Her Mountain Sanctuary

“Sit down.” Faith motioned to the surprisingly nice leather sofa, then took a couple of steps back as if giving him room. In reality, she was giving herself room. He did as he was told, sinking down with a low exhale. “I’ll stay until the ambulance gets here.”

“I’m sending them back down the mountain.”

“No insurance?”

He shook his head. “No hospitals.”

“Do what you have to do. I’m staying until they get here.”

“No wonder you’re friends with my sister,” he muttered.

“We’re not friends.” Faith’s face grew warm at her clipped comment. “What I mean is that she’s my boss. Best not to blur lines.”

He lifted his gaze, one hand still pressed against his forehead and Faith took a step back, settling her hand on Sully’s wet curls. Logically, she knew Drew wasn’t a threat in his present condition, but survival instincts, once triggered, were strong. Exhaustively strong. He frowned as she moved back another step, and she had a strong feeling that it wasn’t from pain. He was trying to read her. Figure out what was wrong with her. Just as he had in the café.

He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. The rain beat on the roof, and a tree branch brushed lightly against the windows, but the silence inside the cabin seemed louder than the weather outside.

Finally, Drew broke the silence. “If you’re not friends, then maybe you don’t need to discuss this with her.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “And when she finds out? I can’t see where that would be good for either of us.”

“I don’t want her to scare my daughter.”

“You have a daughter?”

She had no idea why that revelation stunned her, but it did.

He closed his eyes without answering, letting his head rest on the cushion behind him. Faith stayed standing, hugging her arms around her middle. She scanned the room, which was sparsely furnished, ridiculously neat. A photo on the desk caught her attention and she glanced at Drew before leaning closer to get a better look. A much younger and carefree-looking Drew smiled down at the dark-haired woman in his arms. She smiled directly at the camera, joy lighting her face. A tremendous capture. Her contentment, his adoration. A couple deeply in love.

Faith pulled her gaze away, feeling as if she were intruding on a private moment. Drew’s eyes remained closed when she gave into impulse and checked the hands resting loosely on his thighs. The ring he wore in the photo was no longer on his finger.

The sound of an engine brought his eyes open again, catching her midstare. Faith quickly averted her gaze and moved to the window. A sheriff’s SUV pulled to a stop next to Faith’s ATV. A few seconds later, she opened the door to let a young deputy wearing a black raincoat and a plastic cover over his hat.

She gave him her statement while Drew sat silently on the sofa. The deputy turned to him.

“How are you feeling, sir?”

“I’m fine.”

“He fell face-first into a mud puddle.” Faith figured the deputy might as well have all the facts before he left.

“Is that true, sir?”

“I’m not going to the hospital.”

“You’re refusing medical care?” the deputy asked.

“I am.”

“The paramedics are almost here. What say we let them check you out?”

Faith held her breath, releasing it when Drew grunted consent. “Then they leave. Everyone leaves.”

“I’ll leave now.” She couldn’t wait to get out of here. The deputy had her contact information and there was nothing to keep her. She headed toward the door, Sully at her heels, giving the deputy a quick nod before pulling it open. She didn’t look at Drew Miller.

The seat of the ATV was soaking wet, but so were her pants, so Faith climbed on and turned the key. In fifteen minutes, she’d be at her house, warm and dry.

She saw the lights of the ambulance turning onto the road leading past the Lightning Creek as she started down the mountain. Good luck to you guys.

The headlights of Drew’s vehicle were no longer cutting through the darkness as she rounded the corner where he had crashed. She eased to a stop, despite the rain, directing her headlights so that they illuminated the place where the tracks left the road. Easing her way through the muck, she peered over the bank. An open Jeep rested on its roll bar. Faith shuddered and headed back to her ATV.

When she put the machine into gear, her hands were shaking so badly it was hard to get a good grip on the gearshift. It was cold and wet out. Of course her hands were shaking.

It had nothing to do with Drew and that Jeep sitting squarely on the roll bar that had saved his life.

* * *

DREW STRUGGLED OUT of his wet clothes, which stuck to his damp skin. After dealing with the deputy and the no-nonsense female paramedic who could have taken him in a fair fight and then climbing the ladder to the loft, he barely had the energy left to do battle with his clothing. Finally, he kicked the last bit of his jeans free and collapsed onto the bed.

He hurt.

He had a hellacious bruise where the seat belt had cut into him, a large bump on the side of his head where he’d hit the doorframe and general soreness from tensing up during an adrenaline spike.

He was going to hurt more in the morning, once the shock wore off. So be it. Pain was an old friend. At one point, he’d embraced physical pain because it distracted him from the real anguish in his life, and, because of that, he now had a huge stash of unused meds. A scary stash. One that he should have gotten rid of a long time ago, but kept as a remembrance of surviving when he wasn’t certain he’d wanted to. But he’d soldiered on for his little girl. And for Lissa, who wouldn’t have wanted him to give in to the pain.

He closed his eyes, thinking that he’d pull the blanket up over him in a moment. The next thing he knew, gray light was filtering in through the windows and he was shivering on his side. He reached out for the blanket and groaned as his body rebelled.

Maybe he wasn’t remembering correctly. Maybe he’d been hit by a truck instead of rolling down a hill. It certainly felt as if he’d made close contact with a Peterbilt. There was no way he was going back to sleep, so Drew swung his legs out of bed, then sat for a moment before forcing himself to his feet.

He didn’t pee red.

Now he didn’t have to stop by for that checkup that Brunhild the paramedic had insisted on. He’d pop a few ibuprofens and wait for Deb’s call—because Faith had made it clear that she wasn’t going to keep her mouth shut. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Pete would intercept any call from Deb to Maddie, to keep Deb from upsetting her. Drew didn’t want his daughter to know that he’d come close to buying it again. She was insecure enough about loss as it was.

Drew pulled a pair of sweats out of the antique armoire that served as a closet. No jeans today. He struggled into them, jammed his feet into his moccasins and gingerly pulled a long-sleeve T-shirt over his head. He got stuck halfway through the process. He let out a breath, gathered his strength and managed to pull the shirt into place.

Once dressed, he sat back on the bed and caught his breath.

He had a Jeep to winch up the side of a mountain. Probably some serious bodywork ahead of him. The radiator had been hissing and spewing when he’d started climbing the hill, so add that to the list. He’d call Pete in a bit, arrange to haul his sorry rig up the mountain and tow it to the shop. Pete was a hell of a lot better at bodywork than he was, so he’d offer a trade of some kind.

Drew preferred paying in cold hard cash, but Pete would have none of it. Ironic that Pete needed the money and wouldn’t take it, and Drew had the money and wanted to give it.

He got to his feet and stiffly descended the ladder into the living area, swallowing a groan of pain as he stepped off the last rung. The silence pressed in on him, but he didn’t start the generator. His gaze drifted over to the photo of him and Lissa. He’d caught Faith studying the photo the night before, as if she were surprised that a woman might get that close to him.

Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been a name on a slip of paper that his sister had pressed upon him. An unwanted meeting. Now she was his rescuer. Yes, he might have gotten to the cabin under his own steam, but he also might have passed out in the road, and then died of exposure during the rainy night.

Once upon a time, dying hadn’t seemed like a bad option, but he’d always been clear on the fact that it wasn’t an option for him. He was a survivor. His methodology might suck. He might not have the greatest existence, but he was carving something out for himself and Maddie. After all he’d been through, it would have sucked to die in a mud puddle.

He owed the woman.