Page 2 of Rescued by the Lumberjack (Moonshine Ridge Lumberjacks #1)

Chapter Two

Phoenix

T here's part of my brain that's screaming something about not running, but I can't help myself. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and my body is determined to make use of it, even if I do know better.

Behind me, I'm sure I hear it chasing me but I'm not looking back to find out.

Sprinting for the tree line at record speed, I break out of the forest and back onto the main trail. The sun is still hanging above the mountains, so I know I have enough time to get back to the trailhead parking lot before dark.

I also know I can't keep up this pace.

This body isn't made for running. That's what you get when you make a living baking muffins in a coffee shop that makes the best huckleberry chai lattes you never knew you needed in your life.

As much as I love exploring the hiking trails around my new home town, I gave up any notions of losing my curves a long time ago.

The adrenaline is wearing off and my all-out run has slowed to a determined jog. It feels safer out here on the ridge line trail where the sun is shining and I can see for miles around me.

I don't hear anything behind me.

In fact, I don't hear anything but the wind in the canyon below and the sound of my own heart beating hard enough that I'm worried it might explode.

My feet slow, and I finally dare a look back.

I'm breathing hard, and my muscles are burning from the run, but I made good distance.

Turning around on the narrow trail that runs high above the river below, I keep pulling deep breaths into my aching lungs and scan the edge of the forest I just ran from.

Nothing.

Thank God.

Still, there's a creepy feeling that has me reluctant to turn my back on the woods just yet.

So I walk backwards, keeping my eyes glued on the wall of trees where the forest springs up suddenly near the main trail, while my feet make slow progress in the opposite direction, and my brain scrambles to explain what I saw.

What I think I saw.

The woods have always felt peaceful to me. I've never even seen a bear in there. Let alone a... Nah. it's just me thinking too much about folklore and the recent claims of wolf sightings out here.

One trick of the shadows in the dense forest and my imagination took the opportunity to get carried away.

My breathing is almost back to normal, my heart rate is down to a quick pitter-pat, and I'm feeling silly for panicking.

Relaxing muscles that were still poised to run, I start to spin on my heel mid-backwards-step, ready to finish the hike back to the car in the forward direction.

My foot slips to one side and before I can catch myself, the ground under me goes with it, taking me off the trail and down the cliff beside the trail.

When I open my eyes, the sun is just touching the top of Benson Peak. Shadows have engulfed the river canyon below me, and are creeping up the side of the cliff to the narrow ledge that stopped me from sliding all the way down to the river that's still several hundred feet below me.

On further inspection, it's not a ledge, exactly, but rather, a large boulder jutting out of the cliff wall.

Disoriented, I look around. I look up and see that I'm not really that far from the top where the trail runs. Maybe eight or ten feet.

The cliff is steep, but not vertical. I should be able to climb back up-- as long as nothing's broken.

I stop worrying about my escape plan for a minute to do a quick self-diagnostic. Feet work, knees bend, I can move all my fingers.

My hands are scraped up badly, as well as the exposed skin on my arms and elbows. There's a long tear along one side of my pants and my right knee is oozing blood around small bits of sand and gravel embedded in the wound.

My right shoulder hurts, but I can move my arm fine. My head hurts and there's a buzzing in my ears. When I touch the spot that's most sore, my fingers come away covered in blood.

But I'm not equipped to survive a night outdoors in the mountains. Cell signal is iffy in town, it's non-existent up here.

The sun wasn't so low when I slipped. I must have been unconscious for a little bit.

Finagling myself around on the rock, I turn toward the cliff above me and start trying to climb up the loose dirt, but after only making it a few feet before sliding back each time, I've all but given up hope.

I just need to rest for a few minutes and then I'll try again, I think, as I fold myself into a near fetal position on top of my granite cradle and give in to feeling sorry for myself.

About now, I wish I'd sprung the money for one of the GPS locator beacons that Ash suggested when I was buying my hiking gear, but I didn't think I'd need it for just day hiking on established trails.

My rock has fallen into the growing shadows, I'm feeling chilled and realizing I left my fleece jacket in the car.

Tears spill down my cheeks and I wipe at them with the back of my hand as I look up and watch the shadow of the western peaks slowly inch its way to the top of the cliff above me.

If I can't get up this embankment, I'm in for a miserable-- and dangerous-- night.

Then I hear it; someone-- or something-- moving on the trail above me.

At first, every muscle in my body goes still, images of what sent me into this situation flooding my brain, but then I hear the deep, masculine voice carried on the cooling air, softly singing a song I haven't heard in ages.

Adam

" Y eah, go ahead," I assure my bosses. "Just going to mark this location on the map and make some notes for the crew. I'll be right behind you."

Oz is always in a hurry to get back to his family, and Clinton's eager to get back to whatever it is the boss has waiting for him at home; microwavable dinners and ball games on tv, I reckon.

Nobody knows much about Clinton's personal life and the old man seems content with keeping it that way.

The two men make me assure them one more time that I won't be far behind them, before they finally take off hiking back to the trucks.

The area we've been tagging doesn't have any trails running through it and I need to get the coordinates entered on the map so the crews know where to set up camp when they get out here.

Ever since Oz's sister-in-law, Finch Diaz, started recording evidence that there really is a wolf pack up here, the rules have been pretty strict that no one's supposed to be out here alone.

Believe me, I'm not looking to be far behind the two men who finally head out ahead of me.

But once I'm done making notes for the guys who will be out here after me and step onto the main trail that runs back to the parking area, the sun has dipped lower than I'd anticipated and there's no trace of the two older men on the trail ahead of me.

Guess I took longer than I thought.

Like I said, I don't particularly scare easy. I'm not worried about the mile or so hike back to the main road on my own. Not even realizing I'll likely be finishing it up well after sunset.

But the way the forest springs up out of nowhere, creating a wall of towering pines to one side of me as the trail takes its sweet time running alongside them before it'll break away and follow the ridgeline downhill and back to the road where my truck is parked at the trailhead, might have my steps falling faster than my usual pace.

By the time the main trail finally leaves the weeping wilderness behind me, I might also be well into the second verse of Miley Cyrus's The Climb.

What? It's a mountain song! I've got two younger sisters; it was kinda hard to avoid their Hannah Montana years.

Besides, the guys left me in the dust, there's no one out here to call me out on knowing the song, let alone singing it out loud, but a couple of chipmunks scurrying across the trail in front of me.

"Hello?"

My pace slows and I stop singing, listening for what sounded like a woman's voice on the cooling breeze.

Bigfoot and mysterious wolf packs aren't the only stories these woods are known for-- it's said that some of those woman that went missing in the eighteen hundreds continue to lurk in the tree line.

Some call for help to save them from whatever fate they fell victim to nearly two hundred years ago, some are said to lure men to their deaths for revenge.

"Is anyone there? I need help."

The voice is soft, feminine. The soft wind blows the words through the canyon, making it hard to tell which direction it came from. Whoever she is, she sounds tired.

My head turns back to the woods and a tingle runs up my spine.

It's probably just a trick of the wind and my imagination, I decide. Still, there's no point standing here waiting to be proven wrong.

This time, my feet move a little faster as they get back in motion under me.

"Wait! Help!"

The sound of gravel skittering under my boots temporarily drowns out the other mountain noises. That was louder. Definitely real, and coming from somewhere below me-- on the cliffside that only leads down the river far below this ridge.

"Keep talking, miss, I can't see you yet," I holler back to the disembodied voice as I slowly backtrack up the path I was just so eager to put behind me.

As I stretch to peer over the edge of the cliff, her voice floats back up to me, guiding me to a spot where the side of the mountain looks like part of the ground has recently been disturbed-- like a rock, or something heavy might have caused it to give way.

Not that I'd noticed when I passed it, or would have given it much thought if I had seen it. It's not unusual for cliff edges like this one to crumble. That's why the trail is built several feet back from the edge.

"I just need some help climbing back up, I can't get a firm grip on anything."

When I'm certain I'm directly above the voice, I lean over to see what her situation is-- and get a look at the woman I've been looking for all my life.