Page 1 of Saving Her Curves

CHAPTER ONE

. . .

Hank sat under the low-hanging metal roof on the side of his porch, his back pressed against the rounded logs of his cabin. The temperature was falling fast, and it had started to snow, but he didn’t care. He needed this time to unwind. He’d been on a four-day shift, working twelve hours on and twelve hours off. This week’s shift hadn’t been as difficult as some, but it was no picnic either. They had rescued one fisherman from a leaky boat and two hikers that had gotten lost in the foothills surrounding Middleton, Colorado. The town he now called home.

He’d been in Middleton for three years and on the search and rescue team for the same amount of time. The job had been the reason he’d moved here. Well, that and the fact that he’d had no place else to go.

He’d mustered out of the military after twenty years of service. Not because he wanted to. No, a piece of shrapnel had ended his career. He’d been hit by an IED and survived. If he’d stayed in, he would have been assigned a desk to ride, and that wasn’t him. He needed to move, to be in the thick of things. This search and rescue gig was the closest thing he had found to satisfy that adrenaline junkie part of him.

But this physically challenging job, like the military, took its toll, forcing a man to find a way to unwind in some form or another. Most of his colleagues found the company of a woman the balm to their soul. Hank had too, once upon a time. Now, the few meet-ups he had simply scratched an itch.

Fortunately, he’d discovered another way to come down from the high his job demanded thanks to an elderly man he’d met in Germany. Now, when he needed to get back in touch with the part of his soul that wasn’t blackened by the things he’d seen and done, he found a quiet spot to work. Normally, that was his workshop out back.

Today, however, that quiet spot was his front porch, sitting in the cold, watching the slow falling flakes turn into a full-on blizzard. He was looking forward to the next three days, even if the weather forecast was calling for over a foot of snow. His cabin was stocked with plenty of food and he had enough wood to last the entire winter. A small generator would provide for the essentials should the electricity go out.

All he had to do now was relax and he had just the formula. In one hand was a small block of wood. He turned it over and over again, letting the wood tell him what it would be. In the other hand was a small knife, whose blade could cut through steel. But it didn’t have to, just the block of wood.

“So, what’s hiding inside you?” he mused, tracing his thumb over the grain of the smooth wood. He’d learned to whittle on his first tour of duty on a small base in Germany—and it had saved his life. The old man who had taught him had been a local who worked on the base. Hank had stumbled across him one day making a toy for his granddaughter.

With Hank’s big hands, it hadn’t been easy learning how to manipulate the sharp knife or to deftly hold the small shapes. His left hand was covered with tiny, silver scars that he no longer tried to hide.

The old man had also taught him not to rush the wood, to take his time and let the wood decide what the carving should be. The wood, he said, would talk to him. Hank had listened to his teacher. Sometimes, he knew as soon as he picked up a piece of wood what he wanted to carve. Sometimes, like today, the image eluded him. At times like this, he would simply start with a few small swipes of the knife, barely removing any wood. In time, he’d know exactly what cuts to make.

Just as he started to make the first cut, his cell phone rang.

“Damn it,” he cursed. He really wanted to enjoy his days off. He’d been restless recently. Maybe, it had to do with both of his bosses finding women to spend their lives with, or maybe, which was the likely, he was just getting restless. In the military, his tours never lasted more than four years and he’d already been in Middleton for three.

Maybe it was time to move on.

“Thomas,” he growled into the phone, wasting no time on preliminaries.

“Great, that’s who I called.” On the other end of the line was Logan, his immediate boss. Technically, Hank supposed, he was third in line at the search and rescue unit simply because he had more experience than the other men who worked there—put together. In the military, he’d taught survival skills as well as practiced them on every mission.

“Does Penny laugh at your jokes, or just laugh at you in general?”

“Hardy, har, har, Tank. My Penny loves me and my unique sense of humor. You’re just jealous.”

Hank didn’t respond immediately, because, well, maybe there was a touch of truth in Logan’s words. “What’s up?”

“We got a call from a telematics system from an onboard car service about an accident.” Logan paused. “Strangely enough, the coordinates are just below your cabin. I need you to haul your ass down there and check it out.”

Hank wanted to make some comment about how Logan could kiss that particular part of his anatomy, but it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to tell his boss. He also wanted to tell him the snow was starting to come down too hard and the wind was like a knife, but that wouldn’t matter to Logan. Besides, going out in these conditions was Hank’s job. Still, he wasn’t going to make it easy on his boss. He’d already worked a double shift and he was off the clock. “Can’t someone else do it?”

“Nope, this weather is already wreaking havoc. There was a bad accident on the highway. Both our units are there. And before you ask, the state troopers are tied up as well. Because of the forecasted blizzard, the town is opening the approved shelters, so they’re transporting from all over the county. In fact, why don’t you and whoever you find, come on back in. This storm is going to get nasty.”

“Yeah. And I’m prepared. Apparently, the fool trying to drive in it wasn’t.”

“Come on, Hank. It’s not far. In fact, I’m sure you would have heard the impact if not for the howling of the wind. It’s so close to your cabin that you can probably walk to it.”

“Great. Just what I wanted to do tonight. Take a walk in a damn blizzard.”

“Great,” Logan parroted, taking Hank’s snarky comment as acquiescence. “The coordinates are on the way. Text me when you have news.”

Before Hank could reply, the call ended.

Hank cursed again but moved from his chair, going inside to grab his gear. The sooner he left, the sooner he’d be back in his cabin—and back to whatever mystery the wood held.

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