“But Jake says he always—”
“Let's see what you've got, you bastard.” Mel tapped the table, and the men's attention turned to the cards. She'd obviously been dismissed.
Kicking over the table won't help. Might be satisfying but won't help. She walked to the front door and onto the porch, scowling at the surrounding mountains. Miles and miles of forest. Sunset arrived in about two hours. That didn't leave her much time, but she could at least walk up the trail a ways.
Okay, then. She crossed the clearing and the rutted dirt road, her sneakers squishing noisily in the mud. When she moved into the forest, the temperature dropped at least ten degrees, and the moist pine needles added a sharp scent to the clean tang of the air. Stopping only to call Thor's name, she followed the trail as it switched back and forth, climbing steadily upward. Stillness surrounded her, with only an occasional creak of overhead branches accompanied by a spatter of rainwater, the cry of a distant hawk, and the rushing sound of a nearby stream. Was this what peace sounded like?
Her heart and lungs had adapted to the higher altitude over the past few days, so her body felt good, like a well-functioning machine. And the machine had lost the feeling of coiled tension. As she thought of returning to work on Thursday, to meetings and pressure, to power plays and pissing contests, her stomach twisted.
She reached a small rocky outlook and stopped to enjoy the warmth of the sun and catch her breath. Over the higher mountains in the east, dark clouds lingered, the sheeting rain a glorious golden from the setting sun. A tiny question poked up inside her, a tendril of a thought. If she didn't like the thought of returning to work, was that an indication of vacationitis or something deeper?
She turned and glanced at the sun. No time to stop and think. “Thor!” she yelled, then listened. Nothing. She repeated it twice and then started back on the trail, still heading up.
Okay, she didn't particularly like the people aspect of her job. No, actually, she hated the people aspect. With that thought came another. Why the heck did she want to be a senior art director and be stuck with managing people? That made no sense at all. Duh, Rebecca. The American dream—advance or die, make more money or you're a loser—had sucked her right into its maw.
She had been more satisfied cooking meals here than almost anything she had done at her high-paid job. But she loved painting. Drawing. Sketching. The sheer creative moments. Taking a concept and making it flow. If only she didn't have to deal with inane subject matter and clients and… Face it, given a choice, she'd far rather draw for herself than for an advertising team.
She stopped dead and scowled at the winding path. What was this, Revelation Trail? She needed to get the heck off it before her entire career got flushed down the drain.
Too late. She pushed a branch up and ducked under it, receiving a shower of raindrops. Interim plan. Return to work with open eyes and see if she still felt the same way. Maybe this was just some weird mountain effect.
But if she still felt the same way. Well. She'd start looking for something closer to what she liked. The relief and anticipation that washed through her with that decision surprised her. Had she been ignoring her feelings all these years?
She startled a deer—mutual startlement really, considering she'd almost jumped out of her sneakers—and stopped at a viewpoint that made her fingers itch for her paints. Then she noticed the slant of the sun's rays. She frowned. How long had she been hiking? She needed to be able to get back by dark. “Thor,” she yelled. “Thor!”
Was that a whine? She tilted her head and listened, hearing winds rustling the branches high overhead, a stream rushing somewhere below, and a whimper. God, it was him. “Where are you, guy?”
The whine came from downhill. She left the trail, heading toward a greener area, which indicated a streambed. Pushing through damp vegetation, she reached the water and stopped. “Thor. Say something.”
A whine came from the other side. She spotted a hint of brown fur in a bunch of logs and branches. Oh great. Just how could she get over there? That damn water moved faster than miniature rapids. She scowled, checking up and down the stream. Did they forget to put in bridges? After a minute, she saw how the boulders poking out of the rushing water might form a traversable path…if she hopped from stone to stone.
She marked the pattern in her head and then started across. Slipped and recovered. Darn it, she was so not an athlete. Another rock, this one slimy with moss and spray. Another. Finally only a long leap to the bank remained. Piece of cake.
She jumped and exhilaration soared through her as she came down clear of the water, but then her foot landed on a piece of wood and skidded. Her ankle twisted, and she fell hard onto her hip and shoulder.
Dammit. Once she recovered the breath knocked out of her, she pushed herself to a sitting position. “Well, how graceful.”
But she'd made it over. Yay, team. As she stood, her weight came down on her left foot, and pain seared through her ankle like someone had attacked her with a carving knife. Without knowing how, she ended back on her butt. “Well, dammit again.” Pulling her knee up, she fingered her ankle and hissed. Swelling already. Pain throbbed through it in a heavy beat. Just a twist, surely. She'd be able to walk on it. A chill ran through her as she checked the sun. Not quite down to the treetops, but it sure seemed to have sped up its descent. Damn, damn, damn.
Her ankle twisted the minute she put weight on it, and red and black danced in front of her eyes like a checkerboard of pain. This was so not good. The dog's whine recalled her to her mission. “Okay, baby, I'm coming.” She'd try to help him, even if she had to crawl.
Crawling sucked.
“Sheesh, Thor, couldn't have found an easier place to get trapped?” she asked as she got closer. Caught in a tangle of debris, he'd obviously fallen through the mass of downed branches. She edged onto the pile and reached down to him.
He covered her hand with dog kisses before she got him to settle down. She surveyed the situation. If she pulled away that branch and that one… She broke branches and yanked away others, giving him room to move.
He didn't.
Why? She shoved her good foot under a log and, headfirst, edged farther down into the prison of branches. A sharp, broken-off stub was jammed into Thor's paw, pinning it. Major owie. Rebecca reached down and broke off more branches until she reached the one stabbing into his paw. No way to move it without hurting him. Her muscles tight, she whispered, “Don't bite me, okay?” She yanked the branch away from his paw.
When he yipped, she cringed, yanking her hand away.
Thor didn't even snarl. Tail wagging, he clambered out of the debris pile, doing much better on three legs than she did on one.
She crawled back off, groaning each time her swollen ankle bumped a branch. A little ways from the streambed, she sat down next to a tree and leaned against the trunk. “Let's see that paw, guy.”
Thor trotted over and actually held his paw up for her. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the jagged gash. Great. “I cannot believe I'm going to do first aid on a dog,” she said to him. “You won't hurt me. Right?” She pulled off her shirt, then took off the chemise underneath. Nice and stretchy. She wrapped it around his paw, whimpering with him, and tied it in place with the shoulder straps. “There. All better,” she said and received a wet lick over her cheek.
Ugh. Next job, teach him how to give verbal thank-yous.
He sat next to her, lifting his front leg with a whine.
“Yeah, me too.” She ran her fingers through his soft, thick fur. “We're quite the pair. How are we ever going to get back?” She eyed the stream. Without two good legs, she couldn't jump, and even if she tried to wade, with water so fierce, she wouldn't be able to keep her feet. She sure couldn't crawl across. Damn, damn, damn.
Thor dropped down beside her and laid his head in her lap. His sigh joined hers.
“We are so screwed.”
* * * * *
Logan carried an armload of groceries into t
he kitchen and looked around. Paul and Mel were putting dishes into the dishwasher while Christopher scrubbed pots in the sink.
Something smelled good, and he'd missed it. Damn. “Spaghetti?”
“Yes,” Mel said. “It would have been really good except Rebecca bailed out, and Ashley cooked the noodles into mush.”
“What do you mean, Rebecca bailed?”
Behind Logan, the kitchen door opened, and Jake walked in with the last sack of groceries. “I saw you were back. Is this it?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Logan started unpacking the goods and putting things away. “Have you seen Rebecca?”
Jake's hand stalled over a loaf of bread. “I thought she went into town with you.”
A chill slid up Logan's spine. “No, she wanted to paint.” He turned to Mel. “You said she bailed. Where to?”
“Ah.” Mel exchanged glances with the other two men. “She was worried about the dog, but I told her it probably took off after a deer. I—”
“I don't remember seeing her after that. 'Bout an hour ago?” Paul said, frowning at Christopher. “We didn't think too much about her not being here, since she isn't hanging with the group.”
Logan rubbed his jaw and glanced at Jake. “If she was worried about Thor, she'd go after him.”
Jake nodded. “That's how I read it.”
Logan glanced at the swingers. “You people stay here at the lodge. I don't need anyone else lost.” He didn't wait for an answer, just headed into the main room, stopping long enough to grab a heavy-duty flashlight and his backpack from the hook on the wall. Jake followed right behind him.
Outside, Logan checked at the sun, his gut tightening with fear. “Got less than an hour.”
Jake grunted an answer, then walked over to the west edge of the clearing to check for tracks. Logan did the same on the east side. At the road, he found tiny tracks with shallow indentations. Sneakers on little feet. “Over here.” He followed the shoe marks first, then the muddy streaks leading to the east trail.
“Nice that we've got a place to start,” Jake said, following Logan into the forest. “God help us if we didn't have that.”
Logan didn't bother to answer but broke into a jog. Little rebel, what the fuck were you thinking? But he knew. She'd thought only of the dog, not her own safety.
Dammit, she wasn't stupid. Not in the least. She'd have seen the sun setting and would have turned back. If she could. As he ran, his eyes skimmed over the forest, checking for signs of her passage. And he couldn't help but see all the ways she could be hurt. Or killed.
Chapter Fourteen
When Thor's ears perked forward, Rebecca sat up. “What?” She tilted her head and then could hear it too: a shrill sound from higher up. Another. Someone was blowing a whistle.
Oh God. Thank you, God. A sob wrenched out of her as tears overflowed her eyes. Now with hopes of rescue, she could admit how terrified she'd been.
She rubbed the wetness off her cheeks. No wussy behavior. It was probably Logan. After taking a slow breath, she firmed up her voice. “Here!” she yelled. “We're here.”
She could see someone up high, about where she'd left the trail. A second later, Logan came down the incline in a graceful slide, Jake shortly after. They followed the path she'd broken through the streamside brush.
They stalked up to the stream, two powerful men, like two more animals that belonged here in the forest. Logan stopped at the edge of the stream for only a second before crossing on the same stones she'd used, so fast and coordinated she wanted to hit him. Jake moved just as fast.
Shoulder to shoulder, they scowled down at her.
“I hurt my ankle,” she said meekly, wanting only to fling herself into Logan's arms. “And Thor hurt his foot. He got trapped in there.” She pointed at the pile of river wrack.
Logan didn't speak as he knelt beside her. His eyes were cold, the muscles of his jaw rigid, and she realized he was furious. Boiling-over and ready-to-yell furious. He stared at her and then inhaled, and his anger disappeared. How did he do that? Have so much control over his emotions?
“Come here,” he said softly and pulled her into his arms. Oh God. His scent surrounded her, and his arms wrapped her in security. She laid her cheek against his muscular chest and tried really, really hard not to cry. She didn't succeed very well.
“Shhh,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “You're safe, sweetheart.” A growl entered his voice. “For now.”
After a minute, she got herself under control and reluctantly pushed back. No time to be a baby.
Logan wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb, his gaze intense. Then he gave her a nod and turned his attention to her ankle. When he rolled up the leg of her jeans, she saw how her left ankle swelled over her sneaker.
“There's a mess,” he muttered. “The shoe stays on for now, but I'm going to wrap it for extra bracing.” He pulled Ace wrap out of his pack and started to strap up her ankle.
She gritted her teeth at the wave of pain, digging her fingers into the sparse grass to keep from yelling. Or bawling. Logan's gaze flickered over her face, her hands, but he didn't stop.
When he finally secured the end of the elastic wrap, and the pain decreased to a tolerable throbbing, Rebecca pulled in a breath.
Logan squeezed her shoulder. “Brave girl,” he murmured, before rising. “Thor okay?” he asked Jake.
“Paw's ripped up some, but it'll heal.” Jake grinned at Rebecca. “Nice bandaging material, Red.”
Logan glanced at the bloodstained chemise still wrapped around Thor's paw and snorted a laugh.
“Looks like we'd better go straight west till we cut the old Bear Trail and use the Cedar Tree crossing,” Jake said.
Logan eyed the stream. “Agreed.” He grasped Rebecca under her arms and hauled her up.
Pain stabbed through her ankle, but she managed to turn her scream into a hiss.
Logan's hands closed on her upper arms, steadying her. He pulled her arm over his shoulders. “You're going to use me and Jake as if we're crutches. If the going gets too rough or you can't manage, then I'll carry you.”
Carry her? She looked at him in horror. She'd die before that happened. Besides, she wasn't the only injured one here. “I'll be fine. You should carry Thor.”
Logan's eyes softened, and he brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “You're just a marshmallow inside, aren't you?” He glanced at the dog. “He has four legs; missing one will barely slow him down.”
Jake took his place on her other side. Between the two of them, she felt like a midget, and he apparently caught her thought. “Okay, short stuff, grab on, and let's do this before it's too dark to see.”
* * * * *
By the time they reached the lodge, Logan was drenched with sweat, and Becca white-faced with pain. No complaints from the city girl, though. Every time he asked if she hurt, she'd say, “I'm fine.” As a man, he appreciated her stoic bravery. As a Dom, he wanted the truth, but halfway down a mountain near sunset didn't seem the time for a lecture on honesty. Instead, he monitored her carefully, and when the tendons on her neck stood out, her lips tightened to a thin line, or her breathing turned shallow, he'd ignore her protests and have Jake put her up on his back.
The only other times she spoke on the trip down were to express concern for him and Jake. And the dog.
Thor, being Thor, led the way down, despite his hurt paw, and the white tip of his tail made a beacon in the darkness of the forest. Still in front at the end of the trail, he trotted onto the lodge porch and waited for someone to open the door.
“Probably wants supper now, the bastard,” Jake grumbled.
Rebecca stopped just inside the door. “He needs to have his foot taken care of. I—”
Logan shook his head. Marshmallow heart. He and Jake had seen the trail in the mud of the streambed, the marks left by her hands and knees showing she'd crawled to Thor after she'd injured herself. He scooped her into his arms. “Jake can handle Thor.”
He car
ried her upstairs, leaving Jake to reassure the swingers she was all right.
Despite her halfhearted protests, he stripped her of her clothing and put her into a steamy shower, joining her a second later. Seeing her there, feeling her naked body against him, eased the last remnants of worry inside him.
Fuck, but she'd scared the shit out of him.
Soaping up her body only deepened his anger. Vivid scratches stood out on the delicate skin of her arms. Another red line marred her cheek. She was so fragile and soft, and she could have died so easily.
When he tried to dry her off, she shook her head and pulled the towel out of his hands. “I can do it, Logan. My ankle's hurt, not anything else.”
He almost growled at her then, but the fury inside him would have to wait for a more appropriate time. He yanked on jeans and a T-shirt. After tossing more pillows on the bed, he hunted up water and medicine, then prepared an ice bag.
For the comfort of his modest sub, he searched her suitcase for a nightgown and handed it into the bathroom. “Let me know when you're ready to come out.”
A second later, she appeared in the door, her injured foot touching the floor slightly.
He carried her to the bed. Her fragrant body felt appallingly breakable in his arms, and he wanted to hold her. To take her. To beat her ass. He set her on the edge of the bed, handed her a couple of ibuprofens and a glass of water. “Take these, and I'll see how much damage you've done.”
She swallowed the pain pills. “I think it's just sprained. It hurts less now.”
“Uh-huh.” Since he'd unwrapped the ankle in the shower, it had doubled in size. He palpated the bones carefully. He could see the way she bit back her groans. How her hands fisted in the covers. Fuck, he hated hurting her. A man protects his woman, and he'd done a lame-ass job. He should have told her more of the dangers, should have insisted she come with him to town. Should never have left her alone. He sighed and released her foot. “Without an x-ray, I can't say for sure, but looks like just a sprain. Lie back.”
He strapped her ankle tightly enough to keep some of the swelling down but not cut off circulation, then elevated her leg on a couple of pillows.
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