by Jenna Kernan
Never. A first, and that was rare enough. And to her surprise she discovered that she had missed a kind of intimacy that went beyond sex. She was at ease with Dylan. She trusted him enough to let him see what others did not—her pain.
His breathing softened. His mouth gaped and she smiled. The night could not be long enough for her. She did not dream, but woke as the bright morning sunlight stole across her face.
Why hadn’t they thought to close the blinds?
Sometime during the night she had rolled to her side and Dylan had rolled with her. He now spooned against her. Her bottom was pressed against his groin and, although she could tell from his breathing that he still slept, she could feel a spectacular erection. He had one arm around her and across her chest so that his hand held her shoulder as if he was a lifeguard preparing to tow her to safety. She smiled and stretched, rubbing her bottom against him.
His breathing stopped and his body tensed.
“Good morning,” she said, looking back at him.
He released her and rolled to his back. She rolled with him, draping a hand over his chest. He blew away a breath.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Mornings. It happens. Right?”
“Yeah.” He pinched his eyes closed and pressed his forearm over his eyes. “You are such a temptation, Meadow.”
She wanted to be. But she also felt anxious because she did not just want to sleep with him. She wanted...more.
Oh, boy. She was in trouble again.
Chapter Nine
Dylan needed a moment to compose himself. It had been a long time since he had lain beside a woman all night and never when he had not slept with her. His gaze fell on Meadow as the dawn crept over the sky, painting her skin pink and lavender. She was nothing like any of the others.
His three serious relationships had all ended badly when each woman expressed her wish for marriage, forcing Dylan to face the hard fact that he was not in love with any of them. Margarete had said he was afraid of commitment because his father had left them. But the commitment-phobic didn’t sign enlistment papers, did they? Maybe it wasn’t the same thing. He had decided long ago that if female company came at the cost of a marriage, he would not settle until he fell in love. He wanted kids but not badly enough to pick just anyone. So far, he had not been lucky enough to find a woman with whom he could imagine wishing to spend his life.
He had watched Meadow in the rising light as she slept and wondered at the strange feelings of intimacy. Before she had fallen into sleep had been the most difficult, his intentions to comfort battling with his need to possess. He blamed it on the fire. Ever since he had taken her into his shelter, he’d felt an overwhelming need to protect her.
Meadow slipped to the edge of the bed they had shared, just like newlyweds. Well, he admitted, nothing like newlyweds. If that had been their wedding night, he most certainly would not have stopped at a few kisses. Still, having her cuddle up to him in the night had broken loose something inside him and now he wanted...what? A date? Too late for that. A relationship? He imagined how his brothers in Tribal Thunder would laugh at that. He knew of no couple who were such a mismatch, unless it was Anglo Cassidy Walker Cosen and her husband, Clyne. She had married one of the tribal councilmen on Black Mountain, much to the consternation of many in his tribe. If he had done it...
But this woman was a little crazy and he liked that. Was surprised he liked it.
Meadow murmured, and when her eyelids fluttered open, their gazes locked.
“You all right?” she asked, and rolled toward him, placing a hand at his opposite hip. “You haven’t changed your mind?”
He tried to keep his attention on her pretty, sleepy face, but his gaze dipped to slide down her body. Meadow had kicked off most of the covers during the night, revealing smooth, tight skin interrupted only by her pink bra and panties.
“About?”
“You know.” She ran a finger down the center of his chest and paused where the sheets covered his pulsing erection.
He swallowed, trying to think with the rational part of his brain and not the animal part that roared to take what she offered.
“Meadow, you don’t think this can go anywhere, right?” Had he sounded hopeful? Please, no.
“I think it can go any number of interesting places.”
“What I mean is—do you want me just for this?” He motioned at the evidence of his preparedness.
Her gaze trailed down him, and he swore he could feel her attention like a caress.
“I don’t know why you’d want anything else. No one else does. At first, men want sex or an introduction to my parents. Some latch on to me in hopes I might actually come into serious money someday. Those are the worst.”
“I don’t want those things.”
She sighed. “Pity. Especially about the sex. I’d know how to handle you then.” She allowed her hand to trail up his thigh, letting him know exactly what she intended to handle.
“I want to protect you, Meadow. That means keeping you from starting something that isn’t going to work out.”
Her hand splayed on his thigh. “It might.”
He met her gaze and saw, reflected in her warm eyes, the need for a connection that matched his own. He sat up.
“No one will let us be,” he said, still trying to be the voice of reason. “My mom, my friends, my tribe.”
“My parents, friends and family would be shocked. But I’m not sure they’d be disappointed.”
“But shocked,” he echoed.
“That I finally picked a man of character. Sure would.”
He switched to the language of his birth as he stroked her cheek. “I wish it could be you.”
“What does that mean?”
“We don’t have time.”
The disappointment made him ache.
“Oh, right.” She reached to the end table and handed him his phone. “You better check in. See if we can get through.”
He booted up the phone, which now showed a red bar over his voice message page. The battery was nearly empty. Jack had left him a message. Ray Strong, too. Both were unread, but he never left his phone on the voice mail page.
She slipped to the edge of the bed and headed toward the bathroom. He wondered if Meadow had used his phone. He’d never set the password protection. She’d had an opportunity to use his phone when he’d been in the shower. He glanced from the phone to the hallway where she had disappeared.
Again he wondered if he was sleeping with the enemy.
He checked the recent calls but found nothing. She could have deleted it. Then he checked his two messages. He listened to Ray’s first and discovered where the fire was contained and where his crew was working. Jack’s message was next and he listened as she reappeared and sat on his side at the foot of the bed.
“The road is opening at eight a.m. State police said they’ll let the home owners through at around ten. Anyone could be heading at you. Pick up, Dylan. Listen. If you are at the gatehouse, you need to get out of there.”
Dylan glanced at the phone’s screen and saw it was only a few minutes after eight. He was up and dressed in moments. Unfortunately, Meadow still wore only her underwear.
He explained that someone was coming.
“That’s good. Isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. We should be out of here before they arrive, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
He explained it to her as Meadow slipped into her sandals.
“Find some clothing. Look in his dresser,” he said motioning to the chest of drawers presumably belonging to the gatekeeper.
“They can’t think we started this. It’s ridiculous.”
Dylan’s people had been on the receiving end of many injustices. Unlike Me
adow, he did not expect to get fair treatment.
“We have to go,” said Dylan.
“I’m not going back out there.”
“Wait here, then,” he said.
“Maybe I think I will.” That stubborn chin lifted again.
Dylan glanced out the window that showed the road that wound up to the gatehouse. That was when he spotted a rooster tail of dust. They were already here.
“It’s a bad idea.”
She followed the direction of his gaze.
“Cavalry has arrived?”
Looked more like trouble to Dylan. All his internal alarms were sounding.
He lifted his brows. “You realize the cavalry used to shoot my people on sight, don’t you?”
“If you’re planning on hiding, you better scoot before they get here,” she said.
He grabbed her wrist. “Come with me.”
She shook him off and he let her go. She thumbed toward the kitchen window. “Listen. I appreciate everything you did for me, but I am not going out there again unless there is air-conditioning.” She lifted to her toes to peer out the window as Dylan ducked out of sight. “There, at the gate. Oh, a Hummer!”
It was, indeed. Not the commercial kind sold to posers in the cities but a Humvee that had armor plating. He had been in one when Hatch Yeager had been killed that night when they’d been ordered to secure the road. This vehicle was close to a mobile tank that could move across the desert or through the woods as long as there was a gap big enough in the trees. It also did not show any signs of having traveled through the fire.
There was only one road leading to this home to Pine View and between here and there the fire still raged. The road to from Valley View, through Pine Valley and then began hitched back and forth up the ridge, until the incline became too steep. The road then threaded between the ridges to continue up the gentler slope behind the mountain. This made practical sense and afforded an impressive view of the controversial home on approach. If the Humvee had driven over the valley road and through the wildfire, there would have been evidence, ash covering the surface, possibly pink fire retardant around the wheel wells or charring of the exterior paint. But there was none of that.
Dylan made the next logical conclusion. They had been inside the perimeter of fire. In other words, they had traveled down behind the ridge but never crossed into the valley of devastation beyond. So whoever was in that vehicle, they had been here since before the fire.
“Meadow. Listen, we have to go now. Those aren’t friends.”
“Dylan, I’m not going out there to scramble over those rocks again. My feet are blistered. Forget it.”
The construction route remained open, leaving the security gate blocking an unfinished road. Even if theh perimeter was operational, that Humvee would blast right through it.
Meadow stepped past him. Dylan waited by the side door, slipping out as the Humvee roared through the missing section of wall and onto the flat, paved road beyond. It stopped in front of the main entrance as he crept around the back of the gatehouse, so he was there when the driver in combat boots stepped down from the vehicle. Dylan’s eyes narrowed, knowing at a glance that this was not the home owner. The driver was dressed in desert camouflage, but the familiar name patch, black-and-white US flag and service insignia were missing. In other words, there was nothing to identify him. His designer mirror Oakleys were not regulation. His red hair was short but not buzzed, and his build was athletic. His stride contained a swagger of a young man.
His copilot emerged from the opposite side, similarly dressed with no soot or ash on his clothing. He was in his middle years, already well into the third quadrant of the medicine wheel. His hair was buzzed perhaps to hide the hairline that had receded back to his bald spot. He slipped on a cap with a brim that shaded his pale eyes. This one had the look of ex-military, right down to his crisp walk.
“Let’s get this over with,” said the passenger, who seemed to be the man in charge.
Dylan locked his jaw. Get what over with? He called on Bobcat to help him see what they intended and to be patient as he waited for his chance.
“I’m shooting him if he makes a move,” said the young one.
“We don’t even know if he’s here.”
“Survived the fire, though,” said Red.
His commander searched the ground and quickly found the tracks that marked Dylan and Meadow’s arrival.
“They said he’s an ex-marine,” said the young one, drawing his personal weapon and looking about as if Dylan would spring at him from behind the ornamental boulders that lined the drive.
There was no such thing as an ex-marine. Or that’s what his sergeant had told him. Once a marine, always a marine. Semper fi.
“Put that away,” ordered the one in command. “As far as anyone knows, they didn’t leave the shelter. No radio contact from him since the distress call at twelve-hundred hours yesterday.”
Dylan darted from the house to the grill of the Hummer, reaching the driver’s side as the older man knocked on the gatehouse door like a service call instead of what Dylan judged him to be—a killer on a cleanup mission.
He heard them speaking as they approached the gatehouse. Dylan slipped the passenger door open and searched the interior, coming up with the keys that dangled from the ignition.
What was he doing? Jack had told him to hide. He could be over the ridge and down in those rocks by now. Instead, he was searching the rear seat and retrieving the shotgun he spotted there. Why hadn’t he forced Meadow to come with him?
Meadow opened the door. She had found some clothing, beige jeans rolled at the ankle and an oversize T-shirt both of which only made her look smaller and more vulnerable.
“Well, here are my guardian angels. Did my father send you?”
“Yes, Ms. Wrangler. If you’ll come with us.”
He couldn’t see her but he heard her sandals crunch on the gravel on the other side of the vehicle.
“Where is Mr. Tehauno?”
“Oh, he’s down below looking for his friend, William Cheney. I told him he was gone.”
Dylan tried to figure how her father’s people knew that he and Meadow were together. He’d made one transmission. All other communication had gone only to Jack Bear Den, whom he trusted with his life. That meant someone had monitored the shortwave communication and sent these men.
Dylan checked the shotgun and found two rounds. He flipped the lever to single shot.
“We have orders to collect him, as well,” said the second man.
Yeah. That is not happening, Dylan thought.
The sun was behind them now, making its ascent on one of the longest days of the year. Sweat beaded on Dylan’s skin as he waited in the blistering hot morning sun. He bet it would be over a hundred today, too. The question was whether either he or Meadow would live to see it.
Dylan reached the back bumper of the Humvee and glanced in the rear window, spotting an empty back compartment.
“Well, I’d like to get out of here, so you’ll have to come back for him.”
“Have a look inside,” said the commander.
“He’s not there, I said.”
“After that, check the perimeter.” He glanced at his smartphone. “He’s close.”
The driver pushed past Meadow, who managed to look indignant rather than frightened. She had to know that she’d made the wrong call remaining behind, but she held on to her persona as the powerful daughter of a powerful man.
The redhead disappeared into the gatehouse and returned a few moments later. “Not there.”
“There’s no cover but the rocks. Check the hill on the west.” Then he turned to Meadow. “Right this way, Ms. Wrangler.”
But, instead of going meekly along, Meadow screamed a warning.
“Dylan! Run!”
Her abductor dropped all pretext and slapped her across the face. Meadow staggered but remained standing. A few minutes later Dylan heard the crunch of boots on gravel as the second man returned.
“I didn’t see him.”
The one holding Meadow cursed.
“Get in the car,” he said, presumably to Meadow.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. And when my father finds out that you struck me, you’ll be sitting in a jail cell, mister.” There was a scuffle and then Meadow’s voice again. “Hey! Let go of me.”
They were heading his way. Dylan raised the shotgun and took one breath in preparation. Then he stood, revealing his position.
The young driver did not look up as he muscled Meadow along and, behind her, the veteran soldier held a Taser pointed at Meadow’s back. He spotted Dylan, his step slowing as they made eye contact.
“Don’t!” said Dylan, but it was too late.
The older man pressed the trigger at the same moment his gaze flicked to Dylan. Meadow jerked and twitched, falling to her knees and then out of Dylan’s line of sight.
Red, the young one, reached for his sidearm, still locked in the holster by a black nylon strap.
Dylan swung the shotgun at him, aiming at his face.
“It’s the last thing you’ll do,” he said.
Red lifted his hands. Dylan swung the weapon to the real threat, who continued to press the Taser trigger. Dylan’s heart hammered as he realized he was trying to kill Meadow by giving her enough juice to stop her heart.
“Drop it!” he commanded, and raised the stock of his rifle to his cheek, aiming for center mass.
The older one dropped the Taser.
Meadow went still. Was she even breathing?
Chapter Ten
Dylan held his aim on the one in charge as he spoke to the younger man.
“Put her in the Humvee,” said Dylan.
Dylan had an adequate view of the ginger-headed man from his periphery. The man glanced at his supervisor, who gave a slight inclination of his head. Meadow was lifted, slack and limp, into the rear seat of the Humvee.
