Chapter 2

Two

A shwood swiveled his scowl back her way, a beefy hand poised to give her a taste of his knuckles.

She narrowed her eyes.

God, don't let Riley walk in now. He'd end up killing his father.

She braced for impact and dared him with a glare to go through with it. It would hurt, but like hell would she back down. Not anymore. Not ever. She refused to be a scared little mouse afraid of everyone and everything.

Still fear locked her knees but he didn't have to know that. Raising her chin high, she prepared for the worst for standing up to someone three times her size.

She blinked and Damon had his fists buried in the other man's plaid button-down before the other man's hand could come anywhere near his target. The guttural roar Damon let loose rattled bottles and carried an ungodly threat as if hell was fast on his heels.

"Touch her and I'll do Riley the favor of killing you where you stand. Back the fuck off, and remember my roof, my protection. Harm one hair on her head and you'll be the one responsible for reviving the old feud between our families. After I get through with you, given I don't kill you, you'll have my brother to deal with and your son for daring to touch their woman." Acid dripped from Damon's words as he pinned the heaving man to the bar, nose to nose.

"Don't push your fucking luck," Damon continued. The quieter the voice, the deadlier the man. She'd learned that the hard way. Damon barely lifted his voice a single decibel.

Zahara looked between the two of them. He was throwing out a lot of assumptions about her relationship with Riley that only riled the older man more. Damn him. Now Ashwood would take his hatred out on Riley while she was back in Houston some two thousand miles away.

Zahara took a deep breath and let it out on a count of five. This posturing crap took the last drop of patience she had on tap. She reached out and placed a hand on Damon's arm as she shouldered her way in. Both straightened.

Zahara had learned early on that if you wanted to be heard in a group of rowdy mountain men, asking nicely never worked. Breaking up bar fights had taught her that much.

"Peace and civility don't mean shit to me, boy," Ashwood retorted with the same vicious intent. Chest to chest, the older man didn't waste any time slashing out at her again. "And did you call this girl family? Like hell, she'll be one of mine! Unless you're not telling me something. You in on the games too? Like sharing the new piece of ass in town?"

She looked between them. What? Zahara felt her jaw drop a couple of inches.

"You tasting the little Southern belle too?" Pure disgust spilled out of Ashwood's mouth, his nose damn near touching Damon's. Neither backing off.

Was he for real? Is that what he really thought of her? So much hatred because he couldn't understand what she shared with his son and Holden?

Enough. They wanted to shout? Fine. She knew how to throw down as much as the next person.

She took a sharp breath. "I said," she raised her voice above everyone, which wasn't hard since the whole place had their attention locked on her, mouths sealed. "What. The fuck. Happened to Riley?" She shot out each word on a crack of anger. Both men backed off and turned to her.

"Turn on the TV and see for yourself. It's all over the afternoon news."

Zahara shoved the wooden bar stools to the side and bolted over the bar. Channel five blared to life before Ashwood finished.

"We're coming to you from Base Two north of Esme's Point where the two lost teenagers were found earlier today by the daring rescue team." The reporter's raised voice filled the silence and had the patrons migrating closer.

Savage Ridge had only one search and rescue team. Riley and Holden now that Damon had retired from his short stint with them after leaving the police force. Zahara clung to every syllable the reporter uttered from five hundred feet above Base One. Only pro climbers went past Base One and Esme's Point. What the hell were those kids thinking especially this late in the season?

The cameraman panned to the side and zeroed in on the mountain face to catch rocks tumble from the steep side. The ground shifted beneath one climber's boots as he scooted across a hair-thin ledge to reach Riley who hung suspended from a thick rope connected to the chopper.

A wash of cold chills spilled over her.

Oh, God.

Drake, the oldest Savage brother, fought against sharp winds to hold the bird steady.

The cameraman zoomed in on the Savage Excursions emblem across the side of Fat Old Betty and then panned to the man dangling twenty feet below the chopper, and that was when she forgot to breathe.

Seeing it, she couldn't peel her eyes away. Holden, covered in a deep blue jumpsuit to prevent abrasions from debris or scared climbers, also hung from a rope several feet above Riley.

Her heart no longer resided in her chest. It hit the floor, where it stayed, and she didn't know if the ice in her veins was something to worry about at the moment.

Both Holden and Riley were good at their jobs. Breathe.

Damon walked up behind her and flicked on the radio he had rigged to pick up the COMS system that fed a direct line to his brothers and Riley, who worked the summit with them.

Holden, in his familiar calm yet commanding voice, coaxed a young woman to stay calm. "Look at me, sweetheart. No, not down. At me. There's nothing down there. It's all up here. That's right. What's your name?" Zahara could hear the smile in his voice over the COMS.

Holden held the girl tight around the midsection while he, from what she could see, checked their harness every few seconds. Rope fed into the pulley lugging them toward the safety of the chopper and Zahara counted each second that ticked by. Death Gulch was a steep drop of over four hundred feet to a ragged bed of rock. One slip or frayed rope and no one would survive. The depth of the cannon also meant rappelling down wasn't an option.

The cameraman zoomed out, highlighting how far off the ground they hovered.

"What's wrong? Why isn't Riley moving, too?" She turned to Damon first and then Ashwood, who only returned a deathly cold stare that matched the ice in her veins. Her insides chilled, and she worked the hem of her apron between her fingers as her phone went off in her back pocket. She ignored it. Whoever it was could call back.

"Give them a minute, Zar." Damon's nickname for her did nothing to calm her.

As if hearing her question, Holden's voice came through the radio again. Thankfully, her phone fell silent. She turned back to the TV. "We're almost there and then you'll be safe. No, no, sweetheart. Look at me." Holden blocked the girl from looking down. He placed a gloved hand under the girl's chin and angled her gaze back on him. She knew the effect that simple, dominant gesture did to a female. If he wasn't careful he'd have a fawning college kid falling for him in a whole other way than he intended.

Zahara swallowed her nerves. This was his job. He'd survived operations like this before. This one was no different.

His calm manner traveled over the soundwaves and reached into her until she was able to take a steady breath, too. The climber clung to him like a python, her legs and arms linked as another member of their team helped them into the chopper.

He was safe.

Then the angle changed and the cameraman showed the public what Holden prevented the girls from seeing.

Her boyfriend perched on an incredibly small ledge as the other half of Zahara's heart was being whipped into the jagged side of the mountain like a rag toy.

"Damon?" She leaned forward, her eyes wide. "What the hell?" It took her a second to mentally digest what she witnessed happening.

"Sharp winds cut through the canyon from here," Damon pointed to the left side of the screen, "above Esme's Point and come down the gulch like a bat outta hell this time of year." He outlined the path that led straight for Riley.

Damon continued his explanation. "Some gusts can reach up to seventy, maybe a hundred miles an hour on a bad day. It's why no one is allowed up there this time of year. Those winds are enough to knock someone on a rope quite a bit. Imagine what it would do to idiots without one."

"I can see. Look!" Strong winds blasted large rocks causing them to tumbled down the rock face. And right toward Riley.

"Oh God, no. Please no." she pleaded under her breath.

Riley dodged right, narrowly missing the largest rock a few seconds before another gust of wind sent him smashing against the rock wall a few feet above the stranded climber. More rock fell this time pinching the rope that tethered him to the chopper.

"He's pinned. He can't move."

She stared on in disbelief. What if he died? No. she couldn't think like that. Refused to let the fear and pain of what she suffered after losing her mom surface and paralyze her now. Steel bands wrapped around her heart.

Damon stepped up to her. "Be strong for them. He knows what he's doing." With that, he turned from her, leaving Ashwood to stew on the other side of the bar. Damon pulled down the mouthpiece, calling up the pilot of the chopper. "Come in, Big Bear. Drake, answer me." Damon looked at her as he hailed his brother.

Damon didn't wait for an answer. "You remember two years back? Point Ridge when that bitch snowstorm nailed us to the canyon wall? Same thing happened with me—the rope became wedged between two large rocks pretty damn tight. Remember?"

"Copy that." Drake's voice sounded solid, steady. She unclenched her fingers from around the brass railing rimming the bar and dared a look at Riley's father. His sharp gaze bore a hole through her. He had a way of making her feel three inches tall and her soul like sooty blackness.

"Snap and pull. It'll be a helluva ride but it will free Riley's rope," Damon warned, but from the look in Damon's eye, there was no other way.

"Think Riley can handle it?" Drake crackled, and his rushed response didn't sound convinced.

"I'm ready." Riley barked as static cut into his words.

Zahara looked up at the sound of Riley's voice and edged closer to Damon. All the remaining patrons now surrounded the bar too, shoulder to shoulder support for one of their own.

"You ever do any bull riding?" Damon called over the radio, a smile in place more for her benefit than anything else, she bet.

"A time or two. Might have been half-drunk on some moonshine at the time, but yeah. Let's do this."

"You can have some moonshine if you get your ass back here in one piece, you hear me, bro?"

"Gonna need it from the sound of it. This will hurt like a bitch, won't it?"

"If Damon can handle it, you can."

That was Holden.

The TV station crew glued their cameras on the chopper, and she looked on as Holden was prepared to rappel again at a moment's notice.

"Fuck. Hey, Damon, man, turn the TV off in case this shit goes sideways."

If they did what she thought they were talking about, the maneuver meant to save Riley's life could smash him against the rocks instead. She didn't need to be an expert climber to know simple logic. His helmet and padded suit wouldn't save him.

"There has to be another way." She hoped, prayed.

Damon pointed to the TV where the cameraman remained glued on Riley dangling form.

"It will. You have your helmet on. Your suit. You should be just fine. Now cowboy the fuck up already." Riley told the stranded climber to back up a few feet to safety. With his feet positioned on the wall of the mountain, he gave a quick shake of his head, hands positioned on the rope much like a bull rider.

A deep growl from across the bar brought her gaze over to connect with Ashwood's. "He's got his head so messed up with you that he doesn't know what the hell he's doing! Until now, he's never had an accident."

She didn't quite know where to start with the malice slung her way.

"Enough," roared Damon, hushing everyone. "Watch as your boy does his job, old man."

"You ready, Riley?" Holden peered over the ledge of the chopper as he spoke to his friend in an even tone over the COMS.

Riley made like he was throwing a lasso as a signal and then held on tight.

Time slowed. Drake rocked the chopper with a hard tug right then dipped left. The abrupt whip of the rope sent a force down the thick girth. On Riley's end, he did the same. He pushed off the wall and sent a forceful wave up the length of rope. Small debris shifted but nothing else. She clamped down so hard her teeth damn near cracked. Each movement of the second hand on the clock felt like minutes. Hours.

Blood rushed in her ears.

"Again," Riley shouted over the COMS. He sounded strained; his tone roughened by the sheer strength he used to heft the massive weight of the rope.

Riley heaved again as Drake mirrored the effect from the chopper, this time dislodging the large rock pinning the rope. Thank God.

Wind roared through the valley so loud the camera crew's mics picked up the hollow groan as it tunneled past the steep walls. On one side, the wind slapped him, and the force of the pull sent Riley flying through the air, the rubble like stone hail.

Zahara snatched the COM from Damon. "Come on, Drake, pull up. Pull up." Her words mingling with Holden's as they barked the same order.

He did. But too late. Zahara watched as Riley switched back and took a hard blow against the jagged rock face sticking out from the mountain. His shoulder and right thigh took the entire blow. Thick nausea worked up the back of her throat but she forced her stomach into place.

Damon rested a hand on her shoulder as Holden's voice crackled over the system. "He's okay, baby. He's okay. He's giving the thumbs up and smiling. He's okay, baby girl, he's okay." Sometime between Damon's ‘cowboy the fuck up' and Riley's command to do it again, she'd forgotten to breathe.

Air rushed into her burning lungs and dots faded in and out of her vision. She flicked a brief look at Damon before turning back to the TV, where Riley signaled to Holden from below. "It looks like his COMs busted on impact, though."

Cheers rang out and she struggled to talk over them. "Holden. Holden, thank God. Please, get him out of there. Both of you get out of there. It's too dangerous." Right now, she didn't care who overheard her crazy, frantic begging and obvious fear.

"Soon. We have one more."

Damon slipped the handle from her and hushed the crowd. "You have maybe fifteen minutes before the winds get too bad up there. Fifteen, you copy."

"Loud and clear," came Drake this time.

"I'm going down," Holden cut in a second before she watched him rappel from Old Betty's metal belly.

Fear trickled into her blood as stiff talons of wind curled around her men and whipped them like dandelions dangling over Death Gulch. No wonder it was called that. These men would be the death of her.