Running Hot

by Rachel Hanna

  Running Hot

  www.RachelHannaRomance.com

  Rachel Hanna

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Copyright

  Foreword

  Welcome to book 2 of the January Cove series! I hope you’ve read and enjoyed book 1 (The One For Me) already.

  January Cove is a special place, and the characters mean a lot to me and the thousands of readers who have read their stories and fallen in love right along with them!

  Make sure to look for the boxed set of the first five books of the series on Amazon. You can also find additional books on Amazon too!

  Chapter 1

  I had been lost in the Sierra Nevada Mountains for about two hours when Cody Green found me.

  Not that he was looking for me, or even knew to do so. I wasn't anywhere near where I was supposed to be, having managed to run, on foot, a good five miles off course because – because that's what I do. Left to my own devices, which I had been, I get lost.

  So why had it seemed like a good idea to run one of the toughest endurance races in the country, one that starts on one side of the mountains and ends on the other 30 hours later?

  Because that's what you do when you're me and one-and-a-half years past the guy you thought was going to turn out to be the guy and hadn't. You get in mini-battles with your boss at the advertising agency, which then turns out not to be your career after all. You get yourself fired, and go out and get a job that doesn't require a lot of thought but gives you time off, in my case, in a store that sells running gear. And you train for an insane race that requires running over a mountain when everyone who knows you knows you have no sense of direction and can get lost in your own city, where you've lived for all of your twenty-seven years.

  In other words, I just couldn't help myself.

  When Cody appeared in a gap in the greenery on the Auburn, California side of the mountain, he didn't even look human, but I was never so glad to see anybody in my life.

  He stepped out of the green wearing a bright orange nylon vest, and a bright yellow uniform shirt of some sort under it. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to show strong bronzed arms and a hell of a lot of charcoal black smudges. He carried what looked like an axe, and wore goggles on a charcoal smudged face, a hard hat of some kind, and a bandana over the lower portion of his face. Add to the picture a backpack with a hose that came over his shoulder (portable water supply, but at that very first blink I could have believed it was anything, a part of him, something alien. I had been up all night and running for a long, long time) and I could have been forgiven for running the other way, screaming.

  Except? There was no one anywhere near to hear me scream, which was part of the whole being lost thing, and I couldn't keep running, having already run so very far, much of it in the wrong direction. Or rather, I could keep running, but it was wasted effort. I was covering ground, but not ground I had any idea if I was supposed to be covering. I'd set out to run one hundred miles, and I'd been doing OK at it, but running one hundred miles is one thing and running even five when you're lost and panicking is quite another.

  Plus? I was glad to see him. I was glad to see anybody. I'd have been glad to see Jack the Ripper, and with the axe Cody carried, I had no reason to expect he wasn't a 21st century Jack.

  Didn't matter. Because I'd been smelling and seeing smoke for a while, and the smoke going up into the crisp blue air a couple miles to my right was white, which meant the fire was still burning, a wilderness survival fact I'd learned from an episode of The Walking Dead. And no matter how much I told myself descending (and descending and descending) the trail meant I was getting there, that Auburn had to be somewhere near, that other runners had to somehow exist, and that the trail I was on had to lead somewhere, truth was I'd been lost and alone for a couple hours and no longer believed any of it. It was seven a.m. I'd been running around lost since about five a.m., and I wanted company.

  I had half a mind to start waving violently to signal him, as if he weren't standing approximately thirty feet away, and as if I wasn't the only other thing on the trail.

  It wasn't like he could miss seeing me there.

  "Hello," he called before I'd managed to say anything, and began divesting himself of some of the outerwear. It was more exciting than any striptease I've ever seen. First the hard hat came off, revealing brush cut brown hair with gold highlights. The goggles went up on the forehead, and his eyes from a distance looked dark and intense. I kept moving toward him, half afraid he'd ripple and vanish into dream before I got there. He meanwhile was taking off the bandana so I saw a wide, friendly mouth and a square jaw.

  "Are you lost?" he called as I continued toward him and he stored his various bits of equipment and clothing under his arms.

  "Very," I called back.

  He crossed the rest of the distance between us, meeting me in an idyllic glen of spring willows and rocky ground. The ground was wet here, but probably from early morning dew. I'd waded through the American River some miles back, probably three hours ago, when I was still on the right trail, and my feet had had time to dry. Of course, having forded the river, using the in-place-for-race-day rope strung across it, I now knew I was lost, because the river was supposed to be less than two miles from the next aid station on the endurance run.

  I hadn't seen any aid stations. I hadn't even seen any other runners for much too long. I hadn't seen any other rivers, either, which meant dew had gotten the ground wet. This was a Saturday in early July and even in the mountains the wet ground didn't signify burned-off frost.

  Stubbornness (complete pigheadedness, my best friend Melody would suggest) had kept me moving down anything that looked even remotely like a trail, sure that somehow I'd find other runners, or an aid station, or a Sierra 100 Endurance Run red surveyor's tape ribbon on a piece of foliage. Then I'd know I was on the right trail, headed toward the finish line, and I'd have an idea if I could get there by 11 a.m. and make the under-30 hours cutoff.

  It was currently just after seven, giving me four hours for what should be about fifteen miles if, of course, I was anywhere near the trail. But there were no runners, no aid stations, no trail, the air was filling with smoke and there was –

  OK, there was compensation on this trail. He was gorgeous. His gaze was every bit as smoldering hot as the fire would be. Besides, what girl doesn't secretly harbor a rescue fantasy? Not that I needed rescuing – I was still moving along on my own two feet and making good time. I just didn't know what destination I was making good time to. Maybe he could tell me how far off the trail I was and I could determine how hard I had to run to still have a chance of finishing with a prize.

  To which Melody had said, "You're paying how much and running how far to win what?"

  I was paying $175, running 100 miles and I wanted that belt buckle. And the t-shirt.

  Before I could ask anything like, "Do you have any idea where I am?" he nodded at the plastic-coated paper big number I wore.

  "You're part of the endurance race?" He didn't say Are you one of those crazy runners? But I wasn't sure he hadn't just thought it.

  "Supposed to be," I said, somewhat lamely. "But they've all disappeared. I haven't seen anyone in a couple hours." Now I'd stopped running, not only was time running out for me to make it within the prize winning 30 hour cutoff, but if I didn't move at some point, to make it within the 36 hours I was required to reach either an aid station for a DNF – Did Not Finish – or to the finish line so I could be counted as having stumbled in, late for the party but accounted for.

  Apparently the ra
ce organizers didn't like leaving runners out in the woods or on rocky mountain tops.

  He ran a hand through his brush cut. "Could be wrong, but I think you're supposed to be on the Western States Trail."

  Which meant I so wasn't.

  That was bad. But something about the way he said it was worse. I squinted at him. What I'd taken at the beginning to be a friendly smile was starting to resemble a smirk. It still looked good on him, but I didn't like being the recipient.

  "And you're supposed to be over there?" I asked, pointing my chin at the smoke.

  He didn't bother looking. "Nope, I'm not lost." There was a grin there, one that mocked and though it invited me to join in, it looked like he'd go on mocking whether or not I took him up on the invite. Somehow, I didn't feel like joining in. "I'm supposed to be looking out for any sparks that might be trying to take hold."

  And then you hit them with an axe? I thought. Then again, the way he looked, he might be starting fires. He was tall, with long legs and a thick, deep chest. The hands carrying the axe looked well used. The eyes had crows feet around them, but could be from being outside and squinting into the sun on a regular basis.

  It could also mean he was in his 30s. Didn't matter. Him appearing out of the woods like that, looking like that? It was the first proof I'd had since Jason left that I was going to some day find men attractive again.

  Damned attractive. Smoldering, actually, like he could single handedly be responsible for any more fires that broke out. But I wasn't too sure about the smirk.

  He crossed the last of the distance between us and held out a hand. "Cody Green. Pleased to meet you."

  I shook hands a little gingerly. Mine were sweaty; his were dark with charcoal. "Rory Avery, lost girl."

  He grinned at that. It was the kind of lazy grin of the kind of amazing guy who never worries about looking amazing. He's just confident in himself.

  Me? I was very aware I'd already been running for more than 24 hours. He would see a medium height five-foot-five girl with long dark hair in a ponytail, tan and trim and brown eyed. And deeply grubby. And probably unkempt. I'd started off with minimal makeup – mascara, because I can't ever imagine going out the door without it – and sunscreen and had then run through an entire night, scrambled up rocks like a mountain goat, run across rocky ledges and down rocky slides that sometimes carried me many feet without effort, entire sections of hillside sliding down like a weird sort of escalator. When I'd heard about this run, exactly six months and a million training runs and qualifying races ago, I'd thought the scenery must be lovely, but I'd actually spent most of my time staring at (and swearing at) the ground.

  I felt anything but confident. Still, Cody was grinning at me. "Could I interest you in a guide?"

  What did the rules say about that? Oh, yeah, they said not to get lost in the first place. There was a whole section about not getting lost, as if, by signing the race instructions doc, I could sign away my ability to get lost in a closet, let alone in the wilderness. No matter what the rules said, I had to find my way back to the trail, even if I didn't make it back in time to qualify for a finish. It was getting warm, and it was getting late. Time was moving too fast.

  "I could use a guide," I admitted, and tried to sound grateful.

  Probably I didn't sound any too pleased with it, because he gave me another one of those expressions that made him look like a contented cat with cream on its whiskers before he pointed in the direction we were to head. He started that way, his firefighting equipment banging about like he was a small, one-man band. He set a good pace, and I was hurrying to keep up, stumbling a little, when he looked at me and asked, "Aren't you supposed to be running?"

  There are plenty of girls who like to be teased. There are even some of my friends who claim that if someone can tease them the first time they meet, it means they're going to be friends.

  … I'm not like that. I felt needled rather than pleased.

  "Aren't you supposed to be doing something about that?" I gestured at the fire.

  He didn't even blink in its direction. "It's surrounded. They'll start getting it out within the hour. Like I said, I'm hunting down sparks, making sure nothing's over to the southwest where the other runners are."

  I cocked my head. "You knew the race was today?"

  That just made him laugh and shrug his pack higher on some truly spectacular shoulders, put his hardhat back on, and grab his axe off his belt, carrying it loosely in one hand where it didn't bang into his leg with every stride. He kept moving the whole time. Me, I had to slow down if I just wanted to drink water out of the glorified sippy cup I carried, otherwise I tripped. Last time I had tripped I had lost my fanny pack and I was now without gel carbs, Power Bars or mini flashlight.

  "Of course," he said in answer to my question. "Come on, the trail's in that direction."

  He pointed in the direction I hadn't been about to go. Of course he did.

  "I'll get you there and look for sparks on the way. Deal?"

  "Deal."

  "And as we go, you can tell me what makes a nice girl like you decide to run over a mountain in a world where we have cars."

  I rolled my eyes and fell into step beside him, leaving the clearing behind. "Like you don't run." I was following a butt packed into what I assumed were flame-retardant pants, and it had the very-in-shape shape of a runner's ass.

  "I run," he acknowledged, shoving through the willows and coming out on what I'd have never considered a path and would have avoided. "But not over mountains."

  "So I'm adventurous!" I said brightly, and stumbled over a rock, coming up hard against him.

  He turned and looked down at where I was smashed up against his back and, now, his chest, then righted me, those warms hands on my biceps. "I’m sure that works out well for you." But his lips were quirked up in a smile I longed to taste no matter how sarcastic it looked. Next instant he glanced over my shoulder like something full of claws and teeth was about to land on my head, and said, "Come on. I've got a job to do. I don't have time to be babysitting."

  "Babysitting!"

  But he was already leading the way, apparently having meant it, and I had the choice of being righteously annoyed and therefore left behind, still lost, or following.

  We descended a steep stretch of terrain, and all the while the sun rose higher and my watch ran faster. Time was rapidly moving toward 7:30 and I couldn't make sense out of where I was, but it didn't look good for breaking thirty hours.

  Cody moved silently, using his axe to part brush in places, going off trail to look for sparks, and for all that I needed a guide, I was getting antsy to run again. Time was passing. His job was looking for stray cinders and incipient fires.

  Mine was to run. I didn't want to hold him up, and I didn't want to be held up myself any longer. The farther I had run in this race, the more the lingering ice from the Jason relationship had melted away.

  "So listen," I said, scrambling down in his wake and leaving dust hanging in the still air behind me. "I don't want to take you away from your job." I stopped to remove a sticker bush tendril from my left ankle. "Maybe if you could point me to the trail – "

  "Sweetheart, you are hell and gone from the trail," he said without looking back at me. "I can point you all you like but if you got this lost, you're just going to do it again."

  "Says who?" I was starting to pant, keeping up with him. Hadn't I just trained to run one hundred miles? And I was mostly keeping up with him when every bit of ground I covered while chasing him seemed to be vertical. Which he had no trouble with. What was he, a mountain goat?

  "Laws of chance? Me?" He kept not looking back at me as he spoke and it was starting to annoy me.

  "I think I'll be all right. I made it this far, and at night."

  "The fact that anyone dumb enough to try and run across a mountain and get lost doing it is going to get lost again?"

  "Excuse me?" I was trying to demand it, but my voice came out thin and breathless and
the only thing I really did was follow.

  Cody had just easily scrambled down a short, five foot hill that our path darted precipitously off of. He turned back to me and I restrained myself from jumping into his arms, assuming he'd turned around in order to catch me.

  Good thing, because he turned away again before I even started. OK, I might not have needed rescue, but it would be nice to jump down the incline and have somebody there to catch me.

  He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying.

  "Look," I started again. "Just point out the path – "

  "Shh!" he said.

  Shh? "Excuse me?" I could hear the ice creeping into my voice this time.

  He glared over the finger he held against his lips. His eyes were distant while he listened. I listened too but the only thing I could hear were blue jays.

  Finally he focused again. "Sorry. I thought I heard flames."

  I stared at him. No, you didn't, I thought. He was just showing off. Look at me, I'm a big, sexy fireman.

  Right?

  "I'm going to go that way," I said, pointing past him and starting that way.

  "OK," he said cheerfully. "It has nothing to do with your race, but have it your way."

  Man! I'd have stamped one foot if they weren't both so sore. "Then where is the trail?"

  "Come on," he said, surprisingly friendly again. Maybe because he was leading again. "This way."

  I stared after him. All my instincts told me to head a different direction, even if it wasn't the right one. Just to get away from him. Before there had been a Jason in my life there had been a string of bad boyfriends. Melody had even used that tired old line on me, with regard to relationships: If it wasn't for bad luck, you wouldn't have any luck at all. She wasn't wrong. I'd even known it at the time. My instincts had often told me to get out.

  They were telling me that now.

  Run away. I was supposed to be running anyway. I knew all the rules about pacers, about anyone helping you physically or giving a runner food or water. I had no idea if the race rules said anything about stopping to chat with an insanely hot fireman, or what happened if they guided you back to the path. He wasn't carrying me or anything.