Chapter 8
Tucker
My boots crunch over the thick carpet of pine needles, each step taking me further away from that cozy little cabin and the only person who”s come to mean a damn to me in too long.
After everything I”ve been through, you”d think I”d have learned my lesson by now.
But no. That gorgeous little doctor has somehow slipped past all my carefully constructed walls, igniting embers that haven”t burned in so long, I damn near forgot what it felt like. The way her lush curves mold so perfectly against me, like she was made to fit in the circle of my arms. How her honeyed gasps and whimpers go straight to my cock whenever I claim her. Christ, just the thought of burying myself to the hilt inside her slick heat again has my fingers twitching with the need to grip those tempting hips and—
I grunt, shoving those distracting thoughts aside as my eyes rake over the trail in front of me, spotting the print of a boot in the mud and a butt of a cigarette a few yards past it.
As I follow the poacher”s careless trail, I touch the radio at my hip to reassure myself it”s still there. I”d taken it from Zane, radioing into the ranger station before setting out. They should be on their way, but it will be easier if I can give them exact coordinates.
I push deeper into the overgrown thicket, and there—a ramshackle lean-to of scavenged plywood and crudely tanned hides hunkers in a small clearing ahead. A patchwork tarp stretched overhead provides meager shelter, surrounded by the usual detritus of lazy, low-life squatters—spent ammo casings, empty liquor bottles, and gnawed remains that could”ve come from any number of unfortunates.
My jaw clenches as fury simmers through me. Sick fucks like this give all of us mountain folk a bad name with their reckless disregard. No respect for the land that”s provided for generations, just plundering as they please.
I quickly radio in the coordinates to the rangers, keeping my voice low. Once they confirm, I creep a little closer, searching for any sign of life. Where the hell is he at?
A twig snaps somewhere behind me, and I whirl, the rifle swinging up toward the source of the disturbance. Too late, I spot a hulking shadow detaching itself from the dense brush, the gleam of a revolver glinting in his meaty fist as he levels it at my chest.
”Well, well...” a gruff voice rumbles, the stench of stale sweat and tobacco clinging to the disheveled poacher as his lips curl back in a sneer. ”What”re you doin” in my camp?”
”You”re trespassing on federal land, jackass,” I growl, keeping the bead of my rifle trained steadily on his center mass.
He lets out a wheezing bark of laughter. ”These mountains and everything in ”em belong to whoever”s strong enough to take ”em.”
”We”ll see about that when the rangers get here and haul your disgusting carcass off to the pen,” I retort.
That greasy bastard”s finger tightens on the trigger, his piggish eyes narrowing with cruel delight. ”Shoulda stayed the hell out of my way, boy.”
The shot rings out like a thunderclap, the poacher”s revolver bucking in his meaty fist. My instincts take over in a surge of adrenaline, my body twisting in a roll that has me hitting the earth hard, my rifle skittering away.
Dirt and pine needles shower my face as I scramble onto my knees, zeroing in on that twisted fuck”s hulking form. He”s already swinging the pistol back toward me.
I explode into motion, every ounce of my wiry strength propelling me forward in a brutal tackle that slams into that blubbery midsection like a runaway train. The pistol goes clattering uselessly away as we crash to the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs and grunts of exertion.
Goddamn, he”s a big bastard. Must weigh damn near three bills, every ounce of it comprised of pure, lard-laden beef. But I’m not about to let some overfed poacher scum overpower me on my own turf.
My knee slams viciously into that bloated gut, momentarily driving the wind from his lungs with a wheezy gasp. I seize the opening, raining down a barrage of punishing blows to his fleshy face and throat. Each sickening impact of knuckles on flesh fuels my mounting fury.
The big man”s hands latch around my wrists with a grip like iron shackles, his face purpling as he sucks in a desperate wheezing breath. ”Gonna... gut you... real slow... boy...”
He bucks with the strength of a raging bull, those thick arms pistoning as he flings my smaller frame off him with surprising agility. I hit the ground hard, the air exploding from my lungs with a harsh wheeze as my skull bounces off a rock with a dull crack.
Through the haze of dizzying pain, I see that bloated silhouette looming over me, a malicious chuckle rumbling from his chest as he scoops up the discarded revolver in one beefy paw.
”Should”a minded your own goddamn business, runt,” he growls, leveling the barrel at my skull. ”Now I”m gonna put you down like the mangy mutt you are.”
My fingers claw uselessly at the dirt, my vision starting to swim from the force of that last blow. Dammit, I can”t let it end like this. Not when I”ve finally found a reason to keep on living.
The metallic click of the hammer drawing back echoes like a thunderclap in my ears. I grit my teeth, steeling myself for the inevitable eruption of searing agony that will soon tear through me. At least Rhylee”s safe back at the cabin, spared from witnessing this grisly conclusion.
”Tucker!”
That voice, ringing out with such fierce determination, has my eyes flying wide in disbelief. No... she didn”t...
Sure enough, through the swirling haze, I spot a familiar silhouette emerging from the tree line, the cold steel of my own rifle clutched in those trembling hands and angled squarely at the poacher.
”You get the hell away from him right now!” Rhylee”s voice slices through the tense standoff, all traces of her usual timid demeanor banished in the face of this deadly threat.
That greasy bastard lets out a scornful bark of laughter. ”Well, lookie what we got here,” he rumbles, his tone dripping with disdain. ”Some kinda nerdy city girl come to play cowgirl with the big boys?”
Rhylee”s jaw tightens. The rifle in her grasp doesn”t waver an inch as she stares him down without an ounce of fear.
”Let him go,” she grits out, her voice low. ”Or I swear, I”ll splatter your brains all over this forest.”
The poacher snorts derisively, clearly unfazed by her threat as he lazily swings the barrel of his revolver to point at her delicate throat.
”You ain”t gonna do shit, little lady,” he sneers, taking a ponderous step toward her. ”I can see it in them big doe eyes. You”re too yella to actually pull that trigger on a real man.”
Rhylee”s plump lips purse and, for a terrifying second, I fear she”s about to falter, to surrender in the face of his taunts and threats. But then her chin juts out stubbornly, her grip on the rifle tightening with renewed resolve.
”Maybe you”re right,” she concedes with a casual shrug. ”Maybe I won”t actually shoot you.”
The poacher”s piggish features split into a victorious leer, his arm already starting to drop as if her capitulation is a foregone conclusion. But then Rhylee continues in that same conversational tone, pinning him with a look of pure, unshakable steel.
”But did I happen to mention that I went to college on a softball scholarship?”
Before any of us can process the non-sequitur, she whips the rifle around in a blur, gripping the thick barrel like a bat. The solid steel butt slashes through the air with blinding speed, that compact swing packing every ounce of Rhylee’s strength behind it.
It connects with the poacher”s thick skull with a sickening thud, the impact whipping his greasy head violently to the side. His eyes roll back in their sockets as that blubbery mass crumples bonelessly to the forest floor in an unconscious heap.
For a suspended heartbeat, the only sound is the labored rasp of my own panting breaths as I gape at the fierce woman standing over her fallen foe. Then, the distant thwup-thwup-thwup of rotor blades shatters the eerie stillness, the authorities finally converging on our location.
Rhylee blinks as if only now registering the enormity of what she”s done. Her chest heaves with exertion, those lush curves rising and falling enticingly beneath the thin fabric of her sweat-dampened shirt.
In two strides, I”ve crossed the distance between us, hauling her into my embrace with a fierceness that allows no chance for escape or protest. Not that she offers any, her slender curves melting against me as her arms wind around my neck with equal desperation.
“Rhylee...” I rasp, my voice thick and choked with a thousand unspoken emotions battering me from the inside. ”Darlin”, I... God, I”m so fucking sorry for trying to shut you out. For not seeing how strong and capable you truly are.”
She silences me with a shake of her head, those lush lips curving into a smile that”s somehow both radiant and wry.
”You don”t have to apologize,” she murmurs, her delicate fingers tracing the sharp line of my jaw with a tenderness that has my heart clenching. ”I know why you felt the need to push me away, to try and keep me safe from the dangers of your world. I get it, I really do.”
I open my mouth to respond, to try and explain the twisted mess of emotions and memories that drove my bullheaded actions. But then she”s rising up on her tiptoes, her mouth slanting over mine in a searing, passionate kiss that obliterates every coherent thought.
When we finally break apart, we”re both panting harshly, our gazes locked in a heated exchange that requires no words. Rhylee”s fingers toy idly with the tousled hair at my nape, her lips curved in a secretive little smile.
”I”m not going anywhere, Tucker Rhodes,” she vows. ”You”re stuck with me, like it or not. We”re partners now, in every sense of the word.”
My heart thunders against my ribs as the truth of her declaration sinks in. This fierce, beautiful woman has shattered the last of my carefully constructed defenses, faced down my most deep-seated demons without an ounce of fear or hesitation. In doing so, she”s irrevocably claimed a part of me I thought was long dead and withered—the part that still yearns for a profound connection, for someone to face the wildness of this existence side-by-side.
I let out a rasping chuckle, gathering her even tighter against me as the chopper blades grow deafening overhead.
”Wouldn”t want it any other way, Doc,” I rumble against the silken strands of her hair.
She laughs then, that bright sound warming me straight through to my very marrow. It”s a sound of pure, unbridled joy and freedom—the sound of a woman who”s shed her former shackles to embrace the wildness and passion that”s been lying dormant all along.