Search and Rescue by April Wilson

Chapter 9

Hannah McIntyre

I lie back on the bed and close my eyes, unsure what to think. Killian’s here, risking his own life for me when I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him.

I listen to him moving about the small cabin as he takes off his outer gear and hangs it up. He pours water into a kettle and sets it on the stove to boil. The stove is relatively small, but it’s putting out a good amount of heat. I already feel warmer.

He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls two small pouches out of his pack. “Pot roast or chicken and rice? Take your choice.”

It takes me a minute to realize he’s holding up pouches of freeze-dried food. “Either is fine. Thank you.”

“I think you’re a pot roast kind of girl,” he says as he opens one of the packs. He carries it to the woodstove and picks up the kettle, which is whistling now, and pours water into the bag. Then he closes the bag and lets it sit for a few minutes. “Won’t be long now,” he says as he digs around in his pack and pulls out a set of stainless-steel cutlery wrapped in plastic. “Dinner is served.”

While I eat, he heats up the other pouch for himself and wolfs it down. Then he locates a bottle of over-the-counter pain medication and sets it on the little table by the bed.

There’s a noise outside the door, like boots stomping on the wooden porch, and I freeze.

Killian drops what he’s doing, grabs his handgun, and moves to the small window overlooking the front of the cabin to peer outside. The tension in his body immediately eases. “It’s Owen and Maggie.”

There’s a knock on the door, then a man’s deep voice says, “Killian.”

Killian opens the door, and two snow-covered figures come inside.

“Hannah!” Maggie rushes toward me.

“Wait,” Killian says as he bars the door. “Take off your wet gear first. I’m just now getting her thawed out.”

Maggie pulls off her knit hat, then her gloves, and finally her coat. She hangs everything up on hooks near the kitchen and returns to the bed to sink down on the mattress. Her expression falls as she gets a good look at me. “Oh, Hannah. Your poor face.”

“I’m all right,” I say as I try to sit up.

“No, don’t,” Killian says as he picks up my discarded meal and pokes around inside the bag with my fork. “You missed some,” he says. “You need to eat it all.”

“I can’t eat lying down.” I slowly and painfully push myself into an upright position, grimacing at the pain in both my ankle and arm.

Maggie arranges two pillows behind me so I can lean against the headboard. After she helps me settle into place, she brushes my hair back, careful not to touch the goose egg on my temple or the cuts on my face. “You poor thing. Is that better?”

I nod. “Thanks.” Not really. Everything hurts.

Killian hands me a fork and the pouch of food, which is still quite warm to the touch. “You need to finish it. Sorry, but you’ll have to make do without any seasonings. We don’t even have salt or pepper. When we get out of here, I’ll cook you a proper meal.”

I catch Maggie eyeing Killian with a curious smile on her face. “You cook?” I ask him, surprised.

He nods. “I do. Ma mère made sure I knew how to feed myself.” At the look of confusion on Maggie’s face, he says, “My mother.”

“Oh, right. It’s French.” Maggie winks at me. “He speaks French.”

Killian nods. “I was raised in a French-speaking household. I didn’t speak a lick of English until I started grade school.”

“You got any more of those MREs?” the other man asks. He nods toward Maggie, who’s undoubtedly hungry too.

Killian motions toward his pack. “Help yourself. There’s plenty for both of you.”

Owen digs around inside Killian’s pack and pulls out several pouches. “We’ve got chicken and rice, penne with marinara sauce, and chili mac. What’ll you have?”

“I’ll have the penne,” Maggie says, smiling at Owen before she turns to me, speaking volumes with her eyes.

I take a moment to get a good look at Owen Ramsey. He’s a big guy, like Killian, with a broad chest and huge biceps. He has blue eyes, long ash-blond hair tied up in a bun, and a full beard. From the efficient way he moves—with purpose—I imagine he’s former military as well.

I don’t know him, but I do know that he was there in Tennessee when Sophie and Dominic were attacked by a mafia hit squad that had come down from Chicago to find them. My sister and her future husband were vastly outgunned, and Owen likely saved their lives.

Owen makes up Maggie’s pasta and hands it to her, along with a fork. Then he pulls on his hat and heads for the door. “I’ll do rounds,” he says to Killian.

Killian nods.

“Don’t you want to eat something first?” Maggie asks Owen as he unbars the wooden door.

Owen shakes his head. “No, ma’am. I’m fine. I’ll patrol. The poachers are still out there, so we need to be on alert.”

Owen closes the door behind him, and Killian bars it shut.

“Do you know anything about first aid?” Killian asks Maggie.

She laughs as she mixes her pasta and sauce and sets it aside to rehydrate. “I have two teenage boys. I invented first aid.”

“Good. I’m going out to find some wood we can use to splint Hannah’s ankle. If you could wash her face and apply antiseptic, that would be great.” He drops a first-aid kit on the bed.

Maggie salutes Killian. “Yes, sir.”

As Killian bites back a grin, his gaze drifts to me. “I won’t go far. Yell if you need me. I’ll hear you.” And then to Maggie, he says, “Make sure she finishes her food and takes some of that pain medication there on the table. And bar the door behind me.”

Once he’s outside, Maggie jumps up to secure the door. Then she returns to sit with me and lays a gentle hand on my thigh. “I was so worried when we couldn’t find you last night. What happened?”

“I inadvertently stumbled upon a couple of poachers up on Eagle Ridge. I think they were scoping out Betty’s nest. One of them got the jump on me, knocked me unconscious, then tied me to a tree. The bastards took my gun and my knife. I was able to escape, but in the process I fell into the ravine.” I glance down at my left foot. “My ankle’s probably broken, and—” I turn to show her my right bicep “—they grazed my arm.”

“Oh, my god, they shot at you?”

“Yeah, I think that was the goal. They wanted to kill me.”

Maggie pales. “And they’re still out there?”

“We think so. I saw their faces, Maggie. I can identify them. They’re not going to just give up.”

“And the guys are out there, walking around in the dark as if nothing’s wrong.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “Spare me. I’ve never been around so much testosterone in my life.”

I laugh, despite the pain it causes. “Yeah, they’re something, aren’t they? And you met my brother Jake, too, right?”

“I did. Tell me again why you wanted to leave Chicago?”

“Oh, god, please don’t make me laugh. It hurts too much.”

“I’m sorry. None of this is funny.” Maggie grabs the first-aid kit and pulls out gauze and antiseptic solution and starts gently dabbing at my face.

“I’m so sorry,” she says when I flinch. “I’m trying to be gentle.”

“It’s okay.”

When she’s done cleaning my face and applies a bandage to the worst of the cuts, I tell her to eat her food.

She takes a bite of her pasta and makes a face. “I’d kill for some spicy Italian sausage to go with my pasta, but some salt definitely wouldn’t hurt.”

“Me too.” But in all honesty, the food’s really not that bad. And it’s hot, which is a blessing. “Kudos to Killian for bringing food.”

“He’s quite the Boy Scout.” Maggie levels her gaze on me. “You didn’t tell me he was so fucking hot.”

“Who, Killian? Yes, I did.”

“You said he was hot, sure. But you didn’t say he was panty-melting, mind-blowingly hot. And his friend Owen? Oh, my god.”

I try not to laugh, because it hurts, and end up gritting my teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie says, patting my hip. “I shouldn’t make you laugh.” She takes another bite of her pasta and makes a face as she swallows. “How are you feeling?”

“Like crap.” I pop two pain pills and swallow them down with a bite of food. “My arm wound is just a graze—it’ll heal. The cuts on my face will heal. I just hope my ankle’s not broken. That would really suck because I can’t do my job if I’m hobbling around on crutches for six weeks.”

Maggie gingerly uncovers my ankle and studies it. “It’s swollen and bruised, but at least no bones are sticking out.”

When she touches my ankle lightly, I flinch. “Gee, thanks for the visual.”

“Sorry. I’m just saying, there’s no obvious sign that it’s broken, so keep thinking positively that it’s just sprained.”

When a strong gust of wind rattles the glass panes in the window, we both jump.

“Do you think they’re still out there?” Maggie asks.

Of course she means the poachers. “I’m not sure. They were following the ravine down the mountain for a while, and we heard gunshots occasionally. I hope they gave up because of the weather.”

“At least we have armed guards,” she says, nodding toward the door.

“Yeah, but I hate for them to be out there in this weather.”

There’s a brisk knock on the door, followed by Killian’s voice. “It’s me, Maggie. Open up.”

Maggie lets Killian in. “Any sign of the poachers?”

“I heard gunshots way off in the distance. Could be them. But don’t worry. Owen’s patrolling the perimeter as we speak. They won’t be able to sneak up on us.”

He’s carrying two flat sections of tree bark, both about eight inches long and two inches wide. “These should do the trick,” he says as he lays them down at the foot of the bed. He pulls a roll of tape from the first-aid kit.

“Hold these, please,” Killian says to Maggie as he positions the two pieces of bark on either side of my ankle. While she holds the splints in place, Killian tapes them tightly. “How does that feel?” he asks me when he’s done.

I try moving my leg just a bit. It hurts, yes, but not nearly as bad now that my ankle is stabilized. “That’s better.”

“How much better?” he asks. “How’s your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

“It went from an excruciating ten to a six.”

He nods. “Good. Did you eat your food? All of it?”

“Every bite.”

He eyes the bottle of pain medication sitting on the nightstand. “And you took your pain meds?”

“Yes, mom.”

He arches his brow at me. “I am definitely not your mother.” Then he grabs my empty water bottle from my pack and fills it with water from the kettle, which has cooled off quite a bit. “Drink this. I just wish I had some antibiotics on me. That’s what you really need.”

Killian fills his own water bottle, then asks Maggie if she brought one in her pack. “Everybody, drink up.”

“What about Owen?” Maggie asks. “He didn’t eat anything.”

“He has protein bars on him and a water bottle. He’ll be fine.”

Maggie drifts over to the window and peers outside at the falling snow. “I can’t see anything beyond the porch. Shouldn’t we check on him?”

Killian chuckles. “We don’t need to check on Owen, trust me. Quite the opposite. He periodically checks on us.”

Maggie pulls her winter coat tight around her and takes a seat in the rocking chair by the window. Killian adds more wood to the stove and covers me with the wool blanket. Then he sits at the table, positioning his chair so that he can watch both the door and me at the same time. It’s pitch black outside, so I figure it must be late evening.

“I spoke to Jake via radio a little while ago,” Killian tells me. “He’s got an emergency medical team prepared to come up here and evac you in the morning, as soon as the snow lets up.”

“If they can get up that ravine,” Maggie says as she glances at the window. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s over two feet of snow on the ground now. Navigating the ravine in the morning is going to be a nightmare.”

“Jake’ll figure something out,” Killian says. He picks up his handgun, checks the magazine, and then lays his gun on the table within easy reach. “Our job is to stay put and keep Hannah warm, fed, and hydrated.”

I watch Maggie as she stares out the window, concern written all over her face.

“Are you worried about Riley and Brendan?” I ask her.

Maggie shakes her head. “Ruth is staying with them tonight. They’ll be fine. And they’ve got Scout to keep them occupied.” She peers out the window. “Stupid man. I don’t know why he thinks he has to stay outside all night. It’s freezing out there.”

“He’s fine, Maggie,” Killian says. “Stop worrying. No one will be able to sneak up on us in the night with Owen keeping watch.”

“You could take turns with him, give him a break,” she says.

Killian shakes his head as he looks my way. “I’m not leaving Hannah.”

He says that with such finality, I feel a shiver ripple down my spine, and I don’t think it’s because of the cold.

Killian’s here.

He came for me.

He comes over and lays his hand on my forehead. “You still have a fever.” He frowns as he lowers the light on the oil lamp. “Try to sleep, love.”

My chest tightens at the comforting sound of his deep voice. I hate having to rely on anyone, but right now, he’s exactly who I need.