Page 13 of Mountain Rescue
Rachel had said she ate meat on occasion, but he didn’t know if that included red meat. He decided on baked chicken, potatoes au gratin, and the asparagus she’d bought at the store.
While the chicken defrosted in the microwave, he peeled and sliced the potatoes. As he prepared dinner, his thoughts turned to Bella. The dog was so traumatized that he wasn’t sure she was savable. During the hour he’d sat in that kennel, softly talking to her, she’d stayed curled up in a ball, her face buried under her tail, her body quivering.
She reminded him too much of himself during his last days of captivity. He hadn’t been sure he was savable either. He’d somehow managed to put on a good front with his family even though he was dead inside.
Yet...thanks to a prickly wildcat, he’d had glimpses of the man he’d been before the day his team had been ambushed. If there was hope for him—and he really wanted that to be true—was it fair to count Bella out?
He wasn’t happy with Jack putting Bella’s life in his hands, and although he was sure his devious friend thought pairing a wounded dog with a wounded warrior was clever, he didn’t have to like it. He also couldn’t turn his back on Bella, so he supposed Operation Save Bella was on.
Rachel still hadn’t made an appearance, and he hoped that making dinner for her would earn him points. She still hadn’t answered some of his questions, and if he was going to protect her, he needed to know who Robert was and why he was a threat.
In the meantime, he could do a little research. While the chicken and potatoes baked, he retrieved his laptop. Since he didn’t know her last name, he did a search on a stuntwoman named Rachel. He whistled when he saw the number of hits.
The oven timer dinged, and he glanced at his watch, surprised to see how much time had passed while he’d fallen down the rabbit hole learning about the public Rachel Denning. When she’d said she was a stuntwoman, he’d imagined that she’d done a few minor movies.
Wrong! She was a highly respected stuntwoman and had doubled for some of the biggest names in the business. “Pretty impressive, Rachel Denning,” he murmured. He found a list of all her movies and copied and pasted it in his computer notes. When he couldn’t sleep tonight, he’d watch one or two.
He closed the laptop, and after returning it to his room, he took the chicken out to let it sit while he sautéed the asparagus. As he finished getting dinner ready, his thoughts were on Rachel. What kind of trouble was she in? Who was this Robert she was afraid of and why? Did she have a boyfriend? He assumed she wasn’t married, because no man worth his salt would leave his wife unprotected when someone was out to harm her.
Before the night was over, he’d have her story, even if he had to threaten to tell Jack she was hiding out in his cabin to get her to talk. It was important intel, and if he was to be successful in protecting her, he needed to know what they were facing.
He carved the chicken, plated their dinner, then went to her bedroom door and knocked. “Rachel, dinner’s ready.” When he didn’t get a response, he knocked again. “Rachel?” Was she asleep?
The door opened, and he sucked in a breath at seeing a sleep-tousled Rachel Denning. Were those heavy-lidded whiskey eyes and mussed hair how she would look after making love? He wanted to know. Maybe he wasn’t dead inside after all.
“What?”
He grinned. There she was, his prickly wildcat. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Not hungry.”
“Sure you are.” He put his foot against the door when she tried to close it. “Besides, you can’t refuse me. I toiled in the kitchen all afternoon just for you.”
“Did you now?” She huffed an annoyed breath. “Fine, give me five minutes.”
“Make it three. It won’t be any good cold.”
He figured she’d take five minutes or more just to prove a point, but two minutes and fifty seconds later, she appeared. She was wearing black leggings and a purple off-the-shoulder top and had brushed her hair. Too bad that. He liked the messy look on her. He also liked—a whole lot—how her eyes roamed over him.
“Hungry?”
“Huh?” Her gaze shot up to his.
“I asked if you’re hungry.” Hell, yeah. She was hungry, and food had nothing to do with it. He filed that insight away for later use. He swept his hand out to the table. “Let’s eat.”
She stared at the plates on the table. “What’s all this?”
“That would be what’s commonly referred to as dinner.”
“You cooked all this?”
He liked that he’d surprised her. “Yes, ma’am. I wanted to show my appreciation for trading beds with me.” He pulled out a chair. “Have a seat and dig in.”
“This is really good,” she said after eating a few bites. “You bought all this at a restaurant and want me to believe you cooked it.”
“You wound me.” He slapped a hand over his heart. “Such little faith you have in me.” She rolled her eyes, making him chuckle. “I promise I cooked this amazing meal.”
“I’m impressed.”
