Rescued by the Ranger

by Dixie Lee Brown

  “She painted?” So much he didn’t know about his mother—so unfair. Anger at his father began to brew again, and he very carefully stuffed it away for a later date. “May I see?”

  “Of course.” She withdrew a ring of keys from her small handbag, sorted through them quickly, as if it wasn’t her first time, until she found the one she was looking for, and held the ring out to him. “I’m going to stay out here. Take your time.”

  He accepted the keys, and she immediately walked toward an aged boat dock that protruded a few feet into the river. A small aluminum fishing boat with an old Evinrude outboard was moored there. Garrett gave Cowboy a signal to stay with her, and the dog silently trailed along behind. Rachel kicked her shoes off, padded to the end of the dock, sat, and hung her legs over the side just as a flock of wild geese skimmed the water and landed downriver.

  The sky was a brilliant blue, and the sun warmed the otherwise cool mountain air. Garrett was tempted to forget the house and go sit beside her, but one look at the key and he knew he had to see what was waiting there. He turned away from Rachel and Cowboy, striding toward the cabin. A well-worn deck lined the front and held two oversized wooden rocking chairs under a covered porch. Three windows stared blankly back at him.

  The key she’d chosen turned easily in the lock, and he pushed the door open, then hesitated. Stepping across the threshold took more fortitude than he would have imagined.

  The main room was furnished meticulously in an early western motif, much as the lodge had been. A tiny kitchen nook took up one corner toward the back, and a wooden spiral staircase curled its way upward to a loft, which appeared to answer the question of sleeping arrangements. A large stone fireplace was centered along the wall to his left, and a gnarled branch, sanded and lacquered until it shone, formed the mantel. Garrett stared at the pictures lining the shelf.

  He pushed the keys in his pocket and stepped closer. The first one was an image of his mother with Peg in the boat right outside. The beautiful sunny day had been eclipsed by the smile on her face. It eased some of his burden to see that she’d known happiness, but all the more he felt cheated and betrayed.

  Next to that picture were several of him and Luke as toddlers, playing in a large grass-covered yard. There was also one of Rachel, younger than she was now, standing in the snow against a backdrop of trees. A knit scarf partially covered her hair and coiled around her neck, and a mysterious smile curved her lips. Her obvious sweetness tugged at his heart. He laughed quietly, realizing how ticked off she’d be if she knew he’d thought of her that way.

  The next frames practically rocked him back on his heels. Because of who their father was, it had apparently been newsworthy when Garrett joined the army and again when he’d earned his Ranger tab. Same for Luke when he entered the navy. Someone—no doubt his mother—had cut those pictures from a newspaper, framed them, and set them in a place of honor on her mantel. For a few breaths, Garrett was afraid his heart would burst with pride . . . with sorrow . . . with longing for a different ending to their story. He turned away as his eyes misted and his vision blurred.

  Seconds later, he was able to focus on a painting that hung on the opposite wall—an autumn mountain scene with a small herd of elk in the foreground, drinking from a clear stream. Even before he approached close enough to read the artist’s name, he knew it was hers. There were two other paintings in the main room that bore her signature as well—Amanda Williams.

  He found the rest when he climbed the staircase. Leaning against the walls on both sides of the full-sized bed were dozens of his mother’s paintings. They were in various states of completion. Garrett couldn’t help wondering which one she’d been working on in the days before her death.

  Okay. He was getting too sentimental. Enough for one day. Learning about Amanda’s life was the main objective. There was nothing he could change about her death or the fact she’d been ripped from his life when he was too young to stop it. He could have done something later, when he was grown . . . if he’d known. Again, he refused to allow anger to gain the upper hand.

  He jogged down the stairs and headed for the door. Just inside, next to the exit, was a narrow wooden box containing board games, bats and baseballs, Frisbees, and other supplies. Rachel had said they sometimes rented it out now. These games were probably meant to occupy guests after they’d had their fill of hiking and boating. Garrett stopped and snagged a football, turning the grainy leather over in his hands.

  Stepping outside, he squinted toward the dock where he’d seen Rachel last. She was still there, leaning back on her arms, letting the sun bathe her face. Her bare legs beneath her short skirt swung alternately as she dangled her feet just above the water. Looking carefree and oblivious to his presence, she presented a truly enticing picture. He’d definitely like to slide his hands through her thick and silky-looking hair, maybe grabbing a fistful so he could guide her lips to his. Imagining how soft she would feel next to him led to the beginnings of an arousal. He smiled ruefully as he shoved his daydreaming aside.

  Garrett descended the porch steps and stopped, gripping the football with both hands. “Hey, Rach.”

  She turned her head with a curious expression.

  “Go long.” He laughed as he spiraled the ball toward her.

  Rachel came to her feet in one lithe movement, her eyes on the ball. Garrett had planned for it to sail over her head, but at the last second, she jumped into the air and caught it like a pro. Her triumphant laughter carried to him, and he whooped and applauded as she landed on the dock . . . almost. One bare foot only got partial purchase on the wooden planks, and the angle of her landing knocked her off balance. She threw her arms out to catch herself, but it was too late. The oh-shit look on her face was priceless as she toppled over the side. Cowboy barked, ran to the edge, and looked back and forth between them.

  How deep could the water be? Was the current dangerously swift? Did she even know how to swim? All things he should have considered before he threw the ball. Garrett raced to the dock and reached the end just as Rachel made a one-handed grab for the wooden structure.

  “You okay?” He knelt on the edge of the planks, pushed Cowboy out of the way, and grasped her wrist.

  Coughing and sputtering, she brushed her sopping-wet hair out of her face and focused on him. “C-cold.”

  He barely suppressed a grin, so relieved was he that she was all right. “Give me your other hand and I’ll help you out.”

  She thrashed about in the water until she was close enough for him to grip her other wrist. Then he lifted and pulled her toward him, hauling her far enough out of the water that he could enfold her and roll. He ended up on his back with her on top of him, and he was nearly as wet as she was.

  As soon as he stopped moving, she pushed herself off his chest far enough to meet his gaze. He braced himself for the tongue-lashing he figured he had coming, but he wasn’t prepared for the amusement that sparked in her eyes, or the spontaneous laughter that fell from her bluish-colored lips. The dog pushed his nose into her face, clearly confused by her reaction too, and gave her a big lick.

  Garrett laughed then too, until he realized her white cotton shirt was gauze thin and transparent, revealing a tiny scrap of lace, masquerading as a bra, which did nothing to hide her all-too-apparent charms. Worse yet, his body was reacting to her being so close and so damn desirable and, any second, she was sure to notice.

  Rolling her off him, he lunged to his feet and drew her up beside him. “Your teeth are chattering. Let’s get you inside and out of those wet clothes.” He started walking with her hand in his.

  Rachel planted her feet and wouldn’t move.

  Garrett stopped as soon as he felt her unyielding weight and already had an idea what the problem was before he turned to face her. Her impish smile combined with her uncontrollable shaking from the cold made him want to pull her into his arms and employ whatever methods necessary to warm her up. Probably not a good idea under the circumstances. “I did
n’t mean that quite the way it came out.” Although, it didn’t sound half-bad. He forced himself to keep looking at her face and not allow his field of vision to drift farther down. Otherwise she would see through any other assurances he might give her. “Amanda taught me the basics of being a gentleman, and I wouldn’t think of disappointing her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She smiled at that and gave in to the tug of his hand, leaning slightly away from him to scoop up her purse from the dock where she’d been sitting. “Thankfully, my phone was in my bag and didn’t go in the drink with me, so it’s all good.”

  “That’s what I like. A girl who looks for the silver lining. Now all we have to do is find you something to wear while your clothes are drying. I think I saw a dryer in there somewhere.” They climbed the steps, crossed the deck, and he opened the door for her. “Go on in the bathroom and I’ll go upstairs and see if I can find a robe or something.”

  After she disappeared, Cowboy plopped down in front of the closed bathroom door and made no move to follow Garrett to the spiral staircase. Garrett made a face at him. “Traitor.”

  He dashed up the steps and swept his gaze around the room. The small chest of drawers was empty, as was the closet. For a moment, he considered offering Rachel his shirt. She wasn’t likely to be pleased with that solution, not to mention that seeing her in his clothes wouldn’t particularly enhance his gentlemanly behavior. After swinging around twice, his gaze dropped to the bed. The comforter would have to do. He grabbed it, rolling it into a ball, and headed downstairs.

  Garrett nudged Cowboy out of the way and knocked on the bathroom door. When Rachel opened it a crack, he held up the comforter. “Sorry. It’s all I could find.”

  “It’ll work.” She opened the door a little wider so he could shove the comforter through and then pushed it closed.

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced again at the mantel. Then he headed for the door and straight for the dock. The football was probably long gone, having landed in the water the same time Rachel did, but he scoured the bank downstream anyway and was surprised to see the ball caught in an eddy where a patch of tall grass grew close by. After grabbing one of the oars from the boat, he jogged the hundred yards or so and was able to drag the ball to shore without getting more than his feet wet.

  By the time he returned to the cabin, Rachel sat on a love seat in the main room, wrapped from head to toe in the cream-colored comforter. Her cell phone lay on the coffee table beside her. Gorgeous green eyes followed his movements even as twin spheres of red emblazoned her cheeks. Just knowing she had nothing on beneath the comforter set his blood pulsing through his body.

  He tossed the football back in the box and strode to the kitchen nook. Quickly rifling through the cupboards, he took stock of what was available. “How about something warm? Instant coffee or hot chocolate?”

  “Hmm . . . hot chocolate sounds good. I don’t suppose there are any little marshmallows left?”

  Garrett checked the cupboards again. “Afraid you’re out of luck.” He found a teapot, filled it halfway with water, and set it to boil on the gas stove. After spooning hot chocolate mix into two cups, he turned, leaning against the counter, and studied the back of her head as she sat, unmoving, on the love seat.

  What was her secret? She was hiding from someone—he was sure of it. But who . . . and why? The man outside the lodge was obviously a professional. Had someone put out a contract on Rachel? Or was the law looking for the redheaded beauty who exuded innocence as easily as her next breath?

  The teapot started to whistle, and he swung around to turn off the burner, pour water in each cup, and stir. He couldn’t explain his need to know what was clearly so personal to her, except that it was tied to the intense protectiveness she’d unleashed in him. Still, he couldn’t help her unless he knew where the danger was coming from, so he’d make it his business to find out.

  Garrett set her cup on a coaster beside her cell phone and stepped to the other end of the love seat. “Okay if I sit here?”

  “Sure. Thanks for the hot chocolate. This almost makes a dunk in the river worthwhile.” She threaded one arm free of the comforter to reach for her cup and took a sip.

  He set his mug down and gave her an apologetic smile. “Obviously I didn’t mean for you to land in the river.”

  Her laughter was sweet, and his stomach tightened in response. “This isn’t the first time I’ve taken an unexpected dip in that exact spot, and it probably won’t be the last.” She turned sideways and pulled her legs up underneath her. “Jonathan always tells me I’m a klutz.”

  “Not this time. This one’s on me. I shouldn’t have thrown that ball. I don’t really know why I did, except . . . I was so overwhelmed with everything of my mother’s in here . . . I guess I just wasn’t thinking.” He turned sideways and threw his arm along the back of the love seat, his fingers within a couple of inches of where her hair splayed on the suede fabric. The urge to reach out and touch the wet strands contended with his common sense.

  “She was a great artist. Some of her paintings are still in galleries all over Idaho, Montana, and Colorado.” Rachel fell abruptly silent, and bitterness again clouded her eyes.

  Clearly, she’d tried to put her feelings aside in light of their new arrangement. Asking him to stay indefinitely, until the stranger casing the lodge could be dealt with, obviously hadn’t been as easy as she’d made it look.

  He had to tell her the truth, even if she refused to believe him. The desire to have her look at him with anything other than disdain made him reckless and impatient. He needed her to believe in him—to know that he was inherently a good person. Otherwise, she’d never open up to him and allow him to help her, and suddenly, that was of the utmost importance. Telling her why he never came to see Amanda while she was still alive was the first step, and this was as good a time as any. Garrett took a deep breath. “Aunt Peg said my mother wrote to Luke and me regularly.”

  Her gaze locked on his. “You know she did.” Her icy tone accused him.

  He pressed on. “Two days ago, by accident, I found Aunt Peg’s letter telling me of Amanda’s passing. Up until that day, neither Luke nor I saw any letters, cards, or notes from Amanda or Peg.”

  Suspicion flared in the green of her eyes, and she unfolded her legs as though to leave.

  Garrett put his hand on her arm and leaned closer. “Think about it, Rachel. Two days ago, I saw the only letter I’ve ever seen. I loaded up Cowboy and drove straight through to get here. If I’d gotten even one of Amanda’s letters, do you think anything could have kept me away? I waited for her to come back my whole life. I’d have moved heaven and earth to see her again.”

  Indecision wavered on her pretty face as she searched his eyes. “What are you saying? Someone hid the letters from you?” She snorted in disbelief.

  “One or two letters might have gotten lost. Over three hundred? Probably not. I have my suspicions. That’s why I hired a private investigator to find the answers.”

  A soft gasp escaped as fire slowly smoldered in her eyes. “Your father! That hateful man. I’m right, aren’t I? It has to be him. He’s the one who insisted the letters be mailed to him.”

  A flutter of anger awakened in him as though in agreement with her words, but he tamped it down, refusing to give it a voice. He wouldn’t waste time being furious with the man until he knew for sure. Nor would he accuse him. “If I find out it was him, I’ll deal with it. Right now, my only concern is that you believe me. You were here with her when I didn’t know where she was. You helped put that smile on her face in that picture on the mantel. I know it’s a lot to ask . . . but please believe me, Rachel. I don’t know why, but it’s important to me.”

  Confusion skittered across her face. “I . . . I don’t know. I’d like to believe you, but you have to admit it’s a lot to swallow. I need some time.” Her eyes softened with an emotion that seemed to ask him to understand.

  He smiled briefly. �
�Well, at least you didn’t call me a liar to my face. I wish you could believe me now, but sooner or later I’ll get the proof I need, and then there won’t be any doubt.”

  She turned toward him, her face inches from his. “I’ve blamed you and Luke for hurting Amanda for years. That proof of yours will have to be pretty damn convincing to make me change my mind now.” The challenge that shone from her eyes was different from her usual defiance—hopeful, playful almost. A wisp of a smile appeared and disappeared in the same heartbeat, and then her gaze wandered slowly to his lips and stayed right there.

  The only sound in the room, besides Cowboy’s slow and steady breathing from his spot near the door, was Garrett’s own breaths, the rhythm becoming harder to maintain with each passing second. Rachel was so beautiful and so lusciously, innocently sexy he had to remind himself that she didn’t know him. If he moved too fast, he’d scare her off and ruin everything . . . although he was at a loss to identify exactly what everything was. She smelled of citrus and sunshine, and clean mountain air. Her scent wound around him and pulled him closer.

  And then he lost what little sense he had left. His right hand slid behind her neck, the sudden contact making her eyes widen. He smiled and lightly stroked her cheek, nudging her hair away from her face. His gaze fell to her full mouth, lips trembling somewhat.

  Blinded by his need to possess those lips, he pulled her toward him and leaned in slowly to meet her. Tenderly, he covered her mouth, moving lazily, sipping her sweetness again and again before backing off slightly to focus on her closed eyes.

  She must have finally sensed him watching. Her eyes opened languidly, and she looked up at him. She blinked and worry darkened the nearly transparent green. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not a thing,” he whispered before taking her lips again.

  Rachel released her grip on the comforter to fist her hand in the collar of his shirt and tug him closer, and her lips parted beneath his.