by Karen Foley
He was covered with only a light sheet. Rachel could see tubes protruding from his abdomen, and his entire torso was mottled with darkening bruises. Her brother’s dark blond hair, which normally hung to his shoulders in careless waves, was hidden beneath a surgical cap. Only the dark scruff of beard growth on his face looked familiar to Rachel.
“He looks worse than he is,” Doctor Hartmann assured her. “I’ll let you visit for a minute, but keep it brief.”
Rachel nodded, her eyes on Dylan. “Of course.”
She moved to the side of his bed and, careful not to disturb the intravenous tubing in his arm, took his hand in hers. She studied his face, noting the changes since she’d last seen him. With his strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, and golden good looks, he’d never had a shortage of girlfriends. The few people who’d made the mistake of thinking his long hair meant he was a tree-hugger didn’t know the real Dylan McCafferty. He was an adrenaline junkie; an extreme adventurer always in search of the next thrill. He was happiest when jumping out of a plane or battling a wildfire. Now she looked at his leg. Would he ever jump again?
“He’ll be okay,” said Tyler. “It’ll be a good three to six months before he can resume normal activities. I doubt he’ll ever jump a fire again, but considering he could be dead, I think that’s a preferable alternative.”
Rachel nodded and blinked back sudden tears. “All he ever wanted was to be a smoke jumper.”
Beside her, Tyler laughed softly. “Not to argue, but I don’t think that’s entirely true. All Dylan wants is a challenge. Tell him he can’t do something, and guaranteed he’s going to find a way to get it done.”
Rachel smiled. “That’s true. I remember when he was training for the fitness test. He’d run up a mountain with a seventy-pound pack on his back every morning, and it wasn’t enough to just beat the time, he had to kill it.”
“That’s Dylan,” he agreed, and then suppressed a yawn. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat. I’m going to head back to the base camp and try to get a few hours of sleep.”
Leaning down, Rachel pressed a kiss against her brother’s face. Then, with one last look at him, she followed Tyler back to where Jamie waited for them in the lobby.
“Where do you want to stay?” he asked, after they left the hospital and he had settled himself into the back of the van. “We passed a bunch of hotels downtown.”
“I made reservations at a lodge on the outskirts of town,” Rachel replied. “It looked nice, and the rooms are big.”
There was a momentary silence. “You already made reservations?” Rachel heard the disbelief in Jamie’s voice. “When did you do that?”
“While I was packing my overnight bag to come down here.” Rachel pulled out of the hospital parking lot and onto the main road, suddenly aware of how tired she was. “You forget; this is my specialty. I have two dozen travel agents on speed dial, so booking a place in Bozeman was a cinch.”
“A lodge, huh?”
She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “There’s some kind of big rodeo going on through the weekend, and a lot of the downtown hotels are fully booked. This place sounds nice, and we’ll only be here until my parents arrive.”
“One room?”
Rachel smiled. “Of course.”
“Then I’m going to love the place.”
The sprawling wilderness-style lodge overlooked a river, and was constructed of massive logs with a steeply peaked center roof that soared four stories high. Jamie eased himself into his wheelchair and stacked their two duffel bags onto his lap, before expertly wheeling himself up the ramp and through the wide entry doors.
Inside, Rachel stopped for a moment, and just stared in awe at their surroundings. A massive waterfall, complete with rock formations, trees, and other greenery, dominated the center lobby, while the ceiling soared upward. On the far side of the lobby was an enormous stone fireplace flanked by live pine trees. Looking up, Rachel saw each level of the hotel had a balcony that overlooked the lobby, supported by immense tree trunks. Tables with colorful umbrellas were arranged around the waterfall, and a gurgling stream meandered through the lobby, crisscrossed by rustic footbridges. Deer heads had been mounted on the supporting pillars, and chandeliers made of antlers hung suspended over the tables and the reception desk.
“Wow, this is pretty spectacular,” Jamie commented.
“I like everything except the animal head display,” Rachel said, wrinkling her nose. “All those eyes watching me…” She shivered.
Jamie nodded. “Yeah, I have to agree with you.”
They checked into their room, and made their way to the third floor. As they passed through the hallway, they were on eye-level with the top of the waterfall, and Rachel saw the lobby ceiling was a glass dome, through which she could see the stars.
Inside their room, Jamie tossed their bags onto a chair, and swiveled around, taking in the king-sized bed, the sitting area complete with small kitchenette, and the sliding doors that led to a private balcony.
“Well, at least there are no prying eyes in here,” he commented.
“Yes, thank goodness,” Rachel agreed. She pushed her hands through her hair. “I’m just going to brush my teeth and freshen up before bed.”
Jamie nodded. “Sounds good.”
In the bathroom, she almost wailed with despair when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had mostly come loose from the ponytail, and hung in messy disarray around her face, which looked pale and tired.
Shedding her clothes, she turned on the shower and then coiled her hair into a bun on top of her head, before stepping beneath the hot spray of water. The day’s tension eased from her body, and she spent several long minutes under the stream, letting the hot water soothe her troubled thoughts. She dried off quickly and pulled on a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt, before letting her hair down and using her fingers to fluff it around her face. She quickly brushed her teeth, and then pinched some color into her pale cheeks.
Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door to see Jamie was already in the big bed. His toiletries sat on the counter beside the kitchenette sink, and his clothes were folded on a nearby chair. He’d turned the bedside light on to the lowest setting and the room was cast in shadows, but Rachel could see he was asleep, and she felt a pang of guilt for having kept him up so late. Careful not to disturb him, she slid beneath the sheets, and reached out to turn off the light.
In the darkness, she could just make out his profile, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and Rachel cautiously snuggled against him. She slid a hand over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the contour of the muscles beneath. She wanted to slide her fingers lower to explore the hardness she’d glimpsed earlier, but was reluctant to disturb him. She closed her eyes, pushing down her disappointment.
*
Jamie lay awake for a long time after Rachel crawled into bed beside him. He could smell the clean, floral fragrance of the soap she’d used, and when she slid her hand over his bare skin, his body reacted instantly. He’d had to stifle his groan of frustration and concentrate on keeping his breathing even, knowing if she slid her hand downward, she’d discover he wasn’t asleep at all.
Far from it.
More than anything, he wanted to lift her over him and have her straddle his aching body; to bury himself inside her and lose himself in her tight heat. But he recalled again the weariness in her eyes and the exhausted slump of her slender shoulders. She needed sleep more than he needed sex.
Grateful when she curled on her side, he listened to her breathing grow slower, until finally she was asleep. He blew out a hard breath and flung one arm over his head, staring through the darkness at the ceiling, knowing he wouldn’t find sleep quite so easily.
*
He couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t move. Could barely breathe for the thick dust and grit that filled his nostrils and mouth.
He lay in utter blackness, pinned where he was by
the weight of the heavy concrete above him. When he tried to shift, agonizing pain tore through him, as if someone had taken a red-hot poker and driven it through his midsection.
Somewhere, in the darkness, he heard a tortured moan. Someone was dying, and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to help. Was it Santos? He tried to call his buddy’s name, but when he opened his mouth, it filled up with dirt until he began to choke.
He was being strangled.
He was dying.
He struggled to free himself, but he couldn’t move.
Someone called his name.
“Jamie. Jamie.”
His lifeline. His only hope.
“Jamie.”
A hand touched his shoulder, and he surged upward on one elbow, disoriented and gasping for breath.
“Jamie, you were dreaming, but you’re safe now.”
He turned his head and realized he was in bed with Rachel. She had turned on the bedside lamp and now she leaned over him on one elbow, her face clouded with concern. He shoved a hand through his hair, trying to dispel the nightmare. Outside the window, the sun had already risen.
“Water,” he managed to croak.
Without hesitation, Rachel jumped out of bed and hurried over to the sink, filling a tall glass with water and carrying it back to him. She knelt on the mattress beside him as he drank it in noisy gulps. He swore he could still feel the grit of the nightmare in his throat.
He handed Rachel the empty glass and fell back against the pillows. He was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, and he felt weak, as if he’d just completed a triathlon.
“Hey.” Rachel smoothed a cool hand over his brow. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp. Reaching out, he pulled her down beside him and wrapped his arms around her, breathing in her soapy-clean scent. She represented everything that was good and pure, and right now he needed that. He wanted to lose himself in that with an urgency that wouldn’t be denied.
Reaching down, he began pushing her boxer shorts down over her hips. “Take these off,” he muttered, too impatient to have any finesse.
She did as he asked, shimmying out of the boxer shorts, and then pulling her T-shirt over her head until she was completely nude. He devoured the sight of her slender curves, her full, high breasts with their dusky tips, and the thatch of dark hair between her legs. Without waiting to be asked, she leaned over him and pulled his shorts down over his hips, easing them over his cast until she could pull them free.
He was already hard, his erection straining against his stomach. He didn’t want to wait; he couldn’t wait. He needed to be inside her now.
“Hurry,” he demanded.
Rachel raised one leg to straddle his hips, and he moistened his fingers with his tongue and swiped them over her cleft in a crude effort to prepare her. Then he grasped her hips in both hands and surged upward, pushing himself into her hot, tight depths with a loud groan of satisfaction.
Rachel gasped, and then she was working with him, rocking her hips and clenching her inner muscles with each forceful thrust. Lust swirled through him and the nightmare receded. He’d been prepared to reach his own climax without her, but watching her as she rode him, he realized she was close. Her face tightened in an expression of pleasure-pain as she neared her climax.
Jamie watched as her orgasm rolled over her, and then he let himself go with a guttural cry of release, surging upward as she tightened around him, pouring himself into her until there was nothing left for him to give.
Chapter Twelve
They didn’t talk about the nightmare or the sex, but the experience left Rachel shaken. Jamie had disappeared into the bathroom immediately after; there had been no cuddling or pillow talk. Rachel lay in bed, listening to the water run, reliving those urgent moments. She had never, ever been used so thoroughly, or enjoyed it so much. She only wished the catalyst for the desperate coupling had been different.
She recalled again the sound of Jamie’s moans as he’d been caught in the grip of his nightmare. She hoped never to hear those sounds again. They’d terrified her, made her want to weep for what he’d been through. When he emerged from the bathroom, showered and dressed, he’d once again donned the persona of the audacious, teasing lover and any chance to ask about what had happened was gone.
They ate a quick breakfast in the majestic lobby of the lodge, sitting at the foot of the waterfall, and then they headed back to the hospital. Now they stood outside Dylan’s room as the doctor finished his morning examination.
“How is he?” Rachel asked, when the doctor and a nurse emerged from the room.
“I’d say he’s much better,” Doctor Hartmann replied, jotting notes onto a clipboard. He looked at Rachel and grinned. “He’s asking how long before he can jump again.”
Rachel smiled. “That sounds about right. Is it okay if we go in?”
“Of course.”
Dylan had his eyes closed, but he opened them when he heard their approaching footsteps, and his expression immediately transformed into a smile of welcome.
“Hey! This is a surprise!”
To Rachel, his voice sounded weak, but he looked much better than he had the previous day. He’d removed the green surgical cap, and now his hair spilled around his face in the glorious honey-brown waves that had driven girls wild for as long as Rachel could remember.
“Don’t try to sit up,” she advised, as she bent over and kissed his cheek. “I came as soon as I heard.”
Dylan gave her a weak grin, and rubbed his fingers along the scruff on his jaw. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have cleaned up. And where’d you pick up this loser?” He lifted a hand and fist-bumped Jamie, who had moved to the opposite side of the bed. “Jesus, man, you look like shit.”
Jamie laughed. “Yeah, well have you looked in a mirror? I know you’ve always been jealous of me, but did you really have to jump into a tree just to one-up me? Looks like you’re going to have a pretty impressive scar to show off to the ladies.”
Dylan gave a dramatic groan. “Man, that wind caught my chute and I was like dandelion fluff, going whichever way it blew me.”
Rachel took his hand. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
Dylan was silent for a moment, and Rachel knew he was thinking about his former boss, who had been killed in an accident eerily similar to his own a few years earlier. Then he seemed to give himself a mental shake, and shifted his gaze to Jamie.
“You doing okay, bro? I tried to come see you, right after they shipped you home, but the timing didn’t work out. I got called up for a wildfire in Alaska, instead.”
Jamie shrugged. “I can’t complain. I have a follow-up appointment with the surgeon early next week, and hopefully they’ll take this off and transition me to a boot.” He grinned and nodded his head toward Rachel. “And I have this one here taking excellent care of me.”
Dylan looked bemused. “Yeah, how the hell did you two hook up?”
Rachel’s gaze sharpened on her brother. Did he suspect she and Jamie were more than just neighbors?
“Mom and Dad are on their annual cruise with the Colters,” she reminded him, “so they asked me if I would mind helping him out while they’re gone.”
Dylan frowned. “So you’re home now? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“It was a last-minute decision.” She pulled her hand free from Dylan’s and focused on removing an invisible bit of lint from her jeans. “Deke and I are officially divorced, and I just needed to get out of New York.”
“About damned time,” Dylan said darkly. “I always hated that prick. You should have listened to me when I told you not to marry him.”
Rachel gave him a weak smile. “Well, you were right.”
“So what are you going to do now?” he asked. “Not a lot of potential clients in Glacier Creek, although we do have seasonal residents with a lot of dough. Maybe Lucas can hook you up with some of them.”
Rachel vaguely
remembered Lucas Talbot, the third friend in her brother’s childhood trio. He lived on Long Island, but had spent his summers in Glacier Creek, since his billionaire stepfather had owned a luxury mountain home overlooking Flathead Lake. The three of them had been inseparable every summer when they were growing up. She recalled Lucas’s family had even paid for Dylan and Jamie to accompany them on several ski vacations to Europe.
Now her eyes flicked to Jamie. “Thanks, but I don’t know how long I’ll be in Glacier Creek. I was thinking maybe I’d start my own business in California.”
“Really.” Dylan’s voice held surprise and skepticism. “And that would be as a personal assistant?”
“A personal concierge,” she corrected him.
Dylan looked puzzled. “Is that even a real thing?”
Jamie laughed. “That’s exactly what I said!”
Rachel raised her hands in surrender. “I give up. Yes, it’s a real thing, but you wouldn’t know because you lack the kind of money it takes to afford one.”
Dylan snorted. “Don’t you mean I lack the kind of temperament to need one? I refuse to ask other people to do what I can do for myself.”
Rachel looked meaningfully at his leg, swollen and bruised and held together with staples. “Okay. Well, let me know how that works out for you.”
But Dylan only laughed, and then groaned as the movement caused pain to his abdomen. Rachel immediately regretted teasing him.
“Can I do something for you? Do you need pain meds?”
But Dylan only shook his head. “No, it’ll pass. I’m trying not to dope myself up.”
“Why would you allow yourself to be in pain?” Rachel asked. “Honestly, do you have to be macho all the time?”
Dylan actually looked embarrassed. “Captain Gaskill—my boss—called to say he’ll be stopping by later today, and I’d like to be coherent.”
“When are they going to let you out of here?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Maybe another week.” He indicated his knee. “They have to wait for the bones to knit, and make sure an infection doesn’t set in.”