by Bliss Devlin
There had been just enough left earlier to determine that he hadn't been lying to her when he told her that he wasn't with WSS and that he meant her no harm.
But even if she was terribly wrong and he did mean her harm or planned to turn her over to Colonel Perry and WSS, she would not be able to fight him.
After the plane crash and her desperate flight through these mountains, she had no more reserves, no more strength left.
Shannon found herself stumbling even when the deeply rutted road was smooth and level, and she wondered how much further it was to where he had left his vehicle.
The trees had kept off the worst of the sun and heat while she was making her way through the forest. But it was hot here, walking in the middle of the unshaded road.
Her T-shirt was quickly soaked with sweat, and she felt it clinging damply to her skin under the heavy wool of her knitted jumper. Trickles of perspiration dampened her hair and flowed into her eyes, stinging them.
When she stumbled yet again, her knees collapsed under her, refusing to carry her one step further.
Rafe caught her before she hit the stony earth and swung her effortlessly into his arms.
"Not too much further," he assured her, his stride lengthening and his pace increasing as if she were weightless.
Despite her ingrained caution—and the fact that she was being carried by a naked stranger—she felt oddly safe.
Nestled against his broad chest, her head resting on his hard, warm shoulder, she wanted to trust him, even though she had only just met him.
Even though she knew what he was.
Bear shifter. The most feared type of Beast Warrior.
But she had sensed no malice in him, just a bright spirit that took her breath away, like a shock of pure, clear water.
As promised, it wasn't long before they left the dirt road and entered a meadow with lush green grass and dotted with wildflowers in white, yellow, and pink.
Shannon saw a very large pickup truck parked at the edge of the meadow, a gleaming shade of garnet under a liberal coating of dust.
She remembered the days of hard walking and the cold nights spent listening for the signs of pursuit—or wild animals—and she felt a dizzying wave of relief move over her at the sight of Rafe's vehicle.
The truck was enormous by Irish standards, at least twice the size of any of the pickup trucks used by the farmers at home.
No more walking. No more running.
And he even knew Hal Sigurdsson! It seemed too good to be true!
A knot of tension loosened inside her. She might be safe after all.
Up until this moment, she had not really believed it, even after Rafe had saved her from the wolf shifters who had attacked her.
Rafe approached the truck and gently set her on her feet. Her knees wobbled, and she clung to him for a moment, all her muscles shaking with fatigue.
Apparently, he mistook her trembling for fear and enclosed her in a firm embrace.
"It's all right," he murmured, his breath stirring the hair on the top of her head. "You're safe now."
She knew she ought to correct his mistake. But it felt so good to be embraced that she simply sighed and relaxed against him, putting her own arms around his waist.
The bare skin of his chest was warm beneath her cheek. She could hear the comforting beat of his heart, and she wanted to close her eyes and fall asleep to the steady sound.
He stroked her back, her hair, and she leaned against him, soaking in the comfort he offered. Until she remembered that he was a stranger to her and naked, besides.
Suddenly self-conscious, she pushed away from him and stepped back. To his credit, he didn't try to restrain her.
He hastily turned away to conceal his nudity—but not before she had caught a glimpse of his thick manhood, now erect in a nest of hair that was a shade darker than his beard.
Her heart began pounding with sudden apprehension at the sight of his arousal. Would he try to force himself on her now? Would he think that her acceptance of his embrace meant that she consented to other attentions?
But Rafe simply moved past her. She noticed that his cheeks were flushed under his tan. He reached into the large open truck bed at the rear of his truck and retrieved a stack of neatly folded garments.
Shannon saw that the truck bed was lined with a scatter of dried hay, attesting to his earlier statement about owning a cattle ranch. It was packed with bundles that looked like a tent and sleeping bag, plus a large cooler chest, as well as large folded square of heavy cloth tucked into a corner.
If he owned enough cattle to require the amount of hay that this vehicle could carry, then Rafe must be comfortably well-off.
But Beast Warriors belonged to Whitepine Security Services, so how could he be a rancher? And how had he come to be here at all? It was a mystery.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed movement and saw that Rafe had pulled on a pair of faded, close-fitting blue jeans. A short-sleeved white T-shirt quickly followed. Then he donned a long-sleeved shirt made of light, thin fabric dyed a pale green, which he buttoned up the front. He finished dressing by putting on a cowboy hat and a pair of scuffed work boots made from suede and laced up the front in a series of eyelets.
Rafe winked at her when he noticed her watching him dress, and the corners of his mouth tugged up in a smug smile.
Shannon's face grew even hotter than the summer sun warranted, and she turned her back on him.
She tensed as Rafe walked past her, waiting for him to take liberties, but he simply opened the door of his truck, on the right side, and ushered her inside. She blinked at the notion that he wanted her to drive them, then she remembered that in America, this was the passenger side of a vehicle.
Once she was settled onto the luxuriously cushioned seat and had fastened her seatbelt, he walked around to the driver's side and slid in.
He slid the key into the ignition, and the truck sprang to life with a roar and a continuous growl that rivaled that of any Beast Warrior.
She soon realized the need for the seatbelt as he drove at a fast clip down the rutted road. The truck was jouncing and swaying as the trees and bushes lining the road whipped by in a blur.
He stopped the vehicle a few minutes later, when they reached the body of a dead Beast Warrior, still lying in the middle of the road.
Rafe had killed him? She swallowed hard but found it difficult to summon sincere regret for the death of someone who had enjoyed terrorizing her.
"Wait here," he ordered and got out of the truck.
Shannon saw him lift the corpse and was reminded of the bear's fury and sheer power.
She wondered if she was really wise to trust a bear shifter whom she had met an hour or two ago, and whether she would be better off striking out on her own again.
But she was so tired she doubted she could walk another step, and striking out on her own again, across God-only-knew how many miles of wilderness, seemed the worst kind of folly.
All that walking, and I never made it out of Montana, she reminded herself. And he knows Hal Sigurdsson.
She was still sitting in the truck, debating with herself, when Rafe walked past with two wolf-shifter corpses draped over his broad shoulders. She marveled that he carried them without visible effort.
And then she realized that he must have killed both of the wolf shifters, and she took a deep breath. She knew she should be shuddering in horror, but all she felt was a vast relief that these two wouldn't be stalking her again.
Shannon heard a pair of heavy thumps that rocked the truck and saw Rafe shake out a wide, heavy cloth and fasten it over the cargo area as a cover, concealing the bodies.
Then he re-entered the vehicle and made it roar and growl once more.
"Let's hope no one stops and searches us," he said with a wry expression. "It'll be difficult to explain two dead shapeshifters caught in Beast Warrior form in the back of my truck."
Then the truck lurched into motion once more, and a
fter finding a place wide enough to execute a three-point turn, they headed back the way they had come.
Fascinated despite her bone-deep fatigue, Shannon craned her neck and looked at the passing landscape. It was much more pleasant seeing it from a moving vehicle than it was walking through it, hungry and lost.
She had just decided that they would be following this dirt road all the way back to Elysia when the truck turned a sharp corner and then drove up onto a smooth, broad highway that wound like a ribbon between high hillsides.
At first, they drove through thickly forested mountains. Then, as the highway descended towards a wide valley, she saw that the road followed the course of a turbulent river.
As they drove, she began to see a number of other autos and trucks passing them on the other side of the unnaturally smooth highway or parked along the sides of the road.
All along the river, men and women stood on the banks, fishing with poles.
She wondered if they were close to Elysia.
"So, you want to tell me how you ended up in the middle of a national forest with Powell and Torberg?"
"Who?" she asked, sluggish with fatigue. Then her thoughts caught up. "Oh, you mean those two wolf shifters? You knew them?"
"I worked with 'em once or twice before I left WSS," Rafe said neutrally. "So what happened to you?"
Once again, she wondered why she felt she could trust this stranger. But trust him she did.
So she told him about her terrifying abduction by WSS, her long journey by ship, helicopter, and airplane, and finally, about the crash. She knew her account sounded more than a little disjointed—she was so tired she couldn't think straight, and as she spoke, she kept remembering details that seemed important, so she back-tracked.
After she had finished spilling out the bits and pieces of her experiences of the past week, Rafe made a sympathetic grunt. "Yeah, that sounds about par for the course for WSS 'recruiting' methods," he told her, giving her a sidelong glance. "At least they didn't have the chance to wipe your memories."
"They would have done that?" she asked, horrified.
He nodded grimly, then fell silent, his brow creasing. She was left to contemplate her narrow escape in more senses than one.
As Rafe continued to drive, the novelty of the rugged landscape passing by on either side of the road quickly faded, and Shannon found her eyes drooping.
She caught herself nodding off, and Rafe chuckled.
"Go ahead and take a nap," he advised. "It'll be at least another hour before we arrive at my ranch."
"I'm not—" she began, and betrayed herself with a yawn.
"Just close your eyes," he urged softly. "You sound like you've had a difficult few days."
"You have no idea," she told him and yielded to temptation.
Feeling warm and safe in his presence, she let the gentle swaying of the truck carry her to sleep.
When Shannon emerged from a hot shower—another marvel of modern civilization she had never before fully appreciated—she found Rafe's house filled with the delectable smell of grilling meat.
Her mouth watered at the scent, and her stomach gave a querulous growl of hunger. She had been rationing food for days, hoping that her hastily gathered stores of potato crisps, cheese-filled biscuits, beef jerky, and apples would last until she reached Elysia.
She quickly dried herself with the towels laid out in the bathroom. They were thicker and softer than the linen bath sheets she was accustomed to.
When she emerged into the guest bedroom, she found a clean robe on the bed. Her clothes were gone, but she spotted her duffel bag hanging from a hook on the wall, with her shoes standing beneath it.
It was a lovely room, with a thick, soft carpet and a large bed. The entire house felt very comfortable in a rustic way, but on a large scale, and she remembered what Rafe had told her about hosting hunters and fishermen.
With the evidence of this big and rather posh house added to the huge truck and the many acres of land surrounding the house, plus his casual mention of owning many head of cattle, Shannon concluded that Rafe must be as rich as an English lord. Maybe richer.
She was puzzled, however, by his lack of a staff…or any evidence of a wife or girlfriend. Rafe appeared to live alone, as solitary as a bear.
"Dinner's almost ready," Rafe called up the stairs. He had apparently heard her turn off the water in the shower.
She slipped on the robe, which was probably one of his and was far too large on her, forcing her to roll up the sleeves and tie the belt tightly around her waist. The fabric was soft with many washings and was delicately scented with something that invoked sunshine and warmth.
Then, mindful of the robe's trailing hem, she made her way downstairs. There, she found Rafe placing a platter with two huge grilled beefsteaks on a small dining table already set with dishes and wine glasses.
She saw a bowl filled with a salad of mixed greens and dotted with sliced vegetables and fresh tomatoes. Each dinner plate also held a large baked potato wrapped in foil. There were also smaller bowls of what looked like thickened cream, minced chives, diced bacon, and mushrooms cooked with onions.
"I figured you were hungry, so I kept it simple. Just steak, sautéed mushrooms, potatoes, and salad," Rafe said, pulling out one of the chairs for her.
He paused and looked at her appreciatively.
"That robe looks much nicer on you than it does on me," he added, his eyes lingering on the swell of her generous breasts.
Shannon's face heated, and she looked away from the hunger in his storm-colored eyes. She was not accustomed to seeing admiration in a male gaze, since she was far from the fair-haired, tall, willowy models who graced nearly every magazine cover and TV advertisement.
Short, dark-haired, and generously fleshed despite sporadic efforts at dieting, Shannon had always felt like a squat, ugly goblin during her years away at boarding school.
"I'm sorry," Rafe apologized, seating himself opposite Shannon. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"It—it wasn't a bad kind of uncomfortable," she admitted shyly and was rewarded with a smile whose warmth seeped into her very bones.
"It's just…well, I'm not used to having a beautiful woman in my house," Rafe said.
Shannon stared at him in disbelief. Were the women in America blind?
She would have thought that hordes of them would be pursuing this devastatingly attractive man with his broad shoulders and gentle, chivalrous demeanor.
It was his turn to look ill at ease. He hastily busied himself with serving the food, deftly forking one of the slabs of meat onto her plate before taking the other for himself. "Do you like mushrooms?"
In short order, Rafe had filled her plate with the delicacies from the various bowls. He directed her to split open her baked potato with her knife before filling the flaky white interior with generous lashings of sour cream, chives, and crisp diced bacon.
He poured a fine red wine and offered her clear cold water in another glass.
Shannon took her first bite of the tender beef, perfectly seasoned with a delicious mix of spices, and wanted to weep with the pleasure of it.
"Good?" Rafe inquired, smiling.
She nodded, her mouth full, and his smile broadened.
Then she set out to do the rest of his food justice, and it was all delicious. It was the best meal she had ever eaten…and she had never been so hungry in all of her life.
Rafe watched her eat and drink with a satisfied expression as he devoured his own steak, salad, and potato.
She returned his smile when she finished the last bite.
Despite the lack of any other guests—and her clothes—she felt safe here, with him, even though she was under a stranger's roof far from home.
"I hope you left some room for dessert," he said, rising from his seat.
He scooped up her plate and, following his cue, she rose to help him clear the table.
Rafe's kitchen was larg
e and extravagantly furnished, the walls lined with a multitude of cabinets and large, expensive appliances, including the largest refrigerator she had ever seen.
My goodness, everything really is bigger in America! She fought the urge to giggle at the thought.
Counters made of highly polished granite ran around the perimeter of the kitchen. Shannon saw jars of spices and dried herbs displayed on a wooden rack as well as bottles of what looked like herb-infused vinegars.
A drift of smoke outside the kitchen's window caught her eye, and she spotted a wide wooden deck with tables, chairs, and a big grill set into a wide stone counter.
Rafe saw her looking around. "I like to cook," he explained. "And I usually have a lot of guests staying here."
Her jaw dropped.
She had thought that perhaps he might at least employ a cook, if not other staff, to produce a meal of the quality she had just eaten.
"But where are your staff?" she asked, unable to help herself. Surely Rafe didn't do all the work himself?
He had told her that he operated a hunting and fishing lodge, and this was surely the season for fishing, at least. So the lack of staff in this house with its many rooms had baffled her since she crossed his threshold.
At least Rafe didn't seem to find her question insulting. He grinned at her.
"I have a housecleaning service that comes around in the mornings to make the beds and do laundry, and my partners and I have some hands to help us with the ranch, but that's about it."
She pondered that as she helped him clear the remaining dishes and bowls from the table.
He opened one door of a large refrigerator, and a blast of wintry air chilled Shannon's skin. "Do you like ice cream?"
She nodded, smiling, as he withdrew a cylindrical, brightly painted box and gave her another of those devastating smiles. "How about hot fudge sauce or bananas? Maraschino cherries? Whipped cream?"
"I love them all," she confessed.
A short time later, they were seated at his dining table once more, each with a scrumptious confection that Rafe called a "banana split" in front of them.
She took a spoonful and nearly swooned with delight. It was sweet, rich, and utterly wonderful.