by Erin Marsh
Clay cared about the kid. He didn’t want him hurt and alone. He also didn’t want to see him sent to a juvenile detention center, which was where he’d been headed before Clay had agreed to be his guardian. Getting into trouble on federal land could send Zach into lockup. And Clay didn’t think it would scare Zach straight—not with the Stevens contrariness running through him. Prison had only introduced Clay’s brother to harder drugs and shadier criminal connections.
The staccato ring of Clay’s phone broke his reverie. Seeing Zach’s number, he immediately answered. “Where the hell are you?”
The phone crackled. No surprise. It was a miracle either of them had reception. Although he couldn’t make out Zach’s words, the high note of panic in his voice slammed into Clay with the force of a charging longhorn. In the past year, he’d heard his nephew angry, defiant, sullen, and sarcastic. He’d never heard him scared.
“Need…your…help.”
At Zach’s plea, Clay’s heart jumped like a bull with his testicles in a cinch. His nephew went out of his way to prove he didn’t require any assistance, especially from Clay.
Picking up his pace, Clay spoke into the phone. “I’m already on my way, Zach.”
“Should…I…move?” Zach’s words were barely audible over the static.
“No, stay put. I’ve got your GPS coordinates.”
“No…her.”
Worry thudded through Clay. What trouble had Zach gotten into now? Clay broke into a run. He wasn’t the soccer star his brother had been, but he kept in shape. His ranch hands complained that Clay stayed behind a desk all day, but it was far from the truth. Technology would never replace blood and sweat, at least not on a spread like his. It wouldn’t matter, though, if he slept and ate in the saddle. He would always be the pampered screwup from New York whose daddy had swindled the whole town.
Breathing hard, he crested a hill and skidded to a stop. His nephew, with tears streaking down his face, was frantically digging at a pile of dirt and rocks. Clay skidded into the basin, sending dust flying.
His nephew looked up and wiped his nose against his sleeve. “She was trying to save the wolf pups. I didn’t know they were in there. I swear. I’m sorry.”
Clay didn’t think he’d ever heard Zach speak this much. The boy had perfected the monosyllabic answer. After months of wishing for one, just one conversation with his nephew, Clay had no idea how to respond. He made a shitty role model for a kid, but unfortunately, he was all Zach had.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Clay suggested as he scanned the dirt mound. He was afraid to start moving anything before he understood exactly how this had happened.
“Me and—” His nephew stopped himself. Even now, the kid stuck to the bro code. As much as it irritated Clay, he had to give the kid credit. He didn’t rat out his friends. Clay’s father had squealed louder than a hog in a greased-pig contest when his pyramid scheme had crumbled.
“My friends,” Zach continued, “and I camped on top of a wolf den and caused it to collapse. A lady spotted our fire and yelled for us to move, but it was too late. She went inside the cave to save the pups, and she’d just rescued the last two when the whole thing fell. I managed to dig out the little guys. They seem okay, but I haven’t reached the woman yet. When I’ve called out to her, she’s moaned in response. I swear we didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”
Every organ inside Clay shriveled up. “Was she petite with long chestnut hair and brown eyes? All energy?”
“Yeah,” Zach said.
Clay closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. Ah, hell. If his nephew had just injured the town’s darling, Lacey Montgomery, no one could protect him or Clay from the rain of hellfire that would fall on both their heads.
A low groan emanated from the rock pile, and it was the most beautiful sound Clay had ever heard. Zach grabbed his arm—the first time the kid had voluntarily touched him. “Did you hear that? We’ve got to get her out!”
Clay clasped his nephew’s shoulder before Zach could launch himself at the mound. “We need to be careful. I don’t want more rocks falling.”
“Crap!” Zach said. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Did you call 911 or the park services?” Clay asked as he inspected the dirt pile.
Zach nodded as he rubbed his hands up and down his upper arms. The kid did that a lot when he was upset and he thought no one was watching. Clay hadn’t let on that he knew about the habit.
“How far out are they?” Clay crouched lower, tilting his head. Most of the tunnel lay in the hillside, and he couldn’t judge its structural soundness.
“Twenty to thirty minutes.”
Another groan, louder now. Clay crouched down on the ground. He didn’t know if she could hear him, but just in case, he said, “Hey, we’re going to get you out of there as soon as we can.”
No response. Instead, he heard the last thing he wanted: the shifting and settling of more dirt. Fuck.
“What do we do?” Zach asked, his teenage voice cracking with panic.
“We get her out now.” Clay began to move the rocks and dirt from the top first. He worked as quickly as he could without upsetting the delicate balance. Sweat dripped between his shoulder blades, and not just from exertion. This was worse than turning a breeched calf.
For once, Zach listened. He helped only when Clay asked, and he didn’t protest at the heavy job. The kid had character after all—that, Clay had never doubted. He just didn’t know how to get through all the surly layers the kid had wrapped around himself. Not that Clay would have a chance much longer to form a connection with Zach. The kid was so deep in trouble, Clay had no idea how to pull him out of it. After this stunt, the boy was no doubt headed straight to juvenile detention.
* * *
The suffocating haze hit as Lacey slowly regained consciousness. A fog had settled over her mind like a thick, overly warm blanket. Her eyes flew open, but darkness greeted her. Now panicked, she began to thrash. The movement caused a spinning sensation, and she gasped. Clawing at the dirt, she tried to stop her fall, until she realized she wasn’t tumbling anywhere. Only her brain was spiraling in an unstoppable whirl.
“Easy there,” a voice said. Calm. Solid. It was a voice a man would use to steady a skittish horse. Normally, the tone would only rile Lacey, but the competency soothed her.
“My nephew and I are working to free you,” her faceless rescuer continued.
Memories came back in flashes. The reckless teenagers. The falling rocks. The lobo pups.
“Wolves…” she managed weakly. She would have said more, but her energy had ebbed. The buzzing in her head had grown more insistent—like swarms of angry bees and hornets. She felt herself slipping back into unconsciousness, but she fought against it.
“Zach already dug them out. All four are happily snuggled in his jacket,” the voice promised. A crack of light appeared. Then another. It hurt, but Lacey didn’t close her eyes against it. Sunlight meant hope.
“I’m going to move you now,” the voice said. “I’d rather wait for a ranger, but there’s enough of the rock pile left that it could collapse again.”
“Okay,” Lacey murmured. She was having trouble thinking. Her thoughts flashed in and out of her brain like fireflies. She’d barely begin to process them before they vanished.
Strong arms wrapped around her. Gently, slowly, her rescuer lifted her, turning her cautiously in his arms. Despite his carefulness, her stomach pitched dangerously. She lifted a shaking hand to her lips and pressed it there. Her head ached and throbbed. Forcing her eyes opened, she stared at the man who’d pulled her from the rubble.
He stood directly in front of the afternoon sun. Light washed over him, illuminating his wavy blond hair like a halo. His blue-green eyes stared down at her, worried. A small line appeared above the bridge of his nose, marring the otherwise perfec
tion of his face. Faint golden stubble glistened over high cheekbones balanced by a strong jaw. Something jingled in the back of Lacey’s mind. A warning, maybe. But her brain was too exhausted to listen.
She reached for that male beauty, her hand resting against the man’s temple. His skin felt warm, his five-o’clock shadow scratchy against her fingertips. A peaceful sensation—both delightful and calming—whispered through her. Her lips curled into a smile, and his aquamarine eyes widened.
“My angel,” she whispered.
Then as pricks of gray and black dots scattered over her vision, she frowned. Something didn’t feel quite right about that. Her hand fell limply away, but even as his image blurred, she focused on him.
“No,” she breathed, “not angel. Devil. Handsome devil.”
Then she collapsed back into the churning sea of black and gray, letting its inky waves take her under.
* * *
Next to him, Clay heard his nephew snicker. Clay shot him a dirty look, but that didn’t dampen the boy’s amusement. Instead, he only sniggered harder. “I think she had it right the second time.”
“Har har,” Clay replied drily. “Since I’m helping save your ass and hers, you might want to reconsider.”
Zach responded with a shit-eating grin, which Clay supposed was an improvement over his normal scowls. Since they’d successfully pulled Lacey from the collapsed tunnel, the kid had gone practically giddy with relief.
Clay wished he had the same reaction, but all he could feel was the memory of Lacey’s soft hand against his face, her touch both innocent and searing. It was as if she’d branded him, his skin remembering the shape of her surprisingly delicate fingers as they’d cupped his cheek.
Eager to put the woman down, Clay glanced around the barren landscape dotted only with pinyon pines, sagebrush, and a few other hardy plants. He glanced at his nephew. “Is there anything at the campsite we could use for padding so she’s not lying on the ground?”
His nephew’s smirk vanished. Without further comment, Zach gingerly climbed back to the illegal fire circle to collect the sleeping bags. The teenager clearly moved as fast as he could without triggering another landslide. When he returned, he bent to arrange the material into a semblance of a bed.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Zach asked as he concentrated on the task.
Clay nodded, not quite able to glance away from Lacey. “Yeah, kid, I do. She took a hard hit to her head, but she seemed lucid enough.”
Zach snorted as he tested the nest of sleeping bags, pushing down to confirm he’d created enough cushion without making it lumpy. “She called you an angel.”
“Momentary lapse in judgment,” Clay responded, trying to ignore the alien softness creeping through his heart at the memory. No one had ever looked at Clay quite like that. With wonder. Sure, he’d inspired his share of appreciative glances, but he’d never been regarded as some kind of hero before. And hell if it hadn’t done something to him.
But Lacey had recognized him quickly enough despite her obvious confusion. It hadn’t taken long for her eyes to narrow into a more familiar look. He’d seen it on the faces of his teachers, the good folks of Sagebrush Flats, his own parents, and the women he hooked up with. Being called a devil wasn’t new. He was used to being the bad boy—even if he hadn’t really been one in years. But he felt…something, maybe even a slight twinge of loss, when Lacey’s expression changed from gratitude to irritation. Which was all sorts of fucked up. He didn’t even like the woman.
“I think you can lay her down now,” Zach said, finally finishing fiddling with the sleeping bags. Clay hadn’t missed how carefully his nephew had arranged the makeshift bed. The kid was definitely feeling guilty about his role in Lacey’s injury.
Clay bent and slowly lowered Lacey onto the nest of material. She instinctually burrowed into the pile of sleeping bags. Straightening, he stood back and shoved his hand into his hair, knocking his cowboy hat backward. He’d never noticed how petite Lacey Montgomery really was. Of course, it was probably because she normally was as angry as a wet street cat in his presence—all snarls and unsheathed claws. Her energy and fire made her seem larger than her five-foot-three frame.
And that wasn’t all Clay had overlooked. She had surprisingly delicate, pixie-like features: Cupid’s-bow mouth, perfectly arched eyebrows, and a slightly upturned nose with a smattering of freckles across the bridge. The faint brown specks dusted her cheekbones too. She had a girl-next-door appeal—not his usual type. He’d always gone for the bombshell—perfectly applied makeup, clothes that looked tailored to their form, and heels a mile high.
None of that was fresh-scrubbed Lacey Montgomery. Hell, he didn’t even know if Lacey bothered with cosmetics. He’d never seen her in anything but jeans or her dark-green ranger’s uniform. She always scraped her chestnut locks into a no-nonsense ponytail, which fit with her intensity. Whenever she got particularly pissed off, her hair seemed to bounce in sympathetic outrage.
But Lacey was still now. And even though Clay knew she was a capable woman, he couldn’t stop an odd rush of tenderness. It wasn’t just because she looked fragile lying on the ground or that he’d just pulled her from a collapsed tunnel. It was how she’d reached for him, touched him. No one had ever seen him as a protector, and hell if a part of him didn’t like the role. Not that he’d ever admit it.
“I think the baby wolves are going to be okay,” Zach said. His adrenaline was apparently still making him unusually chatty. “The two pups that were in her hands when the tunnel collapsed got a little banged up, but they seem okay.”
Clay glanced over at the adorable bundle of sleeping wolves. Oblivious to the danger they’d just survived, they slumbered peacefully together on Zach’s gray hoodie.
“Good,” Clay said. He might not want to see the apex predators running free on his property, but it didn’t mean he wanted them to suffer. They belonged in zoos, especially this subspecies. Mexican wolves weren’t native to the area but to the south of Sagebrush Flats. Yes, they were more critically endangered than other gray wolves, but they didn’t belong here, no matter what Lacey Montgomery thought.
Before Clay could answer, he heard the tread of footsteps and the slide of rocks and pebbles. Turning, he saw a male ranger quickly make his way down the hillside. The guy skidded a few feet to the bottom. His expression flattened as he scanned the scene. Out of the corner of his eye, Clay saw his nephew rub his upper arms. At least the kid had some respect for the trouble he was in…for once. Clay fought his own wave of uneasiness as he straightened to face the newcomer.
“We managed to get Ranger Montgomery out of the collapsed tunnel.” Clay kept his hands against his thighs and spoke in a relaxed tone. He had no idea how much the federal police officer knew, but the man’s expression had turned especially stony when he’d caught sight of him. Zach probably hadn’t been speaking too clearly when he’d called the station, and Clay didn’t know how great the connection had been. Regardless, the situation didn’t look good for either Clay or Zach. They were two Stevenses surrounded by an unconscious national park ranger and rescued pups. Yeah, they were screwed.
Chapter 2
“That’s not me,” Zach shouted, springing from his seat in the interrogation room. The teen had spent most of the interview slumped in his chair, his arms crossed, his face closed off. If his eyes hadn’t been open, Clay might have started to wonder if the kid had fallen asleep. But as soon as Officer McPherson had shown them a photo of a teenager slipping beer under his sweatshirt at a local convenience store, Zach had bobbed to attention faster than a prairie dog spotting a hawk circling overhead.
He swung his gaze toward Clay, his blue eyes beseeching. “I swear that isn’t me.” Zach might be sullen and difficult, but he never lied. If he’d done it, he’d be staring down at the ground, his eyes blank blue pools of stubborn defiance.
Officer McPherson sta
bbed his finger at the tall, lanky teenager in the photo. “That’s your hoodie, isn’t it? According to the park police, it matches the description of what you were wearing that day.”
“It’s a gray hoodie.” Clay said as he exchanged a look with Zach’s public defender, Marisol Lopez. Hell, probably every teenage boy in town owned one.
“Yes. The same color your nephew was wearing when he harassed an endangered species in a national park.”
Marisol leaned forward in her seat. “With all due respect, what happened in Rocky Ridge National Park is not part of your jurisdiction, Officer McPherson.”
“Yes, but an underage minor stealing alcohol in town is.” The policeman tapped the grainy photo with undisguised glee.
Clay wondered how much effort the man had expended to track down the image. There weren’t too many stores in Sagebrush Flats that sold beer, but there were enough to make the task hard. But with the town’s low criminal activity, the force had time on its hands, and the officer nursed a personal grudge against the Stevens family. He’d lost big in Clay’s father’s investment scheme. Clay had overheard the man complain that he would have retired five years ago if he hadn’t been swindled.
“That’s not me!” Zach protested again.
Clay settled back into the uncomfortable plastic chair. He needed to appear calm even if he felt like a heifer trapped in a box canyon during a stampede. “All you have is a photo of a kid in a nondescript gray hoodie. You can’t see the teen’s face.”
Officer McPherson’s smile dropped into an unyielding line. “This was taken three hours before the attack on the wolf pups. The alcohol being stolen is the same as what showed up at the scene. When your nephew was arrested by the park police, he was wearing an outfit identical to the shoplifter’s. Now, if Zach could give us another name…”
Marisol turned toward the teenager. “You should tell the officer who else was with you. We’ve talked about this.”
“I’m not a narc.” Zach shifted his gaze toward the ground as he squeaked the tip of his sneaker against the floor.