Smoky Mountains Ranger. Lena Diaz

caught a glimpse of another steep drop, then sucked in a startled breath and closed her eyes. Shots rang out from somewhere above them as they plummeted into open space again.

       We’re going to die.

      Strong arms clasped her so tightly she thought her body would break in two. Then she hit something hard—or he did, because she was on top of him. Their entwined bodies bounced several more times and slid a heart-stopping few more yards. Then, just as suddenly as their wild flight had begun, it was over. His chest rose and fell beneath hers, his ragged breaths fanning against the top of her head. But other than that, and her own gasping breaths, the world was blessedly still.

       We didn’t die.

      Yet.

      Her eyes flew open. Miraculously, her glasses had somehow survived the tumble down the mountain and were still on. Which gave her a startlingly clear view of a pair of brilliant blue eyes staring directly into hers from just inches away. It was only then that she realized just how intimately she was pressed against him. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, her cleavage straining the top of her lacy bra, her blouse having surrendered several buttons. Her right thigh was sandwiched between both of his legs, pressing against a very warm spot that left little to the imagination about just how well-proportioned he was to his taller-than-average height. Her cheeks flaming, she tried to scramble off him.

      “Hold it, wait.” His harsh whisper had her going still as his hands tightened on her arms. He tilted his head back and looked up the mountain they’d just tumbled down, apparently searching for the gunmen.

      Her gaze followed his. She didn’t see anyone. But what she did see had her shaking again. How they’d managed to fall so far through such rough terrain without being killed was a mystery. As she noticed the deep skid and slide marks down the grassy and rocky terrain, and the broken tree branches that marked their path, she realized that maybe it wasn’t such a mystery after all. Her benefactor had rolled and tugged and pulled her to him the entire ride down. That was the only thing that explained how they hadn’t crashed into boulders and trees and been killed. He’d done that. He’d protected both of them.

      Or he’d protected her, at least.

      Her eyes filled with tears as she realized just what his noble actions had cost him. Blood was drying on his face from his earlier cuts, likely from an altercation or ambush by the second gunman, the one named Owen. More blood streaked his arms and neck. A long gash marred his left biceps, blood trickling from a wound that was smeared with dirt. A black shadow was already darkening on his forehead where he’d obviously smacked it against something. And her? Other than a bitten tongue, dirty and torn clothes, and a few stinging minor cuts on her arms and legs, she was unharmed.

      “You’re hurt,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Do you have a first-aid kit in your backpack? I can dress your wounds.”

      His gaze shot to hers. “Are you okay? You’re crying.”

      The concern in his voice as he reached a hand toward her had shame and guilt flaring up inside. She jerked back to scramble off him but slammed down against his chest because of the rope that still connected them.

      “Sorry, sorry. Dang it.” She wiped the tears away and tried to tug the rope free.

      “Here, let me.” His deep voice was soft again, gentle, as he pressed the carabiners on each side of his pack. A few quick tugs on the knots and they seemed to magically unravel. Another yank and the slick nylon rope pulled free from her belt loops.

      She pressed against the ground on either side of his chest and pushed herself up off him, then sat back on her heels and yanked the ends of her blouse back together to cover her bra.

      “Are you okay?” he asked again, sitting up.

      She nodded. “Thanks to you, I’m fine. But you’re not.” She waved toward the dozens of cuts on his arms, his face. “You took the brunt of the fall to protect me. Why would you do that?”

      He frowned as if in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s my job.”

      She shook her head, unable to fathom such selfless thinking. “First-aid kit?”

      “Later.” He pushed to his knees and looked up again. “I don’t see our two friends.”

      She followed his gaze to the cliff, which seemed impossibly far away. She still couldn’t believe they’d rolled down the mountain and hadn’t gotten killed, or shot, or both. But thankfully the gunmen weren’t standing there, aiming a pistol at them.

      “Why aren’t they still up there, trying to shoot us?” she asked. “Maybe they didn’t think we’d survive the drop?” She shivered and wrapped her hands around her waist. “Maybe they’re worried someone heard the shots, so they took off?”

      He shook his head. “Unless there are more trespassers ignoring the trail-closed signs, there’s no one else to hear the gunshots. And I don’t see our friends just moseying to their car and heading back where they came from after all the trouble they went to. They’re after something. And they don’t have it yet.” His eyes stared deep into hers, once again darkening with suspicion. “How much motivation do they have, Jody? Enough to figure out a way down that mountain to come after us?”

      A cold chill shot through her. She looked up again. But the only thing above them was a bright blue sky and a hawk gliding over the mountaintops.

      “Jody? Who were those men? Why are they after you?” He climbed to his feet and helped her stand.

      She stepped back so she could meet his gaze without getting a crick in her neck. “You’re bleeding. I really think we should get the first aid kit.” She took another step back.

      He grabbed her waist and yanked her to the side. “Haven’t you ever been in the mountains before? Never back up without looking first.”

      She glanced over her shoulder and sucked in a breath. The blood seemed to drain from her body, leaving her cold and shaking. Once again, she’d been close to the edge of another drop-off and had nearly plunged over the side.

      Swallowing hard, she pressed a shaking hand to her throat. “Thank you. You’ve saved me more times than I can count and we’ve known each other for less than an hour.”

      “We need to go.” He put a hand to the small of her back and urged her toward the charred woods to their right.

      “Go where? It looks like we’re heading toward another cliff.” She tried to stop, but his hand was firm, pushing her forward.

      “We’ll make our own path. We have to. Out here we’re too much in the open.” He held back a branch on a new sapling that had sprouted from the destruction.

      They rounded a curve in the mountain, the going steep, treacherous, with loose rocks underfoot. A few yards farther and they were surrounded by trees, half of them scorched but miraculously still standing. Some of them supported canopies of new growth in spite of their blackened trunks. The underbrush had resurged here. Many of the bushes were taller than both of them.

      Far below, water gurgled and rushed over boulders. She caught glimpses of it through breaks in the trees. Rocks in the middle of the stream created eddies and little rapids. The artist in her craved a few moments to stand there and gape at the beauty below, to frame it in her mind’s eye like she’d frame a camera shot. But the reality of their situation, and the imposing ranger beside her, had her hurrying as fast as she could manage through the rough terrain.

      He took the outside, near the steep drop, using the rise of the mountain as a barrier against her falling over the edge. His gaze was never still. He constantly scanned the woods around them, looking up at the mountain that rose above their heads. His constant vigilance should have made her feel secure. Instead, it only reminded her of the danger they were in.

      She finally grabbed one of the saplings they were passing and used it as an anchor in the sea of fear that threatened to pull her under. “Wait.”

      He