Stella’s Christmas Rescue

Chapter 1

“Max!” I call out at the top of my lungs into the cold windy air.

If he can hear me, he’ll come running back home. But as the minutes tick by, I realize there’s no wagging black tail in the snowy bushes out front. No plodding paws in the back acreage either.

Damn hunting dogs. When they get the scent, there is nothing on Earth that can stop them.

I know the feeling.

Max is a guy’s dog, sort of like me. My friends all call me a guy’s guy. We don’t take advice very well, and sometimes, that works out. Sometimes it doesn’t. We’re protective, too. But me and Max are both good—natured at heart. Mostly.

I grab the keys to my ancient pickup, throw on my heavy camo coat, and head out the door.

The driveway is more of a gravel road, but right now, it’s mostly snow.

Truck handles it just fine. That’s why I never bothered to upgrade once I moved to Floyd, Virginia.

I know the new trucks have all the bells and whistles, but I’m not one much for extras.

I like things to be simple, which is why it grinds my gears when Max runs off like this.

Nothing more complicated than trying to find your dog, with night coming in.

And in December, night comes in fast. The sunset streams between the treetops, like a river around rocks.

It’s almost as though the tops of the pine are on fire, they’re so lit up.

At least I have a nice view, while I track him down.

My first stop is Hanson’s farm. I cruise down the dirt path that connects our land.

The truck bumps along, jostling me as I go.

My farm was neglected when I got it, but I’m slowly working out all the issues.

His farm and his half of the dirt road are in need of attention.

But I know he’s doing the best he can. The old man, Stanley Hanson, must be in his nineties.

He walks with a limp and a cane, but he still gets around on his own.

Shouldn’t be driving anymore, so sometimes, I bring him food when I come back from our only grocery store, Bailey’s.

Mr. Hanson likes to give Max his leftovers. I worry about the old man’s eyesight, though. One time, I found him giving a bear cub half a chicken.

When I pull up the drive, there’s a strange truck there.

It’s newer than mine, and the white paint is in better condition, but it’s seen some wear and tear.

It’s parked close to Mr. Hanson’s late eighties Suburban, which dwarfs the guest truck.

I’d always heard he didn’t have much family, just a son who is stationed in South Korea. I’m curious about the truck’s owner.

My eyes narrow. Better not be some scammer looking to take his social security. I grab my shotgun and toss it onto my shoulder, just in case I might need to shoo some jerk away.

I walk up the wooden steps and they creak underfoot.

His porch could use another coat of blue paint in the spring, as could the rest of the house.

But it’s in decent repair overall. I had helped him with some maintenance over the years since I came to Floyd.

I note a window that probably needs resealing by the door.

He can’t hear for shit, so I always have to pound the door as hard as I can without damaging it.

The wood is sturdy, but as a volunteer firefighter, there’s always an urge to bash down a door in the way.

There are parts of the job that are a lot of fun, and demolition is my favorite, outside of saving lives.

The door is suddenly thrown open, and inside is a petite woman made of all the right curves.

Her bright blue eyes are like sapphires.

And I can’t drag mine away as she narrows hers up at my face, like I’m being scowled at by an angel.

I have never seen someone who looked so polished in the country.

Her hair and makeup are immaculate. That’s not the way women around here look.

And she’s annoyed or worried, or maybe a mix of both.

“Yes?”

“Is Stanley Hanson around?”

“Nn…that depends. Who’s asking?”

“My name is Jordan Waters, ma’am, and I’m a friend of Mr. Hanson’s. Would he be up and around?”

She takes sight of the shotgun and says, “He’s unavailable, but I’ll tell him you stopped by. Goodnight.”

I wedge my boot in the doorway, and she looks terrified. “I promise, ma’am, I mean you no harm. But I don’t know you, and you’re in my elderly friend’s house. You understand how that could be suspect, right?”

“Mr. Waters—"

“Jordan.”

She blows an errant red curl from her eyes and says, “I was told about you being the neighbor, but...I don’t know you—”

I cut her off, “Well now you do. So, I came to talk to Mr. Hanson to see if he has laid eyes on my dog. Max is missing. I need to speak to Hanson.”

“Dog—” She murmurs. Then her voice rises, “Oh shoot!” She swings the door open and whips out onto the porch in a frenzy of red curls and plaid.

Guess she decided I’m safe enough for her to come outside.

The woman starts shouting, “Sugar!” She leans over the railing, looking down the side of the house, giving me a fine view of the way her curves fill out her tight blue jeans. “Sugar, get in here!”

I grin.

Dirty, dirty thoughts.

She calls me Sugar and tells me to get in here, she better hang on.

The tiny female with the big lungs slams her hands on the rail and whirls around. I stuff the grin.

Sparks fly from those oversized bright blue eyes of hers. “I bet they're together.”

“Yours wouldn’t be a girl, would it?”

The corner of her mouth pinches upward. It’s almost a smirk, but she seems too ladylike to smirk. “Sugar is a girl, yes. A yellow lab, actually. I’m worried she’ll be stuck out all night again, and it’s supposed to get well below freezing tonight.”

“My black and tan hunting mutt likes to visit Hanson because he spoils him with scraps. I thought he might be here, chowing down on some leftovers. I’ll bet they met up here and ran off together.

Would you like to come with me to look for them?

It gets damn dark in these woods, and I’d hate for you to get lost.”

“What makes you think I’d get lost? You think I can’t handle myself?”

Oh, hell. A feminist. But then, I see the teasing in her eyes. “I think you can handle whatever you’d like to. But I also know I’d prefer not to be in these woods alone at night, and I’m six-three, two-forty. You are…” I look her over, “Not.”

The teasing in her eyes becomes a hearty laugh, “God, you weigh a hundred pounds more than I do.”

I shrug. “Played a lot of football. So, do you wanna head out with me?”

“Sure. Let me get my coat. And I think you probably don’t need a shotgun with little old me.”

I laugh while she suits up. “Old? You can’t be more than twenty-two.”

“I’m twenty-seven. And I’m Stella Collins, by the way.” She’s ready and turns on a new alarm, then locks up.

We pile into my truck and drive down the road a ways. She smells incredible, like birthday cake and jasmine. It’s intoxicating. But I need to stay focused. “So, what are you doing at Mr. Hanson’s anyway? And where is he? I know for a fact he doesn’t like security alarms.”

“I’m sorry, I know you said you’re a friend of his, and there’s no good way to say it, but Mr. Hanson had to go to a care facility a couple days ago.

He stopped being able to get around well enough to be on his own.

I was hired by his son to watch over the farm for a year, so he could finish his deployment. ”

I run my fingers through my shaggy brown hair. I have never gotten used to having hair after twenty years in the Marines, so it’s still a novelty. “Thanks for telling me. A shame about him, but I get it. How’d his son get a hold of you? Are you a friend of his or something?”

“Royce and I go way back,” she lies.

Why did she lie about that? “How’d you meet?”

“At a club in Nashville, before he left.”

“That where you’re from?”

“Yes. How about yourself?”

I shrug, “Around. I moved a lot when I was in the Marines, and before that, I grew up as a Marine Corps brat, so I don’t really claim a hometown. But Floyd is pretty great, as small towns go. You been to the diner yet?”

She nods, “They have really good corned beef hash.”

I chuckle and point out, “I thought you might have been one of those women who eat salads, a vegan or something.”

“I like a good salad, now and then,” she admitted. “But I like meat.”

Hope so. I slow the truck near Miller Road. “Huh. Well, the last time I found Max, he was down this road here. I think it’s his hang out, when he’s not mooching scraps off our neighbors. The end of the road is near Hanson’s farm, so maybe that’s where they both are. Come on.”

“What do you mean, come on? Why aren’t we driving it?”

“Because it’s really just a footpath. No truck will fit down it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.” I grab my shotgun and a snub-nosed pistol from the glove box. “You know how to handle one of these?”

“No.”

I shrug, then tuck it into my pocket. “Let’s get moving. We’re burning moonlight.”

We step out and onto Miller Road. The snow crunches underfoot, and it’s the only thing we can hear. I had hoped to hear her dog’s collar jingling. Max has his leather hunting collar on, so there’s no tags to make a sound. Then, we see something unnatural in the moonlight.

She gasps, then pulls out her cell phone for light, “What is…is that a telescope?...Pointing at my house?”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, while I look over the equipment, “And a directional mic, some other high-end equipment…” I keep my first thought to myself, “This is too expensive to be federally-issued.” My hand tenses on my shotgun, as I share my second thought out loud, “Any idea why someone would spend upwards of thousands of dollars to spy on you?”

She’s quiet for a beat, then nervously says, “My stalker.”

I don’t mind being lied to by a pretty woman, but this one is clearly in some kind of trouble. I did not move to Floyd for trouble. I huff, “I’d call for Max, but I don’t want your stalker to know we’re—"

Something moves in the bushes and my shotgun is aimed at the sound, before I think about it. I whisper, “Max?”

The mystery creature shimmies in the bush and jingles, before it comes bounding out. Two dogs emerge together. Max and another dog who jumps on Stella. She gets down with the lab, “Sugar, you silly girl!” Then she rings her neck with her arms in a fierce hug, which the dog wriggles into.

I scratch Max’s head and tell him, “Found yourself a friend, didn’t you?”

“I bet Sugar was the bad influence. Don’t be mad at Max. She’s a bad girl.”

“Always been fond of the bad ones myself.” I smirk. “Listen, if someone’s stalking you, then I know how to annoy them.”

She sighs, “I don’t want to antagonize him.”

“He seems hellbent on knowing what you’re up to, so I’m going to take his equipment.”

“If you do that, then he might try a new tactic. I’m not sure if I want to find out what that is,” her voice wavers.

I can’t figure out her angle. She’s clearly afraid of whoever it is, but he’s not a stalker. I shake my head and say, “If he has the money to blow on the good stuff, then he has the money to replace it. While he’s replacing it, we can get the law involved.”

“First, let’s get back to the truck and out of the cold.”

I nod, and the four of us end up piled into the cab of my truck.

Can’t leave the dogs in the back. Max likes to jump out, and I suspect Sugar would follow him.

It’s a quiet ride back. I like the quiet when I’m thinking, and I have to figure this out.

We pull up to Hanson’s house, and I park. “Give me your house key.”

“What?” She sounds confused.

“I’m going to do a sweep of the house, before you go in.”

“The hell you are—"

“Stella, whoever set up all that equipment is somewhere away from the equipment which means he could be here, and while I’m sure Sugar is a great guard dog—"

“She’s not—"

“I think it’s best if I check it out first, before you come inside. With you and both dogs out here, for protection. In fact,” I pull my pistol out and hand it over it, “take this.”

“I hate guns.”

“If someone attacks you, then you’ll be glad you have it. Take it.”

She sighs and takes the gun, then passes me the house keys. “The alarm code is 886742.”

I head in alone. The alarm makes sense now.

I’m sure Royce wouldn’t object to her taking care of her safety, being on her own out here.

There’s no one in the house, but I hear a strange humming sound inside.

No obvious source. It’s louder upstairs, and even louder near the main bedroom.

I open the door and there’s no one inside.

But the hum is louder. Then I realize it.

Single woman. Alone. Answered the door with flushed red cheeks.

I bet she forgot to turn off her battery-operated boyfriend.

I close the bedroom door and chuckle to myself on the way back to the truck. “All clear.”