Cowboy Christmas Guardian. Dana Mentink

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СКАЧАТЬ skidded to a stop at the edge of the ravine, flopping down on his belly. Rain slashed at him and the almost-perfect darkness obliterated her from view. He shined his flashlight down into the ravine.

      It took him several minutes to spot her, the gleam of one pale arm showing against the slick rock. She lay perfectly still on her back on a narrow ledge of rock, one leg dangling down into the abyss.

      Dead? His blood went cold. No, not dead, unconscious, he told himself firmly.

      It wasn’t going to be easy logistically to get to her. Plus, if she awakened, she’d probably try to claw his eyes out or something and send them both to the bottom of the ravine. Rubbing his chin where the trunk lid had caught him, he tasted blood in his mouth.

      He pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed Jack and explained the situation in twenty words or less. Jack would alert their father and brothers. There was no sense contacting the volunteer fire department since it might take upward of thirty minutes to an hour to assemble any kind of rescue group out here, especially on such a night.

      Titan eased close at Barrett’s whistle. Barrett retrieved a rope from the saddlebag, shoving his hat inside. He tied the rope to a sturdy trunk that overhung the ravine. If he’d stopped to think a minute, he might have considered the recklessness of his actions. Slippery slope, inadequate light, storm raging and a volatile woman at the bottom of it all.

      Best to call in rescue and wait, or delay until his brothers showed up. But something in the way she lay there, body twisted, slender and vulnerable in the storm, would not let him delay a moment more.

      Looping the other end of the rope around himself, he eased outward into the gap back first, beginning his rappel over the edge.

      Titan shook his mane and stamped a hoof on the ground.

      “I know, buddy,” Barrett muttered. “This is just all kinds of crazy.” His horse’s brown eyes were the last thing he saw as he plunged into the darkness.

      The series of storms had saturated the ground, washing away ribbons of soil and leaving behind a lattice of twisted roots. Bits of rock pattered down from above, striking his neck and shoulders. The rope scratched against his palms, reminding him that he should have had the good sense to retrieve his leather gloves from the saddlebag along with the rope. His boots scraped even more material away from the cliff wall as he navigated down to the ledge.

      As far as he could tell, the woman had not moved. The fall hadn’t covered a great distance, no more than fifteen feet, he figured, but who knew what kind of injuries she might have sustained if nothing had broken her fall? Again the cold, sick sensation gathered in his belly.

      When he was about a yard from the ledge, he stopped, feet braced against the mud. “Ma’am?” he called. “My name is Barrett Thorn and I’m coming to help you.”

      She didn’t answer. He hadn’t figured she would, but it was worth a shot.

      He settled gingerly onto the ledge, crouching next to her. A mass of wet hair covered her face and he reached out a finger to pull it away. Her profile was visible, nose small, chin narrow, face heart shaped. The delicacy of it struck him.

      Without warning, he was plunged back in time some four years earlier, when he’d pulled Bree from the wrecked car. Her eyes had been shut, too, but they’d fluttered open for one precious moment before they’d closed for the last time. There was nothing in this world that could hurt worse than that, except being reminded every day in a million ways that he was alone. Strange the things he missed about Bree.

      The pillow next to his with a satin case to “keep away the wrinkles” of which he’d never seen a hint on her face.

      Her ready laughter.

      The smell of the candles she always insisted on lighting for every evening meal.

      Her horrendous cooking. He even missed that. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to eat another plateful of tuna casserole, crunchy with half-cooked noodles. He swatted at a trail of water running down his cheek. Business at hand, Barrett.

      Swallowing hard, he found the junction of the unconscious woman’s chin and neck, and pressed his fingers there, seeking a pulse.

      “Lord God,” he prayed, but he could not finish. The last time he had prayed for the life of a young woman, his woman, his love, God’s answer had been no. Gritted teeth, pounding heart, his soul quaked with fear that he would find no spark of life. Gone, like Bree, with him crouched there helpless. Rubbing his hands as dry as he could, he tried one more time. This time, the proof was dramatic.

      She jerked to a sitting position with a scream and shot out a hand that nearly shoved him over the edge.

      “Easy,” he said, holding open palms up to show her he was not a threat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

      Her eyes were wide as silver dollars, whole body trembling. Her breath came in short bursts as she scrabbled away as far as she could get from him. He attempted to reassure her that he wasn’t some random killer who’d appeared on a ledge in a storm, but she moved backward and he lunged forward to catch her.

      The rock ledge gave way beneath her feet. Her eyes were bright with fear as she disappeared before his eyes for the second time.

      * * *

      Shelby’s senses cartwheeled through a dizzying cascade as her legs slithered over the side. Pitch-black night, cold rain, the sick sensation of no ground under her feet. The jagged edge of rocks cut into her belly as she clutched at anything that might keep her from falling the rest of the way.

      “Help,” she wanted to scream, but she could not manage a single syllable as she continued to slip down the slope.

      Rocks ground against her hips and roots broke away under her fingers. She felt a jerk and a painful pressure on her wrist. Looking up against the sheeting rain, she saw the man with the beard hanging on to her wrist with both hands. His full mouth was contorted with the effort.

      No, no, her mind screamed. He’d come to finish what he’d started when he’d struck her and stuffed her in the trunk of her car. She braced her legs against the canyon wall to push away.

      “Listen,” he said between clenched teeth. “I am not the guy who hurt you. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that because you’re wiggling and I don’t wanna drop you.”

      Trust him? She had no intention of doing any such thing, but the canyon below her did not give her much choice. Die on the rocks, or live long enough to get away from the bearded guy? Her forearms ached and her ribs burned with pain.

      “Give me your other hand,” he ordered.

      Fighting her instincts, she heaved her other arm up and he clasped it tight. They both breathed hard for a few seconds before he began to haul her back up. She helped with her legs as much as she could. Inch by painful inch, she was pulled upward until she landed on her knees on the ledge. The man bent over at the waist, panting.

      Their eyes locked, like two wild animals sizing each other up.

      “Barrett,” came a shout from above, making her jump.

      “I got her,” he hollered back. “Gonna need to pull us up.”

      There was some response СКАЧАТЬ