They try forcing their hands under my arms to lift me up, grabbing at my ankles and forearms.
My muscles burn as I fight to keep my arms locked around my knees, head down, hoping something gives.
They’re digging their hands under me, trying to pick me up. I wriggle my butt deeper in the snow, hurting my back, desperately wishing for a lucky break.
Wishing, yeah.
I said it.
That should tell me how desperate I am, but a second later there’s more to worry about as everything just…stops.
Their hands quit trying to grab me.
It sounds like they’re moving away. There’s a dull roar in my ears past my pounding heart.
A shout.
Footsteps slapping the ground so hard it echoes.
I’m officially scared to hope that someone heard me or saw the commotion. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes.
It could just be a trick, or the savages running back to their truck for something to knock me out for good. All the cannonball-girl skills in the world can’t beat a gun, a knife, or the rag soaked with chloroform that shows up in every bad suspense movie.
I’m not falling for it.
I won’t be taken.
Dad needs me too much, and so do Rosie and Stern.
An engine revs again, louder than before.
Crud. I can’t stay blinded like this so…
So, keeping my arms locked around my knees and my head down, I open my eyes and crane my face up.
Dirty grey snow uncovered from the plowing is all I can see at first, even when I look out the corners of my eyes. But I hear a vehicle moving, its tires rolling, engine rumbling like summer thunder.
Someone grabs my arm.
I scream, stuffing myself back into a ball so hard I think I sprain something in my belly.
Make that several somethings—ow.
“Hey, it’s me, snap out of it, Grace! It’s Ridge. Let me help you up.”
Ridge?
Oh my God.
“Ridge!” I belt out his name, launching myself at him.
“The one and only. Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you?”
I don’t even know.
I try to get up, holding on to his arm, but he doesn’t waste more than a second before those huge arms of his envelop me. Then I’m just gliding on air, my hands locked tight around his strong neck.
He lifts me off the ground and carries me like I’m lighter than a goose feather.
I’ve never been so relieved or wanted to cry so badly in my life.
Holding back the tears, I relax in his arms and let him carry me to the sidewalk where his truck waits. It’s extra reassuring when I breathe in deep, cold breaths mingled with his scent.
If Ridge had his smell bottled up, I think they’d call it glory.
The only word that captures his rough, manly perfection, the faint overtone of cinnamon and citrus melded into something more primal.
If only I had time to enjoy it.
Muscles I didn’t know I had scream from being so tense and awkwardly bent. My legs are trembling.
Heck, I’m trembling all over like a deer that just skittered away from a cougar’s jaws.
When he sets me down on even ground and I finally turn toward him, I can’t stop my arms from wrapping around him tighter, just holding on.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Those fucks shook you up, but they’re gone now. I already called Sheriff Wallace to go looking for them.”
Huh? When did that happen?
“I think I zoned out, Ridge,” I say in a weak voice that’s just as shaky as my body.
My senses are returning, thoughts coming back through the haze of panic that hadn’t let me think beyond not letting them take me.
“It was Jackknife.” I don’t know why I bother stating the obvious. Maybe because my heart keeps pounding so hard I’m gasping for air, and I need something to ground me again.
“I know. There’s no mistaking a shit-stack that high,” he grumbles, giving me a solid hug and then running those long languid fingers down my back. “Don’t worry, they’re not going to hurt you. You’re not leaving my sight.”
He holds me while the soft breeze blusters around us.
Thankfully, it’s almost as warm as yesterday. It’s the touch of spring I need to pull myself together again.
At least I can finally breathe, pushing out a few solid breaths before nodding, releasing my hold on him.
Ridge isn’t ready to let go. His hands run up my arms, gently testing me with a cautious touch every few inches.
“You hurt anywhere?” He cups my face, blue-eyed worry bleeding into mine.
It’s so raw, so real, I almost burst out crying.
“Grace,” he says my name again when I don’t answer.
“I’m fine…I think. I just hurt everywhere, but I’m not really injured. I’ll survive if you’ve got an ice pack or heated blanket or something.”
“All that, darlin’.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”
I take a step, then remember why I’m here. “Oh, crap. I need my purse! The bag of medicine for Dad…”