WAKING UP IN Brody’s bed offered a different view of Independence Falls. Dawn peeked over the mountains beyond his window. But the postcardworthy scenery was nothing compared to the man in the room. The six-foot-plus wall of muscle who’d proved last night that he knew how to use every inch of his perfect body to his advantage—and hers—stood by the dresser pulling a shirt over his head.
“Going somewhere?” she asked, rising up on her elbows.
“Work.” His gaze lingered on her chest.
“Maybe you could call in sick?” She sat up, allowing the sheet to drift to her waist. “With a case of the Monday morning blues.”
“I’m not heading to the Moore Timber offices. Though with Eric away on his honeymoon, I need to swing by at some point.” He pulled on his jeans, opened a drawer and withdrew a pair of socks. “The sheriff called. A teenager went for a hike in the Valley of the Giants on Saturday and never came back. He didn’t call the BLM—the Bureau of Land Management—before he went in, just told some friends. No one is sure how he got in there. The old logging roads leading up there are a mess this time of year.
“His family reported him missing early this morning. The police think the kid might have run away and decided to set up an illegal camp on protected land, surrounded by five-hundred-year-old trees.”
“Maybe he has his reasons.” She drew the sheet up, covering her bare chest. She’d had a laundry list of whys when the police threatened to arrest her for spending the night hidden by those trees. Seventeen years old and facing move number twelve, she’d run before the social worker showed up. The cops had let it slide that time. And the next day she’d received her entrance letter to Harvard. She’d turned her life around. But it hadn’t been easy. And for some it was downright impossible.
“For building a fire in an old growth forest?” Brody secured a long, sheathed knife to his belt. “Even this time of year, the kid could start a forest fire. And who knows if he packed in enough food and water?”
“He probably didn’t, not if he was running away.” She hadn’t. She’d just fled, driven by overwhelming teenage emotions and logic that forgot things like food and water. “I hope you find him.”
“Me too.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I should be back tonight. And when I return, we should talk.”
“I’m in as long as the ‘conversation’ involves dessert.”
“Kat, I’m serious—”
“So am I.” She reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding his lips close to hers. “I’m yours.” For a few more nights. “Go out there and save the kid. Then come home and take me.”
BRODY FOLLOWED THE retired Bureau of Land Management forester through the trees. Hiking across the lush, fifty-odd-acre parcel lined with five-hundred-year-old trees offered a window into what Oregon’s forests looked like hundreds of years ago. It was a great way to start the day, apart from the fact he was here on a mission. And he’d left a beautiful, naked woman in his bed.
“I doubt anyone’s here,” Mitch said, moving down the narrow path. The search and rescue team had voted to split up, each taking one of the more experienced guides with them. “No trucks by the trail head,” Mitch continued. “And getting up here on those logging roads isn’t easy.”
“My truck did all right.” Brody easily kept pace with the sixty-year-old volunteer. “One of Eric Moore’s crew harvesting the private parcel north of here reported smoke.”
Mitch frowned. “Campfires aren’t allowed up here. Although hell, neither is camping. But it happens from time to time.”
“Tourists?”
“No, they follow the rules and contact the BLM to find out if the roads are open before planning a trip. They stick to the trail, get their pictures with the giants, and head out. Teenagers are always the troublemakers.”
“How often do you find runaways up here?” Brody asked, scanning the forest beyond the path.
“Every couple of years. Like I said, it is hard to get here. Most of the time we catch them before dark and send them packing. Your friend, the visiting doctor, she was the last one to camp more than a night or two.”
“Kat?” Brody’s eyebrows shot up. She hadn’t said a word when he’d left, except . . .
Maybe he has his reasons.
And Brody had a feeling he understood hers too.
“Kat Arnold. She was a handful. But I guess any kid kicked to the curb and left with nothing ends up taking a wrong turn or two. I remember when the
cops came they cut her a break. The officer in charge said she was due to move again. Claimed nobody wanted her. The previous foster family just wanted the check for housing her.”
I want her. The word roared in his mind.
“And to think she went on to become a city doctor,” Mitch continued, shaking his head. “I bet some of those families are kicking themselves right about now. If they’d adopted her, she would probably be sending money back to them.”
Brody picked up the pace. The thought of a teenage Kat sitting up here to avoid the people who wanted the money she represented, not the child herself, tore at him. He hated the thought of anyone using her. Smart, determined Kat deserved love, dammit, back then and now.
The path turned muddy and he slowed his steps. Where did that leave him? Down on one knee promising forever? Trying to juggle a long distance relationship with Josh’s recovery, his jobs—paid and volunteer—and the work on the house? Falling in love with her?