Don't Cry for Me

He nodded. “I work for the Daniel Boone National Forest Service as a backcountry ranger. I’m not in constant contact with the public like some rangers, which suits me.”

“Then what do you do?”

He shrugged. “It varies. Just before I went to get you we had two hikers go missing.”

“Did you find them?” Mariah asked, and then knew from the set of his jaw that something had gone wrong. “I know that look,” she said. “What happened? Couldn’t you find them?”

“No, I found them, but one was dead and the other severely injured.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

“They were attacked by a rogue bear, but that was on the other side of the mountain. He killed one. The other managed to get away. He was in bad shape when I found him.”

She shuddered, her eyes widening as she peered into the trees lining the road. “Did you kill the bear?”

“Last I heard they were still tracking him. But don’t worry, they’ll find him and do what they have to.”

She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her waist. “What else is up here that I need to be concerned about?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say that would be me. I snore. I have some serious flashbacks that turn into living nightmares, and I’ve been known to shout in my sleep.”

She rolled her eyes. “At least now I know I won’t have to worry about making a fool of myself in front of you.”

“There are no fools where I live, girl—only members of the same survivors’ club. Now stop worrying. It’s all good. You’ll see. I only have one bedroom, but my sofa makes into a bed, and we’ve got it all fixed up for you. I would have let you have the bedroom and taken the sofa myself, but the bedroom is up in the loft and the stairs are steep.”

“Loft?”

“Yes, my place is an A-frame. Two stories, with one bedroom and bathroom upstairs, and one big open room downstairs, with a kitchen at one end and the living area at the other. There’s another bathroom downstairs, next to the utility room. It makes more sense for you to be on the main floor. And there’s a wraparound deck that will be great for you to get your exercise without having to walk on uneven ground. It’s not luxurious, but it’s pretty new, and I’m not a slob.”

Mariah was silent, picturing the home and him in it, when he added, “We’ll be okay. No pressure to do anything but relax and get well. Understand?”

Relieved that he’d finally brought up the issue of nothing personal expected between them, she could finally relax. Whatever happened, she was grateful to be with someone she trusted.

* * *

Up in the high country on the other side of Rebel Ridge, Jake Doolen, his sons and their bloodhounds were still trying to pick up the bear’s tracks, desperate to find it before it attacked and killed someone else, but the signs were scarce to nonexistent. It was as if the bear had just vanished.

As far from the hunters as it could get, the bear was carrying an arrow in its rump, and the wound was infected, making it impossible for it to hunt as it once had. It was sick and in pain—two issues that drastically increased the danger quotient. Within hours of first sensing the dogs and the hunters it had made an about-face and begun moving in the opposite direction. If the Doolens didn’t find it in time, it would emerge from the reserve and right into populated territory.

Four

The sun was already sliding toward the western tip of the mountaintop by the time Quinn and Mariah reached the cabin. Her first glimpse of the site he’d chosen for the simple A-frame made her think Quinn was still in soldier mode. He’d set the cabin in the middle of an open meadow that was surrounded on all four sides by trees, with only one road in and out.

In fact, the original homestead had been built in this same place nearly a hundred years before for essentially the same reason: distrust of the federal government in general. The first Walkers to live here had believed that if you couldn’t be found, you couldn’t be counted, and if you couldn’t be counted, then you were off their radar. That mind-set still lingered in some of the more remote areas of Rebel Ridge and the rest of the South.

“Home sweet home,” Quinn said, as he pulled up to the cabin and parked.

Mariah couldn’t quit staring. All it needed was some gingerbread on the eaves and snow on the roof, and it could pass for a fairy-tale cottage from a picture book. The deck was deep and wrapped around the cabin on three sides. The railings were strong and sturdy, built for sitting or leaning. And just like that, all the tension she’d been feeling was gone.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” she said.

Pleased that she hadn’t freaked about the isolation, Quinn relaxed, too. The first hurdle was over.

Mariah opened her door, carefully swung her legs toward the side, then slowly slid out of the seat.

“It feels good to stand up.”

Quinn quickly circled the Jeep and slid an arm around her waist to steady her.

“The ground can be a little rough. Hang on to me until we get up the steps.”

Mariah didn’t argue. The last thing she wanted was to bust her nose before she got in the house, although it wouldn’t be the first time she’d taken a tumble since she’d been wounded.

Once they got up on the deck, Quinn stopped to unlock the door. It swung inward on silent hinges, revealing a large open room with a two-story ceiling and a shiny hardwood floor. The walls were cedar paneled, and the massive stone fireplace at the far end of the room was a statement in itself. She could imagine being snowed in up on this mountain with a fire blazing and Quinn at her side, then shook off the fantasy. No need dwelling on things that weren’t going to happen.

“You must love living here.”

“It’s okay for a hillbilly, I guess.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t making fun of you. I only called you that because I…liked you, and because you always called me twerp.”

“Well, you were a twerp. Now you’re a corporal,” Quinn said, and started to tousle her hair when he felt the scar on her head and stopped short.

“Ooh, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

Mariah traced the crooked ridge of scar tissue with absent fingers.

“No.”

“How bad were you hurt?”

“Bad enough. It makes me nuts that my memory’s scrambled,” she admitted.

“But that means if I tell you that you always used to rub my feet and scratch my back, you’d have to believe me.”

She laughed out loud, startling herself with the sound. It had been a long time since she’d felt like laughing.

“Sorry, mister, but I’m not that bad off. I’m not the foot-rubbing, back-scratching kind.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Quinn said. “You were damn good at scratching certain itches.”

“And so were you, but that doesn’t mean we’re picking up where we left off, right?”

“Right.”

“So stop making me nervous and show me around, okay?”

“You get the fifty-cent tour, which means all of the downstairs. If you get strong enough to walk up the stairs on your own, you’ll get the other half.”