Hunted. Beverly Long

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СКАЧАТЬ him to stop by.

      She’d been lucky, although he doubted she’d appreciate hearing that assessment right now. The rear axle of her car had been snagged by a thick spray of branches and that had stopped the fall. Unfortunately, the front of her car didn’t have much support. One wrong move and it was going to go end over end, stopping only when it hit the ground.

      “How much do you weigh?” he asked.

      “One twenty-five.”

      Pretty slim. Hopefully pretty agile.

      He studied the car and the branches holding it in place. It was hard to see where one tree ended and another started. He edged out farther, tested his weight on a branch that crossed over, found it steady enough and switched over to her tree. He shimmied in three more feet. Now he was pretty much under her car.

      Together, they’d weigh more than three hundred pounds. He didn’t know what the tipping point might be but he didn’t want to take a chance on the branches being able to hold that much weight unless he absolutely had to. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to need to do,” he said, purposefully keeping his voice casual. “I want you to crawl over the front seat into the backseat. Then open the door and start to work your way down. All you need to do is get ten feet and I’ll have you.”

      There was a long pause. Finally she said, “Well, that sounds easy enough.”

      He smiled, appreciating the fact that she wasn’t crying or screaming at him to do something. “Just keep your weight from shifting forward and you’ll do fine,” he said. If she didn’t do it exactly right, there was a high probability that she and the car would come tumbling down, taking him with them.

      He aimed his flashlight at the car. She moved and he could see her head and chest in between the headrests of the driver’s and passenger’s sides. He figured she was crouching on the front seat. Sure enough, a leg came over, then the second one.

      The car rocked.

      And he held his breath.

      The tree wasn’t quite ready to let go.

      “How ya doing?” he asked.

      “Oh, fine.” He heard the tremor in her voice. She’d be crazy not to be scared.

      “Open the door. Slide out, plant your feet before you grab for a branch. I’ll shine my light so that you can see.”

      The door opened and she stuck a leg out. She had on jeans. That was good, otherwise her legs would be a mess by the time she got to the ground.

      She planted her foot. She was wearing loafers, which was better than sandals but not as good as boots.

      “Good job,” he urged.

      Next leg. She was moving slowly and she very carefully placed the second foot on the branch.

      “Okay, without standing up, press down with as much of your weight as you can. See if you think the branch will hold you.”

      She did as instructed. The car didn’t move.

      “Now I want you to stand up, and try to make it one smooth motion. Don’t push off on the car,” he warned her, knowing that would be her tendency and that it could be disastrous. “Once you’re standing, reach for a branch. Don’t yank it, just lightly use it to steady yourself.”

      There was no response, no movement. He waited. And got nervous. “Coming?” he prompted.

      “I’m going with Plan B.”

       Chapter Two

      “Plan B?” he repeated.

      “You know, that’s the plan where I make some final bargains. You know, the ‘hey, God, just get me out of this tree and I’ll be a better person’ type.”

      He’d made his own share of bargains over the years. As a kid, most of them had something to do with his mother keeping a job, his stepfather keeping his nose out of a bottle and him keeping his back from being blistered with a belt. So, yeah, he could understand where she was coming from.

      “The wind’s picking up,” he said, deciding it was better not to tell her that sometimes bargain-making sucked. “I think it’s time to get out of this tree.”

      “Okay.” And she did it just perfectly. Stood up, kept her hands off the car, and reached one arm up to steady herself.

      It couldn’t have gone better.

      Until the branch she was on cracked and she started to fall.

      Ethan lunged and managed to grab her and pull her tight to his body. Then he lost his own footing and his flashlight flew. Together their weight crashed through branches and limbs. He kept one arm around the woman and groped for something to hang on to. He thought it might be hopeless until he finally managed to snag a heavy branch and stop their descent. His arm muscle strained with the effort of holding both of them until he located a branch to rest his feet on. Without losing his grip on her, he edged back toward the trunk. When he got there, he leaned back against the sticky, rough bark.

      He was breathing heavily and his heart was pounding in his chest. His back had taken the brunt of the fall and he was grateful for his heavy coat. It had kept him from getting too beaten up. He had no idea how far they’d fallen but he bet it was at least thirty feet. The woman had to be scared to death.

      She hadn’t said a word yet. Hell, maybe she’d passed out.

      He’d gotten a quick look at her when she’d stood outside the car. Slender. Not overly tall. Dark hair piled on top of her head. Now that she was in his arms, he could tell that she was at least eight inches shorter than his six-two and her shoulders and ribs were delicately female. His chin rested on her head. Her hair was silky and he caught the scent of cherries with a hint of vanilla.

      As crazy as it seemed, she felt right in his arms.

      Hell, maybe he’d hit his own head.

      He shifted, carefully turning her in his arms. It was very dark and they were in the bowels of the tree. No moonlight filtered through.

      He wanted to touch her face, to see if her features were as delicate as her body.

      He kept his arms where they should be. “Are you okay?” he asked.

      “I think so. Thank you,” she added.

      Her voice was low. Sexy. “You’re welcome...” He let his voice trail off, hoping she’d fill in the blank.

      “Chandler,” she said.

      It was an unusual name and he got a very odd feeling. “Chandler what?” he asked.

      “McCann. Chandler McCann.”

      Ethan almost dropped her again. But he held on. Mack’s little sister. She’d been a skinny little girl, with wild hair and emerald-green eyes.

      Cat-Eyes.

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