absolute safety in his implacable grip. Secure inside his coat, Carole pressed her face into his neck and sucked in deep breaths. She hugged him so tight her muscles threatened to cramp. If they made it down this slide, somebody would have to pry her loose with a pick-axe.

  More debris flailed after them. She kept her head tucked and prayed.

  “Just hold on. We’re almost there,” he rasped through heaving breaths, adjusting her weight by shifting her to one hip.

  “We’re almost there,” he repeated, his breath warm through her scarf.

  As they reached the last incline, a horse, snorting and whickering, stomped nearby. Shoving and circling the man, the horse snuffled Carole.

  She kept her head tucked, a firm believer in “see no evil.”

  “Rustler, back off,” the man ordered, his deeply masculine voice rumbling through his chest.

  The horse gave another shove, this time pushing them hard. He uttered a high-pitched squeal and pawed the dirt. A sudden tremor followed, and the sound of more sliding debris.

  “Hang on!” her guardian ordered.

  As if I’d let go?

  She felt the man carrying her step up into the stirrup and swing his leg over the horse, settling onto the saddle, her legs still strangling his waist.

  One big hand on her bottom pressed her into his belt buckle and gave her a shocking point of focus other than an imminent burial in a landslide for the second time that day.

  Carole felt his rock-hard thighs under hers and his strong biceps flexing around her ribs. Wrapped inside his coat, flat against a well-muscled chest hot to the touch, she tried to take deeper breaths. The man’s tighter hold made it almost impossible to get her breath at all, but she wasn’t about to complain. She wanted to survive.

  “Go, Rustler.” Leaning forward, the big man flexed his thighs.

  The horse drew himself up and sprang forward into a full gallop.

  To Carole, the horse hardly seemed to touch the ground in his headlong race to safety. The roar of the slide continued, chasing them across the valley floor. Rocks pelted them. Her fingers stung from the debris hitting her hands where she clutched the back of his neck. Terrified, she kept her head tucked under his chin, praying the man didn’t get hurt because he came to her rescue.

  Man and horse moved as one being, in synchronized motion. If Carole wasn’t concentrating on not hyperventilating, she’d appreciate their teamwork.

  They seemed to run forever. Would they reach safety or be buried alive? She felt every move—the horse bunching his body to spring forward and the man tightening his thighs when the horse leaped ahead. She could only hang on and pray.

  Carole clung until her strength gave out. She couldn’t take a deep breath, couldn’t utter a sound, and the world faded to black.

  Hap felt the woman go limp. Her head nodded farther into his coat, and her grip went slack. He could feel her warm breath on his chest so he knew she wouldn’t suffocate as she sank into his hold.

  He wrapped an arm tighter around her and re-balanced her dead weight across his thighs. Buttoned into his coat, she was snug and in no danger of being dumped, but internal injuries could still be a problem. How long had she been climbing in the snow? She could have frostbite. The fingers resting at the back of his neck were still icicles.

  Rustler swung around to the front of the cabin and slid to a stop, throwing dirt and slush in all directions.

  Hap dismounted, careful not to dislodge his unconscious passenger. Keeping one forearm under her butt to avoid dropping her, he shoved the stable door wider so Rustler could push into the shelter.

  “I’ll be back, big fella. Just let me get her inside and settled. I’ll bring you more oats—you’ll get double tonight.” He closed the door and carried the still-unconscious woman inside the cabin.

  Grabbing the Christmas quilt off the bed, he slung it on to the bentwood chair. He unbuttoned his coat and eased her onto the seat.

  Her fair skin was so pale, she looked almost blue, her freckles standing out in sharp relief. She still shivered in wrenching waves. The young woman looked so vulnerable and woebegone, she nearly broke his heart.

  He brushed her damp red-blond hair off her cheeks, exposing delicate features––a slim, aristocratic nose and high cheekbones, with a smattering of light tan freckles across her face.

  She’s beautiful. Like a Christmas angel ornament come to life.

  When he tucked the quilt across and around her, she curled into herself but didn’t respond or open her eyes. Stripping off his gloves and dropping them, Hap touched the side of her neck and found a strong pulse. But her blue-tinged lips still scared him.

  She slumped like a ragdoll in the chair, she didn’t move from where he’d placed her. The potbelly stove was putting out heat but not enough to warm the place as much as he wanted. .

  Hap grabbed a log, lifted a metal lid on the stove with the wooden handle, and stuffed in the wood, stoking the fire.

  More kindling followed. Two more logs went onto the grate in the fireplace. He crumpled the newspaper he’d brought with him, crouched, and stuffed the wad under the grate, lighting the paper with the box matches from the mason jar on the table.

  The fire caught with a strong flame, and he rocked back on his heels. Now he could take care of his uninvited guest. He grabbed his leather satchel off the floor to pull out a couple of shirts, leaving the bag open on the table in case he needed more layers.

  “Come on, Christmas,” he said, scooping her from the chair, quilt and all, and depositing her on the bed. “Let’s see about getting you warmed up.” He pulled off her pathetic boots, which hadn’t even begun to keep her socks dry. Her feet were icy, like her hands. He rotated between rubbing and chafing circulation back into her delicate fingers and toes. Some holiday she’s having.

  “Okay now, Christmas, you gotta wake up.” He waited, hoping. But still no response.

  He had no choice but to get her out of her wet clothes. Now.

  Hap sat her up and unwrapped her scarf before unbuttoning her shearling coat. He hesitated, looking at her limp body.

  Undressing someone who couldn’t help wasn’t easy. He’d not had a lot of experience with women, but enough to know he’d deal with this a lot better if she were awake and could agree to his ministrations. If she woke while he was taking off her clothes, she might think he was taking advantage.

  “Do me a favor, Christmas, and open your eyes.”

  He slid an arm underneath and around her back. At least the dampness hadn’t soaked into the sheepskin. He pulled off the coat and tossed the garment onto the chair back.

  As his fingers fumbled with the buttons of the plaid flannel shirt, the back of his neck burned. The red chemise he spied underneath stopped him cold.

  Her head lolled back, eyes closed.

  He pulled the shirt free of her trousers and unbuttoned the front.

  She wasn’t wearin
g a corset. Thank heaven for small favors! Just the red embroidered chemise.

  Just kill me now.

  Hap grabbed a dry shirt he’d brought, plucked off the chemise—making sure to keep her breasts covered—and pulled the sleeves up her arms. Then quickly he buttoned the front, and yanked the bottom down to her thighs.

  Now her dungarees. Nothing like peeling wet denim off a body that couldn’t even wiggle her hips to help.

  Just get it done, cowboy.

  Hap rolled down the pants and freed her bottom, to find an undergarment. Relieved to know she wasn’t completely naked, he covered her with the quilt.

  She was definitely the owner of the silk drawers he’d discovered in the carpetbag. She wore a similar red silk version—it matched the lace-trimmed red corset he’d found. No way in heck was he going to pull those off her. They’d dry quick enough when she got warm, wouldn’t they?

  A hot shiver tore up his spine, followed by a feeling of shame.

  I’m not a gentleman!

  The proof was the rise making his own denims uncomfortable.

  How could he have a physical reaction to an unconscious woman he didn’t even know?

  Because she’s practically naked and beyond beautiful, that’s why, idiot. I’d have to be blind, or dead, not to respond.

  But he would never act on a desire not reciprocated, nor make a lady uncomfortable with unwelcomed behavior. His ma had raised him better than that.

  She was small but well-made. Her arm and leg muscles appeared conditioned, like she actually knew the meaning of hard work. Her smooth, fair skin held a smattering of freckles as befitted her red hair, while delicate features graced an oval face. He wasn’t sure what color her eyes were but he’d bet on green, which would suit her auburn hair. He was partial to green eyes.

  Violent shivers wracked her whole body, and her teeth chattered. Still, she didn’t wake.

  Well, dangit! Those wet drawers had to come off, or she was never going to get warm. Being chilled to the bone could kill a body that small. She didn’t have any fat to keep her warm. For sure, the first thing he’d do when she woke was feed her.