by Jill Shalvis
Before I leave. He was torn between wanting her to leave now and wanting her to leave…never. “Haven’t you had enough adventures during your time here?”
“No.”
He gripped the steering wheel hard. “You’re in over your head, Ally. When are you going to admit that?”
For a long moment, she just looked at him, then without a word turned back to the window.
Good. Great. He’d finally accomplished his goal. She hated him. That was a good thing, he told himself.
Which in no way explained his sense of loss. But then he realized he had a bigger problem and pulled over to the side of the treacherous, deserted two-lane road.
Both of them stared at the large, newly fallen branch blocking their way. With a sigh, Chance pulled out his radio and called the resort. “Got a little problem here on the road,” he told Jo. “We’ll be later than we thought.”
Then he turned to Ally. “Stay here.” He pulled rain gear from the back seat.
“Why?”
“Because I can handle it.”
A storm gathered in her gaze to match the one outside. “Why should I let you do all the work?”
“So you can stay dry?”
She uttered an entirely uncharacteristic word.
Shocked, he stared at her.
“Didn’t know I knew that one, huh?” She said it again, then glared at him, all charged up. “I’m stronger than I look, Chance. I can hike. Bike. Kayak. I can help run a resort. Why, I can even get myself dressed in the morning, so believe me, I can lift a damn branch.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“And you know what else?” Her eyes flashed. “I can have feelings for you if I want to, whether it makes you break out into hives or not.” She untied the sweater from around her waist and angrily stuck her arms into it, determination blaring from every pore.
“That sweater isn’t going to stop the rain from soaking you.”
She twisted around and reached into the back of his Jeep, grabbing his backup oilskin. “This will.”
“It’s just a damn branch.” He was irritated because she looked so good wearing all that stubborn pride. She looked good wearing his jacket, too, which dwarfed her so much that only her fingertips poked out the sleeves.
She looked good looking at him.
She followed him into the storm as he knew she would. She followed him to the branch, as he knew she would. And she lifted right along side of him, though the wind slashed at them, and they were drenched within seconds.
Lightning lit the sky, and almost immediately came the clap of thunder, far too close for comfort. Suddenly an inconvenient branch in the way became a serious threat.
“Go back to the truck,” he shouted as they slowly dragged the heavy branch to the side of the road. “I can get it—”
“We’re almost done,” she shouted right back, straining along with him.
And that’s when he saw it in her eyes. Self-doubt. Fear.
But when he blinked and looked again, both were gone. And suddenly he knew the truth—his little city warrior had faked him out. She wasn’t nearly as sure of herself as she wanted him to believe.
He should have known, maybe he’d always known, but that she could put on such a good show, make such an unbelievable go of it, staggered him. “You’re doing great,” he heard himself say to her.
She went still, then flashed him a smile that took his breath. “Thanks.”
He was moving backwards towards the edge of the road, hauling the branch with him. She pushed from the other end, from the middle of the highway. They’d nearly cleared enough room for the Jeep to fit through when a car came roaring up the road.
It was moving far too fast, far too recklessly, and Chance waved and shouted for the driver to slow down.
It didn’t.
Tourists, he had time to think in disgust. Stupid tourists who thought the weather was exciting, and the roads infallible and their own driving skills perfect.
“Chance.” Ally breathed his name, fear etched on her face. “He’s going too fast!”
“Ally, move. Run.”
But she stood there in the way, mesmerized in horror.
The driver finally noticed the branch, not to mention both Chance and Ally struggling with it, but Chance knew it was too late, and Ally, still out in the middle of the road, was the vulnerable one. With every ounce of strength he had, he whirled, pulling both the branch—and Ally—with him, whiplashing her toward the side of the road where he stood.
She tumbled hard, landing a few feet from the edge of the cliff on her hands and knees.
The driver slowed, and swerved to the right, but it was too-little-too-late. His tires lost traction and the car lost control. It headed directly for Chance’s Jeep, and hit with a sickening crunch.
The car came to an abrupt halt.
The Jeep took the impact, and surged with it, moving, sliding toward the cliff, only feet away from where Ally was still on her hands and knees.
Chance started running, putting himself between Ally and the moving Jeep, thinking he could stop its movement with one great heave, but thankfully Ally scrambled out of the way. Sure that he could still stop the Jeep, saving the vehicle from going over the side of the cliff, he braced himself and reached out. But the strangest thought went through his head.
He was risking his life for a car.
Only weeks ago he would have done it without thinking. But something was different. He was different.
Ally screamed his name. It echoed through the wind and over the rain. He turned toward her to tell her not to worry, that he wasn’t going to needlessly risk himself, not now, not when he knew the truth.
He’d changed because of her.
“Chaaaance!” She was moving back toward him in slow motion, panic and terror in her eyes, her hands waving as she tried to warn him. Because while he’d stopped with his life-altering realization, while he’d decided to walk away, the Jeep hadn’t slowed at all, and as it approached the last few feet before the cliff, as it set itself in a motion that couldn’t be stopped, it took him with it.
Right over the edge.
It happened so very slowly that Chance literally saw his life flash before his eyes, just as everyone always claimed. He saw his parents, wild and free in Las Vegas, having the times of their lives.
He should have called them more.
He saw his brothers, Kell and Brandon, both big and tough and strong and disciplined.
And though they’d never been close, he should have called them more, too.
It took a lifetime for the Jeep’s momentum to take it past him, down the embankment. He grabbed out blindly, and found purchase in a very hard, very wet, very eager to shred-his-skin-to-bits tree.
He clung to it in slow motion as well, watching the Jeep slide down, watching the rain fall, watching dirt and debris hit him, hurt him, until finally, tired, he closed his eyes.
13
HE’S OKAY, HE’S OKAY, he’s okay.
This was Ally’s mantra as she crawled to the edge of the embankment where Chance and the Jeep had vanished. When she saw the top of his wet, blond head she nearly collapsed in relief.
He was fifteen feet down, hanging on, his arms straining over his head, to a branch that didn’t look sturdy enough to hold him. Ten feet below him, on a ledge, sat the Jeep, looking as if it’d been purposely parked there. “Chance!”
“I’m okay,” he said, but he didn’t move.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic. This became her new mantra as she evaluated the situation.
One, she was in the driving rain, far too close to the edge of a cliff that could give away any second now. Two, she was the only one in the world in any immediate position to help Chance. And three, the pathetic, mousy city girl masquerading as Ms. Carefree had better get it together quickly, because she just realized every bit of strength she’d found over the past month had deserted her. “Hang on!” she called down. She whipped around to s
quint at the car that had hit the Jeep. The man who’d been driving was running toward her. “Do you have a cell phone?” she yelled.
He nodded and made an abrupt about-face, going back for the phone.
Ally was just peering over the cliff again when another car came ripping up the road, peeling to a stop behind the first car.
Brian and Jo came running.
Ally had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. “Get rope,” she told Jo. “Get the guy’s cell phone and call 911,” she yelled to Brian, and they both ran to help.
A sudden calm determination come over Ally then. Without hesitation, she carefully and slowly went over the side of the cliff. “Chance!” she called, moving down an inch at a time, searching for foot and hand-holds.
He shook his head as if clearing it, and looked up. There was a cut on his forehead, and mud over most of him. When he saw her coming down after him, he lost whatever color he had left. “Ally, no.”
Ten more feet. Nine. She wasn’t going to stop now. From above, both Jo and Brian reappeared.
“My God!” Jo cried. “Ally, stop— Wait!”
She couldn’t now, she was committed. And halfway there. Brian came over the edge as well, and started his way down to help her.
Again Chance shook his head, looking a little green around the edges. But he was alert, and he reached up to start the climb.
Ally kept moving toward him, heart in her throat. Hand over hand she went, reaching out carefully, trying not to think too hard about what she was doing, because if she did, she’d lose it. She grabbed at a rock, but it came loose, setting off a slide of rocks and debris. With a gasp, she flattened herself against the side of the mountain, cringing as both she and Chance, who had nearly met her now, took several hits.
“Watch out,” Jo yelled from above. “Watch out for—”
“I’m okay!” Terrified, but okay. The strenuous climb was taking every bit of concentration she had, so she jerked in surprise when suddenly Chance was at her side. She wanted to cry, wanted to grab him, wanted to shake him and make sure he never ever did anything heroic ever ever again, but he was looking at her with that same look right back and she couldn’t speak.
“You don’t have a rope on,” he said hoarsely, maneuvering sideways so he could curve an arm around her. “Ally, my God, if you let go—”
She both laughed and cried, but didn’t dare let go to touch him. “Believe me, I’m not letting go. Now tell me the same.”
His eyes were so dark, so intense. “I won’t fall.”
“Promise.” It was inane, but she needed to hear him, needed him to keep looking at her like that, always. “Promise me,” she repeated tightly.
“Promise.” He nudged her back up, refusing to go ahead, staying right behind her, one tensed arm on either side of her legs. Unable to help herself, she kept craning her neck to look back at him. His hands were cut, his every muscle straining with effort but whenever she looked at him he managed a grim smile and urged her along. “I’m okay,” he kept saying, but she couldn’t believe it. They came upon Brian, who looked Chance over as if he were on Search and Rescue duty before silently and efficiently starting the climb back up as well.
Then they were at the edge, climbing up and over, only to fall to the ground in exhaustion.
Chance went to his knees, weaving once before opening his arms, which Ally dove into without thought, clasping herself to his big, warm, filthy chest. Jo locked her arms around the both of them, and they all dragged Brian into the fray, squeezing hard.
“Okay, so maybe you’re ready for rock climbing,” Chance quipped, but the smile didn’t meet his eyes, which were strained and shadowed.
“That might have been more adventure than I ever planned on,” Ally admitted.
“That was too much for anyone.” He held her so tight she could barely draw air into her lungs, but breathing came in a distant second to being cradled against him.
He was bigger than life. He was brave and untamed. He was uninhibited and earthy, and his love for the outdoors was contagious.
But she was also madly in love with him and he didn’t love her back. He never would. She had to remember that.
“I vote that this was enough training for all of next year,” Jo said, trying to laugh, but her eyes filled. She couldn’t stop hugging everyone, and Ally knew the feeling.
She didn’t want to take her hands off Chance ever again.
Brian, clearly uncomfortable with all the emotion, turned away, but before he could walk, Chance stopped him. “In an emergency, I want to be with you, Slick. You’re one tough, sharp thinker. Consider yourself promoted to staff status.”
“You said I wasn’t old enough.”
“Not for ski patrol, but we’ll find something. You’re official, and as of right now, you’re on the payroll. Next time you risk your neck for me, you’re damn well going to get paid for it.”
Forgetting he didn’t like to be touched, forgetting he didn’t trust adults and that he was openly crying, Brian hugged Chance, a full-bodied, back-slapping hug between two men who weren’t afraid to show how they felt.
“Dammit, stop it,” Jo said, swiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve.
Ally found herself back in Chance’s arms, back in the place she felt the most alive. And the look in his eyes, the heated intensity, the passion, the longed-for affection…everything she could ever want was there.
Yet it wasn’t real.
“Ally—”
“I hear sirens,” she said, taking a step back out of his warm embrace, afraid to let him finish. She knew what she wanted him to say, but not like this. Not in the heat of the moment, surrounded by chaos. Not when it couldn’t last.
The paramedic and rescue unit arrived, as well as the sheriff, who cited the other driver for reckless driving. Chance was momentarily distracted by the paramedics wanting to treat a few nasty scratches. Then the rescue unit needed a report. Arrangements were made for the Jeep to be hauled back up, and finally, finally, the road was cleared and they were free to go.
“Ally.” Chance stopped her as she would have gotten into Jo’s car, and cupped her cheek in his hand. “You’re really okay?”
“Fine.” She sank into the car and tried not to give in to the tears she’d been fighting for an hour now.
He followed her in, clearly wondering what was wrong, but she avoided his direct gaze. She had to, or she’d lose it. For so long she’d wanted to see that look in his eyes, had hoped and dreamed for it. Now, in this situation, an emergency, with adrenaline flowing, and thrills aplenty, she had it.
And it wouldn’t—couldn’t—last.
Soon enough, he’d go back to looking at her as if she was a problem he didn’t know what to do with. A problem he wanted to go away. He sat right next to her in Jo’s little car, pressing his big body close to hers. She could feel the heat and strength of him, could feel his gaze like a caress.
“It was you,” he murmured. “You saved me.”
“No.” God, not his gratitude on top of everything else. That would make it all the harder to bear. “You would have made it without me.” Above all else, he was a survivor.
He stroked her jaw, then turned her to face him, his eyes both fierce and tender. “You got 911 called, you said my name over and over, you kept me alert so I didn’t let go. You were the one, Ally.” He reached for her hands, bringing them up to his mouth, gently kissing the scrapes on her knuckles. Then he hauled her close, until she was tucked up against him, holding her as if she were his entire world.
He was trembling, and she stroked her hands up and down his back. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re fine now.”
A rough laugh escaped him, and he squeezed her tighter. “Do you think I care about me? It’s you, Ally. It’s always been you.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
“I’m glad you’re fine,” he told her. “But I’m a wreck, so hold me, Ms. Fine, and don’t let go.”
Temporar
y, she reminded herself ruthlessly. He would only feel this way temporarily.
But at the moment, locked against his hard, warm body, she allowed herself to pretend it could last forever.
JO DROVE TO ALLY’S cabin first, which was a huge relief to Ally, who needed to be alone to regroup. To think. And maybe to wallow, just for a moment.
But Chance got out with her.
“What are you doing?” She sounded panicked, but she needed to be by herself. If he so much as touched her again, if he looked at her with that look, the one that told her things he didn’t mean for her to know, she’d melt. She’d beg him to hold her again and never let go, to make it real.
He’d get the holding part right, oh he most definitely would. And she’d be lost.
“You should go to your cabin and clean up,” she insisted, practically shoving him back into Jo’s car.
“I want to clean up, but—” He bent to say something to Jo and Brian, something she couldn’t hear.
Jo glanced up at Ally, then nodded. Revving the engine, she drove away.
And left him standing there next to her.
The rain continued to come down, but they were already drenched. Chance was staring at her while she stared at the ground. She could feel his gaze caressing her hair, her face. Then she felt his hand skim her back, so softly it nearly made her cry.
“Remember what you wanted to do before that branch blocked our path?” he asked.
She’d wanted to talk. And she’d nearly goaded him into it, just as she’d goaded him into everything they’d ever done together. Pathetic.
“Do you remember?” he asked again, sounding unusually solemn.
“We were going to the store.”
He let out a sound of frustration. “You wanted to talk.”
“That was then.” Now all she wanted was a pity party, and she was damn entitled. When she was done feeling sorry for herself, she planned to dry herself off and get on with her life. Her heart was broken, but she’d survive.
She always did.
“I think talking is a good idea.”
He didn’t look as if he thought so. He looked as if he’d offered to face the guillotine. “Your timing is off,” she informed him as if she were bored, but he simply slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her into the curve of his body, sheltering her from the rain.
