Follow Me Home

by Leona Karr

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Copyright

  Get up! Get up!

  Jill tried, but her numbed limbs wouldn’t obey. They seemed detached as fatigue captured every muscle and sapped her will. She was about to give in to a lethargic warmth creeping through her when an anxious voice jarred her as firm hands dragged her from the snowbank.

  What happened?”

  His hot breath bathed her face, and as he brushed away the snow from her eyelashes, she recognized him under the brim of his Western hat. His name moved thickly on her frozen lips. “Hal.”

  His anxious face bent over her. “Are you all right#equest;”

  She tried to answer, but her chattering teeth wouldn’t let the words out. Tears of relief crystallized on her lashes.

  “Never mind. You’re okay now. I’ll get you to the ranch on horseback.” He lifted her up in his arms and placed her on his horse.

  When he swung up in front of her and ordered her to hold on tight, she did as she was told, resting her cheek against the warmth of his back. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to a relieved bliss that blotted out all thought but a thankful prayer that he’d found her in time.

  Dear Reader,

  In the Colorado mountains, snow comes in on a gust of wind, reaching blizzard conditions in a matter of minutes. Here, the Rampart Mountain Rescue Team is never lonely. But this year there’s even more activity than usual for the team, as not only Mother Nature but mystery is swirling in their midst.

  Get snowbound with the ROCKY MTN. RESCUE trilogy by three of your favorite Intrigue authors. For thrills, chills and adventure, ROCKY MTN. RESCUE is the place to be.

  If you’ve missed any of the books in this trilogy, you can order #449, Forget Me Not by Cassie Miles or #454, Watch Over Me by Carly Bishop, by contacting Harlequin Reader Service. In the U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269. In Canada: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ontario L2A 5X3.

  We hope you enjoy all the books in the ROCKY MTN. RESCUE trilogy, where an icy blizzard rages…and heated passions burn!

  Regards,

  Debra Matteucci

  Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

  Harlequin Books

  300 East 42nd Street

  New York, NY 10017

  Follow Me Home

  Leona Karr

  Love to a dear cousin, Pat Nelson,

  a loyal fan in Emmett, Idaho.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Jill Gaylor—She answered a rescue call to help a pregnant teen. Had her stalker followed her through the blizzard?

  Hal Haverly—The rancher had to open his home to stranded travelers. Were a murderer and a stalker among his guests?

  Randy Gaylor—Jill’s fourteen-year-old son worshiped the ground Hal walked on.

  Kirby—Did the ex-navy man and cook have a special recipe for trouble?

  Zack—Did Hal’s ranch hand play mind games as well as he played guitar?

  Larry—The blond skier had a certain charm—and a suspicious story.

  Scotty McClure—Hal’s neighbor had a fishing lodge and cabins—why had he sought shelter at Hal’s ranch?

  Gary and Sue Miller—The young couple’s coming baby brought Jill out into the storm.

  The dead man—His stalled car blocked the road to Hal’s ranch.

  Chapter One

  Northern winds swept down the high peaks of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, and heavy winter clouds masked a feeble afternoon sun. Jill Gaylor glanced uneasily out the window as a thickening snowfall coated the valley below. Bummer, she thought, using her son’s favorite word. The weather forecasters were predicting up to three feet of the white stuff in the mountains. No doubt skiers at the resort about twenty miles away were dancing on the slopes, but one person’s pleasure is another’s headache, she thought with a sigh. The switchboard at Rampart Mountain Rescue had been lit up like a Christmas tree all day, and she’d taken dozens of emergency calls.

  “We’re in for a good one, all right.” Zeb Tucker frowned as he ambled over to her desk. He shook his gray head. “Gonna be socked in by morning.”

  “I know,” Jill Gaylor agreed with an anxious edge to her voice. Her boss had donated space to Rampart’s Mountain Rescue office in the Slade’s Adventures building where she worked, and she’d offered to help out whenever an extra volunteer was needed. Her office was just across the hall from this small room, so she was able to man the phone when emergencies like this January blizzard arose. For the last hour she’d been telling the sheriff’s office, personnel and everybody else that every available Mountain Rescue volunteer was already out on an emergency call. She doubted very much that any of the dozen volunteers would be returning soon in the worsening weather. Already the small mountain town’s narrow main street was obscured by whipping snow and darkening shadows, and only a few blurred lights dotted the enveloping gloom.

  “I’m sorry, all of our volunteers are out,” she kept repeating. “I’ll give you some other numbers to try. Yes, I understand. Leave your name, and if there are any changes, I’ll let you know.” She looked at the long list of people needing help and knew that the list would only grow longer as the hours went by. This was her first Colorado blizzard and a far cry from the mild climate of Southern California, where she’d lived nearly all of her life. She didn’t know what to expect. She’d been told that the weather forecasters were often fooled when it came to predicting weather in Colorado, because the Rocky Mountains could stall or change the direction of a storm front, but her hopes that they’d gotten this blizzard prediction wrong had faded.

  “Want me to take over the phone for a spell?” Zeb asked.

  She smiled at the spry man in his seventies. Thank heavens for his company. Zeb had lived his life in Rampart, hung around the Mountain Rescue office, doing odd jobs, shooting the breeze with all the volunteers and telling everyone about the days when Rampart was just a collection of listing cabins on the side of a mountain. “Thanks, Zeb, but I need something to do.”

  He snorted. “As if you don’t keep yourself running in two directions at once.”

  “I like to keep busy.”

  “You keep yerself too durn busy, I’m a-thinkin’,” Zeb said with blunt frankness. “It’s time you put all that California rat race behind you. How long you been in Rampart? Five…six months?”

  She nodded. Had it really been that long? She still felt like a newcomer. And a little unsure of herself. Even though she’d been a widow for eight years, handling the full responsibility for herself and her fourteen-year-old son was not easy. Funny how life can take a sudden turn when you least expect it.

  Last summer, she’d made the decision to quit her office job at a small West Coast commuter airline company and move to Colorado. She had met Jack Slade during one of his trips to California and, while chatting with him, had learned that his company, Slade’s Adventures, transported skiers and hikers by helicopters into the high mountains of Colorado. Apparently impressed with the efficient way Jill handled the small airport’s office, he’d mentioned that he was looking for someone with her background to manage his office in the small mountain town of Rampart. When he asked her if she’d be interested in making a move, she felt as if her stalled life had suddenly been given a green li
ght.

  Colorado? She’d been in the Rockies on vacation a couple of times. Clear air, mountain valleys, white-crested rivers and jagged peaks. Sheer delight! She’d been surprised by how quickly the decision to accept his offer was made. The move had been a heaven-sent answer to her growing worries about raising her fourteen-year-old-son, Randy, in an unhealthy urban environment. She thought she’d left all the ugliness of a crime-ridden city behind. But she’d been wrong. Terribly wrong.

  She stared unseeing out the snow-splattered window, and her stomach tightened. Up until a month ago, she’d been convinced that coming to Colorado was the best decision she’d ever made. Now she wasn’t sure.

  “You should be settled in good by now,” Zeb insisted when Jill fell silent.

  “I know.” She answered, without any conviction in her voice.

  “What’s the matter, gal? Don’t seem likely that just the storm’s putting lines around those pretty topaz eyes of yours.”

  Jill let her fingers press the side of one of her temples, closing her eyes for a second without answering.

  Zeb. leaned over the desk, his spiky gray eyebrows knitted in a frown. “Still getting them heavy-breathing phone calls?”

  She shivered. “Yes.”

  “Just some damn fool playing games.”

  “It’s not just the calls, any more.” She straightened and her light brown eyes darkened. “Someone’s been leaving stuff on my doorstep.”

  “What kind of stuff?” The lines in his weathered face deepened.

  “Last week it was a copy of Stephen King’s, Nightmares and Dreamscapes. The week before that, a filmy pink scarf. Both wrapped in plain brown paper. No address.” She swallowed. “That means they were hand delivered.”

  “Well, now, I don’t see nothing to get excited about if someone throws a couple of presents in your direction. No cause to think the phone calls and gifts are tied up somehow.”

  Jill’s hand trembled as she reached into her jeans pocket and drew out a white envelope. “This was in my mailbox this morning.”

  Zeb’s gnarled fingers worked at the flap, and she watched his face grow stern as he pulled out a snapshot. He looked at it in disbelief. “What the—?”

  Jill swallowed the thickening lump in her throat. Someone had pasted her head from another photo on a nude woman reclining on a red couch in a sexy pose. In the cutout of Jill’s face, she was smiling. Her brunette hair fell over her shoulder in its usual long braid, and her shining eyes looked ahead as if she were greeting someone. When had it been taken? And where? She shivered. Someone had been close enough to take a picture of her and she hadn’t even known it.

  “Some damn weirdo trying to be funny,” Zeb said with disdain.

  “Look on the back.”

  Zeb turned the photo over and squinted at the printing on the back. “Next time, wear the pretty scarf.”

  Jill said in a shaky breath, “It’s the caller. I know it is.” She was furious that some nut was destroying her longed-for sense of peace. Coming to Colorado had been her attempt to exchange the perils of city life for solid values of a small mountain town. Now she found herself harassed by someone as unbalanced as the nutcases who usually migrated towards a metropolis.

  “Time to turn this crap over to the sheriff,” Zeb growled as he handed back the photo. “Have him trace the calls. He’ll find the gutless swine. And then we ought to string the yellow-bellied coward up on the nearest tree.” Zeb clamped his jaw shut as if he were just the man to do it.

  At that moment, Jill’s teenage son wandered into the office. Sending Zeb a warning look not to say anything about the upsetting picture, she quickly stuffed the envelope back in her pocket. Randy didn’t need to know about the sexual harassment.

  “What’s happening?” Randy asked, then bit into a candy bar he’d just purchased from the vending machine in the hall. As usual, a hank of his auburn hair hung over one eye.

  “Everything’s quiet at the moment,” she told him. “Get your hair out of your face.”

  He gave it a swipe. “Cripes, the kids in L.A. would never believe a storm like this.” His eyes popped with excitement as he peered out the window. “Wait till I tell them we got snowbound for a month.”

  “A month!” Zeb shook his head. “You better watch what you’re saying, boy. I spent one winter holed up a drafty old cabin. Nothing but the lonely sound of wind piling snow as high as the roof rafters. Why, I could tell you stories you wouldn’t believe.”

  Randy winked at his mother. She knew he’d deliberately set the old man up for one of his tales. A wash of affection for her son swept over her. Randy was fourteen years old, and his most recent growing spurt was evident in his gangling arms and legs. He had a crooked smile that was a lethal weapon when it came to getting what he wanted from his mother. He was going to be a girl killer in another year or two, she thought with mixed feelings.

  “Sounds like a pretty exciting time to me,” Randy said when Zeb had wound down. Then he turned to his mother. “Are we gonna bed down here for the night, Mom?”

  “Looks like it. I’ll have to stay by the phone.”

  The small mountain house that she’d purchased wasn’t far from the office and offered a panoramic view of the valley and river below. In good weather, she loved hiking down to the office, but in weather like this, the twisting hillside road challenged her secondhand Jeep. Since some emergencies kept the volunteers on call for extended periods, a special room in the building was equipped with a small kitchen and sleeping accommodations. She could tell from Randy’s flashing eyes that he was viewing this whole thing as an exciting adventure.

  She smiled at him as he again brushed back the wayward shock of reddish brown hair that had fallen over one eye. Just like his father, thought Jill. Sometimes her heart caught in pain seeing so much of her late husband in her son, even though eight years had passed since they’d lost him to a fatal heart attack.

  The jangling ring of the telephone instantly brushed aside her personal thoughts. “Rampart Mountain Rescue,” she answered in a brisk, efficient tone. “Jill Gaylor, speaking.”

  “Hal Haverly here. I’ve got a problem.”

  “Yes, Mr. Haverly.”

  Randy perked up at the name and asked eagerly, “Is that Hal?”

  Jill held up a silencing hand. Randy knew the Colorado rancher because he’d been at the Haverly ranch numerous times and come home with ecstatic accounts of learning to ride like a real cowboy. Jill was careful not to say anything derogatory about Hal Haverly in front of her son, but the few times she’d met the rancher, he’d been rather cool and distant. She had decided that he must be a different person when he was working with the 4-H kids. “What kind of a problem, Mr. Haverly?”

  “A young couple got stranded in their car near the ranch road. They were driving one of those dinky cars that ought to be outlawed. Anyway, I brought them to the ranch house, but you’ll have to send someone out here as soon as you can.”

  “I understand your concern but—”

  “The young woman is pregnant. Very pregnant!” he emphasized. “She says the baby isn’t due for three more weeks, but she doesn’t look too good to me.”

  Oh, no, thought Jill.

  “You can understand my concern.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I really need someone to help me out.”

  He sounded scared. And probably with good reason. She could picture his deeply tanned face, strong masculine features, and longish, sun-bleached hair drifting out from the edges of his western hat. Unmarried and somewhere in his early thirties, he’d been polite when Randy had introduced them. The rancher had pointedly eyed her with arresting blue eyes that had brought a foolish warmth to her cheeks. Then he’d completely ignored her as he worked with the kids, helping them to mount horses for rides around a small corral. Obviously the kids were his sole interest, and that was fine with Jill.

  “Maybe the woman’s just tired. After she’s rested, she’ll probably be fine.”

  “I certainly
hope you’re right. In any case, there are three bachelors here at the ranch and none of us know anything about comforting a mother-to-be, let alone assisting her if something should…uh…start happening.”

  “Have you called the sheriff’s office for medical assistance?” she asked evenly.

  “Doc Evanston is already out on a call. Don’t know when he’ll be back. They told me to check with your rescue outfit.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Haverly, but I don’t have anyone to send.”

  “The young woman’s no more than seventeen, and scared out of her wits. And her husband isn’t dry behind the ears yet himself. I need somebody to be here with her.” His persuasive tone certainly would have convinced her if she’d had any choice about sending someone.

  “I really am sorry, Mr. Haverly, but all of our rescue volunteers are out. Even Mr. Slade is bringing in some stranded skiers, and I haven’t heard anything from him. I don’t have anyone to send.”

  “There must be somebody,” he insisted. “What about you, Mrs. Gaylor? You’d do fine.”

  “Me?” she stammered. The request took her so much by surprise, she was both irritated and amused. “I just answer the phone. I don’t go out on calls.”

  “You know where the ranch is,” he said as if he hadn’t heard her. “You’ve picked up Randy here several times.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “The roads are still open. If you take it easy, that old Jeep of yours ought to make it to the ranch all right.”

  “You don’t understand. I’m only a dispatcher. I don’t go out on calls,” she repeated with less conviction. “I really don’t have the training.”

  “Training? All you have to do is provide some womanly support until the storm passes over.”