by Beverly Long
Had the driver fallen asleep? Or maybe he was simply drunk? Whatever had caused him to plunge over the side of the mountain, one thing was pretty sure—if he wasn’t dead, he was likely banged up pretty badly.
“Hey,” he yelled. “You in the car, can you talk?”
No reply. He considered his options. He hadn’t brought a cell phone with him to Crow Hollow. Reception was always spotty in the mountains and quite frankly, he wasn’t interested in talking to anybody. His only good option was to hike back to the cabin, get his truck and drive into town for help.
He studied the patch of trees. They were mammoth pines, the kind with big trunks and spreading branches, crowded close together. He walked around, looking up, Molly at his heels. He stopped when he found one that had possibilities. He considered the angle of the car.
It was possible, he supposed. He’d done crazier things.
It’d be a hell of a fall if he didn’t make it.
“I’m coming up,” he yelled. He took off his coat, rolled his flashlight inside of it and then belted the sleeves around his waist. He was definitely going to need both hands free.
“Are you sure?” a faint voice asked.
A woman. If the wind hadn’t been blowing the right direction, he probably wouldn’t have heard her.
He jumped and caught the lowest branch, then pulled himself up. Found a toehold, another branch, and scrambled up another five feet. The bark was sticky and it was hell on his bare hands but he kept going. “How many in the car?”
“Just me.”
He climbed faster. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Not really,” she said.
He doubted that was true. A person could have all kinds of internal injuries and not realize it because of the shock of the accident. “Just hang on,” he said.
For the past twenty years he’d trained every day and it was paying off now as he pulled himself up from branch to branch. Still, it was taking almost everything he had. By the time he got near the top, he was breathing hard and sweat ran down his back. He looked down. It was too dark to see the ground but he’d been keeping a rough count in his head as he’d moved from branch to branch. He had to be at least sixty feet in the air.
He untied the sleeves of his coat, unwrapped his flashlight and focused it on the car that was at a thirty-degree angle to his left, still at least fifteen feet above him. The view was impeded by branches that poked up against the car. The driver’s side was toward him but from his vantage, he couldn’t see her.
“Okay, I’m close,” he yelled. He put his jacket back on so that he didn’t have to hang on to it.
“Great,” she said. He could hear her better now. He caught an edge of self-deprecating humor, as if to suggest that it was nice of him to stop by.
She’d been lucky, although he doubted she’d appreciate hearing that assessment right now. The rear axle of her car had been snagged by a thick spray of branches and that had stopped the fall. Unfortunately, the front of her car didn’t have much support. One wrong move and it was going to go end over end, stopping only when it hit the ground.
“How much do you weigh?” he asked.
“One twenty-five.”
Pretty slim. Hopefully pretty agile.
He studied the car and the branches holding it in place. It was hard to see where one tree ended and another started. He edged out farther, tested his weight on a branch that crossed over, found it steady enough and switched over to her tree. He shimmied in three more feet. Now he was pretty much under her car.
Together, they’d weigh more than three hundred pounds. He didn’t know what the tipping point might be but he didn’t want to take a chance on the branches being able to hold that much weight unless he absolutely had to. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to need to do,” he said, purposefully keeping his voice casual. “I want you to crawl over the front seat into the backseat. Then open the door and start to work your way down. All you need to do is get ten feet and I’ll have you.”
There was a long pause. Finally she said, “Well, that sounds easy enough.”
He smiled, appreciating the fact that she wasn’t crying or screaming at him to do something. “Just keep your weight from shifting forward and you’ll do fine,” he said. If she didn’t do it exactly right, there was a high probability that she and the car would come tumbling down, taking him with them.
He aimed his flashlight at the car. She moved and he could see her head and chest in between the headrests of the driver’s and passenger’s sides. He figured she was crouching on the front seat. Sure enough, a leg came over, then the second one.
The car rocked.
And he held his breath.
The tree wasn’t quite ready to let go.
“How ya doing?” he asked.
“Oh, fine.” He heard the tremor in her voice. She’d be crazy not to be scared.
“Open the door. Slide out, plant your feet before you grab for a branch. I’ll shine my light so that you can see.”
The door opened and she stuck a leg out. She had on jeans. That was good, otherwise her legs would be a mess by the time she got to the ground.
She planted her foot. She was wearing loafers, which was better than sandals but not as good as boots.
“Good job,” he urged.
Next leg. She was moving slowly and she very carefully placed the second foot on the branch.
“Okay, without standing up, press down with as much of your weight as you can. See if you think the branch will hold you.”
She did as instructed. The car didn’t move.
“Now I want you to stand up, and try to make it one smooth motion. Don’t push off on the car,” he warned her, knowing that would be her tendency and that it could be disastrous. “Once you’re standing, reach for a branch. Don’t yank it, just lightly use it to steady yourself.”
There was no response, no movement. He waited. And got nervous. “Coming?” he prompted.
“I’m going with Plan B.”
Chapter Two
“Plan B?” he repeated.
“You know, that’s the plan where I make some final bargains. You know, the ‘hey, God, just get me out of this tree and I’ll be a better person’ type.”
He’d made his own share of bargains over the years. As a kid, most of them had something to do with his mother keeping a job, his stepfather keeping his nose out of a bottle and him keeping his back from being blistered with a belt. So, yeah, he could understand where she was coming from.
“The wind’s picking up,” he said, deciding it was better not to tell her that sometimes bargain-making sucked. “I think it’s time to get out of this tree.”
“Okay.” And she did it just perfectly. Stood up, kept her hands off the car, and reached one arm up to steady herself.
It couldn’t have gone better.
Until the branch she was on cracked and she started to fall.
Ethan lunged and managed to grab her and pull her tight to his body. Then he lost his own footing and his flashlight flew. Together their weight crashed through branches and limbs. He kept one arm around the woman and groped for something to hang on to. He thought it might be hopeless until he finally managed to snag a heavy branch and stop their descent. His arm muscle strained with the effort of holding both of them until he located a branch to rest his feet on. Without losing his grip on her, he edged back toward the trunk. When he got there, he leaned back against the sticky, rough bark.
He was breathing heavily and his heart was pounding in his chest. His back had taken the brunt of the fall and he was grateful for his heavy coat. It had kept him from getting too beaten up. He had no idea how far they’d fallen but he bet it was at least thirty feet. The woman had to be scared to death.
She hadn’t said a word yet. Hell, maybe she�
�d passed out.
He’d gotten a quick look at her when she’d stood outside the car. Slender. Not overly tall. Dark hair piled on top of her head. Now that she was in his arms, he could tell that she was at least eight inches shorter than his six-two and her shoulders and ribs were delicately female. His chin rested on her head. Her hair was silky and he caught the scent of cherries with a hint of vanilla.
As crazy as it seemed, she felt right in his arms.
Hell, maybe he’d hit his own head.
He shifted, carefully turning her in his arms. It was very dark and they were in the bowels of the tree. No moonlight filtered through.
He wanted to touch her face, to see if her features were as delicate as her body.
He kept his arms where they should be. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I think so. Thank you,” she added.
Her voice was low. Sexy. “You’re welcome...” He let his voice trail off, hoping she’d fill in the blank.
“Chandler,” she said.
It was an unusual name and he got a very odd feeling. “Chandler what?” he asked.
“McCann. Chandler McCann.”
Ethan almost dropped her again. But he held on. Mack’s little sister. She’d been a skinny little girl, with wild hair and emerald-green eyes.
Cat-Eyes.
That’s what Mack had called his little sister. Ethan and Brody hadn’t called her anything, never really talked to her at all. She was just their best friend’s little sister. He remembered her as a quiet kid who liked her computer games.
It had been a long time since he’d seen her—not since the time they’d celebrated Mack’s graduation from the Naval Academy, and Brody’s graduation from college and acceptance into medical school. By that time, Ethan had already had four years in Uncle Sam’s army. He’d completed flight school and had spent some time in the skies above Iraq.
He’d been about twenty-two at the time, which would have made her fourteen. She’d still been a skinny kid with braces and wild hair, but he remembered thinking that Mack’s sister was going to be a pretty girl when she grew up. Brody must have thought the same thing because Ethan remembered hearing him tease Mack about having to beat the boyfriends off with a stick. Mack, who even at twenty-two was more James Bond than any of the actors who’d played the iconic hero on-screen, had calmly responded that he’d vaporize them.
While Ethan hadn’t seen Chandler since then, he had heard about her. Knew that she’d been the valedictorian of her high school class, knew that she had gone to college in Chicago on a full scholarship and knew that she’d gotten her heart broken by some jerk a couple years ago. She lived in Denver. Worked for some company that was a military contractor.
“I’m Ethan Moore.” He heard her swift intake of breath and wished there was enough light that he could see her eyes. His mother had cleaned the McCann house, the Donovan house and at least twenty others. That’s how he’d met Mack. That’s how he’d come to spend his summers in Crow Hollow.
“Good old Walnut Street,” she said. “I guess that’s where we both learned to climb trees.”
It was nice of her not to mention that his mom had been hired help. “I think we need to get out of this tree.”
* * *
SHE FELT HIM SHIFT, just enough to look past her. She didn’t know how he could see much, unless his night vision was considerably better than hers.
She wished she could have seen more of his face. Ethan Moore. He’d been one of her brother’s best friends. And Mack still talked about him, spoke as though they kept in contact even though Mack’s work took him everywhere.
She knew he’d be having a birthday soon. He’d turn thirty-eight next week, just two days after she turned thirty. She could still remember the year that her dad had invited Ethan over and they’d gathered around the kitchen table to share a cake. She’d been nine, he’d been seventeen.
And she’d been secretly in love with him.
And he’d pretty much ignored her every time she was in the room with him.
God, that was so long ago. Now she was here in a tree scared for her life, and her teenage crush had come to save her.
Not exactly the way she’d fantasized she’d end up in his arms.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “I’m going to go first. I’ll guide you on where to place your feet. Branch by branch, we’ll work our way down. Okay?”
She nodded. It sounded easy enough. Until she had to grab the first branch. Damn, her shoulder felt as if a ball of fire had landed there. While Ethan’s body had shielded her from the brunt of the fall, her shoulder had connected with something. She gritted her teeth, determined not to complain.
He wrapped his strong hand around her right calf and she could feel his heat through her jeans. He gently tugged, guiding her to the next branch. It was slow going and by the time they reached the ground, she was clammy and terribly afraid that she might vomit after all.
There was a midsize dog with dark fur at the bottom, and it circled her.
“Don’t worry about Molly,” Ethan said. “She found you.”
“Thank you,” she said to the mutt, reaching out her good arm. The dog’s fur was thick and warm and it made her realize how cold she was in her shirt, jeans and lightweight denim jacket.
Molly evidently got excited with the attention and jumped up. Both paws hit Chandler squarely on her bad shoulder with enough force to send pain skyrocketing through her arm. “No,” she cried weakly.
“Molly.” Ethan’s voice cut through the quiet night.
Chandler managed to turn the other direction before she bent at the waist and vomited.
When she was done, she realized that Ethan was standing right next to her, his hand on her back. She straightened and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hurt my shoulder and Molly caught it just right.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. When he did, his voice was calm. “Okay. We need to get you inside as quickly as we can.”
She could hear the sound of a zipper. Then felt something warm around her shoulders.
“I can’t take your coat,” she said. “I have one.”
“You have a jacket,” he said. “It doesn’t even look as if it’s lined. Now put your good arm through,” he instructed. “Keep your other arm tucked at your side.”
She did as he told her and in the dark, with just a little moonlight to guide their actions, he gently bundled her up. She felt warm and safe, and the coat had a comforting smell of musk and man.
“I feel bad about taking your coat,” she said. It was cold and all Ethan had on was a long-sleeved shirt.
“It’s fine,” he said, dismissing her concerns. “Does Mack know you’re here?”
“No. I didn’t want to bother him. I got a text from him a couple weeks ago that he was going out of the country for the next few months. Working.” Saving the world. That’s what Mack did.
“So your dad knows that you’re here?”
She hesitated before deciding to tell the truth. “No, not exactly.”
“You’re not in any trouble, are you?” he asked, perhaps reading into the hesitation.
Chandler knew she was definitely in trouble. Someone had run her off the road. But it was possible that she’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She certainly couldn’t go around making crazy accusations against her stepmother. Not until she had more proof.
“You mean other than my car being in a tree?” she asked, forcing a light note into her voice.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Not that I know of.”
“Okay, good. I guess what I really want to know,” he said, “is how the hell your car ended up in the tree.”
She wanted to spew out the whole terrible sto
ry. But there was no way. If she told him that she’d been purposefully run off the road and that someone had circled back to verify that she was dead, any reasonable person would expect that she’d be clamoring to get the police involved. She wasn’t ready to do that. Certainly wasn’t ready to say “someone tried to kill me.”
She wasn’t ready to face that herself. Much less tell Ethan.
“I must have been going too fast. It’s been a long time since I’ve driven these roads. I lost control, hit the side of the mountain and the next thing I knew, I was headed over the side.”
“Scary,” he said, his voice soft.
He had no idea. She remembered the headlights in her rearview mirror and the impact of the car against her back bumper, and shivered. “Yes. I think I flipped over in the air because my backpack and purse got thrown somewhere else in the car. I landed right side up, fortunately. The air bag inflated. I was just taking stock of my situation when you came along.”
“We’re lucky Molly can be a pain in the butt, otherwise I wouldn’t have found you. If you can’t walk back to the cabin, I can always carry you.”
The idea of being in Ethan Moore’s arms made her warm up suddenly. “It’s my shoulder, not my legs. I can walk.”
“I know that. But injuries have a way of sneaking up on a person.”
“I’ll be fine once I can get to the cabin,” she said.
“Here’s the deal. There’s electricity but no heat or hot water at your cabin,” he said. “I was actually going to stay there until I discovered that. That’s when I moved to the Donovan cabin. Fortunately, Mack, Brody and I always had keys to both. I think it was your brother’s idea. Always have a plan and a backup plan.”
That sounded like Mack. And the situation at the cabin sounded rather grim. But she’d come this far, she wasn’t stopping now. “I’d still like to go there. I...I need to see it.” For days her world had been in turmoil. The cabin had always been there, solid, safe, comfortable. Everything she needed right now.
“As the crow flies, we’re about a mile from there. If you need to stop at any point, just tell me. Don’t hide anything,” he said. “Knowing about someone’s abilities or inabilities is sometimes the difference between life and death. All right?”
