Page 1 of Her Protector (Ember Heart Ridge Search and Rescue #4)

Chapter One

ABBY

The key sticks in the lock. I jiggle it, curse, and finally resort to my universal fix-it method, also known as giving the door a good, solid kick. It swings open with a reproachful creak, and I step into Grandpa Jasper's cabin.

The air smells like dust, old wood, and a hint of that herb tea Grandpa loved.

Afternoon sunlight streams through the windows, illuminating floating particles that dance in the light.

Everything's exactly how it should be; the big stone fireplace dominating one wall, the scrubbed kitchen table where Grandpa used to spread out his maps while telling me stories about the old days, the bookshelf crammed with geology texts and adventure novels.

I miss him.

I drop my bag and survey my new temporary home. The lawyer said the place had been empty since Grandpa died suddenly six months ago, and it shows. Cobwebs drape the corners like Halloween decorations, and there's a fine layer of dust on everything.

But beneath the neglect, it's still the same magical place from my childhood summers. The cabin where Grandpa would ruffle my hair and spin wild tales about gold hidden in the mountains while Mom rolled her eyes. She thought it was all nonsense.

I pull the letter from my back pocket, the paper crackling as I unfold the familiar handwriting one more time:

My dearest Abby,

If you're reading this, then I'm off on my greatest adventure yet. Don't mourn this old prospector too long. You know I’ve lived exactly the life I wanted.

The cabin is yours now, along with everything in it. But more importantly, I'm leaving you the greatest treasure of all: the truth. Look where the heart of the mountain beats strongest. The old stories aren't just stories, Abby Bear.

All my love, Grandpa

P.S. Check behind the loose stone in the fireplace. Third row from the bottom, four stones from the left. You always were too curious for your own good. Now it’s time to put that curiosity to work.

I fold the letter and shove it back in my pocket. I've read it a hundred times since the lawyer handed it to me three weeks ago.

Grandpa believed in the Ember Heart treasure. For him it was fact, not legend.

I cross to the fireplace, running my fingers along the third row of stones. The fourth one from the left shifts slightly under pressure. I work at it with my fingernails until it comes loose, revealing a hollow space behind it. Inside is a small, tarnished metal box.

I hold my breath as I carefully lift it out. It's heavier than expected, and when I shake it gently, something slides around inside. The latch is stiff, but after some coaxing, it finally gives. The box contains a folded piece of oilcloth, which I unwrap carefully,

It's a map. Hand-drawn, detailed, with elevations marked and geographical features I recognize from childhood hikes. But what makes me dizzy with excitement are the X's marked at five points, connected by a dotted line that leads deep into the mountain.

At the bottom, in Grandpa's careful script: Path to the Ember Heart - J. Brooks, 1987.

Holy shit.

There are other things in the box. A small journal with entries dating back decades, documenting Grandpa's research and theories. Photocopies of an old mining claim. A small piece of greenish rock with flecks of a glittery substance embedded in it.

I'm so absorbed in examining everything that I don't hear the footsteps on the porch until there's a brisk knock on the door.

I scramble to shove everything back in the box, my heart hammering. “Just a minute!”

“Abby? It's Marcus. I need to speak with you.”

Marcus? Marcus Frickin’ Blake?

I hide the box behind a couch cushion and smooth my hair down, trying to look calm and unbothered. But when I open the door, my breath catches.

Gone are the thick glasses and perpetually messy hair.

The man standing on my porch is tall and broad-shouldered, wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt that does absolutely sinful things for his chest. His hair is still dark brown, almost black, but now it's styled in a way that probably requires actual effort.

And the glasses... Jesus, the glasses are now trendy black frames that make his green eyes look even more intense.

He was always cute. But when did Marcus Blake get this hot?

“Hey, Marcus.” I lean against the doorframe, hoping I look casual and not like someone who just found a treasure map. “Long time, no see…”

He pulls out a tablet and swipes to an official-looking document. “I'm here in my capacity as Deputy Emergency Coordinator for Ember Heart Search and Rescue to conduct a mandatory safety inspection of this property.”

I blink. “I'm sorry, what now?”

“Due to the cabin's proximity to known geological hazards and its extended period of vacancy, all returning residents are required to have their property assessed for potential safety risks.” He delivers this with such bureaucratic seriousness that I almost believe him.

Almost.

“That's the biggest load of bull I've heard since Josh tried to convince me that doing his chores would make my wishes come true.” I cross my arms, which makes his gaze flicker briefly to my chest before snapping back to my face.

“There's no such thing as mandatory safety inspections for private property, and you know it.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “The regulations…”

“Were made up five seconds ago in your head.” I step back and motion for him to come inside. “But come on in anyway. I'm curious to find out what you're really here for.”

He hesitates for just a moment before stepping across the threshold.

Damn. He smells good. Fresh air and pine trees, mingled with a hint of spicy cologne.

The cabin immediately feels smaller with him in it, his presence filling every inch of the space in a way that makes me hyper aware of every breath.

“Nice to see you too, by the way,” I add, closing the door behind him. “It's only been seven years.”

“Seven years, three months, and twelve days,” he says automatically, then looks like he wants to take the words back.

“But who's counting?” I tease, and he blinks twice.

God, he's gorgeous. He always was, even back when we were kids and he'd get all bright-eyed trying to explain some complicated scientific concept to me. Some things never change.

I sit on the couch and pat the cushion beside me. “Okay. What do you really want to know?”

He stays standing, tablet clutched in front of him like a shield. “My brother Hunter mentioned you've been asking questions around town. About mining claims and geological surveys.”

“And?”

“And I want to know why.”

I shrug. “Maybe I'm thinking of starting a rock collection.”

His eyes narrow. “Abby…”

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. It's the same tone he used when we were fifteen and I'd talked him into climbing the old oak tree behind the school, or at seventeen when I'd convinced him to sneak out to Miller's Pond for midnight swimming.

Back when we were inseparable. Before everything went wrong.

“Look. I inherited this place. I'm just trying to understand what Grandpa left me. Is that a crime?”

“That depends on what he left you.”

Direct hit. I keep my expression neutral, but my face must give me away because Marcus sets down his tablet and takes a step closer.

“What did you find, Abby?”

The question hovers in the air between us. Part of me wants to tell him everything. But the other part, the part that still stings from being abandoned without explanation, keeps my mouth shut.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“If it involves the mountain, it concerns me. This is my job, Abby. Keeping people safe.”

“Since when do you care about keeping me safe?”

The words slip out before I can stop them. Marcus goes very still, and for a moment we just stare at each other across the dusty cabin.

He opens his mouth like he's going to answer, then stops. Instead, he picks up his tablet again, all business.

“Just... be careful up there, okay? The mountain can be dangerous if you don't know what you're doing.”

“I don’t need a lecture. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you?” He heads for the door, then pauses with his hand on the knob. “Because the Abby I remember had a talent for getting in over her head.”

“The Abby you remember grew up. Maybe you should, too.” I regret the words the instant they come out of my mouth.

His jaw tightens, and there’s a flash of heat in his eyes. It makes my pulse skip and my skin flush warm.

Then he's gone. I wait until his truck disappears down the mountain road before pulling out the treasure map again.

Marcus Blake thinks I'm going to get in over my head?

Well, he's probably right. But that's never stopped me before.

And if he wants to know what I'm really up to, he's going to have to work a lot harder than a fake safety inspection.

Game on, Marcus.

Game on.