Covert Christmas. Hope White

filling her chest.

      “Did you hear that?”

      Silence rang in Bree’s ears. She waited. Patted the wounded man’s forehead, hoping her touch would soothe him, quiet him.

      “You’re imagining things,” the husky voice said.

      “I’m not imagining that blood.”

      “He went over the edge and hit bottom.”

      “Or he’s right down there.”

      “Where?”

      Bree stilled. They’d figured it out.

      With unusual calm, she dug quietly in her pack, her hands searching for something, anything she could use as a weapon.

      Rely on yourself and only yourself. That had been her mantra for at least six months following her breakup with Thomas. It had been an isolated existence, but good training for emergency situations.

      Like this one.

      “You want to go down there and check?” the husky voice said. “Go ahead. I didn’t hear anything.”

      “Then you need to get your hearing checked.”

      Bree’s fingers grazed across her snack bag and water bottle, then brushed across the canister of pepper spray she’d purchased after the mugging.

      It was dumb luck that she’d forgotten to take it out of her backpack after moving back to the country. She slipped it out and put her finger on the button.

      Calmed her breathing.

      Prepared herself for the worst. Although she had martial arts training, this small area wasn’t the ideal space to spar with a violent man.

      “You got rope?” a male voice said.

      “It’s not that far,” Husky countered. “But I think you’re wasting your time.”

      Bree’s pulse sped up. Her heart pounded against her chest.

      She could do this. She could defend herself and Mr. Blue Eyes from his attackers.

      You naive little country girl, Thomas’s words haunted her.

      “Emily,” Blue Eyes whispered.

      “I heard it,” Husky said. “Go get him.”

      Bree held her breath and prayed.

       TWO

      With a shaky finger on the canister, Bree reminded herself to breathe. Would there be enough pepper spray to immobilize two men if they both came down?

      I can do this. I am a strong woman.

      The echo of barking dogs sparked relief in Bree’s chest. The SAR team was closing in on her location.

      “Wait, listen. Dogs, a pack of them,” the husky-voiced guy said.

      “Wild dogs?”

      “No, idiot, search-and-rescue dogs. I saw their van at the trailhead. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

      “What about—”

      “Forget it. Let’s go.”

      A few minutes passed, silence ringing in Bree’s ears. The gunmen weren’t coming down to investigate; she and Blue Eyes were safe for the time being. Now, to make sure he didn’t lose too much blood while they waited to be rescued.

      The thought snapped her into action. She radioed her position to Grace and dug in her pack for her first-aid kit.

      “Grace, the victim will need medical assistance, over,” Bree said.

      “What’s his condition, over?”

      “Head injury and gunshot wound. I can deal with the head injury, over.”

      She pulled out an antiseptic wipe and winced as she cleaned the man’s head wound. It was pretty bad and would probably need stitches. In the meantime she applied a butterfly bandage.

      His eyes fluttered open. “Who...are you?”

      “Breanna, but you can call me Bree.”

      “Bree...anna,” he whispered and his eyes fluttered shut.

      “Now comes the hard part,” she said to herself. His arm. She’d taken first-aid classes, sure, but a gunshot wound wasn’t exactly standard practice.

      “Bree, this is Trevor. How’s his airway and breathing, over?”

      “Seems okay. He’s in and out of consciousness. He suffered a head injury, but I’m more worried about the gunshot wound to his arm, over.”

      “Apply pressure to slow the bleeding,” Trevor said. “If it’s a through-and-through apply it to both entry and exit wounds. If he goes into shock, cover him up if his skin’s cold or remove outer gear if he’s hot, over.”

      “Thanks, over.”

      “We’re a few minutes away. Hang in there, over.”

      “I’m actually about five feet below the trail, over.”

      “Copy that,” Trevor said.

      Bree refocused on tending her patient. She pulled out two spare T-shirts and a scarf. She slid his jacket off, and ripped the material away from his wound, which wasn’t as bad as she’d originally thought. It looked as though the bullet had grazed the skin of his upper arm, but didn’t pass through his flesh. She wrapped one of the shirts around his arm and secured it with the scarf.

      Rinsing blood from her hands with water and antiseptic, she caught herself humming, a coping mechanism she’d developed to stay calm. Only now did she realize what she’d done: saved a man’s life, and her own, from armed gunmen.

      Up to this point she’d been going through the motions in a detached state, as if she were watching a movie. She’d felt this kind of detachment before. It had been a tool to numb herself to a brutal, violent scene. And there were plenty of those when she’d dated Thomas.

      “No reason to think about that,” she said, shaking off the unpleasant memories.

      Right now, at this moment in time, she was okay, the stranger was relatively okay, and help was close. She could fully freak out and process all this later when she got back to her cottage at the resort.

      She pressed the back of her hand against the man’s cheek to determine if he was going into shock.

      “You’re cold, all right.” She pulled a thermal blanket out of her pack and covered him up. “Hang in there, buddy. Help’s on the way.”

      * * *

      The most beautiful sound floated across his mind.

      The sound of a woman humming.

      She hummed a familiar Christmas song, only he couldn’t remember the title. He cracked open his eyes but all he could see through blurred vision was a bright mass of gold.

      “Hey there,” she said.

      He thought she smiled but couldn’t tell for sure. Her voice sounded throaty, yet feminine, and he wanted to hear more of it.

      “I...” is all he could get out.

      “You’re going to be okay.”

      She was wrong, of course. He knew she was wrong, yet he couldn’t explain why. They were both in serious danger and had to get out of here.

      “Trip...”

      “I would have tripped too if I’d been chased by those goons,” she said.

      “Have to...go.” He struggled to sit up but a firm hand pressed against his chest.

      A firm, yet