Rescued by the Captain (Winter Rescue)

5. Donte

5

DONTE

It’s time to wake the woman up. I’ve been standing at the bedroom door for probably five minutes now, staring at her as she sleeps. She looks so peaceful at rest. Her long eyelashes lowered to her rosy cheeks, her plump mouth faintly parted in an ‘O’. Her brown tresses are sprawled out on the bed like a second pillow. I know, it sounds creepy to watch someone like you’re admiring a painting in a gallery, but I can’t help being entranced by the plushness of her body.

Thoughts must be louder than words, because she starts to stir under the sheets. I clear my throat, swaying with my hands shoved in my pockets as if I just arrived here seconds ago.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” I say wryly.

She props herself upright against the bed frame, rubbing her eyelids, adjusting that beautiful necklace back into the swell of her breasts. “Did I sleep until morning?”

I steal a cursory glance at my watch. “No, it’s been an hour.”

“So you did let me sleep-sleep.” Slowly, she shifts to the edge of the bed so she can stretch. I can’t help notice how her bountiful chest sticks out.

This woman is stacked. Her body is something out of men’s fantasies.

“You just looked so… peaceful. How do you feel?”

Her shirt slides up her waist as she stretches, showing her soft belly. “Still a bit groggy, but not bad. I’m definitely hungry.”

“Good. I’ve got that chili going.” My phone grabs my attention to the kitchen — retreating there, I pick up the ringing device and head for the front porch. I glance at the caller ID once I’m outside. It’s Colt.

“What did you find out?” I ask, cutting straight to the point.

“Hello to you, too,” he responds sourly. Of course, the grump wants to drag this out as long as possible.

“Colt, we don’t have —”

“That’s Sheriff Briggs to you, Mr. Rogers.”

I press my jaw down hard. Damn it, this isn’t worth breaking a tooth.

“What did you find out?”

There’s a stretch of silence. “I really don’t know what to make of it,” Colt replies.

“Spit it out, man.”

I’m pacing the porch when I hear tires screeching from afar. At this hour? I squinch my eyes, leaning over the porch railing to see a truck’s silhouette in the distance. The vehicle is painted black, and whoever’s behind the wheel doesn’t look to have good control.

Holy shit . I watch the truck swerve violently on the road, slipping and sliding as it attempts to go up the mountain.

And when I thought the wildness of the situation has lapped its tipping point, the truck does what I least expect. It passes the cabin, slowing as it goes by.

My skin chills. This could be a coincidence, a freak observation that should be shoved to the crannies of my mind but who forces their truck up a mountain in the middle of the night, then skirts a random cabin like they’re attending a drive-thru?

Worse, the windows are pitch black. I’ve been in this line of work two long to know there are few types of drivers that get tinted windows. An even smaller cohort gets them for heavy-duty trucks.

Colt begins to share his findings. “The video from the Weston’s house along that road shows a?—”

“Black truck?” I interrupt.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Looks like my hunch was more than just that. “I need you to send a unit to the cabin… now, Colt.”

“Why?”

“That truck just drove by.”

“The roads just aren’t passable right now, Donte.”

Fuck.

“Fine, but we’re going to have to head out. I feel like a sitting duck here.”

“Just hold on, let me see what I can do. If you have to, there are some mine ducts in that mountain. Let me see what the Winchesters think, might be one close.”

“Hurry, please.”

I hang up, head into the cabin and lock the door behind me. There's a door off the back we can go through if needed.

The truck sighting still has me in a chokehold. I shortly lose track of my surroundings as I stumble out of the entry, and into the kitchen. The lights are on and the woman is up. Her left hand hovers midair with a spoonful of chili, or should I say cinnamon roll slathered with chili that she has used to scoop up the remnants from the bowl.

“Busted,” I remark, more so about the truck than her chili-sneaking habits. She withdraws from the table and licks the chili off the cinnamon roll.

“This chili must be made with brisket. It’s so good.” She lets out an exaggerated moan. Her reaction startles me. She’s only trying to tease me, but I can’t help the hardness that grows between my legs. How could I not get hot seeing a woman act like that?

I sit down at the dining table, and stare at the chili. I should eat, but my stomach is full of butterflies.

I muster the courage to speak the truth. “I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?”

The woman gives a reluctant, yet steady nod. “I do. I don’t know why, but I feel like you’re trustworthy. What’s going on?” All the mischief in her demeanor has slipped away. She knows that a hard reveal is coming. One that may not be pleasing to digest, but she must be aware of, nonetheless.

I thread my fingers through each other. “Remember how you said that a truck was behind you? Well, we have video evidence of it following you very closely up the mountain. I think… I think it pushed you off.”

Her mouth falls agape. “What? Why?”

“Don’t know. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to hurt you?” I trail off.

“Hurt me?” She proceeds to press her eyes shut, like she’s gathering a memory. “I kind of remember running from Nebraska… and I’m seeing a flash of my job, my boss, and being called into the office.” She pauses. “Do you really think someone is out to hurt me?”

I gulp loudly. “Maybe… or worse.”

Oh, it’s worse… so much worse.