by Lori Foster
Until now.
She stood in front of him, all beseeching brown eyes, firmed-up chin and squared-off shoulders. The top of her head didn’t even reach his nose. He didn’t remember her being so short. Of course, he was a bit taller himself these days. Not that it would have mattered. In his teenage mind, she’d been a towering goddess, the epitome of style, grace, polish. The kind you could only be born with. So sleek he thought she surely slid through life with the ease that only the independently wealthy could.
He had no idea what had brought her back to California, or what had ever happened to her family, her wealth. He seemed to recall there was some strain there, which was why she’d spent every holiday with the Gannons, instead of with the Brubakers of South Kent, Connecticut. Still, to look at her then, you’d have never guessed she’d fretted about anything more pressing than where to buy the latest designer outfit or where to have her nails done. Not prissy, exactly, but… precise. Put together, as they say.
But there was nothing of that effortlessly-put-together girl in front of him now. No hint of the easy life he assumed she’d led, Brubaker fortune and college degree in hand. None of that easy style and grace. In fact, she looked… uncivilized. Her brown hair was a windblown mass of tangles, her face pale and pinched at the corners of her eyes and mouth, her eyes too big with unshed tears, her lips pressed firmly together. Struggling so hard to put on a brave, steady front, that he doubted she even realized she was shaking.
Haley Brubaker, the stuff of almost every one of his teenage fantasies, was a wreck.
And, despite the years that had passed, Brett Gannon discovered he still wanted to be the Gannon brother she turned to in her time of need.
Gently he took her hand from his arm and folded it in his own. It was cold, despite the late summer heat. He knew from the look in her eyes that any hint he was placating her was going to be met with resistance. Perhaps even hysterics. Given her recent outburst, she was a lot closer to falling apart than she thought she was.
But there was no way she was getting past the line of rescue trucks to head up that hill. Dog or no dog. And he, more than most anyone, understood the deep connection man could feel for those four-legged beasts.
“I need to ask you some questions,” he said. “Get some information from you,” he went on, gently but firmly steering her away from the front lines, toward his truck. Recon, his Search and Rescue dog and steady companion for the past eighteen months, trotted along beside them without having to be told to. “I promise I’ll find out what you need to know.”
She let him get her across the lot to his SUV, but she balked at sitting on the rear tailgate. Pushing her hair from her face, pulling from his grasp, she paced. “Fine, fine. I’m at 24143 Columbarra. There’s only three houses up there.” She pointed to the hills just above them. “About a mile down that ridge. The road winds down and comes out just about a quarter mile down the road past those trucks.” She turned, faced him again. “Do you know if they—” Her lower lip trembled hard, but she fought for control and found it. “Do you know if any of the houses up there were affected?”
“I just got here, but I can find out for you. You need to sit here.” He reached for the bottles of water he kept stocked in the back. In fact, as part of his commitment to being a SAR team, he and Recon were packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice, with gear that would last up to two weeks. This time it was local. But less than three days ago he’d been in Florida. Helping clean up after Hurricane Evelyn. Before that they’d been at a building collapse in Boston. Recon had been brilliant in both scenarios. She was a disaster dog, one of a growing number of advanced, specialty rescue dogs. Brett and the two-year-old Lab had worked long and hard, for months on end, to be certified. Worked long and hard still. And would, for as long as they remained an active team. And it had paid off this summer. This long, brutal summer.
He looked back at Haley and the fatigue of weeks spent on the road, pacing in airports, living in makeshift tents and workstations was forgotten. Adrenaline coursed through him again. But the new rush wasn’t entirely work-related. He ignored that part. Okay, he tried. He shoved a water bottle at her. “Stay here,” he commanded, startling her a little. And himself. But they both needed to get a grip. “I’ll go find out what I can. Okay?”
He stared her down, until she finally nodded. Her shoulders slumped a little and she looked so damn lost he wanted to pull her into his arms again. Which would be a bad idea all the way around. Nothing could distract him from what he’d been called here to do. Not even her.
He thought about leaving Recon with her, both for companionship and insurance that she’d stay put, but where he went, his dog went. Period.
He signaled Recon and the black Lab fell into place beside him as he wound his way back into the fray. Huge, all-terrain vehicles were being loaded with gear and personnel, and several of them had trundled past the front line, making their way to the right, along a narrow path of undisturbed roadside, between the buckled pavement and the rising mountainside. To the left there was a sheer drop to the rocks and ocean below. They didn’t get very far before they had to abandon that idea and set out on foot.
Brett knew that he and Recon would be called in shortly, along with the other SAR teams headed this way, once the damage had been fully assessed and a strategy for approaching the affected areas developed. Their job would be to search for survivors. He looked down the mountain ridge, to where Haley’s home was still hopefully perched, and sent a private plea skyward that her dog was okay. That anyone left up there was okay.
The thumping sound of helicopter blades echoed incessantly overhead. Thankfully the media had been banned from the airspace above. It was bad enough having them in a tangle on the ground. The reports from the military choppers would be invaluable, giving them a bird’s-eye view of the extent of the damage up above in the hills, along with the best way to approach.
He pushed his way over to one of the command chiefs he knew from his SAR training. “What have we got up there?” he asked without preamble.
Butch Gregory turned toward him, his face deeply grooved, his expression grave. “One home gone, halfway down the hill. Trees down everywhere. We’re trying to get confirmation, but word is the owners were away. Two more apparently unaffected, but the road up there is a mess. Ravines, splits, cracked wide open like someone took a sledgehammer to ‘em. Hell of a thing,” he murmured, looking beyond the line, up the hills, where crews were presently beginning to set up a relay line. “Hell of a thing.”
Brett hadn’t been in SAR all that long, not the decades-long career of the man in front of him, anyway. But he didn’t suppose a person ever got used to the kind of destruction nature could so blithely wreak, and with so little warning. “How many in the other houses?”
“We don’t know yet. If we can’t find an easy access route, they’ll need to be lifted out of there. But with the tree coverage, the steep incline, that won’t be easy.”
“When do we go up?”
For the first time Butch looked at him, then down at Recon. His face smoothed then, as Brett’s often did when looking into the soulful eyes of the animals whose hearts were worn so obviously on their sleeves. He patted the Lab’s head, then looked back to Brett. “A couple of hours. Teams are just now trying to establish a route in. We’ll know more soon.”
“Good. You happen to know the address of the house that went down? Name of the owner?”
Butch frowned. “You got connections here? You know someone up there? Because—”
Brett knew that they didn’t like sending in any-one directly affected by whatever disaster they were working. Most of the time, teams were so scarce, they didn’t have much choice. But with the damage from this quake spreading up the coast for several miles at least, he could be rerouted, and he knew it. “Just trying to get some information for some people that stopped me. Might help us track the owner down. One less vic to search for.”
Butch studied him a moment longer
, but finally shook his head. “I don’t have it. But I’ll see about getting that information to you.”
Brett nodded. “Thanks. Much appreciated.” He tapped his thigh and Recon fell into a trot beside him as he headed back toward his truck. He was a dozen yards away when he noticed there was no longer a petite brunette hovering near his tailgate. He stopped and quickly scanned the area, but her pale yellow shirt and tan khakis were hardly going to stand out in this crowd.
Then he noticed the bandanna lying on his tailgate. It was his, but it had been in the back of his truck, unused, when he’d left. Now it was crumpled and lying next to the half-empty water bottle he’d given her. He quickly crossed the remaining distance and let Recon scent the bandanna. She was trained to air scent, to pick up the scent of people from the skin cells they shed that clung in the air currents for hours afterward. Ground tracking would be all but impossible with the crowds around them, but air scent, with Haley so recently gone, was a higher percentage chance. He’d just given Recon the command to track when he happened to look up and spot her.
And his heart stopped before resuming at twice the normal speed. It had only been a flash of her face before she turned away, but he knew it was her. And it was a good thing he’d seen her face. Because with that turnout coat and helmet she now had on, almost swallowing her whole, he’d have never recognized her otherwise.
She was clambering onto the back of a truck. A truck heading out to join the small cluster beyond the front line, at the base of the mountain.
“What the—?” But a moment later her mission became terrifyingly clear. “Oh, God. No.”
He was already moving, Recon matching his strides as he covered the distance as fast as he was able. He hit a dead run, even as he watched her get back off the truck, lose herself in the growing crowd of workers… then slip out of that jacket before disappearing unnoticed beyond the tree line.
To head up the mountain. Alone.
CHAPTER THREE
Haley readily admitted this was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done. More foolhardy than falling in love with the emotionally closedoff Sean Gannon. More foolish than believing her family would ever understand her need to follow her own path. Dumber even than falling in love again, this time with Glenn Everest. Suave, sophisticated Glenn, who was quite open emotionally, to the point of being needy. And, oh, how her undernourished heart had loved that. Being so wanted, so desperately needed.
She snorted, even as she scraped another pine bough out of her face and continued her scrabbling effort to climb the side of the mountain. If only she’d realized it was her bank account, not her sponge-soft heart that Glenn had so desperately needed. And since her family money wasn’t available to him, he’d helped himself to her own hard-earned cash, which she’d put away so carefully for the day she could start her own business.
Although she was certain Glenn would have gladly helped himself to the entire Brubaker fortune, as well. And run through it just as fast.
She supposed for that alone she should be thankful she’d severed all ties to her family, both emotional and financial. It had been the only way really. A clean cut, right to the bone. Deep wounds bled less that way.
Now if she could just find a way to forgive herself for literally handing her money over to Glenn. Just let me get my consultant business up and off the ground. We’re partners, a team, right? Then it will be your turn. Oh, yeah, she’d been the perfect helpful partner, putting her lover’s needs above her own. “Proof positive that there is indeed a sucker born every minute,” she muttered. “And I was sucker enough for at least a whole year’s worth of minutes.”
She lost her footing, grunted as her calf muscle protested the sudden backward slide. She ignored the stab of pain, once again found her footing, and once again began her painful climb upward. She’d tried to be quiet at first, so the ground crew wouldn’t notice her, but she’d given up on that after the first hundred yards. Between the helicopters and heavy equipment below, they’d never hear her anyway.
She’d hoped to angle her way over to the road that led up to the cluster of houses at the top, but she’d heard enough from the crew on her smuggled ride in to know the road was not in great shape. She tried hard not to think what that meant about her house.
One house down. That single overheard comment was all it had taken to spur her into action. She’d forced her way to the front, begged for more information, but no one was listening to her. Well, surviving bankruptcy and a broken heart should be good for something. So she did what she’d learned to do over the past two years. She took matters into her own hands.
Hands that were now hopelessly scratched and bleeding from literally clawing her way up the mountainside. But until she found Digger, she’d do more than sacrifice the fingers whose nimbleness had been the foundation of her new career. Her new life, new source of confidence and pride.
She couldn’t let herself think about what she’d do if it was all gone. But that was later. Right now she only cared about rescuing one thing. “Come on, Digger, you’re my buddy, you’re my guy,” she murmured over and over again as she continued her ascent.
And after what seemed like days, years, she finally got to the edge of the backyard—if you could call it that—of the first house of the three on her road. The house was still standing, looking fine, in fact. As she stumbled into the small but steeply angled area just behind the house, her heart wanted to burst, but more from emotional gratitude than from physical exertion. The deck still jutted out, giving the Smithings a perfect view of the ocean through the trees. To look at the house and the trees, you’d never know that devastation was so close.
She made her way around the side of the house and banged on the garage door. No one answered, but both cars were gone, the garage empty. Hopefully that meant the older couple had been out at the time of the quake. She only knew them in passing. But Patsy Smithing was a chatty sort and just from the occasional comment while Haley had been out walking Digger, she’d learned they were retired and that her husband, Judd, could usually be found on a golf course somewhere, while Patsy devoted her time to charity work.
Haley could only hope they’d managed to find each other in the aftermath. And hard-won independence or not, she wasn’t so closed off emotionally that she didn’t acknowledge the solace and comfort to be found in the arms of a loved one. In fact, she’d have given a great deal in that moment to have someone to hold on to.
Brett’s unwavering blue-eyed gaze popped into her mind, along with the memory of what it had been like to be folded into his arms, held tightly against that oh, so sturdy chest.
She pushed that thought away, along with the twinge of guilt for abandoning his offer to help her. But she simply couldn’t sit and do nothing. Not if it meant the difference between life and— No. She couldn’t think it. Wouldn’t.
She loped down the front gravel drive, her legs rubbery and unsteady after the hard climb upward. She tried to take slow, even breaths, to calm herself, to keep her heart from racing as she looked up the road. There was another house before she got to hers, perched higher up the ridge. All three backed to the steep incline of the mountain, with a panoramic view of the ocean below, albeit through the trees. Her house was at the top, above the tree line and afforded the best view of all. The fronts of the houses faced the narrow road connecting them all to civilization, with the mountain continuing to rise up just on the other side, before leveling off and sloping gently down to the valley on the other side.
Only there was nothing civilized or gentle about what Haley discovered as she stumbled to a stop at the end of the Smithings’s driveway. Not ten yards below their drive, the road had split in two, as if someone had driven a monstrously huge spike right into the center of it. She didn’t dare go close enough to see how deep the chasm was, as there was no telling how unstable the ground around it might be.
She tried to turn away from it, to look up the road, to devise the safest route to her house, but she couldn’
t seem to stop standing there, staring, openmouthed, at the magnitude of what had been done to her neighborhood. Such as it was. And this was just the road. She finally spun on shaky legs, to stare once again at the Smithing home. But it still looked untouched. Merely yards away from massive destruction, and yet it looked just as it always had.
Could she be as lucky?
She swiveled back, once again caught up in the shock of the gaping slash that had so recently been the road to her house. The only road to her house. Which meant that, even if it was still there, she couldn’t stay here. How long would it take to repair something like this? And could it even be done? Could you just fill up a giant chasm like that?
Then she noticed the trees on the other side of the road. They had fallen to their sides, as though a strong wind had knocked them down, as if they were nothing more than toothpicks. Roots jutted up in the air, ripping ragged holes in the earth. And it occurred to her that there was nothing clean or bloodless about this cut.
She felt suddenly chilled, started to shake, and couldn’t seem to stop. Couldn’t seem to make her feet move. To even do as much as turn and look up the road, much less close the final distance to her house.
And that was how Brett’s dog found her.
He circled her and started barking, startling her from the numb void she’d sunken into. Tail wagging and looking quite proud of himself, he continued his sharp barks, even when she tried to shush him. The sudden drone of helicopter propellers thwap-thwapped overhead, muting the dog and making her look up. It circled several times. Looking for her? No, she realized a second later, looking at the damage.
Her heart sped up again as she realized the Labrador was in work mode. Search and Rescue. With her being the rescue.
Moments later Brett came jogging around the side of the Smithing house and signaled the dog to be quiet. The dog bounded to his side, then fell into a trot next to him as Brett closed the final distance between them.
