Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife

by Cassie Miles

“If you hadn’t hidden in the back of my van and kidnapped me—” she paused for emphasis “—kidnapped me at gunpoint, I wouldn’t have been in a shoot-out.”

  “There were circumstances.”

  “Don’t care.” Right now, she was supposed to be on vacation, relaxing in her cozy condo with a fragrant cup of chamomile tea and a good book. “I want this nightmare to be over. And when it is, I never want to see you again.”

  “Fair enough.” He stood and stretched. “Take care of Goldie. I’m going to make sure we’re secure.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  * * *

  COLE OPENED THE CABIN DOOR and stepped onto the porch. The brief moment of warmth when he’d been inside the cabin made the cold feel even worse than before. The blizzard still raged, throwing handfuls of snow into his face. The icy temperatures instantly froze his bare hands. In his left, he held his gun. In his right, the cell phone. His intention was to call for help. Shivering, he turned on the phone. His power was almost gone. He had no signal at this remote cabin. Holding the phone like a beacon, he turned in every direction, trying to make a connection. Nada. Damn it. He hoped the GPS signal was still transmitting his location to his FBI handlers.

  The windblown snow had already begun to erase their tracks. Drifts piled up, nearly two feet deep on one side of the log cabin walls. In this storm, visual surveillance was nearly impossible. He couldn’t see past the trees into the forest. All he could do was try to get his bearings.

  In front of the house was a turn-around driveway. Less than thirty feet away, he saw the blocky shape of a small outbuilding. A garage? There might be something in there that would aid in their escape.

  The wide front door of the garage was blocked by the drifting snow, but there was a side entrance. He shoved it open and entered. The interior was unlit, but there was some illumination from a window at the rear. The open space in the middle seemed to indicate that this building was used as a garage when the people who owned the cabin were here. Under the window, he found a workbench with tools for home repair. Stacked along the walls was a variety of sporting equipment: cross-country skis, poles and snowshoes.

  He’d never tried cross-country skiing before, but Rachel probably knew how to use this stuff. She was a hardy mountain woman. Prepared for the snow. Intrepid. What was her problem, anyway?

  He’d been about to tell her that he was a fed and she had no more reason to fear, but she’d shut him down. Her big beautiful blue eyes glared at him with unmistakable anger. She’d said that she didn’t give a damn about him.

  He didn’t believe her. Though she had every reason to be ticked off, she didn’t hate him. There was something growing between them. A spark. He saw it in her body language, heard it in her voice, felt it in a dim flicker inside his frozen body. Maybe after they were safe and she knew he was a good guy, he’d pursue that attraction. Or maybe not. He had a hard time imagining Rachel in sunny California, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to move to these frigid, airless mountains.

  Leaving the garage, he tromped along the driveway to a narrow road that hadn’t been cleared of snow. No tire tracks. Nothing had been on this road since the beginning of the storm.

  He looked back toward the house. Though the curtains were drawn, he could still see the light from inside. If anyone came looking for them, they wouldn’t be hard to find.CRADLING THE BABY on her shoulder, Rachel padded around in the kitchen in her wool socks. She heard the front door open and saw Cole stumble inside. He locked the door and placed his gun on the coffee table. And his cell phone.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had a phone?” she asked.

  “It’s almost dead. And I can’t get a signal.”

  Warily, she approached the table. “Who were you trying to call?”

  “Somebody to get us the hell out of here.”

  “Like who?” She wasn’t sure that she wanted to be rescued by any of his friends. Out of the frying pan into the fire.

  “I’m not trying to trick you.” He tossed the phone to her. “Go ahead. See if you can get the damn thing to work.”

  She juggled the phone and waved it all around while he went through the door to the bedroom. He hadn’t been lying about the lack of signal, but that didn’t set her mind at ease.

  Returning to the kitchen, she focused on preparing the formula—a task she’d performed hundreds of times before. Not only was she the third oldest of eight children, but her responsibilities at the clinic also included more than assisting at births. She also made regular visits to new moms, helping them with baby care, feeding and providing necessary immunizations.

  The water she’d put into a saucepan on the stove was just beginning to boil. Since she had no idea about the source of this liquid, she wanted to make sure germs and bacteria had been killed. Ten minutes of boiling should be enough. A cloud of steam swirled around her. From the other room, she heard doors opening and closing. She hoped Cole was changing out of his wet clothes. He looked half-frozen.

  His well-being shouldn’t matter to her, but she’d be lying if she told herself she wasn’t attracted to him. All her life, she’d been drawn to outsiders and renegades. There was something about bad boys that always sucked her in.

  Her first serious boyfriend had owned a motorcycle shop and had tattoos up and down both arms. He definitely hadn’t been the kind of guy she could bring home to meet her stable, responsible, churchgoing parents, which might have been part of her fascination with him. She’d loved riding on the back of his Harley, loved the way he’d grab her and kiss her in front of his biker friends. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. He’d called her “baby doll” and given her a black leather jacket with a skull and a heart on the back.

  On the very day she’d intended to move in with him, she’d discovered him in bed with another woman, and she’d heard him tell this leggy blonde stranger that she—the blonde bimbo—was his baby doll.

  Even now, ten years later, that memory set Rachel’s blood boiling. Before she’d departed from motorcycle man’s house, she’d gone into his garage, dumped gasoline on her leather jacket and set it on fire.

  After that ride on the wild side, she should have learned. Instead, she’d gone through a series of edgy boyfriends—daredevils, rock musicians, soldiers of fortune. Like an addict, she was drawn to their intensity.

  Cole was one of those guys.

  True, he had risked his life to rescue her and Goldie. He wasn’t evil. But he wasn’t somebody she wanted to know better.

  Using a dish towel, she wiped around the lid of the container before she opened the powdered formula. There was food for Goldie, but what about them? Searching the kitchen, she found a supply of canned food and an opened box of crackers. There was also flour and sugar and olive oil. If they got snowed in for a day or two, they wouldn’t starve to death. A day or two? The idea of being trapped with Cole both worried and excited her.

  One-handed and still holding the fidgeting baby, she measured and mixed the formula. “Almost done,” she murmured to Goldie. “You’ll feel better after you eat.”

  One of the reasons Rachel had moved to the mountains was to get away from sexy bad boys who would ultimately hurt her. As a midwife, she didn’t come into contact with many single men and hadn’t had a date in months. Fine with me! She preferred the calm warmth of celibacy to a fiery affair that would leave her with nothing but a handful of ashes.

  Bottle in hand, she returned to the living room just as Cole stepped out of the bathroom, drying his dark blond hair with a towel. He’d changed into a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants that were too short, leaving his ankles exposed. On his feet, he wore wool socks.

  “Did you take a shower?” she asked.

  “A hot shower. They have one of those wall-hanging propane water heaters.”

  She gazed longingly toward the bathroom. “Hot water?”

  He held out his arms. “Give me the baby. I’ll feed her while you shower and change out of those wet jeans. There are clo
thes in the bedroom.”

  That was all it took to convince her. She nodded toward the rocking chair. “Sit. Do you know how to feed an infant?”

  “How hard can it be?”

  “You haven’t been around babies much, have you?”

  “I was an only child.”

  Another piece of personal information she didn’t need to know. “Here’s how it’s done. Don’t force the nipple into her mouth. Let her take it. She’s tired and will probably drop off before she gets enough nourishment. Gently nudge with the nipple. That stimulates the sucking reflex.”

  She placed Goldie in his arms and watched him. His rugged hands balanced the clear plastic bottle with a touching clumsiness. When Goldie latched onto the nipple, Cole looked up at her and grinned triumphantly. He really was trying to be helpful. She had to give him credit.

  “What did you find when you went outside?” she asked. “Is it safe for us to stay here?”

  “The men who were after us must have turned back. If they were still on our trail, they would have busted in here by now.”

  “The blizzard saved us.”

  “They won’t stop looking. Tomorrow, we’ll need to move on.”

  She turned on her heel and went into the bedroom. There was only one thing she needed Cole for: survival. The sooner he was out of her life, the better.

  Like the rest of the cabin, the bathroom was well-equipped and efficient. Quickly, she shed her clothes and turned on the steaming water. As soon as the hot spray hit her skin, a soothing warmth spread through her body, easing her tension. She ducked her head under the hot water. One of the benefits of short hair was not worrying about getting it wet. She would have liked to stand here for hours but wasn’t sure what sort of water system the cabin had. So she kept it quick.

  As soon as she was out of the shower and wrapped in a yellow bath towel that matched the plastic shower curtain, Rachel realized her logistical dilemma. No way did she want to get back into her damp clothes. But she didn’t want to give Cole a free show by scampering from the bathroom to the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel.

  Her hand rested on the doorknob. I can’t hide in here. Rachel prided herself on being a decisive woman. No nonsense. She did what was necessary without false modesty or complaint. And so she yanked open the bathroom door and strode forth, decisively. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

  As she walked the few paces in her bare feet, she boldly gazed at him. In his amber eyes, she saw a flash of interest. His mouth curved in a grin.

  She challenged him. “What are you staring at?”

  “You.”

  Her bravado collapsed. She felt very, very naked. He seemed to be looking through the towel, and she had the distinct impression that he liked the view.

  Despite her determination not to scamper, she dashed into the bedroom, closed the door and leaned against it. Her heart beat fast. The warmth from the shower was replaced by an internal flush of embarrassment that rose from her throat to her cheeks. If he could decimate her composure with a single glance, what would happen if he actually touched her?

  In spite of the burning inside her, she realized that the temperature in the bedroom, away from the propane fireplace, was considerably cooler than in the front room. The double bed was piled high with comforters and blankets. Would she sleep in that bed with Cole tonight? As soon as the question formed in her mind, she banished it. Sleeping with the enemy had no place on her agenda.

  Inside a five-drawer bureau, she found clothing—mostly long underwear and sweats—in several sizes. It was easy to imagine a family coming to this weekend retreat for cross-country skiing or ice skating or snowmobiling. When this was over, Rachel fully intended to reimburse the cabin owners and thank them for saving her life.

  After she slipped into warm sweats and socks, she eyed the bedroom door. Cole was out there, waiting. Physically, she couldn’t avoid him. But she could maintain an emotional distance. She remembered motorcycle man and the flaming leather jacket. Any involvement with Cole would lead inevitably to that same conclusion.

  She straightened her shoulders. I can control myself. I will control my emotions.

  She opened the door and entered the front room. Cole was still sitting in the rocking chair. Without looking up, he said, “I think Goldie’s had enough milk.”

  “How many ounces are left in the bottle?”

  He held it up to look through the clear plastic. “Just a little bit at the bottom.”

  “Did you burp her?”

  “I do that by putting her on my shoulder, right?”

  “Give me the baby,” she said.

  When he transferred the swaddled infant to her, their hands touched. An electric thrill raced up her arm, and she tensed her muscles to cancel the effect.

  He took a step back. His baggy gray sweatsuit didn’t hide the breadth of his shoulders, his slim torso or long legs. His gaze assessed her as though deciding how to proceed. Instead of speaking, he went to the front window and peered through the gap in the green-and-blue plaid curtains. “It’s still snowing hard.”

  “This morning they predicted at least a foot of new snow.” A weather report wasn’t really what was on her mind.

  “It’s mesmerizing. I didn’t actually see snow falling from the sky until I was nine years old.”

  “Not so pretty when you’re caught in a blizzard.” She did a bouncy walk as she patted Goldie on the back.

  “I never want to do that again.”

  “Tomorrow morning, we shouldn’t have to walk too far. All we need to find is a working telephone.”

  Then they could call for help. She and Goldie would be safe. Cole was a different story. When the police came to her rescue, he’d be taken into custody. Would he turn himself in without a fight? Or would he run?

  “It’s ironic,” he said. “This is the first time in years that I’ve been without a working cell phone.”

  Had he planned it that way? She needed to clear the air of suspicions. “Cole, I—”

  A shuffling sound outside the front door interrupted her, and she turned to look in that direction.

  The door crashed open. A hulking figure charged across the threshold. His shoulders and cap were covered with snow. His lips drew back from his teeth in an inhuman snarl.

  He had a gun.

  Chapter Six

  Frank Loeb! Cole barely recognized him. The man should have been dead. He’d been shot. Cole had seen his blood spattered in the snow. How the hell had he made it through the blizzard? Some men were just too damned mean to die.

  Frank raised his handgun.

  Cole’s weapon was all the way across the room on the table. No time to grab it. No chance for subtlety or reason. He launched himself at the monster standing in the doorway. His shoulder drove into the other man’s massive chest.

  With a guttural yell, Frank staggered backward onto the porch. He was off balance, weakened. Cole pressed his advantage. He shoved with all his strength. His hands slipped against the cold, wet, bloodstained parka. The big man teetered and fell. Cole was on top of him. He slammed Frank’s gun hand on the floor of the porch.

  Frank released his grasp on the gun. He was disarmed but still dangerous. Flailing, he landed heavy blows on Cole’s arms and shoulders. The snow gusted around them. Icy crystals hit Cole’s face, stinging like needles.

  He drew back his fist and slammed it into Frank’s face, splitting his swollen lip. He winced. Blood oozed down his chin.

  Cole hit him again. His fingers stung with the force of the blow.

  “Wait.” Frank lay still. The fight went out of him.

  With his arm still cocked for another blow, Cole paused. He knew better than to let down his guard. He’d seen Frank in action. When the big man caught one of the other guys in the gang cheating at cards, Frank broke two of the cheater’s fingers. And he smiled at the pain he had inflicted.

  “The shooters,” Frank said. “They were feds.”

  That wasn’t possible. Though Co
le had put in a call for backup, the shooters had appeared within minutes. Even if the FBI had been tracking his movements, the violent assault on the house wasn’t standard procedure, especially not when they had a man on the inside. “I don’t believe it.”

  “They were after you.” His tongue poked at his split lip. “I heard them talking. They said your name.”

  “What else did you hear?”

  “They reported to somebody named Prescott.”

  Wayne Prescott was the field agent in charge of the Denver office—the only individual Cole had met with in person. “How did you find us?”

  His eyes squeezed shut. Clearly, he was in pain. “Wasn’t looking for you.”

  “The hell you weren’t.”

  “On the run. Just like you,” he mumbled. “Went across a field. Saw the lights from the cabin.”

  Rachel stepped out on the porch. She took a shooter’s stance, holding his gun in both hands and aiming at Frank. “Don’t move. I will shoot.”

  There was no doubt that she meant what she’d said. Her voice was firm and her hand steady. She positioned herself far enough away from Frank that he couldn’t make a grab for her ankle.

  “You’re a medic,” Frank said. “I need your help.”

  Cole noticed a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Her natural instinct was to save lives, not threaten them. Even though he wasn’t inclined to help Frank, he couldn’t justify killing the man in cold blood.

  He stood, picked up Frank’s gun and aimed for the center of his chest. “Get up.”

  Moving slowly and laboriously, Frank got to his knees. Then he heaved himself to his feet and stood there with blood dripping down his chin onto his wet black parka.

  Cole instructed, “Rachel, go inside. Keep your distance from him. If he makes a move toward you, shoot him.”

  After she was safely in the house, Cole escorted his prisoner into the cabin. He saw Goldie sleeping, nestled in blankets on one of the sofas. He had to protect that innocent baby. If Frank wasn’t lying, Cole’s hope for a rescue from the FBI was disintegrating fast. Agent Wayne Prescott was connected with the men who opened fire on the house. Houston, we have a problem.