Page 4 of Mystery at Rescue Ridge (Rescue Ridge #5)

G rowing up on a racehorse ranch with property that went as far as the eye could see, Owen had seen and done just about everything, until now.

Staring into the eyes of a mountain lion with a taste for human blood, staying calm and standing his ground, felt as impossible as a downpour during a drought.

He took a deep breath and swelled up his chest to make himself appear bigger.

Keeping the predator in his peripheral vision, Owen scanned the ground for a weapon.

He somehow doubted the usual method of throwing rocks, sticks, or anything else he could get hold of would work with this demon on four legs.

The desire to run was a physical force inside him.

But that would trigger the mountain lion’s predatory instincts.

If attacked, his first priority would be to protect his neck and head. Those would be the initial targets.

“Go away,” he shouted, his voice firm and angry. “I’m not your dinner.” He waved his hands in the air. He thought about the Sig Sauer in the bottom of his tackle box. Hell of a lot of good it was doing him in there.

His usual self-confidence had taken a huge hit after the abduction.

It had taken the life-threatening event to show him that human life was fragile.

As he got older, he realized he wasn’t as invincible as his younger self had believed.

And even though he would be considered hella strong by most standards, he wasn’t bulletproof.

Damned if he hadn’t been thrown off kilter by seeing Evie again. He should have kept his guard up after she’d informed him about the mountain lion in the area.

Owen had plenty of regrets. There was no need to add to the pile now. Besides, it wouldn’t change the fact he stood face-to-face with a hungry lion.

Again, he shouted at the beast, trying not to focus on the size of its incisors.

His respect for Evie grew, considering the fact she’d been surprised by this impressive animal and had survived to talk about it.

Owen had interrupted the attack before the lion could regroup for round two.

Evie had crouched low, a deadly mistake.

Owen broke a tree branch off and then threw it like a spear toward the beast.

It stood for a long moment, staring into Owen’s eyes. His pulse ramped up. The look in the animal’s eyes said it was making a decision.

To tip the scale, Owen threw another branch.

The lion turned in time to miss the pointed end, then disappeared into the thicket.

Before it could change its mind, Owen took off toward his vehicle that was still parked on the side of the road where he’d left it.

He needed to swing by to see Evie so they could compare notes about the predator. At this rate, it was likely to attack again, and soon.

Once safely inside his vehicle, he fired off a text that he was heading to the Ashworth home. A response came almost immediately that a warden had just left and would be advised to turn around and wait for him to gather his statement.

Of course, a warden would have gone to see Evie after he’d reached out to his contact.

Otherwise, Evie was alone in the Ashworth family home.

The way she’d broken down in his arms after admitting to losing her sister for those few minutes had him wanting to be there for her despite how she’d left things years ago.

Evie didn’t open up easily. He might be her only friend in town.

Friend?

He almost laughed out loud. She’d made it clear that the two were no longer friends. And he still had no idea what he’d done to run her off.

Pulling onto her gravel driveway brought back a flood of memories.

How many times had he done the same thing, picking her up or dropping her off after school?

Owen had chores before and after school, but he’d managed to sneak out to see her.

If it were dark outside, he’d cut the lights and push his beat-up pickup down the drive so Beaumont wouldn’t realize what Owen was doing.

At Evie’s house, he’d done the same so her strict parents wouldn’t bust him.

The last thing he’d needed was to deal with the wrath coming after Beaumont received a middle-of-the-night call about one of his sons.

Evie’s overly religious parents would have assumed the worst about both of them, despite the fact Evie had walked a straight line.

The Ashworths had nothing to worry about when it came to their daughter.

Of course, they hadn’t believed it. Everyone had been a sinner to them.

And if you weren’t a sinner already, you were one temptation away from becoming one in their eyes.

Still, Owen cracked a smile thinking about all the late-night walks he’d taken with Evie and all the many times she’d left her bedroom window unlocked so he could slip inside her room if he could get out.

They’d stayed up all hours of the night talking and dreaming about the day they’d be able to get the hell out of town and start living their own lives.

Life under their parents’ thumbs had been miserable for both.

They’d been two peas in a pod, and he’d been able to talk to her about anything. Or so he’d believed. Had he been na?ve? He’d gone over their last couple of conversations in his head dozens of times, searching for his offense. Yet, he hadn’t come up with a good reason for the snub.

Her about-face weeks before graduation still had him scratching his head as to what he’d done wrong.

A game warden’s SUV was parked in front of Evie’s place. Owen parked next to it, exited his vehicle, and made a beeline for the front door. Before he lifted his fist to knock, he could hear the wails of young children.

Would Evie hear him if he knocked?

He tried the handle. The door was unlocked, so he let himself in.

“Hello,” he said over the screams, making sure he didn’t surprise the occupants.

“Come in,” Evie said over the noise, her frustration evident in her tone. She was bouncing a boy on her hip—a boy who was currently testing out his lungs. They were strong.

A little girl sat in a highchair with an animated game warden practically tap dancing to quiet her.

The house was different from the last time Owen had been here.

The furniture was no longer older than City Hall.

Vibrant colors had replaced tapestries and doilies.

The sofa was a deep brown leather, which was probably easier to wipe down.

There was a loveseat along with a wood-carved coffee table that had a soft-edged design.

The rug softened hardwood flooring, no doubt easier on little ones who fell on their bottoms for every three or four steps they took.

A white bookshelf painted with every color of the rainbow held books of every shape and size.

A few were scattered around the floor along with toys.

Toys.

Owen spotted a John Deere Big Scoop Dump Truck in the corner. He made a move for it before bringing it to the center of the carpet and making a show of playing with it.

The little boy went as limp as a noodle before thrashing around, no doubt indicating he wanted to get down on the floor.

Evie obliged, setting the tyke on the wood floor. The kid immediately gunned toward Owen, who braced himself for impact. The kiddo stopped on a dime and sat in front of the toy across from Owen.

“I had no idea you were so good with kids,” Evie said, a hint of admiration in her tone as she moved toward the smallest munchkin.

“I have yet to meet a kid who refuses to play with a favorite toy.” He smiled, satisfied with his effort. “Especially when a stranger enters the room and starts playing with it.”

Evie pulled the little girl from her highchair with some effort as the kiddo became a wiggle-worm. “How did you know this one is his favorite?”

“Good guess.” Owen had seen the kid’s gaze flash toward the dump truck a second after he’d entered the room.

The kid’s possessiveness had given him away.

Owen had become good at reading body language early in life, thanks to a father whose mood swings had meant the difference between Owen being able to sit at the dinner table with his siblings and welts on the backs of his thighs.

You learn early on how to read others in an abusive home.

With Evie, on the other hand, it just came naturally.

She’d developed a stoic reputation as far back as he could remember.

Of course, kids hadn’t called it stoic back then.

There were other words, like stuck-up and too-good-to-speak to anyone else.

Owen had seen past the facade and into the eyes of someone who’d been afraid to say the wrong thing.

She’d been reserved. But then, her parents had taken the word of others over their own children.

He’d witnessed it firsthand when Evie had been smacked across the cheek by her mother after the feed store owner said he’d overheard her cursing.

Mr. Wells had been mistaken. Mrs. Ashworth had been quick to judge her daughter and even quicker to deliver punishment. The older woman had come from the “spare the rod, spoil the child” generation, not unlike Beaumont.

When Owen had come to Evie’s rescue, or so he’d believed, he’d been shoved back a couple of steps and told to mind his own business.

He’d also been told to stay far away from Evie.

When he’d returned home, he’d received a punishment from Beaumont that still caused Owen to tense when he thought about it.

That was the past.

“What’s his name?” Owen asked, forcing his thoughts out of the momentary reverie.

“Luca,” Evie said as she bounced the girl up and down. “And this is Olivia.”