Chapter 1

1

GILLIAN

T hwack!

Thwack!

The sound blasted through the trees, making its way to the trail where I was. Whatever was making that sound would likely bring my death.

I was having second, third, and fourth thoughts about this whole adventure. What had I been thinking?

Thwack!

The noise was definitely coming from my left, and it was close by. Was it an animal? A human? Someone chopping up firewood in preparation for the cold weather that would be here before we knew it?

I shook my head as if to shake off the curiosity threatening to take over my brain. I called it curiosity, but really I was just nosy.

Thwack!

I could use a break. I'd been on this trail for two full hours, and this backpack wasn't getting any lighter. By my calculations, I had another hour to get to the campsite—the one I had to photograph to send proof to my friends that I followed through on their dare.

I looked around, then laughed at myself. I'd been walking alone on this trail for an hour. What made me think someone would be behind or ahead of me?

But I'd come to a stop on the trail, and now I was eyeing the trees. There was a clear path between a group of them, and it was calling to me. It was like fate was telling me to go that way.

"Ha!" I said to myself. "Since when do you believe in fate?"

I was the most practical of all my friends, and that was the problem. They thought I was boring. When I pointed out how adventurous I was, they dared me to go hiking alone. Apparently, the fact that I'd been back and forth on these trails since I was old enough to walk didn't seem to matter. My parents were big on hiking, so this was almost like coming home.

But I never met an opportunity for adventure that I didn't accept. And an opportunity for adventure had just been issued to me. I smiled and began my slow, hesitant walk down the trail.

Thwack!

The sound was getting closer. What if an ax murderer was on the other end of this path? I could be walking right into a bad situation. I could be walking toward my own death. A stranger wielding an ax was definitely a scary thing.

Still, I kept walking until I reached a big tree and saw something that stopped me in my tracks. It was a man wielding an ax, but the sight didn't fill me with fear. Instead, a slow, steady hum started from somewhere deep inside me.

The man was shirtless with a pair of baggy, faded jeans that hung low on his waist. He probably hadn't planned on being seen out here, so he hadn't bothered with the belt. Or maybe he didn't care.

He held the ax at his shoulder and stared at a downed tree in front of him. It had a big gash toward the end and some chunks on the ground next to it. As I'd thought earlier, he was probably chopping up the tree for firewood.

I stepped back, putting a palm on the tree and taking comfort in the shelter it provided. He wouldn't see me here, even if he turned around.

He wiped his brow with his left hand, then straightened again, putting both hands on the ax. It whipped through the air as he took another swing at the tree.

Thwack!

Warmth spread through my body, and I squeezed my legs together. There was definite moisture there. This guy was making me wet, and I hadn't even seen his face yet. Just that tanned, toned backside and those well-defined muscles of his arms as he swung.

What would those arms feel like around me? What would it be like to wrap my legs around his waist as he plunged into me, holding me up against one of these trees?

I shifted my weight, then took a tentative step backward. I needed to get out of here before I was busted for being a total peeping Tom.

I took another step and twisted around, preparing to take off. But suddenly, what my foot landed on wasn't ground. It was air.

My left leg went into a hole all the way to mid-calf. Then pain shot through me, and I let out an involuntary screech as my backpack flopped to the right, bending me at an awkward angle and making the pain worse.

In the silence that followed, I knew I'd been busted. There was no way I hadn't. I placed a hand on the ground on either side of me and pushed up slowly, trying to withdraw my foot so I could get the heck out of here. But pain shot through my body again, this time worse.

Sighing, I dropped back into place. I was in the middle of nowhere with an injured ankle. Maybe it was sprained, maybe just a fracture, but I was betting I wouldn't be able to continue my hike on it.

"What the hell?"

The male voice came from behind me, but I didn't dare look. My eyes squeezed closed at the entire situation. If this hole could just continue to swallow me, that would be great.

"I fell," I said, as if that weren't obvious. "This darn hole."

Yes, blame the hole. Never mind the fact that I wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place.

But wait. This wasn't private property. This was the hiking trail. I wasn't trespassing, just watching him chop wood.

Silence followed. Not even a sign someone was nearby. Had he headed back to his wood chopping, leaving me here?

But then I heard it—the crunch of shoes on fallen leaves. He was heading this way.

I sat up as much as I could, wincing at the fresh round of pain that came when I accidentally moved my leg a little. Yeah, there was no easy way out of this. Like it or not, I was going to have to ask for help.

Two work boots came into view. Brown with metal protecting the toes. I wondered if that actually kept them safe if he accidentally lowered an ax on his foot.

But as my gaze drifted upward, I forgot all about his shoes. Those baggy jeans did little to cover how giant and solid his legs were. Then there were the washboard abs and well-defined chest. And then I got to his face and lost the ability to breathe.

It wasn't just that he was unbelievably handsome. That alone would have rendered me speechless. It was the sun streaming through the trees and the way it framed the area behind him, giving him a sort of glow.

Fate. It was a word I'd thought earlier and dismissed. But yeah, whether I believed in it or not, I was feeling more and more like a bigger force was at play here. Something seemed to be nudging me in his direction.

"Maybe you could, you know, call an ambulance?" I asked, kicking myself for not being more assertive.

I should demand he call one now. I should also demand he stop staring at me like I was a criminal. He didn't own the woods. No, I shouldn't be standing here—or not standing, as the case may be—but that didn't mean I was doing anything wrong.

But instead of whipping out a cell phone and summoning help, his feet remained firmly planted in that spot. Was that a scowl that spread over his face?

"Give me your hand," he said.

I didn't budge. "You should never move an injured person until you're sure of the injuries. You could make the situation worse. What if I hurt my back?"

"Did you hurt your back?" he asked.

"No, but?—"

"Give me your hand," he interrupted.

I stared up at him for another long moment, then lifted my hand toward his. He leaned over and wrapped his gigantic, rough hand around mine, then gave me a gentle tug.

I let out a yell loud enough, it could probably be heard for miles. But he didn't stop continuing to tug until I was halfway out of the hole. Then he knelt, put a hand on each side of my waist, and lifted upward, setting me down gently.

I settled into a seated position on the ground, both legs spread in front of me, on either side of the hole that had done the damage.

"It might help if you shrug off that backpack," he said.

It took a good half minute or so for me to process his words. I was busy staring at my ankle, which definitely looked swollen, but it didn't appear misshapen. That was a good thing. It meant it wasn't broken. Healing from a break was a pain in the rear. I didn't have time for that.

"Oh yeah," I said. "I forgot about that."

I'd been wearing the backpack so long, it had become a part of me. I immediately felt relief when I dropped it to the ground. But that just reminded me of my current situation.

"How am I going to get out of here?" I asked.

The words slipped out. It wasn't a problem I expected him to solve. Or even help brainstorm. I'd been fiercely independent my whole life, and that wasn't going to change just because the most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen was standing in front of me.

"Can you stand on it?" he asked.

He was several feet away, hands on hips, eyeing my ankle, which I was currently pressing to see exactly where the pain was. I winced as my fingers found the most sensitive area.

"I don't think so," I said.

As if to demonstrate, I put the foot on the ground and pressed on it. The worst pain yet shot through me. It was so intense, I saw stars, and it brought the faint stirrings of nausea with it.

"Okay," he said. "You're coming back to my cabin so we can take a look at it."

He came toward me and I stared up at him, eyes wide. He thought I was going to come to his cabin? My earlier visions of ax murderers came to mind. I'd be crazy to go to a stranger's cabin alone.

Then again, I'd be crazy not to. What other choice did I have? Just sit here and wait until the bears got hungry? I'd run out of food and water and die of starvation if they didn't get to me first. So I gave a nod as he knelt to sweep me up in his arms.

Once he had me cradled against his chest, I realized my mistake. I was enjoying this way too much. My independent streak might be coming to an end.