Missing In The Mountains. Julie Anne Lindsey

nodded, and Sawyer led her to the kitchen, where he’d set the table in her absence. She took a seat and downed the glass of ice water he’d poured for her. “How’d everything look when you checked the property?”

      “Could be better,” he said, hoping to sound less frustrated than he had been at the sight of the inadequate security measures protecting two single women and a baby. “Your locks are old. The windows are old. There are no security cameras. No alarm.” He ran a heavy hand over his head and gripped the back of his neck. “I’ll replace the locks and see what I can do to better secure the windows.”

      Emma set her empty glass aside and frowned. “I’d hoped to raise Henry on a farm, not inside a fortress.”

      “We all hope for a lot of things,” Sawyer said stiffly. “But we have to adapt to the situations at hand, and right now, you need a fortress.”

      Emma placed a burger on her plate and covered it in mushrooms and onions, going through the motions, he assumed, but forgoing the bun.

      Sawyer made his burger and bit into it, keeping one eye on her. He’d grilled burgers for her a dozen times during their monthlong whirlwind romance. In fact, some of his favorite memories with Emma had a grill in the background.

      He’d been given a thirty-day leave last year after a particularly intense and dangerous mission, and he’d only expected to sleep in and veg out. Instead, he’d met Emma at a bonfire near a lake where he’d been fishing. He’d marched over to her, introduced himself. They’d hit it off, and he begged for her number when it was time for her to leave. He called her as she walked away. Invited her to fireworks in the park the next night. They’d spent nearly every day together from there. Until he had to go back.

      Emma pushed the veggies around with her fork. “What if we don’t find her?” she asked, pulling his thoughts back to the present.

      Sawyer paused, the burger partway to his lips. “We’ll find her.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because it’s what I do. I search and rescue. I find people who don’t want to be found, and I bring folks who are desperate to be found home.” Images of his last mission flashed into mind. He’d taken his men on a rescue mission with bad intel. He’d assessed the risk, and he’d been dead wrong. He walked them into a trap, and that had cost five good men their lives. It darn near cost Sawyer his sanity.

      “What if we find her and it’s too late when we do?” The quaver in Emma’s voice opened Sawyer’s eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d shut them.

      Sawyer put the burger down. “We’re going to find Sara, and she’s going to be okay when we do,” he promised. “Meanwhile, I’ll be here to make sure no one gets near you or Henry again while we figure out what was going on. Okay?”

      Emma shook her head, looking half-ill and pursing her lips.

      “What?” he asked. They’d just covered her safety, Henry’s safety and Sara’s safe return. What else could make her look that way?

      “I let go of the bag,” she said. “I had everything from Sara’s desk in that bag, and I let him have it.”

      “You didn’t let him have anything,” Sawyer argued. “I watched you fight him for it while holding a baby.”

      Emma shook her head. “Now he has what he wanted, and he doesn’t have a reason to keep her alive anymore. Letting go of that bag might’ve killed my sister.”

      “Whoa.” Sawyer raised his hands into a T for a time-out. “Look. You don’t know any of that. Not his motivation. Not his endgame. You don’t even know if what he wanted was in that bag. If he wanted the notebook with the numbers, the joke is on him because we had that and Detective Rosen picked it up an hour ago as promised.”

      Emma lifted hopeful eyes to his. “Yeah.”

      “Yeah,” he said.

      She nodded, steadying herself. “You’re right.” She forked a stack of mushrooms, studying them, her thoughts clearly somewhere else.

      “Spill it,” Sawyer said, wiping his mouth and then pressing the napkin to the table. “I’ve been gone awhile, but I know that face. You’ve got something to say. So, say it. It’s better to clear the air than try to work through the smoke. Heaven knows we’ve got little fires burning everywhere.”

      She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “How did you get through the things you went through overseas? I know you’re trained. You’re smart. You’re tough. That’s not what I mean.”

      Sawyer bit into his burger, locked in her gaze and wishing she knew it was memories of her that had gotten him through the worst things imaginable. “Hope.”

      Emma pushed a forkful of mushrooms into her mouth and watched him curiously. She nodded. “I can do that.” She chewed, swallowed, had some water, still scrutinizing Sawyer until he itched to get up and move. Her gaze shifted quickly away before returning to meet his. “I spent a lot of time over the past year wondering if you ever thought of me,” she said, cheeks reddening.

      He could see the honesty cost her. So, he would be honest right back. “I did. Often. I used to think of the things we’d done together. Now I’m just thinking about all the things I’ve missed.” He clamped his mouth shut and did his best to look less vulnerable than he suddenly felt. Things were complicated enough between him and Emma without him getting emotional. This wasn’t the time for heart-to-hearts and personal confessions.

      The mission was to find Sara and protect Emma and Henry at all costs. He took another angrier bite of burger.

      Emma stood and left.

      Sawyer groaned. He used to be a people person. He made people comfortable, at ease, even happy. Lately, he could clear a room with a look and a greeting. He hadn’t particularly minded the change until now.

      Emma returned several minutes later with a scrapbook. She set it on the table beside his plate. “Sara made this for me.”

      She returned to her seat and lifted her fork to finish dinner.

      Sawyer examined the big blue book. Henry’s name and newborn photo were glued to the cover and framed with red ribbon. A photo of Emma in a ponytail and “baby on board” T-shirt was positioned just below the first. Her beautifully round belly was tough to look away from, and it hit him again. She’d been pregnant. Delivered their child. Brought him home. Got to know him. Learned to care for him, and Sawyer had missed it all.

      He opened the book and turned the pages with reverence, poring over every detail. Every photo. Every inscription. He admired the proud smile on Emma’s face in each photo.

      “What’s wrong?” Emma asked, resting back in her chair. “You look furious.”

      “No.” He closed the book. A swell of pride and gratitude expanded his chest. “Thank you,” he said softly.

      She quirked a brow. “You can’t keep that. Sara made it for me.”

      “No.” He laughed. “Not for the book. For Henry.”

      Emma’s cheeks reddened again. “It’s not like I made him on my own.”

      “No, but you did everything else on your own,” he said. “I can’t imagine how frightening it was to learn you were going to have a baby. Especially one whose father was literally MIA.” He thought again of the monsters who’d taken those months and his men from him, but forced the images aside. He curled his fingers around the book’s edge, grounding himself to the present. “You could’ve chosen so many other ways to deal with your pregnancy, and I swear I never would’ve judged you, whatever you’d decided, but—” he cleared his thickening throat “—but because you made these choices—” he lifted the scrapbook in a white-knuckle grip “—I’m a father, and whatever you think of me now, I am irrevocably indebted to you for this.”

      Emma’s mouth fell open, then