Chapter 2
Icy needles of rain lash against my face and exposed arms, quickly soaking through my shirt to plaster it against my skin. I can hear Bonnie”s footsteps splashing along behind me as we hurry deeper into the evergreen forest.
My eyes constantly scan our surroundings, that hyper-awareness ingrained from years of search and rescue operations kicking into overdrive. These mountains are as breathtaking as they are unforgiving—one missed step or poor judgment call, and it could all be over in a heartbeat.
The memory of the last time I made that mistake slams into me like a sledgehammer to the gut.
Dad”s panicked shouts echoing across the ravine as the ground crumbled out from under him and the other climbers...
The sickening crack as his body impacted with unforgiving force...
Those agonizing hours waiting for the rescue chopper that came too late...
My jaw clenches hard against the onslaught of remembered anguish. I can”t let my mind go there again—to that pitch-black abyss of grief and self-recrimination. Not when I”ve got someone counting on me.
We press on, the deluge showing no signs of letting up anytime soon. Flashes of lightning split the sky overhead, each concussive boom of thunder making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. We need to get out of this exposed area before one of those strikes finds its mark.
My eyes scan ahead, searching for a safe path, when I finally spot the familiar trail marker. A relieved breath hisses out. We”re only about a klick out from Ranger Outpost 18—a small but sturdy station used for overnight deployments.
Picking up the pace, I motion Bonnie to follow as I guide us onto the muddy trail. ”This way. We can hole up at the outpost and wait this thing out.”
She nods, one hand clutching a waterproof camera case to her chest. I can’t believe she held onto it through that whole ordeal.
”How”d you end up out there anyway?” I call over the driving rain.
Bonnie huffs out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. ”Occupational hazard.”
”So, what, you”re a travel blogger or something?”
She shoots me an inscrutable look. ”Travel blogger? Yeah, no. I”m an adventure photographer doing a story for Summit Magazine.”
I nearly stumble at that admission. Summit is one of the biggest names in the industry—they don”t hire just any person off the street to risk life and limb.
”You must be pretty damn good at what you do, then,” I murmur, feeling a newfound sense of respect for her.
Bonnie”s full lips curve in a slow smile. ”I”d like to think so. Though you might beg to differ after what just happened.”
It isn”t long before the humble little cabin comes into view through the trees. My shoulders slump slightly with relief at the sight of its sturdy timber frame and tin roof. Say what you will about these old Forest Service buildings, but they”re built to last through pretty much anything nature can dish out.
”There it is!” I call over my shoulder, gesturing toward the structure.
Bonnie squints against the downpour, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment. She doesn”t look overly impressed, but I”ll take it.
I lead the way up the porch steps and shoulder open the heavy wooden door. Flicking the nearby switch, a low hum sounds and the overhead lamps sputter to life, bathing the rustic interior in a warm glow. It isn”t the Ritz, but it”s dry, secure, and has power courtesy of the backup generator out back. We”ll be able to ride this thing out in relative comfort until it passes.
”See? Not too shabby,” I say, turning back to face Bonnie.
But she”s not listening, her attention focused intently on the camera still clutched in her hands. Moving with an almost reverent care, she sets it on a nearby table and begins methodically drying it off with a corner of her soaked flannel shirt.
I watch for a minute, appreciating her dedication, until a sudden shudder wracks Bonnie”s curvy frame. My brows pull together in a deep frown.
”Let”s get you out of those wet clothes,” I rumble, shucking off my rain-soaked jacket and shirt.
She looks up from her work and shoots me a sly look. ”You know, most guys at least buy me dinner first.”
I smirk at her obvious attempt to regain her footing. ”I meant so you can warm up before hypothermia sets in.” Jerking my chin toward the small bathroom, I add, ”There are some spare clothes and towels in there.”
Leaving her camera to dry, she disappears behind the bathroom door. While she changes, I busy myself stoking the woodstove in the main living area. Within minutes, its cheerful glow bathes the room in warmth and casts flickering shadows along the rough-hewn walls.
I grab some blankets from the storage chest nearby and drape one across the old, overstuffed armchair. The other I spread across the floor, creating a makeshift bed in front of the fire. Not exactly five-star accommodations, but it”ll have to do.
The sound of the bathroom door creaking open has me glancing up just as Bonnie emerges. I feel my throat go instantly dry at the sight that greets me.
The oversized flannel shirt hangs nearly to her knees, sleeves rolled up to expose her tanned forearms. It gapes open just enough at the collar to offer a teasing glimpse of the soft curves beneath. Her blond hair is tousled and slightly damp, framing a cherubic face that”s been scrubbed clean of any makeup.
”Better?” she asks with a quirked brow.
Clearing my throat, I somehow find my voice again. ”Yeah... yeah, that”s better.”
Bonnie”s full lips curve into a slow, satisfied smile, and I realize she”s very much aware of the effect she”s having. She holds my stare for a beat before moving toward the fire. I try not to openly ogle the gentle sway of her hips beneath that oversized flannel.
She lowers herself to sit cross-legged on the makeshift bedding I”ve laid out, leaning back on her palms. The movement makes the oversized flannel gape open to reveal one silky thigh all the way to her hip.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly bone dry. Get a grip, Blackwood.
”So...” I manage in a slightly strangled tone. ”This big Summit shoot you”re on. What”s the, uh, concept?”
”The goal is to showcase the Silverpine Range”s power,” she answers, wiggling her toes near the fire to warm them. “Both its terrifying, unforgiving side... and its majestic, awe-inspiring side. All those rugged, remote areas most normal people would never dare explore.”
Her eyes gleam with an almost feverish light as she speaks. ”I want my photos to make the viewer feel like they”re witnessing nature at its most primal and elemental state. No filters, no taming of the wildness. Just pure, savage beauty.”
I exhale a low breath, feeling that strange sense of reverence mixed with... something else. Intrigue? Respect? Hell, maybe a little fear at the sheer intensity blazing behind her eyes.
”You, ah... you want me to grab you a glass of water or something?” I ask.
One delicate brow arches as she says, ”After that near-death experience, I was hoping for something a little stronger.”
Her lips curve into a slow, seductive smile. A jolt of desire shoots through me as every fiber of my being yearns to cross that space and gather her soft, supple body against mine.
I force my gaze away. ”Got it,” I manage in a gravelly tone, turning toward the tiny kitchenette to put some space between us.
I uncap a bottle of amber liquid and pour two generous slugs into tin mugs. When I turn back around, Bonnie is exactly where I left her—stretched out on the floor, eyes gleaming in the firelight.
Clenching my jaw, I stride back over and extend one of the mugs toward her. ”Here you go.”
She takes it without a word, holding my stare as she brings the tin to those full lips and takes a sip. Her throat works in a slow swallow, and I feel an almost painful surge of lust as I track the movement, imagining how those soft lips would feel wrapped around...
I cut off that dangerous train of thought with a harsh inhalation, turning to collapse onto the armchair with my own mug in a white-knuckle grip.
We sit in tense silence, the only sounds the crackle of flames and the driving rain against the roof. I take a swig of the whiskey in a vain attempt to dull my body”s acute awareness of hers. The burn does little to quell the raging inferno of need, but it does manage to momentarily loosen my clenched jaw.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I finally find my voice. ”You know... most people would have the good sense to get the hell away when a storm like this kicks up.”
Bonnie shrugs, clearly unimpressed by the attempted rebuff. ”And miss out on capturing Boulder Creek in all its ferocious glory? No way. That kind of power... the chaos and unpredictability of it...” She trails off, eyes gleaming as she gives a slow shudder. ”God, there”s nothing else like it.”
”Yeah, well that kind of unpredictability is what gets people killed,” I growl, even if I do, at least on some level, admire the reverent way she speaks about her work. ”I”ve seen way too many daredevils like you who thought they could tame the wild, only to wind up another fatality statistic.”
Her expression shifts, the playful, seductive light in those eyes dimming slightly as they search my own with sudden intensity. As if trying to peer into the darkest recesses of my soul and unravel the knot of pain and trauma that still lingers there.
After a heavy beat, she sits up and leans forward slightly, the oversized shirt gaping to reveal the soft swell of her cleavage. Not an overtly sexual move, yet still utterly captivating.
”I”m not just some thrill-seeking adrenaline junkie,” she says in a low, earnest tone. ”What I do, how I see the world through my lens... it”s more than just a rush. It”s my passion.”
She pauses, giving me a look that has the breath stalling in my lungs.
”I get that it seems reckless and crazy to an outsider. Hell, maybe it is a little. But that drive to capture the raw, savage beauty of nature...” Bonnie trails off again with a soft, wistful sigh, her fingers toying idly with the hem of the flannel shirt.
My eyes are inexorably drawn to the movement, mesmerized. Her hands look so delicate and soft... I can only imagine how they”d feel ghosting over my skin, tracing the ridges and grooves of my battle-worn body.
A sudden crack of thunder has me violently flinching, the spell abruptly shattering. Bonnie, too, startles slightly before giving a soft huff of laughter.
”Sounds like this storm has no intentions of letting up anytime soon,” she murmurs. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while.”
With a grunt, I pull myself up from the chair and move to grab another couple of logs from the pile by the door, tossing them onto the crackling flames. As I straighten, my gaze drifts back over to where Bonnie is sprawled on the makeshift bedding. The firelight dances across her sun-kissed skin, casting flickering shadows that accentuate every curve and swell. She”s a goddamn vision—tousled hair, full lips slightly parted, shirt gaping to reveal tantalizing glimpses of softness and warmth.
My hands flex with the overwhelming urge to cross that space, gather her against me, and finally sate this primal hunger. To lose myself in the heat of her mouth, the satin glide of her skin against mine as I pin that powerful body beneath my own...
Just then, a deafening crack of thunder splits the air so violently that the entire cabin seems to shudder. We both startle, the spell abruptly shattering.
And then, as quickly as that, the overhead lamps flicker and go dark, plunging us into pitch blackness.