Page 13 of Mountain Protector

In all the classes and practice sessions over the years, I never imagined actually using my gun as a weapon. I never thought I’d actually need to.

I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I let myself think that by keeping the gun in my nightstand, it was almost a guarantee I’d never need it. Like buying liability insurance when you rent a car—if you cave and get it, you’re pretty much guaranteed not to use it. But the one time you pass,that’swhen you get into a fender-bender in the grocery store parking lot and end up on the hook for the repairs.

I took pride showing off my shooting skills at therange. I took satisfaction in the startled expressions of the guys around me as I hit one bullseye after another. My overachieving self rejoiced at the small victory, proving that a woman could do it just as well as the men.

But actually shooting a living person? Even though he was trying to hurt me, I still feel sick at the thought of it.

I feel sick, period.

My arm is throbbing, even though the actual wound was numbed up before the doctor stitched it up—the ten stitches in my upper arm sticking out like a tiny row of caterpillar legs. The feeling has finally come back to my feet, but they’re still cold even with two layers of socks and a warming blanket over them.

The lingering fear and disbelief has my stomach twisted in knots. One of the nurses offered to get me some crackers or chips and something to drink, but the very thought of food made my throat feel like it was closing up.

I know I’m incredibly lucky, really. All it would have taken was one different decision, and the night could have ended much differently.

If I hadn’t stayed up late to read my book, I would have been asleep, and might not have heard the man in my house. If I hadn’t grabbed my gun, I wouldn’t have been able to defend myself. To slow him down long enough to make an escape. And if I’d gone a different direction instead of heading through the woods, I could have run into the intruder instead of Knox.

So I’m lucky. I know I am. I lost a chunk of flesh from my arm, which was extremely gross to look at butnot a serious injury. My feet got some frostbite, but the snow cushioned them from further injury. And the most important thing—I escaped.

I just don’t feel very lucky right now.

And I feel very alone. The doctor and nurses are gone, my dad can’t get here yet because his driveway is completely blocked by snow, and I’m not surewhereKnox is. The last time I saw him was as I was being loaded into the ambulance and he said he’d come to the hospital, but what if he changed his mind? What if he’s pissed I basically brought my crap directly to him? Possibly put him in danger?

Groaning—not in pain, but frustration, this time—I flop back on my pillow. Glancing out the window, I notice the snow has tapered to light flurries, and the sun is just starting to peek above the horizon, casting a pink and amber glow across the blanket of crisp white.

What if I ruined my friendship with Knox in all of this?

“Ugh.” I squeeze my eyes shut as tears threaten to escape. Again. “This sucks.”

“Lark?” Knox steps into the doorway, a look of deep concern on his face. “Are you alright?” He pauses. “What am I saying? Of course you’re not alright.”

“I’m okay.” Struggling to push myself up, I stupidly forget about my injured arm and try to use it for leverage. As pain sears through my arm, I wince and hiss out a low curse.

“Oh, Lark.” Knox rushes into the room, coming to my side and sliding his arm behind me to help me up. “Be careful. I don’t want you to hurt yourself—” His gaze drops to the white bandage on my arm and hisbrows pull into an unhappy V. “Well. More than you already are.”

“I…” But I can’t seem to form more words than that. Not with Knox touching me. Not with his strong arm holding me up and his intoxicating scent wrapping around me, a blend of citrus and cedar and something else that’s uniquely him. And his face is so close to mine I can see the flecks of silver in his dark blue eyes and the tiny scar just below his hairline.

He held me on that terrifying trip back to his house, and he sat next to me on the couch while he wrapped up my arm, but that was different. The shock was still so intense, I couldn’t register anything else clearly.

But now… I’m struck by this wild desire to fling myself into Knox’s arms and beg him to hold me. To plead with him to stay.

“Lark.” Worry darkens his eyes so they’re nearly black. He leans down to inspect my face. “How much pain are you in? Have they given you anything yet?”

“I thought you left.”

Oops. That’s not what he asked. “I mean?—”

“No, of course not.” He reaches behind him to drag a chair to the side of the bed and drops into it. His gaze still on mine, he adds, “I had to wait until the doctor said it was okay to come in. Did you really think I’d just leave you here?”

My cheeks heat. “I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if you were mad at me.”

“Mad?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Why would I—” Voice gentling, he continues, “I told you before, but I know things were crazy. I am not angry. At all. I wascoming to look for you. After I heard the gunshots. So if you hadn’t found me, I would have found you.”

Oh.

The band around my chest releases. “You were?”

“Absolutely.” Knox brushes a piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers sending little tingles as they brush my skin. “But I am so glad you came to me. Thought of me.”

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