Page 39 of Rescued By the Mountain Man Cowboy
“Exactly,” Luke replies, releasing me and walking toward the box. “Put this away. Evidence.”
“You know where,” Gabe says.
“I’m calling my contact,” Madison starts.
“No, Madi. What if they know you’re digging? No more. Do not put yourselves in further danger.”
Madison rounds the couch and takes my hands. “Anna, babe. You know me, one. And two, my contact is monitoring everything. They don’t know. These fuckers have messed with the wrong one. Trust me. I’m close to being able to make our move and set you free of this. Stick with Luke. He will keep you safe. And I’ve got Gabe. No one’s coming through him.”
“You’re damned right about that,” he grumbles, taking the box away.
“We’re all gonna eat and get a plan in order until night hits. Then you and Luke head out. Okay?” she asks.
Closing my eyes, I steady my breathing. I look around the room. Luke’s green eyes pierce through the fear, offering calming shores.
“Okay,” I agree.
Horses saddled,packed, and us each with backpacks, we ride into the dense, dark forest. Only Luke’s sense of direction leads the horses, as I can’t see shit out here. Even the moon can’t break through the tree cover. Thankfully, feeling the strong muscles of Tuck under me is second nature. I let him lead as he follows Luke with Buttercup. I use that ride to quiet the ruminating fears and what-ifs.
We’ve been riding for about forty minutes when a dark silhouette appears ahead. The evening sounds are the only backdrop. Neither of us has uttered a word since we started riding. If Luke’s anything like my dad, I know he values the quiet, especially when he needs to focus and problem-solve. For me, the quiet, with certain people, is recharging. Interestingly enough, I felt that instant connection when I met Luke.
The horses huff and guide us forward, passing a small hedge, and that’s when the cabin materializes.
Small, rustic, but not falling apart. Almost built into the side of the mountain, ivy and green vines embrace the roof and sides. It’s almost fairybook-like.
Luke dismounts Buttercup and walks over to me. I follow suit and guide Tuck by the reins to where Luke pulls open a creaking wooden gate that leads to a hidden stable. We bring the horses in and get them settled, removing the packs before leaving them to feed and hydrate. Luke carries both packs, and we walk over to the cabin’s front door.
“Stay here,” he says quietly.
First words he’s uttered since we left his place.
I nod, not having the energy for anything more. My body aches. My head is heavy with thoughts and worry. My eyes fight to stay open. Exhaustion like never before wraps around like energy-sucking tentacles.
Luke returns, and a light golden glow sets behind him inside the cabin. He removes the backpack I’m carrying. I barely react. Taking my hand, Luke guides me inside and straight to a room. I try to look around, but my neck won’t even listen to that simple command.
Everything is a blur. Luke sitting me at the edge of a bed. Him removing my boots and socks. My jacket. Lying me on the mattress, covering me, and unpacking some small items fom a backpack.
My head sinks into the pillow, and my eyes take that as a sign to close.
Darkness drifts into my subconscious, and all I can think is…please, let me dream about something sweet for a change.
Chapter Eight
LUKE
The crying starts a little after two.
I know because I'm not asleep. Haven't been since I laid her down, pulled the door half-shut behind me, and sat down at the kitchen table with the radio on low and a hunting rifle within reach. I've been staring at the topo map of this property I pulled off the wall, mapping every approach, every line of sight, every place a man could come at us from in the dark. Three exits. Two windows. One road in. The horses would alert us before any vehicle got within a quarter mile.
I've been a Captain. I've been on protection details. None of them ever felt like this.
The first sound is small. A whimper through the cracked door. I'm on my feet before my brain catches up.
I cross the cabin floor barefoot, careful, listening. The fire's burning low in the wood stove, throwing a soft amber across the boards. I stop just outside her door.
Another whimper. Higher. Wet.
Then a word.
