Chapter 22
Ryder stood frozen, gripping the counter where Ivy had brushed past him seconds before. His lips still stung from that kiss, her taste still on his tongue.
His throat worked against a hard swallow, the rush of blood so loud it muffled his hearing. The way she’d gone rigid at first contact, then melted into him so completely he’d felt her surrender in his bones. The soft sound she’d made when he’d deepened the kiss, half gasp, half moan, before—
She’d ripped free and bolted.
That wasn’t rejection. That was fear.
She wasn’t running away from him.
She was running from what they both felt.
“Ryder?” Sarah.
After the waterfall, he’d let Ivy retreat into cool politeness, telling himself he was giving her space. Respecting boundaries.
Space? What a load of bullshit. He hadn’t given her anything except an easy out. Too damn afraid to push back.
If Ivy wanted him gone, she could damn well look him in the eye and say so. But she wasn’t going to vanish into the night without a word. Not on his watch. And what if she’d hit the road scared out of her mind—and something’d already happened?
The thought barreled into him, cold and brutal.
“Ryder.” Sarah’s voice sharpened, her fingers gripping his shoulder. She gave him a shake. “What’s going on? Where’d Ivy go?”
He looked around. Caleb and Wyatt blocked the kitchen doorway, wearing the same mix of concern and poorly concealed curiosity.
“She left.” He strode toward the hall, lifting his coat.
“Left? In this weather?” Sarah folded her arms, frown deepening. “It’s gotten worse out there—”
“I know.” He rammed his arms into the sleeves. “I’m going after her.”
Wyatt leaned on the doorframe. “Going after her? Did you two have a fight?”
Ryder ignored him, turning to Sarah. “Ellie—”
“Don’t worry about Ellie.” Sarah squeezed his arm. “I’m off tomorrow morning. She can stay here as long as you need.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed his keys.
Caleb caught his arm, slipped a small box into his hand.
“Emergency kit,” he said, as if he were handing over a flashlight or a spare set of keys. “Don’t say I never look out for you.”
Ryder blinked, then swore under his breath as he recognized the box. “Jesus, Caleb.”
Caleb didn’t so much as blink. “Just practical.”
Ryder pocketed the box like it might burn a hole through his palm. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mmm.” Caleb’s tone stayed maddeningly neutral, but he winked at Wyatt. “You can thank me later.”
“You’re an ass,” Ryder muttered, but there was no weight to it. His mind was already out the door.
“Be careful out there,” Wyatt called. “Road’ll be hell.”
Ryder lifted a hand in acknowledgment and yanked the door open. Arctic air slapped him in the face. The porch steps were slick, but adrenaline drove him down them two at a time, overriding caution.
Ivy was out there.
Alone.
And nothing on earth was going to stop him from finding her.
Snow whipped around him in stinging spirals once he cleared the covered porch. The type of cold that punished every exposed inch of skin. Weather that could turn fatal for anyone caught unprepared.
Anyone driving a piece-of-shit rental car on roads they barely knew.
Fuck.
His truck was a hulking silhouette under its layer of fresh snow. Sliding into the cab, he cranked the ignition. The engine rumbled awake on the first try, the heater roaring to life, gauges flicking steady.
Thank fuck.
As he backed out, the headlights carved twin beams into the whiteout, catching the indent of Ivy’s tire tracks. Already half-filled, faint lines led away from warmth and safety.
Away from him.
Not for long.
Visibility was down to fifty feet at best. Powder skimmed over a treacherous base of ice—he felt it in the way the tires shifted under the frame. He tapped the temperature gauge with one knuckle. Dropping fast.
He set his jaw and eased the truck forward, engaging four-wheel drive with a satisfying thunk. He pushed on through drifts that would swallow Ivy’s crappy rental whole.
He rolled damp palms on the steering wheel.
Every instinct honed through combat and fatherhood screamed danger. He leaned forward, shoulders tight, scanning for the glow of her taillights. Nothing. Just the empty road stretching ahead, bordered by pines sagging low with snow.
Nothing passed him. Anyone with half a brain was tucked safely indoors, waiting out the storm by a warm fire.
Everyone except Ivy.
His speedometer held at twenty-five—fast enough to make ground, slow enough to maintain control. That’s what she needed from him right now, even though the urge to tramp his foot on the gas was overwhelming.
The wipers beat a rapid rhythm, each swipe revealing the same ghostly world—white on white, broken only by the looming black of trees.
If something happens to her—
The thought cut like shrapnel. He’d been so wrapped up in wanting her, in the heat of that kiss, he hadn’t seen how scared she was. Maybe she’d been right to bolt. Maybe he was exactly the kind of man she should run from.
He gripped the wheel harder, forcing the doubt down. No, he knew what he’d seen in her eyes. Hunger. Longing. The fragile spark of trust.
He threw up a prayer to whatever powers might be listening. Just let her be safe. Let me find her safe. I’ll figure out the rest later.
He crested a small rise, headlights sweeping across a curve tricky to navigate even in daylight above a steep shoulder dropping into pines.
There—cutting through the storm like an open wound—a faint red glow.
Taillights.
“Shit.” He eased off the gas, eyes locked on the dim, flickering crimson. Too weak and stationary. Not a car pulled safely aside, but the dying pulse of a vehicle in trouble.
Please be someone else. Anyone else.
The thought gutted him, guilt blasting in a second later. What kind of man wished harm on a stranger? But terror didn’t leave room for logic. Not when Ivy could be lying broken in the snow.
He pulled onto the shoulder, his hazard lights strobing through the storm. Popping the glove box, he grabbed his first aid kit, rescue tool, and thermal blanket. Everything he might need if this was bad. He grabbed it all and hit the ground running, boots crunching through a drift.
His flashlight cut a jagged path through the dark and caught on twisted metal.
The rental lay on its side against a massive pine, driver’s side down. Steam rose in ghostly plumes from the crushed hood. Alaska plates. Enterprise sticker on the glass.
Ivy’s car.
“God, no.” His breath ripped out in a cloud.
He ran harder, the light skittering across shattered glass glittering like icy stars. Antifreeze burned his nose, sharp and acrid, layered with gasoline. The cooling engine ticked, eerie in the hush between wind gusts. He forced his breathing quiet. Training slammed into place, fast and merciless.
Assess. Prioritize. Execute.
Fuel spill—moderate risk, cold slowing evaporation. Vehicle stabilized by the pine. Passenger side accessible.
He kept moving, phone in hand, dialing without thought.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Motor vehicle accident, Route 47. Two miles east of Daniel Road. Single-vehicle rollover, one occupant, status unknown. Fuel leak present, no fire at this time. Request paramedics and fire rescue, priority response.”
“Sir, are you—?”
He ended the call. Help was coming, but too slow.
He dropped to his knees by the passenger side, flashlight beam cutting through spider-webbed glass. Airbags, twisted metal. No movement.
Then his light found her.
Ivy.
Slumped against the driver’s door, seatbelt pinning her in place. Head tilted at a sickening angle. Fuck. She looked like—
“Ivy.” His voice broke on her name. He pressed closer, breath fogging the glass. “Ivy, can you hear me?”
Nothing. Just the wind. The stampede of blood in his head fighting with the storm.
“Ivy.”
Her lashes fluttered. A low sound slipped out—weak, pained, but alive. Her eyes opened, hazy and unfocused.
“Ryder?” The word was a rasp and so damn fragile he nearly dropped the flashlight.
Relief buckled his knees. He braced against the frame, forcing control into his voice. “Jesus. Ivy. You’re alive. Are you hurt? Can you move?”
She tried to shift, gasped, face contorting. “My seatbelt. It’s jammed. I can’t—”
“Hey, hey. Look at me.” His voice stayed calm, even as panic savaged his chest. “I’m getting you out. You’re going to be fine.”
The passenger window was already cracked. Two sharp strikes with the butt of his flashlight and the rest collapsed inward in a controlled shower of pebbled fragments. He swept the shards clear, then slid through headfirst.
Inside, the air stank of fuel. The car groaned as he shifted, but he moved carefully, distributing his weight so nothing jarred the frame.
Protocol said wait for fire rescue with stabilization gear. But protocol didn’t account for fumes this heavy.
“Ryder, I can’t—”
“I’ve got you.”
The seatbelt was locked, the mechanism warped. He dug into the emergency kit he’d hauled from the truck, fingers closing around his compact rescue tool—glass breaker on one end, razor-edged cutter on the other. Lifesaving gear.
“Hold still.”
One slice and the belt gave. Ivy sagged forward with a broken gasp. He caught her against his chest, easing her back gently as his hands skimmed over her—skull, ribs, abdomen, limbs. “Easy. Let me look at you.”
Her skin was ice cold, her body trembling with a deep shiver that scared him more than blood ever could.
No deformities. No catastrophic bleeds. A cut at her hairline, glass abrasions on her hands. “Can you feel your fingers? Toes?”
Her tear-streaked face lifted toward him. “I think so. Everything hurts, but I can move.”
“That’s good. That’s real good.” His relief didn’t show in his voice. He shifted, angling her toward the broken window, his body shielding her from jagged edges. “We’re getting out now.”
The extraction took longer than he liked, but he wasn’t taking any unnecessary risks. When they cleared the wreck, he lifted her into his arms. Her head dropped against his shoulder, and his grip locked tighter, fierce protective instinct smashing through his muscle and bone.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair. “You’re safe now.”
She whimpered—so softly he nearly missed it—and burrowed instinctively toward his warmth.
The truck’s cab was still warm, heater still blasting.
He settled her carefully in the passenger seat, then climbed in beside her.
In the dome light’s glow, he could assess the full extent of the damage—the cuts on her face and hands, the bruising already darkening along her collarbone, the way she held herself as if everything hurt.
Sirens wailed faintly through the night, closing in.
Ivy turned her face toward him, wide-eyed, her voice husky. “You came after me.”
He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Her eyes closed, and she leaned into his touch, her hand closing over his. “I hoped.”
Red and blue lights strobed through the trees—the cavalry arriving. Soon there would be paramedics, reports, questions.
But right now it was just the two of them in the cocoon of his truck.
Her breath warmed his palm, and he knew one thing.
He wouldn’t lose her again.