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

Chapter 11

Eleven

Jillian

“Just lay down, Nugget.”

I run my hand down his spine as he stretches out on the white sheets.

My girls are a little upset with me. Poor Peanut looked a little crestfallen when I left her behind, but children tend to respond better to Nugget, whose size is a little less intimidating. I got the stink eye from Emo, who probably feels left out as well, since the other two saw action yesterday, and wanted to make sure I knew it.

Last night when Wolff and I got home with a couple of pizzas, JD had just returned with the dogs. He’d taken them for a long walk, so it’s not like they didn’t get their exercise. Then today before I left the house, I took them for another good hike.

I called the hospital first thing this morning to see how Hayley did through the night. The nurse I spoke to said she was still sedated but was stable. She didn’t want to tell me more on the phone, but said she’d have Dr. Chahal get back to me.

The doctor called fifteen minutes later to let me know Hayley had three broken ribs, a concussion, and deep bruising covering a lot of her body, all of which she felt had been the result of the crash. She also had a few frostbitten fingertips, but other than that—and of course the emotional trauma—no other major injuries.

She also mentioned she was going to start waking Hayley up soon, so if I wanted to be there with the dog, I’d have to make tracks. Which I did.

I haven’t seen Dr. Chahal since I got here but the nurse knew to expect me. They’d already stopped the medication that kept her sedated, and only a bag of saline solution is left on her IV pole when I am shown in her room.

I notice right away Hayley’s color is so much better than it was yesterday; no more white skin and grayish-blue lips. Someone cared enough to wash the grime off her face and brush out her hair. I never really noticed how long it was yesterday, because the hoodie she’d been wearing under her coat had been covering her head.

She’s a pretty girl.

Last night, after Wolff and JD left, I did a little research on my laptop. We’d talked about the crash over pizza, and it got me curious about this family. I figured it couldn’t hurt to dig up whatever background I could find. In fact, it might be useful in helping me connect with the girl.

The Vallard family is a pretty big deal, as I’ve discovered. Their company, Vallard Logistics, is worth a cool seven-point-five-billion dollars. That’s not chump change. When I spotted the company logo, the stylistic VL, I realized I’d seen those initials plenty of times on the side of transport trucks.

Vallard Logistics was founded in 1940 by Hiram Vallard, who would’ve been Hayley’s great-grandfather. He had the good fortune during the WWII years to pick up a number of military contracts. When other men of eligible age were drafted and sent off to war, Hiram —who had lost his left forearm in a farming accident at his uncle’s farm—was able to capitalize on an otherwise dark time in history.

He only had one child, Sarah-May Vallard, who was born a year after Vallard Logistics was founded and worked for her father’s company since she was just seventeen years old. So, when her father passed away in 1968 from a massive heart attack, Sarah-May—only twenty-seven at the time—took over her father’s company.

Hayley’s father, James, was born two years after his grandfather died and, like his mother before him, he was groomed from an early age to take over the business. Brother Grant seemed like an afterthought, and arrived nine years later. In 2000, Sarah-May handed over the reins of Vallard Logistics to James but stayed involved in the background.

I also discovered the Vallards were regular benefactors to a variety of charities, which is how I found some pictures online, leading me to the mother’s Facebook account. Most of the images Theresa posted were of fundraisers they seemed to attend regularly as a family. There were some of camping trips as well, which it looks like they did fairly frequently. That might explain Hayley’s survival skills.

The one thing I took away from the pictures was how much Hayley takes after her mother, who was a beautiful woman. In Theresa’s most recent post, she shared several snapshots of their trip to Whistler. There was one image of Hayley with her parents that brought tears to my eyes. They all looked so happy.

“Gram…”

The whisper has me turn my attention to the girl. Her eyes are still closed but she’s becoming restless, moving her legs and rolling her head from side to side. Nugget instantly snuggles his little body against her side. I don’t know why he does that, but it seems to calm the girl down.

I reach for the button to alert the nurse, but she already walks in.

“Is someone waking up?”

She turns down the volume coming from the monitor I only now realize was beeping. Then she leans over the bed, a hand on Hayley’s shoulder.

“Can you open your eyes, love?”

One eye opens a crack before shutting again.

The nurse takes the girl’s hand. “Can you squeeze my fingers?”

When nothing happens, she releases her hand. “That’s okay, honey. You take your time.”

Then she turns to me. “It’s going to be a while for the medication to flush from her system. Let me know if something changes.”

As soon as she leaves the room, Nugget scoots up in the bed, nudging the girl’s hand with his snout until he’s wormed his head underneath her fingers. I sit back and wait.

At some point, my gaze slipped out the window, and I’m staring at the mountains in the distance when I hear the soft thud, thud, of Nugget’s tail hitting the bed. When I turn to look, Hayley’s eyes are still closed, but her fingers are stroking the dog’s head.

“Hey, sweetheart…” I say in a soft voice, when I notice her run her tongue over her chapped lips. “Are you thirsty?”

I grab a cup of water from the bedside table, and bend the straw so I can slip it between her lips.

“Have a sip. It’s water.”

Her eyes stay firmly shut, but her lips close around the straw as she takes a drink.

“He loves getting his ears scratched,” I tell her, looking for something neutral to talk about. “He’s the smallest of my dogs and often gets lost in the shuffle, so he loves it when he can get all the attention.”

No reaction, but her fingers keep stroking on the dog’s soft fur, so I keep babbling.

“My name is Jillian, and his name is Nugget, and as you can see, he loves people. I don’t know if you remember but two of my other dogs, Hunter and Murphy, helped me find you yesterday.”

At that her fingers still.

“You were really smart, finding that little cave, and you did a good job climbing up those rocks. You were really brave, keeping yourself safe and warm with a fire. It gave us a chance to find you.”

I glance over at the door where I see Junior Ewing poking his head in.

“Keep going,” he mouths, gesturing for me to continue before his head disappears.

When I turn back to the bed, it looks like Hayley’s eyes aren’t quite closed all the way.

“Want more water?” I ask her, and at first she seems to ignore me, but I guess thirst wins out when she nods.

I slip the straw between her lips and let her drink a little more before setting the cup back on the nightstand.

When I turn my attention back to the girl, I’m met with two gorgeous, almost copper-colored eyes.

“Hello, there.”

Wolff

It’s tough trying to get back into a normal routine after spending most of the week on an intensive search.

I’ve been restless all day, trying to find my groove doing my regular work.

Today was hauling more hay to the outside herd, making sure their water access isn’t frozen over, and no one’s gotten hurt.

When I passed by the main house on my way to my cabin earlier, Jonas stopped me, asking if I could take the trailer tomorrow and drive two horses to their new home at a ranch outside Dumas, Washington. It’s about a ten-hour roundtrip under good conditions, but Jackson was already roped in and, taking turns driving, we should be able to do it in a day. Although it’ll be a long one, I don’t mind the drive.

I have no clue why, but as I grab a quick shower at home, I suddenly feel the need to let Jillian know I won’t be around tomorrow. The last time I felt compelled to let someone know my whereabouts was before I left for college, when I was still living at home.

Hell, part of the reason I’ve not been tempted into any kind of serious relationship over the years is that I like not having to justify my every move. Yet, here I am, wanting to tell Jillian.

I grab my phone off the bed where I dropped it.

Hey, are you home?

The answer comes fifteen minutes later when I’m just contemplating whether I want to have breakfast for dinner with the two eggs and half pack of bacon left in my fridge, or head over to the main house to see what I can scrounge up to eat there.

Just walked in the door. What’s up?

I take a minute to think about my response. I guess I’d hoped to take her out for dinner, but if she just walked in the door, she may not want to go out again. But maybe I can bring dinner to her.

How do you feel about sushi? Tempura?

A Japanese bar and grill opened a couple of years ago with a pretty wide variety in food choices. I’ve been there a few times with some of the guys. It even has a twenty-four seven casino. Just a small one, but it’s a fun place to kill a few hours.

Pretty good about both, why?

Thinking about picking us up some.

In Libby????

Yup. Kaiju on 9th St. Good grub.

Good to know. Glad eating out won’t be limited to barbecue, Mexican, or pizza.

Can’t blame her for thinking that, coming from the big city, but in recent years a surprising number of good restaurants have opened in Libby. We have quite the selection now. I can think of a few more I’d like to introduce her to.

I’m calling in my order before I leave, so I won’t have to wait for it.

Be there in half an hour.

“Oh wow. This is really good.”

To emphasize, she moans as she licks the tempura crumbs off her fingers and lips.

I’m starting to realize the sounds people make in appreciation of good food, and those made in the throes of passion, are not that different. Or maybe that’s just Jillian making those noises. As satisfying as sharing good food with her is, it leaves me hungry for other things.

I’m thinking at this point it’s almost inevitable, my body is definitely committed, but my mind still throws out faint objections, even as I lean over the table and kiss her shiny lips.

For all intents and purposes, it’s an innocent kiss, but that doesn’t stop the groan rumbling in my chest at the feel of those lips molding to mine. The temptation is strong to haul her across the table, but I resist.

There’s no need to rush. If we are to pursue anything, I want to make sure we’re on the same page every step of the way. A quick fling is not a good idea when we live and work and move in the same circles. Not that I believe for one minute a quick fling would be enough for me.

“Wow, again,” she mumbles, when I release her mouth and sit back down again. “That was really good too.”

She blushes a little when she says that, or maybe the blush is from the kiss, but either way, I like her straightforwardness.

“Agreed.”

Then I shove another piece of tuna nigiri in my mouth.

“I was married,” she suddenly volunteers out of the blue, lifting her eyes to mine. “I believe in full disclosure. Especially if that kiss is going where I think…hope…it might. We live in a small community, hang out in the same circles. I think transparency is important.”

I like her direct approach. No games, no playing coy, just laying the cards on the table.

This conversation is a bit of a departure from the casual sharing of our days. Jillian just finished telling me how Hayley woke up today but still seems out of it, not really talking. However, having Nugget there for a few hours seemed to calm her down, so Jillian is taking him back to the hospital tomorrow.

Now I have the shape of her mouth branded on my lips, and we’re talking relationships.

Surprisingly, I don’t feel the urge to bolt out the door.

“I’m good with transparency,” I find myself responding.

She nods before continuing, “Chris and I ended things five years ago and our divorce was final the year after. It was a fairly amicable split and I’ve mostly stayed to myself since.”

“I’ve never been married,” I reciprocate. “Never really had a long-term relationship. Mostly due to the unpredictability of my work, which also required me to move around quite a bit. I think you already know I was a federal agent before joining the HMT team. But, if I’m honest, I’ve kinda liked my autonomy as a bachelor.”

“Past tense?” she asks.

The blush on her cheeks is back, but her eyes on mine are unwavering. My mouth quirks with a smile. Jillian is not only being direct; she’s making it clear she expects the same from me and won’t put up with ambiguous statements.

“I’m not sure it has much to do with the wish to remain a bachelor, but rather with meeting someone who makes you want more than the singular existence you’ve clung onto for forty-three years.”

I reach across the table and take her hand in mine.

“There’s a reason I wanted to see you tonight. I mean, not that there has to be a reason, but Jonas is sending Jackson and me out of town to deliver some horses tomorrow, which means we’ll be leaving early and coming home late.”

“Okay?” She makes it sound more as a question than a statement, and I realize I may need to clarify.

“For someone who’s always valued his independence, it seemed interesting I suddenly felt the need to let you know where I would be.”

Her pretty mouth spreads into a smile.

“You’re right, that is pretty interesting.”

“That said…” I push myself up from the table. “We need to hit the road at five, and have a long day ahead of us, so I probably should get home and grab some sleep.”

“Of course.”

She gets up and follows me to the door, where I stop and turn.

When she opened the door for me earlier, I liked she hadn’t felt the need to doll up for me. What you see is what you get with this woman, which holds a great deal of appeal to me. The pink slouchy sweater, lounge pants, and fuzzy socks, and even the hair up in a haphazard bun on top of her head look soft and approachable.

I reach out and tuck a hank of hair behind her ear that escaped the bun, before sliding my arms around her waist, tugging her close. I tower over her by, I’m guessing, close to a foot, but she feels perfect in my arms, especially when she places her hands on my chest and tilts her face up.

The invitation is clear, and when I bend my head, her arms come up and hook around my neck, her fingers curling in my hair.

This time when my mouth covers hers, it’s not that innocent. I trace the seam of her lips with my tongue, and she doesn’t hesitate to grant me access. Her mouth is eager, and I fucking love it.

Oh, hell yeah. That first hit of her taste makes me want to pick her up and carry her to the nearest flat surface. My hands have already found a strip of bare flesh at the small of her back, and I slide my palm under her sweater and up the silky skin of her torso, discovering the absence of a bra.

Sweet Jesus…

I call up every ounce of control to tear my mouth from hers.

“Hold that thought,” I whisper, pressing my lips against her forehead, before I regretfully let her go. “We’ll pick this up later.”

She responds instantly.

“You bet we will.”