Cowboy Christmas Guardian. Dana Mentink

her fall? Again the cold, sick sensation gathered in his belly.

      When he was about a yard from the ledge, he stopped, feet braced against the mud. “Ma’am?” he called. “My name is Barrett Thorn and I’m coming to help you.”

      She didn’t answer. He hadn’t figured she would, but it was worth a shot.

      He settled gingerly onto the ledge, crouching next to her. A mass of wet hair covered her face and he reached out a finger to pull it away. Her profile was visible, nose small, chin narrow, face heart shaped. The delicacy of it struck him.

      Without warning, he was plunged back in time some four years earlier, when he’d pulled Bree from the wrecked car. Her eyes had been shut, too, but they’d fluttered open for one precious moment before they’d closed for the last time. There was nothing in this world that could hurt worse than that, except being reminded every day in a million ways that he was alone. Strange the things he missed about Bree.

      The pillow next to his with a satin case to “keep away the wrinkles” of which he’d never seen a hint on her face.

      Her ready laughter.

      The smell of the candles she always insisted on lighting for every evening meal.

      Her horrendous cooking. He even missed that. What he wouldn’t give for a chance to eat another plateful of tuna casserole, crunchy with half-cooked noodles. He swatted at a trail of water running down his cheek. Business at hand, Barrett.

      Swallowing hard, he found the junction of the unconscious woman’s chin and neck, and pressed his fingers there, seeking a pulse.

      “Lord God,” he prayed, but he could not finish. The last time he had prayed for the life of a young woman, his woman, his love, God’s answer had been no. Gritted teeth, pounding heart, his soul quaked with fear that he would find no spark of life. Gone, like Bree, with him crouched there helpless. Rubbing his hands as dry as he could, he tried one more time. This time, the proof was dramatic.

      She jerked to a sitting position with a scream and shot out a hand that nearly shoved him over the edge.

      “Easy,” he said, holding open palms up to show her he was not a threat. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

      Her eyes were wide as silver dollars, whole body trembling. Her breath came in short bursts as she scrabbled away as far as she could get from him. He attempted to reassure her that he wasn’t some random killer who’d appeared on a ledge in a storm, but she moved backward and he lunged forward to catch her.

      The rock ledge gave way beneath her feet. Her eyes were bright with fear as she disappeared before his eyes for the second time.

      * * *

      Shelby’s senses cartwheeled through a dizzying cascade as her legs slithered over the side. Pitch-black night, cold rain, the sick sensation of no ground under her feet. The jagged edge of rocks cut into her belly as she clutched at anything that might keep her from falling the rest of the way.

      “Help,” she wanted to scream, but she could not manage a single syllable as she continued to slip down the slope.

      Rocks ground against her hips and roots broke away under her fingers. She felt a jerk and a painful pressure on her wrist. Looking up against the sheeting rain, she saw the man with the beard hanging on to her wrist with both hands. His full mouth was contorted with the effort.

      No, no, her mind screamed. He’d come to finish what he’d started when he’d struck her and stuffed her in the trunk of her car. She braced her legs against the canyon wall to push away.

      “Listen,” he said between clenched teeth. “I am not the guy who hurt you. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that because you’re wiggling and I don’t wanna drop you.”

      Trust him? She had no intention of doing any such thing, but the canyon below her did not give her much choice. Die on the rocks, or live long enough to get away from the bearded guy? Her forearms ached and her ribs burned with pain.

      “Give me your other hand,” he ordered.

      Fighting her instincts, she heaved her other arm up and he clasped it tight. They both breathed hard for a few seconds before he began to haul her back up. She helped with her legs as much as she could. Inch by painful inch, she was pulled upward until she landed on her knees on the ledge. The man bent over at the waist, panting.

      Their eyes locked, like two wild animals sizing each other up.

      “Barrett,” came a shout from above, making her jump.

      “I got her,” he hollered back. “Gonna need to pull us up.”

      There was some response that she could not decipher.

      He puffed out a breath and straightened, rising to something over six feet she guessed, plenty strong enough to have clobbered her and shoved her into the trunk. Then again, if his goal was to hurt her, why would he have kept her from falling into the ravine? Doubt clouded her thinking along with the cold that seemed to be freezing her one layer at a time.

      “All right,” he said. “My brothers are going to pull us up on the rope, so you have to hang on to me for a minute, okay?”

      Not okay. The furthest thing from okay. To deliver herself into the hands of this stranger and now his brothers? Needing more time to think, she shook her head.

      His expression went a little softer, or so she imagined. “I know you’ve been through a fright and you’re scared, but I’m a good guy, mostly.” He offered a wry smile. “At least, some folks might say so. I’m not here to hurt you, but there’s really no way I can prove that to you under the present circumstances.”

      He could be telling the truth but her fear still ran rampant. She pressed herself to the cliff wall, staying far out of reach.

      He tucked his hands onto his hips. “All right. If that’s your choice, we’ll honor it. I’ve never in my life forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to, but I for one am tired of being out here in the rain, and I’ve got a horse to find, so if you really want to stay down here by yourself, it’s a long wait until sunrise.”

      She saw now there was a rope knotted around his waist. He looped an extra length around himself, grabbed hold above his head and shouted to his brothers to start pulling.

      Below, the river water rushed wildly on past the rocky ground. The wind teased her wet skin, her body shivering uncontrollably. She recalled her mother’s admonition, always gentle, too gentle. So stubborn, Shell. It’s not always you against the world.

      “Wait,” she said.

      Water ran down his crew-cut hair and wide chin. Slowly he held out a hand to her.

      Just get out of the ravine, she told herself. Then you can figure if this guy is the genial cowboy or the man who locked you up. She reached out shaking fingers. His palms were rough and calloused, the hands of a working man, and he scooped her to his side in one strong movement.

      His shoulders were solid, wide under the sodden jacket, his waist tapered and trim as she clung to him, gripping his leather belt.

      “Keep holding on tight,” he advised.

      She did as the rope was pulled up from above. The journey threatened to spin them in circles, but the man she’d heard called Barrett kept them relatively steady by bracing his long legs against the canyon walls.

      Foot by slippery foot, they gradually reached the top where she found herself surrounded by three more men and their horses. Their physical similarities marked them as brothers, except for the one who was more slender and lanky than the other three.

      “I’ll call for an ambulance when I can get a signal,” said the brother who was still astride his horse. He peered down at her curiously.

      Another handed her a blanket. Barrett helped wrap it around her shoulders.

      “Mama’s waiting at the house,” one of the brothers