Search and Rescue by April Wilson
Chapter 8
Killian Devereaux
She’s alive, and she’s going to be okay. That’s what keeps repeating in my head. She’s alive. And as for the bastards who hurt her, I’ll deal with them when the time comes.
I have other things to worry about at the moment. The weather conditions are deteriorating rapidly, and there’s no way we’ll make it off this mountain before the poachers catch up to us. Occasionally, the wind carries their voices down to us, and we’ve heard a few more random gunshots. I’m not sure if they’re firing blindly into the ravine hoping to hit something or simply trying to scare Hannah. Probably the latter since visibility is practically nil.
Hannah is injured pretty badly—I’m guessing her ankle is broken. I need to sanitize her gunshot wound and wrap it, and I need to splint her ankle until we can get her to a hospital. She’s probably dehydrated and definitely underdressed for this weather. And to top it off, she probably has a concussion. She needs rest, hot food, and water—and she needs not to be traipsing around on a mountain in a snowstorm.
I move as carefully as I can, focusing on planting my boots on steady ground. The ravine is littered with rocks and fallen logs, as well as roots. The last thing I want to do is stumble and risk dropping her. She’s holding onto me for dear life, her face tucked against my coat, and not saying a word. I know this must be hard for her to deal with. She’s so damn independent, but right now she’s seriously at a disadvantage.
I know one thing—the poachers are moving faster than we are. The shots are getting closer.
It’s another forty minutes or so before I see where the ravine branches off. Part of the ravine continues straight down the mountain—toward the trailhead and the parking lot—and part of it veers off to the south.
“This is our exit,” I mutter as I head south, where the ravine gradually levels out in a valley. When she doesn’t respond, I stop and glance down at her face. “Hannah?”
When there’s still no response, I tip her face up to me. She’s out cold. My heart catches in my throat when I see blood on her lips, the bitemarks obvious. Damn it. She’s been biting her lips to keep from crying out. As careful as I’ve tried to be, this rough terrain has got to be jarring for her. “Jesus, love. I’m sorry.”
She never complained once, the stubborn, hard-headed fool.
As carefully as I can, I set off once more, following the stream that runs through the valley. If there’s a hunter’s shack, it’ll be near the stream. I just hope I’ll be able to find it in this storm. The snow is coming down in blankets.
Gradually, the valley widens and levels out, making the going a bit easier. I follow the small stream south, hoping it’s not too far to the shack. She said it was about a mile. I don’t know what to expect, but I doubt it’s five-star lodging. Right now, I’ll settle for anything that gets us out of this bitter cold wind and snow.
“Hang in there,” I murmur, tipping my head down to hers. I brush the top of her head with my nose. “It won’t be long now.” God, at least I hope not.
My arm muscles ache, and my back is killing me. Carrying this much weight in front of me is hard. I’m front heavy, as our two packs on my back don’t weigh nearly as much as she does. Still, I trudge on. I’ll keep going no matter what.
Fortunately, I haven’t heard any sounds coming from behind us in the last twenty minutes or so. No voices, no gunshots. My hope is that they won’t think to follow this branch of the ravine.
Almost an hour later, I come across the shack. It’s exactly that, little more than a woodshed with a rickety door hanging loosely on rusted hinges, one small, dirty window pane, and a potbelly woodstove with a smokestack rising straight up through the roof.
I lay Hannah and our packs on the rickety porch, withdraw a flashlight and my 9mm, and open the door, revealing a small one-room cabin.
I do a quick sweep of the space to make sure it’s empty—it is, thank god. No squatters, no vermin. I was prepared for anything—human, mountain lion, raccoons, a brown bear. But there’s nothing here, and it doesn’t look like it’s been occupied in a while. The wood floor is littered with dirt and leaves, and the bed doesn’t look much better. Besides the bed and the pot-belly stove, there’s a small rocking chair in front of the only window. Across the room, by a rudimentary kitchen, is a wooden table with four chairs.
After quickly checking the bed for vermin, I lay Hannah on the mattress and bring our packs in and set them on the floor beside the bed. She’s still out cold. I take a moment to check her pulse and respiration rate—both stable. She’s shivering, though, despite having a fever.
What she needs most right now is heat—we need a fire in the woodstove. At the foot of the bed is a folded sheet and a dingy wool blanket. They’ll have to do. I shake them both out to check for anything crawling around and cover her before I head outside to find firewood. Hopefully, there’s a ready supply nearby, otherwise I’ll be hunting for wood.
Armed with my handgun, I grab the radio and carry it outside with me. Pressing the mic button, I say, “Owen, do you copy?”
The line screeches, and then Maggie’s voice comes online. “Killian, it’s Maggie. How’s she doing?”
I smile but refrain from laughing. Of course it’s Maggie on the line. Who else would it be? “She’s been unconscious for a while now, probably from a combination of the cold and pain. I’m gathering wood for a fire now. How far out are you guys?”
“We made the turn toward the valley, so we’re not too far from you. We should be there in twenty minutes.”
Owen comes online. “How defensible is this shack?”
“It’s not. A strong wind could blow it over.”
“Any sign of the poachers?”
“Not for the past hour or so. I’m hoping they gave up.”
“We heard a couple of shots coming from up the mountain, so don’t rule them out,” he says. “We’ll be there soon. Over and out.”
According to my watch, it’s late afternoon, but the sky is already so dark that it seems much later.
I make a quick circuit around the shack and find seasoned firewood stacked beneath a tarp about twenty yards from the structure. Fortunately, the wood is dry. I grab an armful, along with some kindling, and head back inside.
Hannah’s still out cold—and that worries me.
But first things first.
A fire.
She needs to warm up.
After throwing some dry kindling into the stove, I retrieve my lighter from my pack and ignite the twigs. I coax the flames until they catch enough that I can add some small logs.
There’s an oil lantern sitting on a bedside table, and I find a supply of oil in a small cupboard in the kitchen area, if you can call it that. Once I light the lamp, I do a more thorough investigation of the cabin.
It’s pretty bare bones, with just the one room. There’s a rustic countertop with a sink, but no running water. Instead, I find an empty bucket and a ladle. The few hooks on the wall are bare. There’s no bathroom, but I do find a portable potty chair in the only closet, along with a broom and dustpan. Maybe there’s an outhouse somewhere outside.
I’m all for roughing it—and if it were just me, these accommodations would be fine. But Hannah needs more than this. We need to get emergency services up here as quickly as the weather will allow so we can transport her to the nearest hospital.
Once the fire is well underway, I take a seat on the bed beside her sleeping form. Already, I can feel warm air wafting up from the top of the woodstove, where an old kettle sits. I’ll fetch some water from the stream shortly and boil it so I can use it to clean her wounds and make her something to eat. I brought some freeze-dried rations with me, so a hot meal is on the menu.
Gently, I brush the tangled strands of hair back from her hot face. “Hannah? Can you hear me, love?”
Her poor face is so battered I almost don’t recognize her. Fury wells up inside me. I can’t believe someone would do this to her—to anyone. One way or another, I’m going to track down those motherfuckers. Part of me hopes they do catch up to us, so I can deal with them myself.
Now that she’s safe, and the shack is starting to warm up, it’s time to get her out of her wet clothes. I remove her knit hat and unzip her coat. There’s no sign of any gloves—she must have lost them at some point. I check her fingers for signs of frostbite—it’s a miracle I don’t see any damage.
She cries out restlessly as I try to pull off her right sleeve. Fresh blood is oozing from the gunshot wound, so I work slowly and carefully. Once her jacket’s off, I take a quick look at the nasty gouge in her arm. The flesh is a jagged bloody mess revealing some muscle, and anger floods me once more. I’m going to kill the bastards if it’s the last thing I do.
I do my best to tamp down my emotions as I continue my rough triage. Using a pair of scissors from my pack, I cut off the bottom portion of the left leg of her cargo pants to get access to her ankle. It’s horribly swollen, the skin an angry shade of red, but fortunately, there’s no puncture wound and no bones are sticking out. My guess is it’s broken, but we won’t know for sure until we get her to a hospital. Gently, I attempt to rotate her ankle, but the joint’s not cooperating at all.
Her eyes flash open, and she sits up and screams.
I grab her shoulders and try to hold her still. “Hannah! It’s okay. You’re safe.”
When she stares at me with wild eyes, her face flushed from fever, I give her a little shake. “Hannah, look at me.”
It takes a moment before recognition settles in. “Killian? Are you really here?”
“Yeah, love. It’s me.”
“You came for me,” she says as if she can’t believe it.
A knot forms in my throat. Hell yes, I came for her. “Of course I did.” I gently brush her hair back from her hot forehead. “Lie back down, please.”
She lets me lower her to the mattress, her gaze locked on me.
I grab my pack and pull out the first aid kit. “I’ll treat your injuries as best I can with what I’ve got. We’ll get a medical transport up here as soon as the weather breaks.”
Her brow wrinkles in confusion. “We?”
“Yeah. Jake’s here, remember, and so is Owen Ramsey—he’s a friend of Dominic’s.”
She doesn’t know Owen, but her eyes widen at the mention of her brother. “Jake’s here?”
I told her he was here, but she doesn’t remember. “He’s in town, coordinating with the sheriff’s office and the medics. Owen and Maggie are on their way up here. They should be here soon.”
Hannah slumps back onto the mattress as if she’s expended what little reserve of energy she had left. Tears flood her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
Gently, I cup her face, careful not to touch any of the cuts and bruises. “Where else would I be? You think I’d let you be out there all alone and hurting? Over my dead body.”
She looks away, guilt written plain as day on her poor battered face.
I can guess what she’s thinking. She’s kept me at arm’s length since we first met last summer at the baby shower for Shane’s son, Luke. I’ve seen her a few times since then and tried repeatedly—and failed—to connect with her.
It’s not you, Killian, she told me just a few days ago when I picked her up from the airport on her most recent visit to Chicago. But she wouldn’t say much more than that. She just shut me out.
I can’t help feeling that there’s some real chemistry between us. I’ve seen the way she looks at me when she thinks I can’t see her. I’ve seen flashes of longing—even desire—in her big, beautiful brown eyes. And I’m not ready to give up on her—on the possibility of us.
“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes. I have some dry clothes in my pack.” I dig into my backpack and pull out a clean T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats with a drawstring waistband. “They’ll be too big for you, but you’ll be more comfortable once you’re warm and dry.”
She nods gratefully, but when her eyes meet mine, I see a flash of panic.
“I can help you,” I offer hesitantly. “Or, if you think you can manage it yourself—”
“I can do it,” she says hastily.
“Okay.” I rise from the bed and walk over to the kitchen area, my back turned to give her some privacy. I listen to her huffing and groaning in pain as she wrestles with her wet clothing, which is undoubtedly clinging to her skin and making removal difficult.
“Killian.”
“Yes, love?”
She sighs in defeat. “I need your help.”
I know it’s a blow to her pride to admit she needs help, so I try to be as matter of fact as I can. I undress her quickly, doing my best to avert my gaze. Her shirt comes off first, then her pants. I see a lot of smooth, supple skin and beautiful curves, but I try not to fixate on it.
“My bra, please,” she says, as she leans forward.
I reach behind her and unclasp the straps, letting the garment fall into her lap. Before I’m in any danger of seeing her bare breasts, she pulls the T-shirt I laid out over her head and slips her good arm into the sleeve. I help her with her other arm.
“Lie back now,” I advise. When she does so, I reach up beneath the T-shirt, grip the waistband of her underwear, and slide them down her long legs. Then I hold the sweatpants for her and help her slip them on and pull them up to her waist. I cinch the drawstring to keep them from falling off her.
She lets out a relieved sigh. “Thank you.”
“I’ll need to splint your ankle,” I tell her as I cover her back up again. “It’ll feel better once it’s stabilized. But first, let’s get you some food and something to drink. Then you can take some pain meds.”
I rise from the bed and gather my coat, hat, and gloves, as well as my 9mm, which I tuck into my chest holster. Then I retrieve the empty wooden bucket from the kitchen counter. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to the stream to fetch some water.”
Her eyes follow me to the door, and I swear I see a tinge of panic lurking there.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” I tell her. “The stream is just twenty yards straight out this door.”
She nods and closes her eyes.
For a moment, I stand there at the door, just watching her as I let out a tight breath. Finally, I can allow myself to feel a little bit of relief knowing she’s alive and not in any immediate danger. I’ll keep her safe from here on out, no matter what those assholes try. I’m not leaving her unprotected—not for a second. If they come for her, they’ll be in for a surprise because it’s me they’ll be dealing with.
I unbar the door and push it open. The cold, biting wind sweeps inside, so I rush out and close the door behind me to keep what little heat we have inside the shack.
The snow is still coming down, and visibility is so poor I can’t even make out the stream from the cabin porch, although I can hear the rushing water. Not wanting to leave her alone for long, I race down to the water and fill the bucket and then head back up to the cabin and step inside, barring the door behind me.
She eyes the door with a wary gaze. “They took my gun.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be your gun.”
