Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Jenny
I tip my head back and stare up at the strip of sky framed by the trees.
"This," I say, "was not in the plan. And we never, ever deviate from the plan. You know better.”
I let out a small, incredulous laugh. No one in my life would believe I’d landed myself in this position. The put-together, rule-following lawyer who’s never stepped a toe off the painstakingly planned path of her life? Not in a million years.
Yet here I am, with no clue what to do.
Somewhere above me, faint but unmistakable, I hear movement through the brush. I go completely still.
Am I about to become a cautionary tale? The girl who acted on impulse for once in her life and paid the price by becoming a wild animal’s dinner?
"Hello?" I call, trying to keep my voice steady. Please be a human. Please be a human. Please be a human. "Is someone up there?"
No answer. Just the sound again, closer now.
And then a familiar shape appears at the edge of the ridge.
Roxy.
"Hi," I say dryly. "Remember me? The person who risked her life for you?"
Her tail wags.
I squint up at her.
"Did you go get help," I ask, "or are you just here to judge me?"
She glances over her shoulder. Then back at me.
I hear more rustling behind her. The dog isn’t alone.
“Hello?” I call out again. “Is someone there?”
A man appears next to the dog, petting her head as he gazes down at me, taking in the situation while I take him in.
The man is the human equivalent of a grizzly bear.
Even from down here, I can see that he’s tall, muscular, and broad through the shoulders.
He’s wearing faded jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing thick forearms. His hair is long and his beard is unkempt.
He fits out here in the woods in a way that makes me suddenly aware of how much I don't.
He belongs here. I belong at a desk with a stack of fresh highlighters.
Something tightens low in my stomach. I tell myself it's just relief at my imminent rescue, but it’s pure attraction.
“Hi,” I say meekly, attempting to stand up.
"Stop moving,” he barks.
I freeze, eyes popping open in terror. Is he going to attack me?
He swears under his breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” he says gruffly, “But that edge won’t hold if you keep testing it like that.”
I take a deep breath and nod. "Okay. So, what do I do?”
His attention shifts, scanning the ground as he thinks. “Scoot as far away from the edge as you can and sit tight. I need to get some supplies. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”
“I’ll be back soon to get you out of there. I promise.” He pats the dog on the head. “Roxy, sit. Stay.”
As the man turns to leave, the dog sits. She disappears from view, except for her front paws, which hang over the edge of the ravine. Somehow, it’s comforting to know she’s there. I’m not totally alone.
The man is probably only gone for a few minutes, but it feels like hours before I hear his footsteps returning. He steps into view with a coil of rope over one shoulder and I breathe a sigh of relief.
He moves straight to a tree near the edge, starting to loop the rope around it. His hands are quick and sure. He wraps, pulls, checks the tension without looking like he has to think about it.
I watch his forearms work the knot. The flex and release of muscle under tanned skin.
Stop checking out the hot mountain man, Jenny.
"You do this a lot?" I call.
"No."
"That's comforting,” I mutter.
He pulls the knot tight and looks down at me.
"You ever use a rope like this?"
"No."
"Then listen."
"I'm good at listening."
He feeds the rope down toward me. "Grab it."
I do.
"Wrap it around your hand. Keep it tight."
I adjust my grip. "Okay. Now what?”
"I'm coming down partway," he says.
He starts down the slope. And he doesn't slip. Not once. Each step lands like he knows exactly where it should go, like this is an easy stroll in the park for him.
I tighten my hold on the rope and try not to stare.
He stops a few feet above me. "Give me your hand.”
I hesitate for just a second. What if he drops me? But somehow, deep in my soul, I know he won’t. I reach up and take his hand.
His grip is firm and steady, reassuring me that I’m safe with him.
"I’ve got you,” he says. "Just do what I say, okay?”
I nod. “Will do.”
"Right foot up first. Plant it firmly.”
Nodding, I do as I’m told.
"Now adjust your grip to be higher on the rope."
I adjust.
"Now push."
I push.
My foot slips.
"Oh—"
His hand tightens instantly, holding me in place. Just like that. No alarm, no wobble. "I've got you," he says. "Try again."
I nod and reset.
This time it works, and he pulls me up beside him. “Okay,” he says, “Now, you’re going to climb back up using the rope. I’ll be right behind you. If you slip, I’ll catch you.”
Step by step, we move up the slope. Slow and controlled, him right behind me. A small part of my brain wonders if he’s staring at my ass… and if he is, what does he think about it?
Good grief. Focus, Jenny.
"Almost there," he says. Roxy barks and he orders her to “sit” and “stay” again.
I reach the top edge, bellyflopping to safety and swinging my legs up behind me. Roxy barks and her tail smacks the ground, but she does as she’s been commanded, not moving from her spot.
I let go of the rope and take a breath. Then another. The man is on flat ground now too, untying the rope from the tree and re-coiling it.
"Thank you,” I say, rising to my feet.
Roxy looks at him, and he nods. She trots over to me happily, pressing into my leg.
I look down at her, petting her head. "You owe me an apology."
The man turns to stare at me. “I owe you an apology? For what?”
I shake my head, heat flooding my cheeks. “Not you. Roxy.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“She was down by the river, barking. I thought she was in trouble, so I… well, I tried to help her.”
He chuckles, and the sound is rough. Like those particular vocal cords don’t get much use. “She’s a troublemaker, my Roxy.”
I brush off my hands and square my shoulders. “I’m Jenny.”
He coils the last of the rope. "Micah."
"Nice to meet you, Micah," I say. "And thanks again for the rescue mission. Truly.”
He looks at me for just a second, something unreadable in his expression. "No problem. But next time," he says, "just stay on the trail."
I huff out a laugh. "Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.”