Unexpectedly Mine (Birch Crossing Book 1)

by Stephanie Rowe

"Three!"

  He threw all his weight against it, straining his muscles to their limit, but it didn't budge. He swore and released the branch. So much for that few inches of movement. Nothing but the illusion of opportunity. "This tree's not going anywhere until Mother Nature decides she is."

  "Oh, come on!" She pounded her fist on the trunk. "Don't do this to me! I can't leave her there!" The despair in her voice tore at his gut.

  Suddenly, with the rivulets rushing past his boots, the howl of the wind, the sound of water crashing down the side of the mountain, Griffin was reminded of the nightmare that haunted him so ruthlessly. His daughter. Caught in the undertow. He couldn't get to her—

  Shit! Not this time. This time he wasn't trapped in the helplessness of a nightmare. This time he could get it right. This time, he was owning the result, and there was going to be a happy freaking ending.

  There was only one option.

  He grabbed the woman's shoulders just as she turned back to attempt another fruitless assault on the tree. He forced her to look at him, his grip tightening as she tried to bat his hands away. Thick drops were rolling down those pale cheeks. Rain or tears? Now, he wasn't so sure. "Listen. I'm going to drive my truck around the tree. Stay back by your car. If I dislodge the tree, I don't want you anywhere near it when it goes. I'm going to help you."

  "Help me? What are you talking about?" A little furrow creased above her delicate eyebrows, but he could tell he'd caught her attention. There was such disbelieving hope in those blue eyes, as if she couldn’t comprehend that someone would come to her aid. He swore under his breath, wondering what kind of life she'd endured that had taught her that she had to fight every battle by herself.

  "Just stay by your car." He pulled her away from the tree, deposited her by her Subaru, then sloshed through the rushing water to his truck. He swung into the driver's seat, then backed up so his lights were on the hillside that was gripping the tree so precariously.

  The grade was steeper than he would have preferred. His truck was heavy, but was it heavy enough to keep from flipping over?

  Hell, yeah. He'd never crashed his truck before, and he wasn't going to start tonight.

  He gunned the engine and headed straight toward the side of the mountain.

  Ducking her head against the raging storm, Clare hugged herself while she watched the huge black pickup truck turn its headlights onto the steep hillside. She was freezing, and her muscles wouldn't stop shaking. She was so worried about Katie, she could barely think, and she had no idea what this stranger was going to do. Something. Anything. Please.

  The truck lurched toward the hill, and she realized suddenly that he was going to drive straight up the embankment in an attempt to go above the roots and around the fallen tree that was blocking the road. But that was crazy! The mountain was way too steep. He was going to flip his truck!

  Memories assaulted her, visions of when her husband had died, and she screamed, racing toward him and waving her arms. "No, don't! Stop!"

  But the truck plowed up the side of the hill, its wheels spewing mud as it fought for traction in the rain-soaked earth. She stopped, horror knifing through her as the truck turned and skidded parallel across the hill, the left side of his truck reaching far too high up the slippery slope. Her stomach turned as she saw the truck tip further and further, until she could see the roof.

  A feathered angel was painted beneath the floodlights. An angel? What was a man like him doing with an angel on his truck?

  The truck was almost vertical now. There was no way it could stay upright. It was going to flip. Crash into the tree. Careen across the road. Catapult off the cliff. He would die right in front of her. Oh, God, he would die.

  But somehow, by a miracle that she couldn't comprehend, the truck kept struggling forward, all four wheels still gripping the earth.

  The truck was above the roots now. Was he going to make it? Please let him make it—

  The wheels slipped, and the truck dropped several yards down toward the roots. "No!" She took a useless, powerless step as the tires caught on the roots. The tires spun out in the mud, and the roots ripped across the side of the vehicle with a furious scream.

  "Go," she shouted, clenching her fists. "Go!"

  He gunned the engine, and suddenly the tires caught. The truck leapt forward, careening sideways across the hill, skidding back and forth as the mud spewed. He made it past the tree, and then the truck plowed back down toward the road, sliding and twisting as he fought for control.

  Clare held her hand over her mouth, terrified that at any moment one of his tires would catch on a root and he'd flip. "Please make it, please make it, please make it," she whispered over and over again.

  The truck bounced high over a gully, and she gasped when it flew up so high she could see the undercarriage. Then somehow, someway, he wrested the truck back to four wheels, spun out into the road and stopped, its wipers pounding furiously against the rain as the floodlights poured hope into the night.

  Oh, dear God. He'd made it. He hadn't died.

  Clare gripped her chest against the tightness in her lungs. Her hands were shaking, her legs were weak. She needed to sit down. To recover.

  But there was no time. The driver's door opened and out he stepped. Standing behind the range of his floodlights, he was silhouetted against the darkness, his shoulders so wide and dominating he looked like the dark earth itself had brought him to life.

  Chapter 2

  Something inside her leapt with hope at the sight of him, at the sheer, raw strength of his body as he came toward her. This man, this stranger, he was enough. He could help her. Sudden tears burned in her eyes as she finally realized she didn't have to fight this battle by herself.

  He held up his hand to tell her to stay, then he slogged over to the front of his truck. He hooked something to the winch, then headed over to the tree. The trunk came almost to his chest, but he locked his grip around a wet branch for leverage, and then vaulted over with effortless grace, landing in the mud with a splash. "Come here," he shouted over the wind.

  Clare ran across the muck toward him, stumbling in the slippery footing. "You're crazy!" she shouted, shielding her eyes against the bright floodlights from his truck. But God, she'd never been so happy to see crazy in her life.

  "Probably," he yelled back, flashing her a cheeky grin. His perfect white teeth seemed to light up his face, a cheerful confident smile that felt so incongruous in the raging storm and daunting circumstances.

  But his cockiness eased her panic, and that was such a relief. It made her able to at least think rationally. She would take all the positive vibes she could get right now.

  He held up a nylon harness that was hooked to the steel cord attached to his truck. "If the tree goes over, this will keep you from going with it."

  She wiped the rain out of her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

  "We still have to get you over the tree, and I don't want you climbing it unprotected. Never thought I'd actually be using this stuff. I had it just out of habit." He dropped the harness over her head and began strapping her in with efficient, confident movements. His hands brushed her breasts as he buckled her in, but he didn't seem to notice.

  She sure did.

  It was the first time a man's hands had touched her breasts in about fifteen years, and it was an unexpected jolt. Something tightened in her belly. Desire? Attraction? An awareness of the fact she was a woman? Dear God, what was wrong with her? She didn't have time for that. Not tonight, and not in her life. But she couldn't take her gaze off his strong jaw and dark eyes as he focused intently on the harness he was strapping around her.

  "I'm taking you across to my truck," he said, "and then we're going to get your daughter and the others."

  "We are?" She couldn't stop the sudden flood of tears. "You're going to help me get them?"

  He nodded as he snapped the final buckle. "Yeah. I gotta get into heaven somehow, and this might do it."

  "Thank you!" S
he threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around him, clinging to her savior. She had no idea who he was, but he'd just successfully navigated a sheer mud cliff for her and her daughter.

  For an instant, he froze, and she felt his hard body start to pull away. Then suddenly, in a shift so subtle she didn't even sense it coming, his body relaxed and his arms went around her, locking her down in an embrace so powerful she felt like the world had just stopped. It felt like the rain had ceased and the wind had quieted, buffeted aside by the strength and power of his body.

  "It's going to be okay." His voice was low and reassuring in her ear, his lips brushing against her as he spoke. "She's going to be fine."

  Crushed against this stranger's body, protected by his arms, soothed by the utter confidence in his voice, the terror that had been stalking Clare finally eased away. "Thank you," she whispered.

  "You're welcome."

  There was a hint of emotion in his voice, and she pulled back far enough to look at him. His eyes were dark, so dark she couldn't tell if they were brown or black, but she could see the torment in his expression. His jaw was angular, and his face was shadowed by the floodlights. He was a man with weight in his heart. She felt it right away. Instinctively, she laid a hand on his cheek. "You're a gift."

  He flashed another smile, and for a split second, he put his hand over hers, holding it to his whiskered cheek as if she were some angel of mercy come to give him relief. Her throat thickened, and for a moment, everything else vanished. It was just them, drenched and cold on a windy mountain road, the only warmth was their hands, clasped together against his cheek.

  His eyes darkened, then he cleared his throat suddenly and released her hand, jerking her back to the present. "Wait until you see whether I can pull it off," he said, his voice low and rough, sending chills of awareness rippling down her spine. "Then you can re-evaluate that compliment." He tugged on the harness. "Ready?"

  She gripped the cold nylon, suddenly nervous. Was she edgy because she was about to climb over a tree that could careen into the gully while she was on it, or was it due to the intensity of the sudden heat between them? God, she hoped it was the first one. Being a wimp was so much less dangerous than noticing a man like him. "Aren't you wearing one?"

  He quirked a smile at her, a jaunty grin that melted one more piece of her thundering heart. "I only have one, and ladies always get first dibs. Besides, I'm a good climber. If the tree takes me over, I'll find my way back up. Always do." He set his foot on a lower branch and patted his knee. "A one-of-a-kind step ladder. Hop up, Ms.—?" He paused, leaving the question hovering in the storm.

  "Clare." She set her muddy boot on his knee, and she grimaced apologetically when the mud glopped all over his jeans. "Clare Gray." She grabbed a branch and looked at him. "And you are?"

  "Griffin Friesé." He set his hand on her hip to steady her, his grip strong and solid. "Let's go save some kids, shall we?"

  As Clare shut herself into the huge, black truck and Griffin began to drive them into the dark, isolated mountains above Birch Crossing, she realized just how much she'd entrusted to a complete stranger. Her life. Her daughter's life, potentially. The children of her friends.

  But it was a little too late to back out now.

  Except for the summer tourist crowd, which was still two months away, there were no strangers in Birch Crossing, and any unknowns who came to town were regarded with distrust until they'd proven their worth for at least a decade.

  She'd lived here her whole life, and she'd never heard of the man sitting inches away from her.

  "How old is your daughter?" he asked as the truck roared up the road, bouncing over rocks with a little too much fervor.

  She grabbed the overhead grip and braced her left hand on the console. "Can you slow down a little?"

  He shot a surprised look at her. "Aren't you worried about your daughter?"

  "It won't do her much good if I die before I get there."

  Griffin stared at her for what felt like a full minute before he seemed to grasp her point. "You think I'm going to crash?" He asked the question as if he couldn’t quite comprehend that fear.

  "Well, maybe slide over the edge or something." Clare peeked out her window, but it was too dark to see the steep drop off she knew was just below her side of the truck. She also couldn't see clearly enough to determine whether there was a safe expanse of road between them and the sheer cliff. Oh, God. She tightened her grip on the overhead handle and ordered herself not to dissolve into a sniveling lump of terror. "Stuff like that happens."

  "Clare."

  She turned her head toward Griffin at the low urgency in his voice. "What?"

  His face was blue-lit by the dash, showcasing a hard set to his jaw and tendons flexed in his neck. "I'm not going to crash." His voice was calm and non-judgmental. Just a simple stating of fact.

  His hands were relaxed on the steering wheel. No tension. No fear. Yet, the energy rolling off him was a hyper-vigilance, as if he knew the exact location of every stone his tires sprayed up.

  He exuded confidence. Not crazy, blind brashness. He had the unconcerned demeanor of a man who was fully aware of what fate could do to him and was absolutely certain he had the tools to triumph. His faith was reassuring, and she felt her grip on the handle loosen slightly, and the pressure in her chest eased off.

  He smiled. "There you go. Relax. Enjoy the scenery. Soon enough, the truck will be full of kids and our intimate moment will be over."

  She almost choked at his words. "We're not having an intimate moment!" But even as she made the protest, she became aware of the closed quarters of the truck. The damp heat of the air, warmed by their bodies, moistened by the rain. Of Griffin's scent, a mixture of wet leather, Old Spice, and something more refined. His shampoo, maybe? And a deeper, lower fragrance, the aura of pure man, an intimate scent that usually only lovers would get close enough to experience.

  Suddenly, the cab felt very small, Griffin seemed extremely male, and the distance between them was temptingly close. Clare watched the strength of his hands on the wheel, and a long-forgotten warmth curled through her belly, a sensation that absolutely terrified her... and filled her with the most delicious fascination, which she couldn't afford. Not now. Not ever. She cleared her throat and dragged her gaze off him. "Really. We're not."

  Griffin grinned, his low chuckle wrapping around her like a warm seduction. "What? You don't have intimate moments with complete strangers you meet in the middle of storms on mountain ridges? What kind of woman are you?"

  She bristled at his accusation, at the words she'd heard so many times questioning her choices, her competence, her life. "There's nothing wrong with me—"

  "Whoa!" He held up his hand, his voice gentling. "I was just teasing. Trying to lighten the moment." He raised his brows as the truck bumped over another ridge. "How would I have any idea if there's anything wrong with you? I don't even know you."

  Yeah, okay. He had a point. Clare rubbed her hands over her arms, embarrassed by her outburst at the man who had galloped into her life on his white horse and played the gallant knight for her, a heroic rescue so foreign to her she still had trouble believing it. "I'm sorry. Habit. I'm a little stressed right now."

  He shrugged and shot her a mischievous wink that told her all was forgiven. "No apologies necessary. Takes a lot more than that to offend me." His smile faded, and his voice became serious. "But you should know, I don't judge people. People are who they are, and it's cool."

  She was surprised by his words, and by the truth she sensed in him as he spoke. It felt good. It felt safe. "I like that."

  "Good." He swerved the truck sharply, and she braced her hands on the dashboard as he appeared to head straight into the woods.

  "Where are we going?"

  "The sign said Pike's Notch. Isn't that where we're headed?"

  "Yes, but there's a bigger road further up."

  "Why do we need a bigger road? Plenty of room for a truck here."

/>   Clare grimaced as the trees appeared in front of the headlights, flashing by so close she half-expected one of them to clip off a mirror. Dear God. What kind of person was he? She learned her lesson fifteen years ago about men who didn't like to play by the rules. "Who are you, exactly?"

  He frowned. "I told you. My name's Griffin Friesé—"

  "No, I mean, who are you? Do you live around here? If so, for how long? How come I don't know you? What do you do? Why—"

  "There they are," he said, interrupting her string of desperate questions.

  "Where—" Then she saw them. Up ahead, barely visible through the trees, she could see the pale blue of her daughter's wind-breaker, along with the huddled bodies of three other teenagers, including Jeremy, in his familiar neon-green jacket. She clutched the dash, her throat tightening at the sight of her daughter, standing up, still alive, still safe. "Honk the horn, Griffin," she said, tears so thick in her throat she could barely whisper them. "Tell them we're coming."

  He hit the horn, and the quartet spun around. For a moment they froze, and then they started shouting and waving and jumping up and down. Clare laughed through her tears, her heart aching with relief. "Look at them trying to get our attention. Do they really think we might drive by without stopping?"

  Griffin pulled up and slowed the truck. "No parent would, despite what some people might think."

  "Who on earth would ever think a parent would drive past?" The comment seemed strange, but she sensed heavy tension in his words... as if someone had accused him of doing that? "You mean, someone thinks you would?" That was insane. The man had driven his truck up the side of a mountain for kids that weren't even his, for heaven's sake.

  Instead of answering, Griffin stopped the truck and jerked his chin at the windshield.

  She turned and saw her daughter's face. Worried, scared and pinched with cold. Tears sprang in Clare's eyes, and her composure fragmented with the relief of seeing her daughter. "Katie!" She shoved open the door and nearly fell out of the truck as Katie ran up.