Page 3 of Her Protector (Ember Heart Ridge Search and Rescue #4)

Chapter Three

ABBY

I'm up early. Grandpa's map is spread across the kitchen table next to a thermos of coffee and a backpack full of supplies. The treasure hunt officially begins today, and I'm practically vibrating with excitement.

According to Grandpa's notes, the first marker should be about two miles up the northeast ridge, near what he called ‘the heart's first beat.’ His handwriting gets more cryptic the deeper into the mountains the trail goes, but I've always been good at puzzles.

What I'm not good at is being followed.

I spot the truck about half a mile up the mountain road. It keeps a careful distance, pulling over when I slow down, resuming when I speed up. Either Marcus Blake thinks he's much more subtle than he actually is, or he wants me to know he's there.

Probably the latter. He was always too smart for his own good.

I park at the trailhead and take my time shouldering my pack, giving him plenty of opportunity to reveal himself. When he doesn't, I head into the woods, following the trail that winds up toward the ridge.

The morning air is crisp and clean, scented with the faint mineral aroma of mountain streams. This is where I belong, where I've always belonged. Not in some stuffy office building in the city, filing reports and attending meetings about quarterly projections.

The trail splits about a mile in, and I check Grandpa's map before taking the narrower path that leads northeast. This part of the mountain is less traveled, the trees denser, and the footing more treacherous. Perfect for hiding buried treasure.

I'm so focused on reading the terrain that I don't notice the footsteps behind me.

“You're going the wrong way.”

I spin around to find Marcus emerging from behind a massive pine tree, looking annoyingly fresh despite the early hour and the steep climb.

He's traded yesterday's button-down for hiking gear that does absolutely sinful things to his body.

The fitted technical shirt clings to his chest and shoulders in ways that make my mouth go dry, and when he moves, his big muscles flex beneath the fabric.

“Are you seriously following me?”

“I'm not following you. I'm hiking.” He gestures to his own backpack, which is significantly more professional than mine.

“Uh-huh. And you just happened to be hiking in the exact same direction I am?”

“I happen to know these trails better than you do.” He moves past me to examine the fork in the path. “That way leads to a dead end. Unless you're planning to do some technical rock climbing, which I'm guessing you're not equipped for.”

I check the map again. Damn. He's right. The trail I was about to take peters out at a cliff face. The correct path heads more directly north.

“Fine. Thanks for the navigation tip.” I adjust my pack straps and head for the correct trail. “Feel free to continue your totally coincidental hike in whatever direction you prefer.”

“Abby.”

When I turn back, he's looking at me with an expression I can't quite read. Serious, but not angry.

“I know you don't want me here. But that mountain gets dangerous fast, especially the old mining areas. If something happens to you up there…”

“Nothing's going to happen to me.”

“You don't know that.”

I face him fully, putting my hands on my hips. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. I'm not the same girl who used to need rescuing from trees.”

“No. You're not.”

The way he looks at me when he says it makes heat pool low in my belly. His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes, making my pulse stutter.

I turn back to the trail. “Well. Good talk.”

I make it maybe fifty yards before his footsteps crunch on the path behind me again.

Marcus clears his throat. “For the record, Abby. I'm not following you. I'm going to the same place you are.”

That stops me cold. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He catches up to me in a few long strides. “It means I've been researching the Ember Heart treasure for years. Call it my special interest. It also means I know where your grandfather was looking, and I know you found his research.”

“You've been researching the treasure? Why?”

“Because people keep getting lost or hurt trying to find it. SAR, remember? And… I've always wondered if the old stories might be true.”

Marcus, for all his brain power, has never been a good liar. His tells are the same as they were when we were kids: the slight tension around his eyes, the way he presses his lips together when he's holding something back.

“You think it's real.”

“I think your grandfather was onto something. The geological data supports the possibility of significant mineral deposits in this area. Whether that translates to actual treasure…” He shrugs.

We stare at each other for a long moment. The smart thing would be to send him away, to insist on doing this alone. But the truth is, I could use the help. And despite everything that went wrong between us, Marcus Blake is probably the most capable person I know.

“I’ll be honest with you. Our SAR is running low on funding after the government canceled the grant program. Finding some buried treasure would definitely help. Partners?” he asks, extending his hand. There's a vulnerability to his expression, a hopefulness he's trying to hide.

“Partners,” I agree, and shake his hand.

The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm. His palm is warm and calloused, his grip firm, and I have the sudden, inappropriate urge to trace those calluses with my fingertips. When he releases my hand, I have to curl my fingers into a fist to stop the tingling his touch left behind.

We hike for the next hour, falling into an easy rhythm despite the years apart. Marcus points out geological formations, warns me about unstable footing, and somehow manages to do it all without making me feel like he's treating me like a child.

It's nice. More than nice. It reminds me why we used to be such good friends. And why I should probably stop staring at his perfect ass in those hiking pants.

The trail gets steeper as we climb, and rockier. By the time we reach the area marked on Grandpa's map, I'm breathing hard and grateful for the water break Marcus suggests.

I point to a cluster of boulders that match the first ‘X’ on the map. “That should be the first marker.”

We spend twenty minutes searching around the rocks before Marcus calls out from behind a fallen log. “Trouble, over here.”

His old nickname for me makes me smile. I scramble over to where he's kneeling next to a pile of stones. They’re arranged deliberately, forming an arrow that points further up the ridge.

“Grandpa's breadcrumbs,” I breathe.

Marcus stands and brushes dirt off his knees. “Smart man. Subtle enough that casual hikers would miss it, but clear enough for someone who knows what to look for. Does your map show where the next marker should be?”

“About half a mile northeast. Near something called ‘the heart's second chamber.’”

“I know where that is. An old mining shaft, from the 1890s. It's been sealed for decades, but the entrance is still visible.”

We set off again, but the terrain gets significantly more challenging.

The trail almost disappears, replaced by loose rock and steep inclines that require us to use our hands as much as our feet.

More than once, Marcus reaches back to steady me when my footing slips, and I try not to notice how solid and reassuring his grip feels.

Or how the flex of his shoulders and back muscles as he climbs ahead of me makes heat coil tight in my belly.

I'm so distracted by the view that I almost miss the sound when it comes.

Marcus hears it too. He holds up a hand, signaling for silence, and we both freeze in place.

“...up here somewhere,” a man's voice carries on the wind. “Abby Brooks is back in town and she’ll be treasure-hunting.”

“You sure she's got the old man's research?” Another voice, rougher than the first.

“Has to. Why else would she come back after all these years? Brooks must have given it to her to take care of. Now he’s dead, she's come to find the gold.”

“Not if we find her first.”

Marcus and I exchange a look. His jaw is tight, and there's something dangerous in his eyes that I've never seen before. Without a word, he gestures for us to move further up the ridge, away from the voices.

We climb in tense silence until the voices fade completely. Only then does Marcus speak, his voice low and urgent.

“We need to turn back.”

I shake my head. “No way. We're so close to the next marker.”

“Abby, those men are looking for you specifically. They know about your grandfather's research, and they're willing to come all the way up here to get it. And they don’t exactly sound friendly.”

“All the more reason for us to find the gold first.”

“All the more reason to get you somewhere safe.” His hand lands on my arm, warm and steady. “Please. We can come back tomorrow.”

I want to argue, but the concern in his voice stops me. This isn't about him thinking I can't handle myself. This is about him genuinely worried for my safety.

“Okay. But we're coming back. First thing.”

“Deal.”

We start the climb down, moving more quickly now. But the loose rock that was manageable on the way up becomes treacherous on the descent. I'm navigating a particularly steep section when my foot slips on a patch of wet stone.

I tumble hard, pain shooting through my knee as I hit the ground. My pack slides off one shoulder, throwing me further off balance.

Marcus is beside me in seconds, his hands gentle as he helps me sit up. “Are you hurt?”

I try to stand and immediately suck in my breath. My knee throbs, blood seeping through a rip in my jeans.

“Let me see.”

His hands are careful as he examines the damage, rolling up the torn fabric to reveal a nasty scrape that's bleeding more than it should.

His touch is professional, but I can't ignore the way my skin burns everywhere he makes contact.

When his thumb accidentally brushes against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh while adjusting the bandage, I have to bite down hard on my lip to keep from making a sound that would be completely inappropriate given the circumstances.

“It needs to be cleaned. And you shouldn't put weight on it until we can get a better look."

"Marcus, I'm fine. It's just a scrape."

He scoops me into his arms before I can protest. “Trust me. It’s faster this way.”

Each point of contact is electric; tiny jolts of pure want that I can't ignore. The solid warmth of his body pressed against me makes me hyper-aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every flex of muscle as he supports my weight.

By the time we reach our vehicles, my knee is throbbing, my body is humming with awareness, and I'm in serious danger of doing something stupid like pulling him down for a kiss.

“I'm driving you home,” he says, not asking.

“My car…”

“I'll come back for it later.” He's already opening the passenger door of his truck, his tone brooking no argument.

When we reach the cabin, he insists on helping me inside, his arm around my waist again as I hop on one foot to the couch.

“You need to keep it elevated.”

Marcus moves around my kitchen as if he belongs there, filling a bag with ice and wrapping it in a dish towel. When he comes back, he lifts my leg carefully and positions the ice pack against my knee.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

His expression shifts. “You don't have to thank me for keeping you safe, Abby. I'll always do that.”

Marcus's head snaps toward the window, his entire body tense. The sound of an engine approaching makes me suck in my breath.

“Expecting someone?”

I shake my head. The engine cuts off outside, followed by the slam of a truck door and heavy footsteps on the porch.

“Abby? You in there?” My brother’s voice makes me relax.

Marcus relaxes a little, but he's still alert as I call out, “Come in, it's open!”

The door swings open.

“What happened?” Josh demands, his gaze zeroing in on my bandaged knee before moving to Marcus.

“I took a tumble on the mountain. Marcus patched me up.”

“How bad is it?”

“Just a scrape. Nothing dramatic.”

“Uh-huh.” Josh glances between Marcus and me, clearly picking up on the undercurrents in the room. “And what exactly were you two doing on the mountain?”

“Hiking. Showing Marcus some of the places Grandpa used to take me.”

Josh doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push the issue. “Thanks, dude. I appreciate you looking out for my sister. But I’ll take it from here.”

The dismissal is polite but unmistakable. Josh has always been a little over-protective. Marcus gets the message.

“Of course,” he says, gathering his pack. “I should get going. If you throw me your keys, I’ll hike up and drive your car back down.”

"Want to tell me what that was really about?" Josh asks the moment the door closes.

I adjust the ice pack on my knee and settle back against the couch cushions. “Marcus was just being helpful.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but then his expression grows serious. “I got a call from Mom's doctor today.”

My stomach drops. “What did he say?”

Josh runs a hand through his hair. “The treatment isn't working as well as they hoped. He wants to try a new immunotherapy protocol. Problem is, insurance won't cover it. They're calling it experimental.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred thousand. Maybe more, depending on how many rounds she needs.”

“We'll figure it out,” I say automatically.

Josh's voice is tired. “I'm coming up empty. The house is already mortgaged to the hilt for her first round of treatments.”

I think about Grandpa's map, about the promise of treasure hidden somewhere in these mountains. About the piece of green rock in his collection box.

“Maybe Grandpa left us more than just the cabin,” I say carefully.

Josh's eyes narrow. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just... he always said this mountain held treasures. Maybe it wasn't all stories.”

My brother’s voice carries a warning. “Abby. Tell me you're not planning to go treasure hunting while Mom is fighting for her life.”

“What if I could find something that would help? What if Grandpa really did discover?—”

“And what if you get yourself killed chasing fairy tales?” Josh stands abruptly, pacing to the window.

The frustration in his tone makes my chest ache. He's scared.

I want to tell him about the map, about the research, about the fact that Marcus believes there might be something real up there. But I can see the worry etched in every line of his face, and I can't add to it. Not yet.

“Okay.”

It's not exactly a lie. I'm just not telling him about tomorrow.