Beverly Long - Hunted

The car rocked.

And he held his breath.

The tree wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“How ya doing?” he asked.

“Oh, fine.” He heard the tremor in her voice. She’d be crazy not to be scared.

“Open the door. Slide out, plant your feet before you grab for a branch. I’ll shine my light so that you can see.”

The door opened and she stuck a leg out. She had on jeans. That was good, otherwise her legs would be a mess by the time she got to the ground.

She planted her foot. She was wearing loafers, which was better than sandals but not as good as boots.

“Good job,” he urged.

Next leg. She was moving slowly and she very carefully placed the second foot on the branch.

“Okay, without standing up, press down with as much of your weight as you can. See if you think the branch will hold you.”

She did as instructed. The car didn’t move.

“Now I want you to stand up, and try to make it one smooth motion. Don’t push off on the car,” he warned her, knowing that would be her tendency and that it could be disastrous. “Once you’re standing, reach for a branch. Don’t yank it, just lightly use it to steady yourself.”

There was no response, no movement. He waited. And got nervous. “Coming?” he prompted.

“I’m going with Plan B.”

Chapter Two Contents Cover Introduction “I could be wrong but I think your cabin just blew up.” Ethan ran his fingers through his short hair. This was all his fault. He’d known there were people who held grudges. He’d read the anonymous letters. Had one of them snapped? She still hadn’t said a word. He couldn’t blame her. If he was right, she’d just lost something that had been in her family for generations. She would hate him when she learned the truth. She slowly walked toward the door and looked past him. Smoke was continuing to billow up into the sky. Finally Chandler turned to him. Her eyes were dark with pain. “I think I’m in trouble, Ethan. Real trouble.” Title Page Hunted Beverly Long www.millsandboon.co.uk About the Author As a child, BEVERLY LONG used to take a flashlight to bed so that she could hide under the covers and read. Once a teenager, more often than not, the books she chose were romance novels. Now she gets to keep the light on as long as she wants, and there’s always a romance novel on her nightstand. With both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in business and more than twenty years of experience as a human resources director, she now enjoys the opportunity to write her own stories. She considers her books to be a great success if they compel the reader to stay up way past their bedtime. Beverly loves to hear from readers. Visit www.beverlylong.com , or like her at www.facebook.com/beverlylong.romance . Dedication For Beth and Wes Devenney, who loved the mountains and me. Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Extract Copyright

“Plan B?” he repeated.

“You know, that’s the plan where I make some final bargains. You know, the ‘hey, God, just get me out of this tree and I’ll be a better person’ type.”

He’d made his own share of bargains over the years. As a kid, most of them had something to do with his mother keeping a job, his stepfather keeping his nose out of a bottle and him keeping his back from being blistered with a belt. So, yeah, he could understand where she was coming from.

“The wind’s picking up,” he said, deciding it was better not to tell her that sometimes bargain-making sucked. “I think it’s time to get out of this tree.”

“Okay.” And she did it just perfectly. Stood up, kept her hands off the car, and reached one arm up to steady herself.

It couldn’t have gone better.

Until the branch she was on cracked and she started to fall.

Ethan lunged and managed to grab her and pull her tight to his body. Then he lost his own footing and his flashlight flew. Together their weight crashed through branches and limbs. He kept one arm around the woman and groped for something to hang on to. He thought it might be hopeless until he finally managed to snag a heavy branch and stop their descent. His arm muscle strained with the effort of holding both of them until he located a branch to rest his feet on. Without losing his grip on her, he edged back toward the trunk. When he got there, he leaned back against the sticky, rough bark.

He was breathing heavily and his heart was pounding in his chest. His back had taken the brunt of the fall and he was grateful for his heavy coat. It had kept him from getting too beaten up. He had no idea how far they’d fallen but he bet it was at least thirty feet. The woman had to be scared to death.

She hadn’t said a word yet. Hell, maybe she’d passed out.

He’d gotten a quick look at her when she’d stood outside the car. Slender. Not overly tall. Dark hair piled on top of her head. Now that she was in his arms, he could tell that she was at least eight inches shorter than his six-two and her shoulders and ribs were delicately female. His chin rested on her head. Her hair was silky and he caught the scent of cherries with a hint of vanilla.

As crazy as it seemed, she felt right in his arms.

Hell, maybe he’d hit his own head.

He shifted, carefully turning her in his arms. It was very dark and they were in the bowels of the tree. No moonlight filtered through.

He wanted to touch her face, to see if her features were as delicate as her body.

He kept his arms where they should be. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so. Thank you,” she added.

Her voice was low. Sexy. “You’re welcome...” He let his voice trail off, hoping she’d fill in the blank.

“Chandler,” she said.

It was an unusual name and he got a very odd feeling. “Chandler what?” he asked.

“McCann. Chandler McCann.”

Ethan almost dropped her again. But he held on. Mack’s little sister. She’d been a skinny little girl, with wild hair and emerald-green eyes.

Cat-Eyes.

That’s what Mack had called his little sister. Ethan and Brody hadn’t called her anything, never really talked to her at all. She was just their best friend’s little sister. He remembered her as a quiet kid who liked her computer games.

It had been a long time since he’d seen her—not since the time they’d celebrated Mack’s graduation from the Naval Academy, and Brody’s graduation from college and acceptance into medical school. By that time, Ethan had already had four years in Uncle Sam’s army. He’d completed flight school and had spent some time in the skies above Iraq.

He’d been about twenty-two at the time, which would have made her fourteen. She’d still been a skinny kid with braces and wild hair, but he remembered thinking that Mack’s sister was going to be a pretty girl when she grew up. Brody must have thought the same thing because Ethan remembered hearing him tease Mack about having to beat the boyfriends off with a stick. Mack, who even at twenty-two was more James Bond than any of the actors who’d played the iconic hero on-screen, had calmly responded that he’d vaporize them.

While Ethan hadn’t seen Chandler since then, he had heard about her. Knew that she’d been the valedictorian of her high school class, knew that she had gone to college in Chicago on a full scholarship and knew that she’d gotten her heart broken by some jerk a couple years ago. She lived in Denver. Worked for some company that was a military contractor.

“I’m Ethan Moore.” He heard her swift intake of breath and wished there was enough light that he could see her eyes. His mother had cleaned the McCann house, the Donovan house and at least twenty others. That’s how he’d met Mack. That’s how he’d come to spend his summers in Crow Hollow.