High Intensity (High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G #2)

Chapter 2

Two

Jillian

“He’s such a pretty boy.”

Sloane scrunches up her face.

“He may be handsome, but he’s a big menace , ” she corrects me.

I bend down and comply when her dog, River, flops on his back, big paws in the air, for a belly rub.

Big is an understatement for this almost eight-month-old, oversized puppy. River was a rescue I picked up from a kill-shelter near Helena when I was out there with Hunter and Murphy, helping on a search. I couldn’t leave him behind.

When Sloane called me a week later, asking me to help her find a dog for her fiancé, it felt predestined.

“What is he doing?” I ask her.

She called this morning, asking if I could take River for the day. She didn’t want to leave him with Aspen at High Meadow, because she said he’d been acting up. I told her of course, and that if I got called out, I’d keep him in the kennel out back with my guys.

“Eating my underwear.” She makes a gagging sound that makes me snicker. “He’s attached to me like Velcro and shadows me everywhere. When I leave the house without him, his howls follow me down the driveway, and then when I get back, I find half-eaten panties he steals from the laundry hamper.”

“Is this a new thing?”

I straighten up and walk over to my coffee maker to get a pot started.

“Yeah,” she says, taking a seat on one of the stools at the island. “Started last month, sometime before Christmas. Oh, none for me,” she adds when I start loading grinds into the filter. “I’ve been off coffee. It gives me heartburn.”

I drop the scoop back in my coffee tin and turn to face her, folding my arms in front of me.

“Have you considered the possibility you could be pregnant?”

First her face freezes. Then, slowly, her mouth drops open, even as she starts shaking her head.

“No. No, no, no.”

I tilt my head and watch her go through the motions as she processes my suggestion. Pregnancy would fit with River’s behavior as well. Some dogs can react strongly to any changes in physical condition, including pregnancy. I’m starting to wonder if River might have done well as a support dog.

“Oh my God,” Sloane mutters, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “I’ve barely had a period since Aspen was born. I thought maybe I was still getting regular.” She turns wide eyes on me. “I’m gonna have two kids in diapers.”

I grin. “Why don’t you do a pregnancy test first? Make sure before you panic.”

“Dan’s gonna flip his shit.”

“Highly doubtful,” I assure her. “I don’t know him that well, but I’ve seen him with Aspen.”

“It’s too soon,” she laments, tears welling in her eyes.

I’m guessing that might be hormones, since drama and tears aren’t necessarily Sloane’s MO. River, concerned about his “mother’s” mood, sidles up beside her and drops his head on her lap, which only seems to encourage the waterworks.

“I’m making us a pot of tea instead of coffee, while you get a grip,” I announce resolutely, turning to reach for the roll of paper towels, which I deposit in front of her. Then I grab the kettle. “I’ll reiterate; do a test and make sure first. And if you are pregnant, you’ll be just fine. It’s not like you don’t know the drill, except this time you’re far better equipped.”

I realize I’m sounding rather harsh, perhaps even a bit insensitive. I’m not, but the subject matter will always be a bit of a struggle, I guess. Plugging in the kettle, I round the island and throw my arm around Sloane in a side hug.

“Look, there’s a reason babies take nine months to get here; to give the parents time to get their shit together. You’ll be fine,” I repeat, giving her a final squeeze.

“Ugh, the timing just sucks. My shift starts in half an hour, and Dan is dropping off Aspen at the ranch and then taking off on a call. I have no idea how long he’ll be gone.”

“It’ll give you time to pick up a test and know for sure before you tell him. One step at a time, my friend. Now,” I firmly change the subject. “Did you have breakfast? Can I toast you a bagel or something?”

Twenty minutes later, I watch Sloane drive off for her shift, River whimpering by my side. I nudge him back inside and close the door.

“You stay out of my laundry hamper, mister.”

River throws me a glance before he boldly jumps onto my couch and makes himself a place between Peanut and Hunter, who shoots him a half-hearted growl before going back to sleep. With the dogs settled in, I head to the bedroom to tackle another box. I feel the need to keep my hands busy, mainly so my mind doesn’t wander off to places I’m not in the mood to revisit right now.

Hard to do, and as soon as I start stacking my linens in the hallway closet, my thoughts drift back to when I first discovered I was pregnant. It was a lifetime ago. The memories come with a stab of pain, right in the middle of my chest, like a sharp jab to my sternum. Even after all these years, it steals my breath for a second.

Then I shake my head; this isn’t about me, this is about Sloane, and I’m happy for my friend, even if she doesn’t yet realize how lucky she is.

This morning’s visit went in a slightly different direction than I had thought. I’d hoped to be able to pick her brain over coffee, but the topic of conversation came out of the blue, and we ended up having tea.

I never got a chance to ask her about Lucas Wolff.

Bumping into him at Wellspring had been a surprise. I don’t know what shocked me more, the fact Wolff actually had a mother—the man gives off loud alone-in-the-world vibes—or that this funny, tiny, firecracker of a woman could’ve given birth to such a reserved and seemingly humorless man.

I’d hope to find out from Sloane if he was this aloof and borderline asocial with everyone, or if that is something he reserves just for me. I have to admit, it’s intriguing—he’s intriguing—and it makes me want to rattle his cage, get under that impassive front he seems to put up around me.

But there are a few cracks, I’ve seen one or two, most recently yesterday at the Wellspring facility.

Wolff

Fuck, it’s cold this morning.

It’s in part the brisk wind bringing in a system from Alberta, which is supposed to hit sometime tonight. They’re expecting upward of ten inches of snow in the region, which is why we’re out early this morning, making sure we’re ready for the storm to hit.

Usually, before the first snow of the season hits, we bring the horses in closer to the ranch. There isn’t enough stable space for the entire herd, but the pastures immediately surrounding the ranch have field shelters where the animals tend to huddle during inclement weather. Those shelters also have warmed water troughs, and we make sure they’re always stocked with fresh hay.

This morning we’re out here dropping extra bales of hay. Also, to make any repairs to shelters with damage, like loose boards that could injure one of the animals.

“Grab the toolbox too,” I yell out to JD, who is already by the truck, getting a couple of new boards.

I’m tossing hay in the opposite corner, from where one of the horses kicked through the wall to get them out of our way. This is a smaller band of seven colts; generally speaking, a rowdy bunch. All between two and three, and learning to assert themselves. It’s not uncommon for us to find one or more horses with injuries when they decide to mete out their dominance.

One of the splintered boards has some bloody hair stuck to it, which leads me to check out the horses’ legs for damage.

“It was Ares,” I inform JD when he walks in.

I point out the flap of skin hanging down the feisty buckskin’s left rear leg, from a few inches above the hock to halfway down to his fetlock. It’s an ugly gouge and an open invitation to infection.

“Stupid bastard,” JD mumbles.

Then he turns and drops the toolbox and lumber by the damaged back wall, while I pull out my phone and dial the office.

“Hey, it’s Wolff,” I identify myself when Jonas answers. “We’re gonna need Doc Richards out in the northeast paddock. One of the colts, Ares, kicked through a wall and ripped his leg open good. He’s gonna need some stitches.”

“How long is it gonna take you to patch up the wall?”

“JD’s with me. It’s just two boards, so fifteen minutes, tops.”

“Okay, I was going to put a call in to Doc Richards anyway, Bo says two of the mares are snotty and coughing. He put them in the birthing stalls to separate them from the rest.”

Coughing can be a sign of EIV, horse influenza, which is highly contagious. Even though the herd is regularly vaccinated, like any other virus, EIV has many variant strains with new ones developing all the time.

“Rather than have Doc come out there, one of you can walk Ares back to the ranch. He should probably be inside until he’s healed anyway.”

“Sure thing.”

JD has already ripped off the remainder of the broken boards and is pulling out any exposed nails when I join him.

“Jonas wants Ares at the barn,” I share as I fit a new board over the opening in the wall. “Couple of the stabled horses may have the flu so he was calling Doc Richards anyway. Ares is gonna be a handful though.”

“I’ll bring him in,” JD offers. “Unless you wanna?”

I shake my head. “You’re better at handling the difficult ones.”

It’s true. I do all right with the horses, but I know my limitations. Dan and JD really have a knack with them—particularly the ornery ones—they grew up around these animals. My contact with horses was limited to summer camps at the dude ranch my parents sent me to as a rebellious teenager. I did catch the equestrian bug, fell in love with the majestic animals, and rode every chance I had.

Which wasn’t very often until I met the High Mountain Trackers team. I liked working in law enforcement—catching the bad guys—and I worked hard to become a federal agent. Unfortunately, that job comes with a lot of paperwork and red tape and even the occasional corrupt agent. So, when Jonas Harvey offered me a place on his team, I didn’t hesitate.

How often do you get the opportunity to live out a childhood dream and get paid handsomely for it?

“I’ll take the truck and hit the next shelter. We’ve gotta keep moving before the snow hits,” I add.

“Okay.”

He sounds and acts indifferent, but I don’t believe for a second he is. Like his father, JD Watike isn’t exactly a talker and tends to be quietly observant, which is what makes him and James exceptional trackers. But I’m no slouch either, and observing was my bread and butter working as a federal agent, which is why it hasn’t gone unnoticed that JD likes to hang around the stable when Doc Richards pays the ranch a visit.

I have to admit, when I first met the new vet, I was pleasantly surprised. We talked a few times and I thought she was nice, smart, and definitely attractive, but I don’t like playing so close to home. It reeks of messy entanglements.

Of course, since meeting Jillian Lederman just a few months after that, I barely even notice Doc Richards anymore.

You could’ve knocked me down with a feather when she showed up at my mom’s residence yesterday. So much for steering clear of the petite woman now my mother’s radar is pinging. Mom knows me too well. She’s always had the ability to see right through me, which is why I was never able to get away with anything growing up.

That, and I lie for shit.

Jillian has my full attention, and I’m not happy about it. She doesn’t even have to try to worm her way into my awareness, she’s simply there. Has been from the start, which is what set off all kinds of red flags for me.

Don’t get me wrong; I like women. I like spending time with them, sharing a meal, having a conversation, and some of them I like taking to bed. Hell, I’m not even averse to a longer arrangement—I’ve had a few of those—but nothing serious or binding or restrictive.

The bottom line is, I like my bachelor life, and I don’t want to let it go.

Jillian freaks me out because she’s the kind of woman I could see giving up my independence for. Hell, we haven’t even had a proper conversation, and yet I can’t stop thinking about her.

I’m fucking obsessed.

When I make it back to the ranch hours later, the snow has started coming down and combined with the heavy winds, visibility is reduced to near nothing. I hope Dan, Fletch, and Sully were able to find some shelter from the elements. They went out to find a couple who left to go snowshoeing near the Nordic ski trails but never returned home last night.

I pull up to the barn, shove my hat down on my head as I get out of the truck, and dart for the doors. Inside, I notice right away the overhead lights are off.

“Power’s out,” JD announces, stepping out of one of the stalls.

I can just see Ares move restlessly behind him.

“I see that. How’s he doing?”

“Being a pain in the ass, but otherwise fine. Stitched up, and she put him on antibiotics.”

“Good. What’s the deal with the other two horses?”

“Probably EIV. She took swabs and wants them isolated.”

“Hope that’ll be enough to contain it.”

Sadly, even horses without symptoms could be carriers, so it’s hard to keep it from spreading.

The overhead lights flicker briefly before coming on.

“Generators,” JD clarifies. “Jonas went to start them up. Main transformer along the thirty-seven east of town got knocked out. All of Libby is down. It’s a fucking mess.”

No shit. Power outages are not uncommon during storms out here—hence the generators at the ranch to keep the barn and the main house up and running—but having the entire grid go down is rare. Not everyone has the luxury of a generator.

“Any word on the team?” I ask.

“They found them. A snow slide swept them off the trail and the woman messed up her leg in the tumble. The boys got back before it got bad out there and hightailed it home when the power went off.”

Probably checking on their families in person. With the whole grid down, it likely impacts power to the cell towers as well.

From there my thoughts jump to Jillian, alone in her new house and probably without any way to connect to the outside world. I wonder how she’s staying warm.

My feet are already moving when I call out to JD over my shoulder.

“I’ve gotta go check on something.”