Mountain Wilds Bundle

by Hazel Hunter

  • • • • •

  At the sound of Jules’ voice, Logan stopped and ducked down. She was close. Carefully, with the handgun held in front, he moved to his left, where the sound had come from. He stepped lightly, from tree to tree, picking his way among the foliage and placing his boots on solid ground. There was a tiny snapping sound just ahead. He slowly moved his head sideways and, with one eye, looked around the tree in front of him.

  There they were. She was on her back and the man was straddling her hips, his back to Logan. A shotgun was propped up against the tree near them, within the man’s reach. Slowly, Logan raised the pistol. He sighted down the barrel at the man’s back and took aim.

  But instead of the man’s back, he saw the CC-130 cargo bay. The barrel of the 9mm glinted as he pulled the trigger and the first silhouette fell. The second silhouette moved and he heard gunfire but it too fell. Shot after shot rang out, until the clip on his gun was empty. Dry pulls of the trigger replaced the gunfire–for how long, he didn’t know. Finally, though, his finger stopped pulling. The tunnel vision that had focused on the two men at the cargo bay door expanded to take in the entire bay–bodies lay everywhere. He ran to the nearest loadmaster. She was laying on her side in a pool of blood and he rolled her over.

  “Sergeant!” he said but as soon as her torso had moved, he realized her neck had nearly been severed by a giant piece of shrapnel the size of his hand. The coppery smell of blood filled his nose. He backed away, stumbling to the other crew member. “Corporal,” he said but the man’s staring eyes told Logan what he already knew. The entire crew was dead. He looked around him. He was the only survivor.

  At the open cargo door, he squinted against the glaring light of the desert beyond, shielding his eyes with his hand. Only blistering sand and the brown peaks of the nearby mountains were visible. As he turned back to the cargo bay, he nearly tripped over the body of an Iraqi. Clothed in dirty black pants and a khaki shirt, with the RPG launcher still slung over his shoulder, the man’s chest was oozing blood. His eyes were closed but the rest of his face was obscured by a red and white checked scarf. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, Logan reached down and lifted it away from the man’s nose and mouth. He stared down at the clean-shaven face. But clean-shaven wasn’t the right word. Logan let the cloth slip from his fingers. Someone this young didn’t need to shave. Logan backed up. That was just a boy. Logan backpedaled faster. It was a boy who looked like he was asleep. Logan backed into the webbed canvas seating against the fuselage and heavily sat down. He looked down at his hand on the seat and realized he was still holding the 9mm. As he stood and turned, he flung it away from him.

  Never say die, they’d told him.

  They’d never said what it was like to kill.

  Logan blinked at the barrel of the revolver in his hand and the back of the man in the distance. His finger tensed on the trigger. But as the last images of the cargo bay faded, Logan slowly drew in a breath and let it go. He wasn’t a killer. Given the choice, he wouldn’t kill.

  “Get off her,” Logan said.

  The man reacted immediately. But as he unstraddled Jules, he quickly grabbed her by the hair. The big man easily jerked her around and Logan fought the surge of anger that flooded through him–but then he saw it. The man had a knife to her throat. Logan stepped forward and kept the gun trained on him but knew his opportunity to use it had just passed.

  “Logan!” Jules breathed.

  The big man had pulled her into a sitting position and he knelt just behind her.

  “Come any closer,” said the man, pressing the knife tip into the base of Jules’ neck. “And she dies.”

  Logan stopped.

  As the man got to his feet, he drug Jules up with him. He bent her head back until she was looking at the sky and she cried out in pain. A bead of blood welled from the point of the knife.

  “Toss the gun!” the man yelled, jerking Jules’ back against him.

  Though she didn’t struggle, both the man’s hands were shaking. Logan watched the tip of the blade twitch dangerously close to her jugular.

  “Toss the gun!” the man screamed again.

  Logan released the wood grip and let the pistol dangle from his finger. The man’s wild eyes glared at it and, before he accidentally cut Jules’ throat, Logan tossed the gun to the ground, off to the side.

  The man responded with a coughing fit that shook Jules’ entire body. She inhaled sharply as he yanked on her hair and twisted her neck.

  Every muscle in Logan’s body tensed and his hands balled into fists at his sides. Though Logan didn’t look at it, the shotgun was still resting against the tree. The man would have to go for it. He’d either have to let the knife go or Jules but, until Jules’ was clear, there was nothing Logan could do. Finally, the man glanced at the shotgun. He seemed confused, as though he’d just realized he didn’t have enough hands. He grimaced and Logan watched sweat trickle down the man’s temples.

  One wrong move and Jules is dead. That’s all it’ll take. This guy is on the edge.

  The man’s eyes flicked between Logan and the shotgun, over and over. Logan slowly raised his hands in surrender.

  “You’re in charge,” he said.

  The man stared at him for a moment before a lopsided grin began to spread.

  “Yeah, I am,” he said.

  He gave Jules’ a long sideways leer and then squinted at Logan.

  Here it comes, thought Logan. Decision time. He tensed, came up on the balls of his feet, and leaned forward.

  Suddenly, the man shoved Jules away. As she flew toward the ground, Logan launched. Though the man wasn’t the brightest, he could handle weapons. He instantly switched the knife between hands and turned to the shotgun. As Logan picked up speed, the shotgun was already coming up. The man had grabbed it at the trigger. It was hip level and swinging toward Logan. It was going to be close. He watched as the double barrel pointed at his stomach and, though he dodged right, it wasn’t going to be far enough. He clearly saw the man’s index finger squeeze the trigger.

  Click! There was no round chambered!

  The man’s mouth opened in shock just as Logan grabbed the barrel. With a vicious yank that spun the man, Logan ripped the shotgun from his hand. The knife immediately sliced in from the side, directly at Logan’s ribs, but he parried it with the stock of the shotgun.

  An enormous fist landed on Logan’s jaw, rocking him back.

  “Logan!” he heard Jules scream.

  But Logan didn’t look at her, only his opponent. Though Logan expected another knife attack as he regained his balance, it didn’t come. Instead, the man stared at Jules and lunged that way.

  Logan reversed the shotgun in his hands and cocked it with a short tug on the pump but as he raised it toward the man he finally saw Jules. The man wasn’t lunging at her. They were both heading for the pistol on the ground.

  “No!” Logan yelled.

  As the man rushed away from him and Jules approached, Logan could see there was no clear shot. Even without knowing the spread of the weapon, she was too close to his target. With only a split second to decide, Logan charged forward. Just as Jules bent down for the pistol, the man crashed into her, shoulder down. Logan raised the shotgun high over his head, holding it with both hands, and began his downward swing.

  As though she’d been hit by a car, Jules abruptly hurtled backward. Though Logan could no longer see the pistol, he knew the man was hunched over it. As Logan closed the distance between them, the man began to get up and turn, but the barrel of the shotgun was already sweeping downward. Logan gripped it hard, swung with all his might, and it connected with the top of the man’s head. A sickening thud reverberated up the stock and the man paused but, incredibly, he wasn’t down. As Logan landed on him, his knee connected with the man’s back and he jammed the butt of the shotgun into the back of his opponent’s head. Finally, the man collapsed.

  Logan jumped up to stand over him, aiming the shotgun at his back. He k
icked him. No reaction. Still aiming the shotgun, Logan grabbed the man’s arm and turned him onto his back. His mouth hung open, his face and beard were covered with dirt, and his eyes were closed. There was the pistol. Logan pocketed it and gave the man one more kick in the ribs. Still no reaction. He wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

  Logan whirled and, in two long strides, was kneeling at Jules’ side.

  “Jules,” he said.

  She lay sprawled on her back, unconscious. Her blouse was wide open but his eyes only paused long enough to look for blood or bruises. A red welt at the side of her face marked the place where she’d been struck.

  “Jules,” he tried again.

  She stirred and he brushed strands of hair away from her forehead. At first, only her eyebrows moved but then her eyes slowly opened.

  “There you are,” he said, quietly.

  Though he wasn’t sure she could focus, her eyes immediately darted over to him.

  “Logan?” she whispered.

  She tried to raise her head.

  “Take it easy,” Logan said.

  She laid her head back down but her eyes darted all around.

  “Frank?”

  Was that the man with the beard?

  “He’s unconscious,” Logan said, as he put his hand to her cheek. “Don’t worry about him.”

  Finally, her eyes settled on his and she covered his hand with her own.

  “Logan,” she breathed as her lower lip trembled. “I thought…”

  She reached up to his face and suddenly his arms were around her, hugging her to him as she buried her face in his chest. He felt her back shudder as she quietly cried.

  “You’re all right,” he whispered. “We both are.”

  He felt her nod.

  “I’ve got to see to our friend over there,” he said.

  She nodded again but she clutched him just as hard as before. Logan waited, content just to hold her. After several minutes, the crying stopped. She slowly drew back from him and, as she sniffed, he lightly kissed her forehead.

  “Be right back,” he said, getting up.

  Using the butterfly knife and Frank’s pants, Logan quickly cut several long strips of cloth and hog-tied him. He pocketed the knife, picked up the shotgun and emptied the shell from it. As he tucked the round into his jacket next to the pistol, he strode back to Jules. She’d zipped up her jacket and he handed her the shotgun.

  Although her face held a question, she took it and he immediately knelt on one knee and scooped her up. He smiled down at her.

  “You keep hold of that and I’ll keep hold of you.”

  The crash site was still their best hope of rescue. It was midday, the sun was out, and search and rescue would be in the air. He settled into a slow but steady stride and, though he’d thought his knee would be painful, he barely noticed it. Instead, he felt Jules one arm around his neck and the warmth of her in his arms.

  “I heard your voice,” she said, as she rested her head against his shoulder.

  He smiled.

  “I hope I said something nice,” he said.

  “You did,” she said. “It saved my life.”

  He looked down at her. Just then, he heard something familiar in the distance. He stopped.

  “Do you hear it?” he asked.

  She picked her head up and looked around.

  “Hear what?”

  It was growing louder by the second–a rhythmic thumping overhead. She looked up.

  “Is that…” she whispered.

  He started walking again, faster now.

  “Search and rescue,” he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  There hadn’t been much time for talk, thought Jules. But even this ride to her place had been unusually quiet. We’re tired. That must be it. She’d even fallen asleep during the MRI while they’d checked her concussion.

  In the helicopter, she’d refused to let go of Logan and they’d sat together for the loud and brief ride. He’d told SAR where their attackers could be found. But at the hospital, they’d been separated almost immediately. By the time they were both done, their story seemed to have spread through the entire staff. The nurses told her the authorities had already apprehended the pot growers–right where Logan had left them. Though he’d embraced her when she finally emerged from treatment, the crutches made it awkward and he’d hardly said a word.

  Jules snuck another glance at him.

  Through the tear in his jeans, she could clearly see the dressing that covered his stitches. He’d never even said he’d been shot. How he’d carried her to the helicopter, she’d never know. She looked at the leather jacket he wore. Underneath, he was shirtless. He’d given her his polo shirt since her own blouse was unwearable. Logan kept both hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead.

  What is he thinking?

  She thought of the two of them, next to the fire. He’d said kissing her was wrong–that she was on the rebound. Was that true? Though the divorce had only been complete yesterday, she’d been living alone for six months now.

  He pulled his truck into her driveway.

  “Here we are,” he said but he didn’t smile.

  Maybe the lean-to had been a mistake. A pang of dread lanced through her chest.

  In moments, he was out of his door, jogging around the front of the truck, and opening her door. She handed him her crutches but, instead of holding them for her, he rested them against the truck.

  “Logan,” she started. “I think I better–”

  But before she could finish or even get her feet outside the tall truck, he had reached in and was picking her up.

  “Your knee,” she said as he lifted her out.

  “Never felt better,” he said.

  Though she put her arms around his neck, she scowled at him.

  “Okay,” he said, seeing her reaction. “It feels better than it has in a long time.” He looked at her and smiled. “No exaggeration.”

  It was the first time he’d smiled since they’d left the hospital and she found it buoyed her. She couldn’t help but smile back. At the front door, he slowly set her down so she could put her weight on the good foot.

  “Let me get your things,” he said.

  She took the keys from her jacket pocket, unlocked the door and opened it. The sun had nearly set and was casting its orange light through the doorway. As she limped through, she heard Logan behind her. She pocketed the keys and turned to him as he set down her doctor’s bag and leaned the crutches against the arm of the couch. His face was in shadow as he turned to her.

  “I’ll bet you can’t wait for that hot shower,” he said.

  She forced a little laugh.

  “Right,” she said quietly.

  That’s what she’d said that night in the wilderness but now a shower was the last thing on her mind. He must have heard something in her voice.

  “Jules, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “What?” his silhouette said. “Why?”

  “Well…” Now that she had to put it into words, she didn’t know what to say. “You’ve been quiet.”

  As if to prove her point, he was silent for several seconds and she realized she was holding her breath.

  “A lot happened,” he said quietly. “We’re both tired and you need to rest.”

  His voice was so neutral–so controlled.

  “What I need,” she said, “is to know we’re okay.” She paused. “So, are we okay?” Though she’d meant to let him answer, the stress of the last two days suddenly came welling up. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you.”

  He was silent again.

  She took a deep breath. He’s right. We’re both tired. Time to call it a day.

  “I had a chance to kill someone today,” he said quietly.

  “What?” she said.

  Though she looked into his face, it was still in shadow. She moved toward the door and to h
is right so he’d turn. As the last red rays of the sun lit the side of his face, she saw the stubble of his day-old beard, the strong jaw and high cheekbones, and then the look in his eyes. From the sound of his voice, she’d thought he’d have that faraway look but he didn’t. He looked directly into hers and put his hands around her waist.

  “I had a gun in my hand,” he said. “My finger was on the trigger.” He paused and looked over her head but she reached up to his face and he looked at her again. “And in a different life, I pulled that trigger.” He frowned as his eyes narrowed and he seemed as though he were about to look away again but he continued. “But not today. The past truly is the past. I can choose to drag it with me or leave it where it belongs.” His eyes searched hers. “Does that make sense?”

  He killed someone in the war.

  She remembered his nightmare in the lean-to and the stiffness in his leg. But how is that possible? He’d flown a cargo plane. He was waiting for her answer.

  “Honestly, it doesn’t make sense,” she said, lowering her hands to his arms. “But it doesn’t have to–not right away at least.” His gaze never wandered from her face. “But you’re okay?” she asked.

  He smiled a little and his hands went from her waist to her lower back.

  “We’re okay,” he said lowly as he moved closer.

  She felt her heart race.

  He glanced at the door.

  “I think I’ve left that open long enough,” he said.

  He reached out, locked the knob, and pushed it closed. Then, as the last light faded from the room, she felt him bend low and scoop her up.

  “Which way is the shower?” he asked.

  • • • • •

  Logan moved slowly in the dim light. As they passed through the bedroom door, Jules flipped on the light switch. A single standing lamp in the corner of the room turned on. Logan saw the bathroom and moved sideways through the door. The light switch must have been behind him because Jules didn’t try to reach it but the light from the bedroom was enough.

  The bathroom was roomy, with a counter along one wall and a walk-in shower and the commode on the other. Again, he let her down slowly, so she could get her bearings on the good foot. She put a hand on the counter to steady herself.