Chapter 2

Groceries? Check.

Gas? Check.

Library? Check.

Dealing with way more people than I want to in a single day? Triple flipping check.

The people in Old Hemlock Valley are decent, honest, hard-working folks. Even better, they leave me alone.

I"m polite enough, of course. Especially to little old Mrs. Fergus at the library, who always puts "those crazy spy thrillers you love so much, dear" on hold for me when something new comes in. Yet even with that sweet lady, who might as well be the entire town"s grandma, a few minutes of book chat is plenty.

I stow my bags in the back of my pickup, then jump in to head home. A few miles down the road, I slow down at the turnoff. Should I…? Half an hour till sundown. Yeah, I should.

I reluctantly turn off the main road to check the trailhead just a quarter mile down. Hopefully I"ll see a familiar truck or two, and know that Jace or Baz are taking a look. Rolling into the gravel parking area… No such luck. Just a small, battered blue car.

Well, shit.

I take a quick glance to the west. The sun is murky at best through those clouds, and once it slips past the edge of the mountain, unfortunate hikers could end up here all night. Especially since rain is coming, and that always turns newbies upside down and sideways.

I jump out and begin striding down the trail. Talking to strangers is just about my least favorite activity, but I can"t leave anyone stranded out here. Which seems to happen every couple of weeks, dammit.

"Hellooo…" I bellow down the trail. No response, other than from a few annoyed birds and squirrels. I take off at a slow jog toward the edge of the ridge. From there anyone in the area should be able to hear my holler.

After a few minutes, I stop short and look down. Three sticks are in a distinct line at the edge of the trail, pointed west. It"s a marker.

Peering into the brush, I hear shuffling. Then something that sounds like a soft whimper.

I hurry toward the sound, hoping like hell that I"m not about to startle two half-naked teenagers. (That happened to me once last summer. And twice to my younger brother, Baz. You"d think it would be hilarious. No. It was extremely awkward.)

My boots are relatively quiet on the damp leaves as I trudge up the slight hill and look around. A spot of neon yellow catches my eye. Well, at least whoever this is was smart enough to wear something high visibility.

I pass a clump of trees, walk around a massive boulder, and find myself standing in front of someone sitting on the damp ground.

My heart stops.

I"m floating. My ears are buzzing.

She"s breathtaking.

The sweet face of an angel, surrounded by a halo of rich chestnut hair, topped off with a neon yellow beanie.

The girl looks up at me, her eyes wide and mouth open. Oh crap, she"s probably terrified of me.

"It"s okay."

Mom always reminded me to soften my low rasp around women, because I sound rough and aggressive, even when I"m happy as a clam. It"s just the way my voice comes out. "I"m here to help," I say as gently as possible.

She smiles slightly. Is it weird that I can feel it in the center of my chest?

"Hi." Her voice is scratchy, and she makes a face as she clears her throat. "Sorry. I was yelling for help, and I think I"ve trashed my voice."

I approach very slowly, knowing that a guy more than twice her size might ring some alarm bells with her. Then I notice her right foot. "You"re hurt." I drop to my knees. The top of her canvas shoe is torn, and her foot is obviously bleeding.

"I don"t think it"s really as bad as it looks," she whispers throatily. "Maybe if you could just help me back to my car?"

The light is quickly becoming dimmer. "We need to hustle. I"ll carry you."

Reaching out my arm carefully, I watch her eyes to make sure it"s okay for me to touch her. She seems glad of my help, and I slip my arm around her back and pull her to standing on her left foot.

She"s clutching a camera bag along with a small shoulder bag. Scouring the area around where she was sitting, I see nothing but the usual leaves and sticks.

"What are you looking for?" she asks.

"Trash."

She shakes her head firmly. "I never litter. Especially not in the forest."

I grunt in approval. "I"ll take those." Swinging both bags over my shoulder, I scoop her up into my arms and begin walking toward the trail.

"Thank you."

My heart lurches from holding her pretty little face mere inches from mine. Everything about her draws me in…her full pink lips…bright, curious eyes…the way she seems to be analyzing me.

"I"m Sage."

"Barrett."

She smiles, and I have to tear my eyes away from her face. Sage is so damn pretty that it"s hard to focus, and holding such a soft, graceful young lady in my arms is making certain body parts of mine react rather suddenly.

Looking down, I see another arrangement of three sticks. "Those your trail markers?"

"Yes." She smiles at me so hard I have no choice but to meet her wide blue eyes for a second. "And no, don"t worry, I didn"t break them off a tree or anything. I try to go by that "leave no trace" mantra."

Returning to the actual trail, I can feel myself smiling. I"m shocked at myself. I just don"t have this kind of reaction with anyone. People in general are too loud, too intrusive, and too chaotic. They rarely know what the hell they"re doing, and they often end up messing things up for those of us who just want some peace and quiet and to be left the hell alone.

Yet this sweet girl is igniting something deep within me. Something new.

Picking up a gorgeous, fascinating girl and taking her back to my house to make her dinner?

Check and mate.