Page 2 of Final Escape
She sighed. “I have a summer lease on an upstairs apartment out at Wolf River Rafting Company.”
“The Bradleys,” he said, his mouth twisting with a hint of distaste.
He’d settled his aviator shades into place, but from his long silence and the muscle ticking along his jaw, she guessed that the deputy didn’t approve. “Is there something I should know?”
“Just...watch your step out there.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but then he shook his head. “And don’t ever forget to lock your doors.”
* * *
WITH VANCE MUNSON’Swords still playing through her thoughts, Carrie felt a shiver of unease as she stepped out of her aging silver Tahoe and shielded her eyes against the setting sun.
Sure enough, Wolf River Rafting Company was emblazoned in gilt letters on a sign over the door of the two-story log building overlooking the river and on the smaller, matching building next to the riverbank.
This would be her home for the next three months, and she’d been lucky to find it through a chance discovery on the internet, though as she surveyed the area, a chill worked its way down her spine. The small clearing was bounded on one side by river, on the other three by impenetrable pine forest, and to the west the massive, snowcapped Rockies loomed high along the horizon.
She should’ve expected a Montana Rockies rafting company would be located in an isolated place offering good access to a river, but she could seenothingelse close by. Not a store, not a resort. Not even a cabin. And it was a good half mile off the highway, well out of sight of any passing traffic.
Which meant she’d probably be totally alone come nightfall.Vulnerable.
Was that why the deputy had seemed hesitant about her moving out here? The tense knot in her stomach started to relax. Maybe that was it—he hadn’t been hinting at any concern about the Bradleys. He just thought this place would be terribly isolated for a woman living by herself.
Though right now, cheerful pandemonium reigned. A jumble of dirt bikes had been ditched against the trees by a group of mud-streaked boys fishing along the shore. They were fairly bursting with energy, jostling each other and teasing, and then one fell in the water and the rest laughed uproariously when he emerged.
Carrie smiled, remembering the exquisite patience and silence of fly-fishing with Trace. Any fish within a hundred yards of these kids had probably long since skedaddled.
To the right, a couple of eight-man white-water rafts were pulled up on the grass. Down at the river’s edge, a dozen silver-haired women chattered on the rocky bank next to a massive rubber raft—a twenty-footer, probably—with inflated tubular sides. The customers were fumbling with the fastenings of their bulky orange life vests while a tall, younger woman moved among them, redirecting wayward straps and snugging the vests into position. Occasionally, she darted into the log boathouse to fetch a different size.
The scene brought back happy memories of the river guiding job Carrie had held through college. It all seemed so normal. So safe.
The woman in charge studied her for a split second, then hiked her thumb toward the building. “Logan’s inside,” she shouted.
Carrie nodded, hit the lock button on her key chain out of habit, and picked her way across the river rock.
At the corner of the building she abruptly came face-to-chest with a man in a faded Denver Broncos T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts.
He caught her upper arms with his strong hands, steadied her, then released his grip. “Kayak rental?”
At his touch, an expected sense of awareness warmed her heart, and she quelled a sudden flash of panic. Her immediate instinct was to run.
After a heartbeat, she managed a smile and looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen this side of Paul Newman on the silver screen.Oh, my.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, catching her breath.
“My fault.”
“I—I’m Carrie Randall. I’m here about the apartment.”
His face registered a flash of surprise, and from his quick, searching look, she knew he was probably thinking she was some harebrained city gal, way out of her element.
“Well, then,” he drawled as he tipped his head toward an open staircase on the side of the building. “Let’s do the tour. I’m Logan Bradley, by the way.”
His face was lean and tan, with a strong jaw and a shock of near-black hair tumbling over his forehead that made him look as though he belonged on some back lot in Hollywood, not here in the middle of nowhere.
He offered his hand for a brief shake, the warmth of his fingers settling in the vicinity of her heart and setting off alarm bells that she would not ignore.Charmer...charmer...
She blinked and abruptly jerked her hand back.
This instant, blinding reaction was exactly what had drawn her to Billy, and the emotional wreckage from their divorce was still too painful to bear.
