Search and Rescue by April Wilson
Chapter 31
Hannah McIntyre
Killian and I head back to the cabin and pack what we need—flashlights, gloves, hats, water bottles, protein bars, a first aid kit, and thermal blankets.
Killian grabs his set of two-way radios, handing one of them to me. “We stay together. But just in case we get separated, I want to be able to reach you at all times. N’est ce pas?”
Right?
I love it when he slips into French. “Right.”
While Killian assembles the climbing gear he brought from Chicago—ropes, ties, carabiners—I take the dog outside and let him run the agility course a few times to get some much-needed exercise before we leave.
“I wish I could take you with me, buddy,” I tell Scout. “But you’re not quite ready for that.” Now that my ankle is healed, I can get serious about training him for search and rescue work. I think he’d be a natural.
As soon as the Jeep is packed, we take off for the Ridgeline Trail. When we arrive at the trailhead, we aren’t surprised to find the parking lot filled with vehicles of all sorts. Members of local and state-wide search and rescue teams are here with their dogs, as well as local volunteers, law enforcement, and other emergency organizations. There’s even a food truck handing out free food and drinks, and a medic crew and ambulance are here on standby in case they’re needed.
I spot a couple huddled together, a man and a woman. The woman is in tears, while the man comforts her. I assume they’re the missing boy’s parents.
“Does this happen a lot around here?” Killian asks me as we haul our gear out of the back of the Jeep. He straps on his backpack and throws his climbing gear over his shoulder.
I nod as he helps me pull on my pack. “Tourists get lost out here. Even experienced backpackers can get into trouble.”
We locate the resource coordinator and introduce ourselves.
“Mary Finch,” says a tall, slender woman with short silver hair. She shakes my hand first, then Killian’s. “Sheriff Nelson told me to expect you. We appreciate the help. We need to find this kid fast—there’s a cougar prowling around the area.”
The woman hands us a detailed terrain map of the trail. “Everyone works in pairs. You two are assigned to this area here.” She circles a spot on the map with a fat red marker. “Bob said you’re both experienced climbers, so I assigned you to a spot where there’s a lot of rock face.” Then she hands Killian a small black device attached to a carabiner. “Here’s a satellite GPS communicator that will let you check your coordinates and send a text message back to camp. Good luck.”
The trail is clearly marked, so we head out. There are lots of people coming and going, each carrying their own gear and maps. Our directions take us about a mile up the trail, where we stop.
Killian uses the device Mary gave him to check the map against our GPS coordinates. He nods to our right. “This is our section.” He looks at me. “How about you stay here on the trail? We’ll keep in touch via radio, and if I find anything, I’ll let you know.” He makes it sound as if he’s doing me a favor.
I roll my eyes. “You’re joking, right? You seriously think I’m going to stay here on the trail while you’re out there doing all the work?” I point at some pretty dense forest. “Nice try, pal.”
He scowls, clearly frustrated, and I imagine he’s biting his tongue. Smart man. He exhales a heavy breath. “Hannah, please.”
“No. And stop coddling me, Devereaux. I do not need to be coddled. I’m perfectly capable of hiking through the woods.”
“Fine,” he huffs as he motions toward the trees. “Ladies first.”
I know he just wants to keep me in his sights in case I trip over a log, fall on my face, and rebreak my ankle. “Fine.”
After walking about half an hour due north, Killian double-checks our location via GPS. “Let’s spread out a little, but be sure to stay within sight. Remember, we may not be alone out here.”
He means the cougar, of course.
As I resume walking, I adjust my backpack and tighten the straps. It feels good to be outside again. There’s something so cathartic about being out in the wilderness—and at the same time, it’s calming. This is my happy place. It’s where I’m supposed to be.
I skim the reference sheet Mary Finch gave us. “The kid we’re looking for is Scott Adams, age ten, a Boy Scout.” Killian’s close enough that he can hear me. “Sounds like he’s old enough to think he can take risks, but young enough to make mistakes.”
As we search our assigned area, examining the ground and low brush for signs that someone passed this way, we yell the kid’s name. Off in the distance, I can hear the faint voices of other searchers doing the same.
We walk for about twenty minutes, and I notice Killian keeps looking my way as if he’s checking on me. He looks annoyed, probably because I’m off the marked trail. The terrain here is naturally uneven, as it’s littered with downed branches, vegetation, and tree roots that stick up above the soil.
“Watch where you’re walking, McIntyre. The last thing I want is for you to reinjure your ankle. I’d rather not have to explain to your family how in the hell I let that happen.”
“How you let it happen?” Shaking my head, I laugh. “Let’s get one thing clear, Devereaux. I’m responsible for the consequences of my own actions. Not you.”
“Ha,” he says. “That’s where you’re wrong. If anything happens to you, your brothers will have my balls.”
“Well, if you don’t lighten up and stop patronizing me, I’ll have your balls.”
Killian stomps in my direction until he’s looming over me. “Baby, you already have them.”
Unable to help myself, I crack a smile. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed anything as much as I enjoy verbally sparring with him.
He pulls me close so we’re face to face. “Are you always such a pain in the ass?”
“Yes.”
He opens his mouth to retort but changes his mind and motions me forward. “Keep walking, McIntyre. We have a job to do. We’ll continue this conversation later.”
A few yards ahead, Killian throws out his arm and halts me midstep. “Hold up.” He crouches to examine the ground.
“What is it?” I peer down, trying to see what he sees.
“Fresh scat. A big cat’s been through here recently. Cougar.”
“Great. That’s all we need—to come face to face with a mountain lion.”
We keep forward moving, calling the kid’s name and looking for signs of anything having passed through the area—a cougar or a ten-year-old boy.
“Scott!” I yell. “Scott!”
Killian calls his name, too, his voice deep and booming.
We continue ahead, searching, calling, and listening. We cross fallen trees, the occasional creek, and lots and lots of ground. There’s no sign of the kid, and no visual on the cat.
Eventually, the trees begin to thin out, and we enter a valley with increasingly large rock outcroppings. The terrain is dotted with fir trees and boulders.
Killian spots a big paw print and drops to his knees to examine it. “It’s fresh,” he says.
“Scott!” I yell. The more signs we see that a cat has been in this area very recently, the more worried I get for this kid’s safety. An adult cougar would have no trouble bringing down a ten-year-old child. It’s not often that a cougar kills a human, but it’s not unheard of in these mountains. There have been a handful of attacks just in the past few years. “Scott!”
I freeze in my tracks when I hear a high-pitched screech coming from somewhere ahead of us. I signal for Killian to stop. “Did you hear that?” I ask him. “Scott!”
A faint voice, barely audible, carries toward us on the wind. “I’m over here! Up on the rocks!”
Instantly, we pick up the pace, moving as quickly as the rocky ground will allow.
“Scott!” I yell. “Where are you? Keep talking.”
“Here,” he calls out. “Be careful! There’s a cougar nearby.”
“No shit,” Killian mutters. And then he yells, “Hold tight, kid! We’re coming.”
Eventually, we reach a rock face that juts straight up about forty feet from the ground. A young boy wearing a navy-blue winter coat and a matching knit hat is perched on an outcropping of stone about halfway up the rockface.
Killian stares up at him, hands on his hips. “How the hell did you get up there?”
“I climbed,” the kid says. “The cougar was stalking me. Getting up here wasn’t too hard, but getting down—that’s not so easy.” The kid peers nervously down at the ground far below him.
“Are you hurt?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “No. Just cold and hungry. I’ve been sitting up here for hours. My butt’s numb.”
Trying not to laugh, Killian drops his supplies on the ground and begins organizing his climbing gear—harness, lines, carabiners. I radio the search headquarters and give Mary Finch the good news that we found Scott. I give her our coordinates so she can send a backup team to our location to assist.
Meanwhile, Killian already has his climbing harness strapped around his waist and hips and is prepping the rest of his equipment for an assent.
“How are you going to do this? Set anchors in the rockface as you ascend? I can belay for you.”
He shakes his head. “I told you, you’re not climbing.”
“I didn’t say I was climbing. I’ll stay on the ground, but I can still hold your line.”
“No. I don’t want you putting that kind of pressure on your ankle.” He studies the rock formation. “I’ll climb it freehand, get above the kid, set an anchor, and then rappel down with the kid.”
“Killian—”
He shoots me a glare, as if daring me to argue with him. “I said no. It’s too soon. You stand by on the radio.”
I let out a frustrated huff. I feel ready, but he’s right. It is too soon. Even belaying for him would put a lot of pressure on my ankle because I’d be potentially bracing myself against his weight if he slipped. “Okay, fine. Have it your way.”
He raises an eyebrow at me, but wisely doesn’t say anything. Instead, armed with a harness, climbing rope, half-a-dozen carabiners, and anchoring supplies, he approaches the wall and feels around for the obvious handholds and footholds.
I’m tempted to tell him to be careful, but I don’t. It’s a pretty straight forward climb—even I could do it, and I have a lot less experience climbing than he has.
I watch him methodically scale the rockface, one handhold and foothold at a time. It takes Killian about fifteen minutes to reach him.
After setting an anchor in the rock and clipping his line, Killian straps a harness around Scott’s waist and uses locking carabiners to secure the kid’s harness to his own. Then Killian coaxes the boy to wrap his legs around his waist and cling to him like a little monkey.
The kid holds on with a death grip as Killian carefully rappels down the rockface. As soon as his feet touch the ground, he unlatches Scott’s harness and sets him down.
“That was awesome!” the kid says, gazing up at Killian with bright blue eyes.
“I’m glad you thought so,” Killian says as he removes first the boy’s harness and then his own.
“Can we do it again?” the boy asks.
Killian looks at me out of the corner of his eye before he says, “How about we work on getting you back to your parents? They’re pretty worried.”
I hand Scott a water bottle and a protein bar. “How about a snack?”
“Oh, man, yes!” He tears the wrapper open and takes a bite of the bar. “I’m starving.”
We sit Scott down on a nearby fallen log so he can eat his snack. Killian and I subtly look him over to make sure he’s not hurt. He has a few scrapes on his hands and one on his right cheek, but otherwise he seems to be in good shape.
“So, where’s this cougar?” Killian asks him.
As he chews a mouthful of food, the kid looks around as if the cougar might be hiding in plain view, just waiting for a chance to pounce. “I saw him about an hour ago,” Scott says with a mouthful of food. Then he swallows. “I think he was looking for a way to get up to me. When that didn’t work, he climbed that big tree there. I could tell he wanted to jump, but I think it was too far. Eventually, he gave up and left. Scared me to death. I thought for sure he was gonna eat me.”
After Scott finishes his food, we pack up our gear and start walking back toward the trail. We’re halfway there when we meet up with Sheriff Nelson and one of his deputies—Officer Milly Sanders—and after assuring themselves that Scott’s fine, they escort us back to the trail.
On our way to the parking lot, we meet up with Scott’s frantic parents. His mother sobs as she holds him tightly in her arms. His dad stands beside them, his hands on his hips. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but his eyes are rimmed in red, and it’s obvious he’s been crying.
After Mrs. Adams finally releases her son, the dad gets his turn. He actually picks the boy up in his arms and holds him tight, murmuring quiet words in his ear.
“Thank you both,” the father tells us.
“We got lucky,” Killian says. “We just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”
The kid’s more excited than scared. “It was so cool, Mom. I got to climb down the rocks using a harness. I want to be a rock climber.”
The sheriff shakes Killian’s hand and mine. “I can’t thank you two enough for coming out today. This town appreciates it.”
Once we get back to the parking lot, we join in the celebration with free hot dogs, burgers, chips, and cans of cold soft drinks provided by the food truck organizer. I recognize several of the people there, mostly local hikers and climbers who volunteer their time on search teams. Scott and his very relieved and grateful parents join in on the party.
The sheriff joins us at the rear of my Jeep. “We could use another resource like you around here, Killian,” he says. “God knows there’s plenty of opportunities for rescue work like today.”
“Maybe,” Killian says. He nods my way. “She said I can stay, so I guess I’ll be around for the foreseeable future.”
Nelson smiles as he claps Killian on the back. “Glad to hear it.” Then he winks at Killian. “Lucky man. Let me know if I can help you find work.”
After wishing Scott and his parents good luck, Killian and I head back to town to finish our grocery shopping. It’s evening now, and the shops will be closing soon.
As soon as we walk into the store, Maggie congratulates us on finding the lost Boy Scout.
Killian laughs. “Word sure gets around fast.”
“You bet it does,” Maggie said. “That’s small-town life for you. Some of the search volunteers stopped in here a little while ago, and they told me that Hannah McIntyre and her sexy boyfriend found the kid.”
I slip my arm around his waist and lean my head against his shoulder.
“Glad to be of service,” Killian says to Maggie. He slides his arm across my shoulders and kisses the side of my head.
After we finish up our shopping and load our groceries into the Jeep, we head home. Killian fires up the grill and puts on some steaks while I give Scout a good workout in the yard. I focus on basic commands and heeling.
“Have you heard from Owen lately?” I ask Killian as he turns the steaks on the hot grill.
He shrugs. “He checks in with me every few days or so.”
Owen left Bryce shortly after the poachers were apprehended and the danger to me and to Maggie was gone. The poachers are currently sitting in a county jail awaiting trial.
I was hoping that Owen might find a reason to stay, but apparently that didn’t happen, and when I ask Maggie about him, she’s very tight-lipped. “Does he ask about Maggie?”
Killian gives me a pointed look. “I know what you’re thinking, but forget it.”
“What? I thought he and Maggie hit it off really well. You’re staying. He certainly could have, too, if he’d wanted to.”
Killian sighs. “Owen’s carrying around a lot of heavy baggage, love. I don’t think he sees himself as fit company for a woman.”
“That’s a shame. I thought they were good for each other.”
While Killian’s monitoring the steaks, I head inside and disappear into the bedroom to change into a pair of soft knit shorts and a T-shirt. Then I head to the kitchen and prepare some side dishes and a salad to go with dinner.
Killian brings the steaks inside when they’re done, and we set the together and sit down to eat.
It’s nice having him here with me. I could get used to this.
* * *
After dinner, Killian and I carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen sink.
He steps behind me and puts his hands on my hips and leans in to kiss the back of my head. “I’ll bring in some more logs for the woodstove. Be right back.” As he heads for the door, he whistles for Scout. “Come on, buddy. Outside.”
He’s going to be a great doggy dad, I can tell.
After he stacks the logs by the stove, he joins me in the kitchen, grabs a towel, and starts drying the wet dishes, putting them away as he goes. I don’t even need to ask.
I think I might be in love.
He bumps my hip with his. “That was a great meal, love. Thanks.”
“You cooked the steaks,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but you made the rest of it. Tomorrow I’ll cook something for you.”
While I’m finishing up at the sink, he casually slips behind me and presses his body against me. I feel his erection nudging my lower back. His hands slide to the front of me, and he urges me back against him. His lips are in my hair, gentle and teasing, sending tingles down my spine.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” he murmurs close to my ear. His warm breath ruffles my hair, sending more delightful sensations along my nerve endings.
With a groan, I lean my head back against his shoulder, and he trails nibbling kisses down the side of my neck.
“It’s hard for me to be around you and not want you,” he confesses as his fingers toy with the waistband of my shorts. “I feel like I’m dreaming, and yet this is real.” He kisses the sensitive spot beneath my neck.
The feel of his lips on my neck is hypnotic, and with a soft moan, I close my eyes and lean back into him. He tightens his hold on me, supporting my weight so that I can just let go.
When his hand slips inside the front of my shorts, beneath my underwear, his fingers slowly descend to the warm, aching place between my legs. With a sound that’s part whimper and part groan, I widen my stance to give him access to what he wants.
“Killian.” My voice is little more than breath and I drop the kitchen cloth I’m holding and grip the edge of the counter. My head is spinning.
“Mm,” he murmurs.
When his finger slips easily between the slick lips of my sex, I gasp, and he groans. I reach back and grasp the back of his head, my fingers clutching a fistful of his hair.
Chuckling, he presses his length harder into me, and my knees threaten to buckle.
Slowly, his slides my shorts and underwear down my legs, and they hit the floor. Then I hear him unfasten his jeans, followed by the tell-tale sound of a zipper going down.
My entire body shivers in anticipation, and I’m practically panting when he tosses his wallet on the countertop.
“Condom,” he says in a rough voice. “In my wallet.”
While I’m fumbling for protection, his warm hands slide down my butt cheeks and over my thighs, then back up. He grips my buttocks and squeezes them gently. As I try to rip open the packet, he bends down and playfully nips my ass, then soothes me with a kiss, followed by a light smack.
“Did you just spank me?” I ask incredulously.
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Did you like it?”
I growl in response, because there’s no way I’ll admit how much I did like it.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, sounding pleased with himself.
I hear the rustle of soft cloth, and then his T-shirt flutters to the floor. He grasps the hem of my own tee and whips it up and over my head. Cool air soothes my heated flesh, making my nipples tighten.
I hand him the condom, and he rolls it on. Then he grips the back of my neck and bends me forward over the counter.
Good freaking dear god!
I don’t think I’ve ever been so aroused before.
And then he’s there, pressing into my wet heat, and I lose my breath completely. Our labored breathing is all I can hear as he slides inside me, his hands gripping my hips hard. “Killian!”
He groans harshly when he’s fully seated. “Don’t move,” he says. “Give me a minute.” Then he raises one of my thighs to open me up even more.
We both gasp as he sinks even deeper.
“You okay?” he asks.
I moan. “Yes.”
“Hold onto something,” he warns me, and then he starts moving.
I swear, the ground shakes and shudders beneath me as pleasure swamps me. If he weren’t holding me steady, supporting my weight, I’m sure I’d end up sitting bare-assed on the floor.
He maintains a steady, rocking rhythm, and somehow he’s hitting my sweet spot just right. When his fingers slip in front of me to tease my clit, I see stars. My entire body shudders, and with an embarrassingly loud wail, I come in a wild rush, please swamping me.
He keeps up a steady rhythm, his thrusts long and hard, matching his heavy breaths on my back. With a groan, he quickens his pace, and then he bucks into me with a shudder, his loud roar filling the cabin.
“You slay me, woman,” he says.
After disposing of the condom, he scoops me up into his arms and carries me to the bedroom. “If you think once is enough, you have another think coming, love.”
