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

Chapter 19

Nineteen

Jillian

“No, no, no…”

I groan at the loss of him when he pulls out.

But then he flips me on my back, grabs my right leg behind the knee, and pushes me wide open. With a predatory grin on his flushed face, he drops his hips in the V of my legs and powers inside me.

My back arches off the mattress, and my hands find purchase on the globes of his fine ass as my body seeks release. He’s been teasing me for what feels like hours, driving me to the brink only to withdraw, and leaving me suspended, my entire being thrumming with need.

He woke me up with his mouth when it was still dark out, and all I could see was the glint of his eyes between my legs. By now sunlight is filtering through the shades, reflecting off our sweaty bodies, and still, he is toying with me.

“Lucas, no,” I warn him again when the first flutters of what promises to be an epic orgasm make my core pulse. But despite my firm grip on his ass, he retreats again.

This time I don’t let him go far and—wrapping my legs around his hips and hooking my feet to lock them in place—I surprise him by flipping him over on his back. Our connection never quite lost, I triumphantly plant myself on his rock-hard cock, and ride him hard with a singular purpose.

The orgasm shatters me, leaving me breathless and boneless, draped like a wet blanket over his body, which is still bucking with the power of his own release.

I’m not sure how long it is before I register a soft scratching on the bedroom door. My head shoots up and my eyes dart to the clock on the nightstand, which shows it’s almost nine o’clock.

“Oh my God! Those poor dogs,” I lament, scrambling off Wolff, who tries to hold on to me.

“I’ll go,” he volunteers, rolling on top of me and pressing me down in the mattress.

He drops his head and takes my mouth in a sweet kiss.

“Now that’s a good morning,” he mumbles against my lips.

“It won’t be when you find the dogs have peed all over your couch,” I warn him.

“It will have been worth it.” He grins back at me as he gets out of bed. “And for the record, I like when you call me Lucas.”

I flip over on my stomach and prop my chin on my hands so I can watch him in his full glory, as he grabs a pair of sweats from his dresser and ducks into the bathroom. Luckily, he doesn’t waste too much time in there, and in minutes I hear him head outside with the dogs.

The next thing I know, I wake up from a slap on my ass and a cold, wet nose in my face.

“Come on, lazy bones,” Wolff taunts me.

“Lazy?” I react predictably. “You barely let me sleep.”

My grumbling only makes him smile bigger.

“Quit your whining. Didn’t I just rock your world?” he teases, sitting down on the mattress beside me as he sets a cup of steaming coffee on the nightstand.

“You mean I rocked my own world, since you would still have been stringing me along,” I complain ungraciously, even as I sit up and reach for the coffee he brought me.

He bumps my shoulder with his. “Jilly, honey, are you saying you don’t like my mouth in the morning?”

I try to glare at him over the rim of my coffee mug, even as my well-used parts experience a tingle of new life at the memory. Just the thought of missing out on that has me blurt out, “I never said that.”

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters smugly, before getting up and pulling me with him. “Let’s get moving; we have a facility full of seniors eagerly awaiting their doggy licks and snuggles.”

It’s two hours later when we finally get on the road.

Given our early morning activities, we both desperately needed a shower. Then there was the issue of security, something I’d almost forgotten about the past two days.

It was Wolff’s idea to borrow Jonas’s dark navy Yukon. The rear of the SUV has dark tinted windows, making it difficult to see who or what is inside, so I was relegated to the back seat with both dogs. Wolff tucked his hair under his hat before getting behind the wheel.

To help throw off anyone who might be looking, Jackson took Wolff’s truck five minutes ago and drove toward Libby.

“Ready?”

“Yup,” I confirm, catching Wolff’s wink in the rearview mirror.

Flanked by two affectionate dogs snuggling up against me, I find myself dozing off every so often, making the drive feel short. Before I realize it, we’re pulling into the parking lot of Wellspring Senior Living.

“Nice nap?”

He throws a quick look over his shoulder as he parks the SUV, and I stick out my tongue at him in response.

Trudy Wolff is sitting front and center in the community room, her arm in a sling, but a smile on her face when we walk in. I unclip Peanut, who immediately makes a beeline for Wolff’s mother, and she laves her with attention.

“So glad to see you, Jillian,” she directs at me with a smile.

“Nice to see you too. And great to see you up and about. I heard about your ordeal. How is the arm?”

“Much better than it was. You’re so sweet for asking.”

Behind me I hear Wolff clear his throat.

“Hello, Mom, what am I? Chopped liver?”

Wolff bends down to kiss her cheek. Trudy winks at me over his head, before she turns a smile on him.

“Well hello, dear. I didn’t notice you there.”

The expression on his face is priceless, and I stifle a snicker. The woman is a big tease, and I think it’s hilarious she is giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“I’m six foot two, Mom. You didn’t notice your own flesh and blood standing right here?”

“Now, now, Lucas, honey. Keep your shorts on.”

It’s impossible not to laugh, which I do heartily at Wolff’s expense.

His mother is mercurial, and I think I love her.

Wolff

Mom is definitely on a roll today.

Despite being her favorite subject to poke fun at, I couldn’t be more relieved to see she has her mischievous wit back. I know at her age it wouldn’t be unheard of to come out of anesthesia with diminished capacity, but I’m happy she seems to have recovered just fine. At least mentally.

Mom doesn’t miss a thing, observing closely as Jillian puts a hand on my arm and smiles up at me.

“I’m going to do the rounds with Nugget,” she announces.

“So…” Mom drawls as Jillian walks over to a group of waiting seniors. “I see things have progressed?”

I drop my head between my shoulders.

Why is every old person around me determined to stick their nose in my business?

No use trying to evade the question because I know my mother, she’s like the proverbial dog with a bone and won’t let go until she has an answer that satisfies her.

“Yes,” is my curt answer.

“That’s all you’ve got?” she pushes for more, and I turn to her, exasperated.

“Mom, there’s only so much detail you’ll get from me on the subject, and yes reaches that limit.”

When she presses her lips together to hide her smile, I realize she’s been pushing my buttons and enjoying every minute of it.

“I’m thinking I liked you better sedated,” I tell her.

Mom lets out a peal of laughter. It is music to my ears, even though she’s annoying me with her unapologetic probing. From across the room, I see Jillian look back over her shoulder, a smile on her face.

“So how is your arm?” I ask her, firmly changing the subject.

“Irritating. I can’t even get myself dressed, and at breakfast I needed someone to cut my food for me. It’s embarrassing.”

My annoyance with her quickly disappears and is replaced with sympathy. I know how much Mom values her independence, which has been whittled away from her in increments over the past few years, but at least she had her mind and the use of her arms. Thank God her mind is still there, but she lost the use of her arm, and we’ll have to wait and see how much of its function she can get back.

Getting older sucks. I’ve already started feeling the occasional pains and stiffness age seems to bring with it. Especially after the kind of activities I was performing early this morning.

It’s bringing home the idea our time is limited. Our chance to experience life as we’d like to is limited. I use our , but really, I mean my time. I’ve been wasting it. Not so much with what I’ve done, but more in terms of what I’ve avoided.

My eyes are drawn across the room again, where Jillian is crouching down beside one of the other residents, laughing at something the man says. If I still harbored any ambivalence about getting involved with that woman; the events of a couple of nights ago, when her safety was at stake, made it abundantly clear I was already deeply invested. My feelings were well ahead, it just took my brain a bit longer to catch up.

Besides, if a woman like her—who has lived through one of the most devastating traumas someone could endure—has the courage to open up to new beginnings, what possible excuse could I have for not doing the same?

I freely admit, it’s a little uneasy to let feelings guide my actions, but I’m sure that’ll get easier with time. Life is too short to play it safe, and I’ve been playing it safe long enough.

“Is everything all right, Lucas?” my mother asks, putting a hand on my arm.

I turn my head and smile at her. “Yeah, it’s all good, Mom.”

But of course, it isn’t, because there is still a significant threat out there; and Jillian is a target. Opening up to feelings means fear finds a foothold as well, and suddenly I’m in a hurry to get her back to the safety of the ranch.

“We could’ve stayed for dinner.”

I glance over at Jillian, reaching for her hand and weaving our fingers together. She’s sitting in the passenger side this time, wearing my too-large hat, her hair tied in a ponytail and tucked away underneath. I felt better having her within reach, rather than behind me where I wouldn’t be able to keep a physical eye on her.

“There will be plenty of opportunities for shared dinners, once things settle down.”

Settling down is a poor euphemism for neutralizing the threat to her, but we’ve had a good day and I don’t want to spoil it by highlighting the negative.

“Plenty?” she repeats in a teasing tone.

“I’d like to think so. Don’t you?”

She nods, a smile on her lips as she concedes, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

I bring her hand to my mouth and press a kiss to her knuckles, feeling pretty pleased with myself as I focus my attention back on the road. It’s already dark out, and it’s not uncommon for wildlife to cross the highway and cause an accident.

In fact, that’s just what I suspect happened when, half an hour later on a dark stretch of road between Happys Inn and the ranch, an impact suddenly has the Yukon’s back end swinging toward the ditch.

My reaction is instantaneous; my eyes dart to the rearview mirror, and I brace my arm in front of Jillian, even as my foot slams on the brakes.

It takes me a moment to realize my mistake, but by then a dark SUV, similar to the Yukon, has blocked exit from my driver’s side door. In the ambient glow of my headlights, I can just catch the reflection of a gun barrel aimed at the Yukon.

That was obviously not a deer or an elk that hit us.

“Get down,” I manage to bark at Jillian, who is leaning over the back of her seat to check on the dogs, as I pull my gun from my hip holster.

I’m about to cover her with my body, when the passenger-side door is ripped open. I don’t think, I react and take aim at the dark figure—face hidden behind a balaclava—who reaches into the vehicle.

The gunshot is loud in the confined space. So loud I don’t even hear the second shot, I only feel the thud of the impact. I watch the figure crumple right outside the SUV and throw myself sideways across the center console. I’m trying to reach the passenger door, but Jillian beats me to it, pulling it shut and quickly locking it before ducking down again.

“Peanut, Nugget, stay down,” she yells at her dogs.

I lean over to cover as much of Jillian as I can, while still able to monitor the threat coming from my side.

My gun is aimed at where the window in the driver’s side door used to be.

“Are you okay?” I ask Jillian.

“I think so. You?”

I’m about to answer when the inside of the Yukon is suddenly lit up by headlights approaching us from behind. At the same time, I hear the revving of an engine and catch a glimpse of the dark SUV’s roof as it pulls ahead and speeds off.

I cautiously sit up when the familiar face of Ira Nelson, a mechanic who works for Sully’s wife Pippa at the Pit Stop, appears beside my door. The dogs both start barking in the back.

“You folks all right in here?”

I turn to Jillian. “Call 911 and stay put, I’m gonna check on the other guy.”

Then I push the door open and ask Ira, “Got a gun on you?”

He pats his side.

“Never leave home without it.”

“Good,” I mumble, motioning for him to follow me.

I have no idea if the guy I hit went down permanently or is still alive, or perhaps even hiding in the bushes on the other side of the ditch. There’d been too many moving parts for me to keep my eye on the guy after I saw him go down.

So I move slowly as I round the hood of the Yukon, using the SUV as cover for as long as possible. I can feel Ira behind me, who seems to take his cues from me and is taking things seriously. When I carefully poke my head around the side, I immediately see the guy hasn’t moved from where he fell.

A gun is visible only inches from his hand, and the first thing I do is kick it out of his reach. Then, with my weapon trained on him, I go down on a knee and feel for a pulse. It’s faint. The bullet hit him mid-torso and he’s losing a lot of blood.

“Jillian?” I call out.

She immediately opens her door and catches sight of the injured man. She has her phone pressed to her ear.

“Oh shit,” she mumbles. “Is he dead?”

“Not yet.”

“We’re going to need an ambulance too,” she relays to whomever is on the other side.

Then she catches sight of me and shock washes over her face.

“Make that two ambulances.”