Page 60 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

To say relief washed through me was an understatement. I shook his hand, “Thank you, doc.”

“Safe drive home,” he clicked his pen and wrote something off on a clipboard before hurrying down a corridor.

I swallowed a mouthful of the tepid coffee and dropped it into a garbage can as we left the waiting room and headed to the car park. It was a silent drive home, and I had to force myself to concentrate on the road instead of going over the events of the night.

When we did arrive at the ranch, I parked and turned to her, “I don’t give a damn about what anyone else is going to say tomorrow…I want you in my bed tonight.”

I knew she had pulled away, and I knew her hesitation about getting deeper into this, but I did not want to be alone tonight, nor would I imagine she wanted that either. “I don’t want to be alone tonight, and it's just sleep, Zoe. I don’t have the energy or desire for anything else.”

She turned to me. “I don’t want that either.”

We left the car and headed inside; the house was dead silent as I assumed most of the other guys who had been to the fair would probably be fast asleep. We got to my room, and I tugged her gently through a doorway into a luxurious bedroom with soft white bedding turned down and ready.

Instead of flickering on the light, I used the moonlight to undress. There was no finesse in how I yanked my shirt and boots off, but I took more care with her. My big fingers fumbled with the buttons on her button-up blouse, and she let me. I unzipped her jeans and slid them down over her thighs with a sigh.

“Sit on the edge,” I said, kneeling. “I need to take your boots off.”

I pulled them off one by one and tossed them behind me, then pulled her jeans the rest of the way off. Now, she wore only her bra, a lacy nude bra that coordinated with her matching panties. I handed her a spare t-shirt and boxers before I slid into the bed with my dark grey boxers, head pounding.

She pressed her naked body against mine, and I stopped at the feel of her close to me. She was soft and warm, her curves fitting against my harder lines; she smelled so good that I couldn’t stop pressing my nose into her hair.

“He’ll be all right,” she whispered. “Santos is a fighter.”

“I hope so,” I replied, “I felt my heart crumple into rubble when that bull threw him. I know that pain, sweetheart, it's fucking horrible, but I am grateful he has no broken bones or a concussion. That bull was a mean bastard.”

Zoe got up on her elbow and met my eyes. Instead of speaking, she gave me a soft kiss, and damned if I didn’t feel that to my toes. Stroking my jaw where my beard was coming in, she said, “Try to get some sleep tonight, Warrick.”

“Yeah, baby,” I turned onto the pillow and closed my eyes. Pulling her into my front, I replied, “We’ll get a little sleep.”

I must have cursed myself by saying a little sleep because that is all I—we—got. About four a.m., my phone started ringing off the hook. At first, I ignored it, but when I remembered that one of my men was in the hospital, I leaped off the bed and snatched it off the bedside table.

Half-asleep, I was still afraid the doctor was calling to say something unexpected had happened, and Santos was gone. I saw Laura’s name flashing, and I frowned. Why was she calling me?

“Laura?” I asked, sitting up. “What’s going on?”

“Warrick,” her tone made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “I heard about what happened to Santos, and I am sorry, but that is not what I’m calling about. It’s about Miss Harrington’s car that she left here.”

“What happened to it?” I asked, sliding my legs out from under the covers and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t know if it’s—” she broke off. “I don’t know what to tell you, Warrick. It’s best if you come and see for yourself.”

Now, I was getting worried. “What is it?”

“Please just come see for yourself,” she said. “I know it's late, but I cannot sleep on this.”

Grimacing, I told her I would be there in twenty minutes. As I hung up, Zoe stirred and sat up. Resting a hand on my arm, she asked, “What is going on?”

“We need to go see Laura,” I told her. “Get dressed.”

We threw on some clothes and headed out. The night was as dark as a goddamn tomb, as the moon was descending to the west. Thank God the street lights were on to cut through the gloom as we went to the inn. It was getting close to five in the morning as we met a pacing Laura.

“I am sorry to wake you, but this is—” she shook her head and wrung her hands worriedly. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

Following her, we went to the garage where Zoe had left her car. We bypassed the three cars the inn workers used and got to hers—only for me to jerk in place. Zoe’s gasp was filled with horror—of course it was—the car was wrecked.

The windows were busted, the tires were pancakes, and spray painted on the sides, wrapping around the damn car, were the words: we know who you are.

I turned just as Zoe’s legs gave out from under her, and I grabbed her right before her knees hit the ground. Lifting her into my side, I whispered, “Hold onto me.”

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