Rescuer (Doms of Mountain Bend Book 4) Read online

  A flimsy plan at best, but all Amie had to do was remember Mike’s death and Myla’s near-fatal accident to convince herself it was worth a try.

  “Don’t give up on her, Matt. Her recovery thus far has defied all the odds, and I don’t doubt once she heals enough to gain her independence back, she’ll come around. She loves you, too.” Amie pivoted to pick up her purse from a bench behind them, the loud report of gunshots continuing to echo in the air. Saturdays were busy on the firing range. “I have to go, but I promise, I won’t run off half- cocked. My plan is to get him to slip up, say anything incriminating I can give to the police. That will require me getting to know him, which, frankly, makes my skin crawl. These lessons were to ensure my ability to defend myself if he gets violent or physical. But I can’t walk away this time. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

  “I know. That’s what makes this all that much harder. I should be the one avenging her, but no matter how I look at it, it’s foolish. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  Foolish or not, a week later, Amie loaded up her car and started the two-day drive to the small town of Mountain Bend, the nearest place to where she’d tracked Miller’s travel arrangements and hunting license for the next several weeks, and the closest to the private club, Spurs, where she hoped to come across him. She just prayed this didn’t end up one of those rash decisions that bit her on the butt. For the most part, she’d outgrown her childhood penchant for landing herself into trouble she would invariably need rescuing from by acting without thinking first, but then, she’d never done anything this daring either.

  Chapter One

  “Fuck.”

  Wildlife expert and parks ranger Ben Wilkins reached behind him for his rifle before sliding out of his state commissioned SUV. Dread churned in his gut as he approached the fallen elk with caution and slow-building fury. Down or not, the animal’s size and weight could still pose a threat. The small clearing where the bull had managed to limp before his injured leg and blood loss forced him to collapse wasn’t far off the open range where Ben had been patrolling. The animal’s mournful braying, so different from the species’ regular sounds, had alerted him to his distress.

  Stopping a foot away, he eyed the bullet wounds in the right hind ankle and knee and the massive blood puddle on the ground. “The bastard is back.” If this deliberate maiming and torture was the work of the same hunter Ben had tracked for weeks last spring, he vowed nothing would stop him from finding and arresting him this time.

  Raising his rifle, he took aim and fired, ending the bull’s misery, his heart heavy for both what the animal had endured and for being forced to put him down. Hunting for sport, meat, and hides was one thing, and something he participated in on occasion. But what this person did was nothing short of pure, evil cruelty. Turning from the carcass, he strode back to his vehicle, called for help in removing the elk, and settled back to wait. It wouldn’t take long for a few other rangers nearby to get here, but Ben was damn glad it was Friday, and that he was off for the weekend. That would give him time to get himself under control and research whoever had fall hunting licenses.

  It took four of them to haul the dead elk into the back of a truck, each of his co-workers as upset over the hunter’s cruelty as Ben. They agreed to donate the meat to Boise’s shelters before Carl and Dave took off to drop the elk at the butcher, leaving him with Neil Pollono, a new acquaintance and fellow ranger.

  “Hell of a way to end the day,” Neil said, eyeing the elk’s dangling head off the end of the truck bed.

  Ben checked the time then said, “Isn’t it though? I’m meeting Shawn to let him know about this guy. Will you be at Spurs later?” He was also a member of the private club outside of Mountain Bend that Neil had recently joined.

  “I’m looking forward to it. Maybe Kathie will amuse me enough to get rid of the sour taste this has left.”

  Ben’s lips curled. “Be careful. With Shawn, Dakota, and Clayton settling into committed relationships these past few months, you might be next. But Kathie isn’t one of the subs wanting to go that route.” Neil had found Spur’s little troublemaker to his liking. He even enjoyed her temper tantrums and antics.

  “I’m not either, so we’ll make a good pair for now. Thanks. I’ll see you there.”

  “I’ll be about another two hours. Thanks for your help.”

  Ben slid behind the wheel of his vehicle and followed Neil down off the mountain slope and out onto the open range then turned his mind to more pleasant thoughts. He’d acquired a pair of malnourished miniature horses that needed attention this evening, bringing his total of adopted, neglected animals to twelve. With just twenty acres, he could only adopt a handful more without looking into buying additional land. The amount of grazing available for the now six horses, one longhorn steer, and two llamas was good, but he never could turn down a request for help from the SPCA or Humane Society when they called needing a foster or permanent home for a ranch animal. Each time he’d gone to answer a call, he’d been unable to resist bringing home a dog also, the staff ribbing him for being such a sucker for a pitiful face.

  Maybe he was, he thought, pulling into the parking lot at the ranger’s station. But other than socializing at Spurs on weekends, he preferred spending as much of his time outdoors and with animals. Since he’d turned thirty-six four months ago, his parents kept badgering him about settling down and giving them grandkids, but, so far, he hadn’t met a woman who intrigued him enough to keep her close for long.

  Ben filled out his report on a possible hunter intent on maiming then clocked out and drove to his place ten miles outside of Mountain Bend’s city limits. His rustic ranch home was on the small size but just right for him. He’d bought it and the surrounding acreage from his parents when they moved to their lake home in Alabama to get away from the long Idaho winters. There were times when the snow was six feet deep with a wind chill of twenty below, and he sometimes wondered why the heck he stayed here. But all it took was a friendly wave from a stranger as he drove into town or the sight of the mountains across the grassland range dotted with a herd of shaggy-coated lumbering bison to remind him why he preferred this area and state over others.

  Entering the house, he hung up his Stetson, greeting the dogs as they gathered around him with tails wagging. Next to family, they were the best thing to come home to after a long, difficult day. With his parents in Alabama, his closest relative was his sister, Clare, who lived in Boise.

  “Come on, guys, let’s get your treats.”

  He avoided glancing toward his brother’s picture on the fireplace mantel as he crossed the hardwood floors into the kitchen. With the fifteen-year anniversary of Bart’s death tomorrow, he didn’t need any more reminders of his loss or the grief of losing his twin. Even after all this time, guilt still cramped his gut whenever he let himself think about the one time he wasn’t there to rescue Bart from one of his wild stunts.

  Growing up, the two of them had gotten into their share of scrapes and trouble, but it was always Bart who had gone beyond reckless fun and taken dangerous risks. They were just shy of turning eight when his brother had decided to taunt a bull moose, something they were taught never to do. Ben had saved him from getting trampled by leaping onto one of the horses in the same pasture and diverting the angry bull at the last moment.

  On their tenth birthday, they’d gone ice fishing at their pond, but Bart hadn’t been content to sit at the edge. Ignoring his warnings and pleas, he’d ventured onto the frozen top and had fallen through. Ben managed to pull him out by lying on his stomach. Bart had still developed pneumonia but at least hadn’t drowned.

  One night, a few years later, he’d tried talking his headstrong brother out of sneaking out to join in a midnight drag race, but Bart again refused to listen, forcing Ben to follow him. He’d arrived in time to watch his foolish twin take off at high speed down the county dirt road in his old pickup and to hear two of the older boys plotting to sabotage Bart’s vehicle when he won against the
ir friend. Satisfied with his victory, Bart agreed it was time to go after listening to what Ben had overheard.

  To his dying day, Ben would regret leaving the ranch, and his brother, to attend the University of Idaho located three hundred miles north in Moscow. Determined to earn degrees in both wildlife management and forestry, he’d chosen the best school for his career choices despite his misgivings about being that far away from his reckless twin. When Bart took off that summer to make his name on the rodeo circuit, Ben and their parents had begged him to be careful and wished him luck. Two years later, after staying up late partying and drinking, he’d taken on the challenge of being the first to best a mean-tempered bull and paid for his cocky bravado undermined by his poor, morning-after concentration with his life.

  Shoving aside his melancholy, Ben gave the dogs a rawhide each then filled their food and water bowls. With his friend Shawn’s help, he had installed a dog door that gave his dogs freedom to go out in a secure, enclosed area while he was gone. He’d taken in Sheba, a German shepherd, the same time Shawn adopted his two shepherds from a rescue, all three looking much better after a few months of a steady, healthy diet. Tending to the elk had cut into his time, so he only had ten minutes to throw a ball a few times before he checked on the other animals then drove into town.

  Fewer than seven thousand called the small, renovated mining town of Mountain Bend home year-round, but, during the warmer months and hunting seasons, the campgrounds, cabins, and B&B filled up fast. Passing the sheriff’s office, he noticed Shawn’s cruiser gone from his parking spot out front and continued on toward the Watering Hole. Loud music drowned out the low hum of voices and the clack of pool table activity as he entered the bar and wound his way through the crowded tables to the corner one Shawn occupied.

  “The Friday night crowd is out early,” Ben stated. Taking a seat, he crossed one ankle over his opposite thigh and hooked his Stetson on his bent knee.

  “So are we. What’s up?” Shawn asked, signaling the waitress.

  Ben told him about the elk and his suspicions it might be the work of the same hunter they never found last spring. “I’d hate to think there were two such sick fucks like that out there, but it’s a possibility.”

  “Unfortunately, there’s no shortage of sick fucks,” Shawn replied, his gray eyes turning dark.

  “At least you don’t have to worry about the one who came after Lisa.” Ben suspected he was thinking about the ordeal his fiancé, Lisa’s half-brother had put her through. Brian Pomeroy had ended up paying the ultimate price for his crimes of stalking and attempted murder.

  Shawn nodded. “One down, but there’s always another to take his place. I can send out a notice about this perv, have everyone keep their ears open to any rumors, but you guys are in a better position to find him. Get Dakota to track with you again.”

  Dakota Smith was the best tracker in the area, as well as one of the owners of Spurs and the Rolling Hills Ranch, along with Shawn and their friend, Clayton Trebek. A native of the area, Ben was a year ahead of them in school when the local rancher, Buck Cooper, had taken in the three foster boys at the age of fifteen. But it wasn’t until they’d all joined Spurs that he’d gotten to really know them.

  The waitress, a young college-age girl named Angela, arrived to take their orders, her eyes lingering on Ben before she smiled and promised to be right back with their drinks.

  “They’re getting younger and more brazen,” Ben muttered, not flattered by the girl’s blatant look of interest.

  “What, you don’t go for the ones young enough to be your daughter?” Shawn mocked with a teasing glint in his eyes.

  “Hey, I’m not…okay, maybe I am old enough to have fathered someone her age. Shit, that doesn’t even bear thinking about. And no, you know damn good and well I don’t go for them that young any more than you,” he retorted.

  “But I’ve settled down with a nice girl.”

  A kernel of envy knotted in Ben’s gut, but he shoved it aside. He was happy for his friend and figured the upcoming anniversary of Bart’s death was responsible for his moodiness lately.

  “I heard you’ve sealed your commitment. Congratulations, Lisa is a nice girl. Too bad she doesn’t have a sister,” he returned, imagining a sibling with the same striking white-blonde hair and bright-green eyes as the sheriff’s schoolteacher, Lisa.

  Shawn scooped up some peanuts from the bowl on the table, his lips curling in a grin. “Poppy does, though, and last I heard, she’s coming for a visit soon.”

  “And have Dakota breathing down my neck. I don’t think so. To hear him talk, he’s almost as protective of Rebecca as he is of Poppy,” he returned dryly. “Besides, isn’t she around twenty?”

  “Twenty-four, so your only hurdle would be Dakota.”

  “He’s a damn big hurdle, in size and temperament.”

  The waitress returned and set down their beers.

  “Thank you,” Ben told her, trying to stay polite without encouraging the girl.

  “You’re welcome. If you need anything else, let me know.” She punctuated that remark by setting a cocktail napkin with her phone number written in a fancy scroll down in front of Ben.

  With a sigh, Ben picked it up and handed it back to her. “Do us both a favor and give this to that young man at the bar. He’s been eyeing your every move.”

  She frowned and swiveled to look at the guy who was much closer to her age. “Huh, I didn’t even see him since I don’t work the bar.”

  She walked away without another word, and Ben released a relieved breath. “Thank God we don’t have another Sharon Mize on our hands.”

  The previous waitress had pursued their friend Clayton long after he’d stopped taking her out and then had turned her jealous anger on Skye, Clayton’s new girl. None of them knew what Clayton had said to her to get her to back off, but she’d taken a job in Boise shortly after and no one missed her.

  Shawn took a drink then shook his head with a rueful look. “I sure as hell don’t miss those complications from being single. Then again, I’ve usually stuck to socializing at the club. Speaking of which, we need to get out there soon for our meeting.”

  As much as he enjoyed the company and the cold brew sliding down, Ben found the temptation to excuse himself from attending tonight hard to resist. His mood had dipped since leaving work, the suffering the elk had gone through weighing on him. His current disposition wasn’t conducive to socializing, let alone staying attentive to a sub’s needs. But going home and spending the evening brooding over things he couldn’t change didn’t sound appealing either.

  Shawn cocked his head, the meager light above the table enough to bring out the red tint in his dark-mahogany hair. “Something wrong?”

  As both a Dom and the sheriff, Shawn never missed much, a trait Ben didn’t admire at that moment. “No, just coming down off a long week.” He took the last swig of his beer and set the bottle down before pushing away from the table. “I’ll see you out there.”

  Spurs was located in a small clearing surrounded by woods a half mile off the main highway between Boise and Mountain Bend, the gravel parking lot already full when Ben arrived. The previous owner, Randy Daniels, had sold the club to Shawn, Dakota, and Clayton when he’d filed for divorce from his unfaithful wife and had wanted to get away after that blow. Another reason to remain single, he thought, sliding out of his vehicle. Women were fickle creatures, delightful most of the time, but, when they turned on you, look out.

  Striding up to the front doors, he gave himself a mental kick for the thought that lumped all women in the same category as Randy’s ex. He blamed his melancholy mood and entered through the double doors, opting to leave his hat on as he continued across the wide foyer and opened the door into the main room. The three owners, along with Simon and new member, Neil, sat around a large table in the middle of the seating area, a few other Doms seated at the table next to them. The cavernous room was quiet except for the low murmurs of their deep voices, but
an hour from now it would resonate with music, low moans, and high-pitched wails of BDSM play, activity he enjoyed listening to, participating in, and watching.

  Ben noted he was the last to arrive as he strode across the hardwood floor. He hadn’t thought he’d dallied on his way out here, but maybe he had without realizing he was taking his time. Another sign he should have stayed home tonight. Grabbing a chair from a vacant table, he turned it and straddled the seat, resting his arms across the top, keeping quiet so he didn’t interrupt Clayton.

  “Hey, Ben. We’ve just started, and I have the schedule for monitoring and bartending here.” Clayton passed the papers to Dakota. “The timetable goes to the end of the year, but anyone who needs to change a date, get someone to switch with you or let us know. The other thing on the agenda is a fall fundraiser Cody McCullough and his wife, Olivia, have asked us to host. For those who are new in the last six-to-eight months, the two oldest McCullough brothers were regulars here before they relocated to their family ranch in Snake Valley. They visit a couple of times a year when they’re in the area for supplies or auctions.”

  “Are they wanting the proceeds to go to the women’s shelter again?” Ben asked, remembering the other time they’d raised money for Olivia’s cause.

  Shawn nodded. “Yep, and we want to make it an annual event, but that needs to be approved by the majority, keeping in mind the local ranches’ obligations to take their turn hosting one of the summer picnics and a Big Brothers Big Sisters fundraiser. Most of us here have spreads and sign up for one of the town picnics every summer. We also take turns hosting the annual charity event, which, granted, isn’t often given the number of ranches on the list.”