High meadow, p.19
High Meadow, page 19
Reaching out, I hook a finger around a strand of hair, bringing it to my nose. A subtle herb scent with a hint of citrus. Fresh, earthy, like the woman herself. I can’t resist pulling the quilt down a few inches, exposing her naked shoulder.
Christ, is she naked under there?
My body instantly responds.
It’s only the second time she’s sharing my bed, but I already know I don’t ever want her to leave it. She’s firmly burrowed under my skin.
Feeling like a bit of a pervert, I slide down the cover a little farther, finding a narrow, silky strap across her upper arm. Not naked, then, but no less enticing. I stroke a finger over her soft skin but pull it back when she stirs.
Her head lifts off the pillow as she turns to look over her exposed shoulder. Her sleepy brown eyes sparkle.
“Morning,” she mumbles, barely moving her mouth.
I grin down at her. “Morning, Sweets.”
She slowly rolls on her back and darts a glance at the window.
“It’s still early.”
My eyes are drawn down to the silky nightie barely covering the slope of her breasts. Even in the sparse light, I easily make out her puckered nipples pressing up against the flimsy material.
“I know. You could sleep a little longer,” I offer, dragging my eyes back up to her face.
“Mmmm. Tempting,” she says in a lazy voice as a little smile teases over her lips.
Reaching up she trails the tips of her fingers through my chest hair, sending a current straight to my cock. Her eyes carry an invitation I’m not about to turn down.
Her lips are soft, sleep-swollen, and open easily when I stroke them with my tongue. She curls her arms around my neck and pulls me down to her. I try to keep most of my weight off her by planting my elbows on either side of her head, but she makes it clear she wants all of me, hooking a leg over mine.
I groan down her throat when the sensitive head of my cock brushes the inside of her thigh. Alex instantly pulls back.
“Are you hurting?”
I chuckle as I bury my face in the crook of her neck.
“Not in the way you think. Right now there’s only one part of my body I can feel.”
“Oh.”
Yeah.
I press a kiss on her neck and another one at the base of her throat, where her pulse beats right under the surface. Shifting slightly, I pull the edge of her nightie down, lick a trail between her breasts, and slide my body lower. Then I close my lips over one tight bead, pulling it deep into my mouth, exploring her taste and texture before moving to the other side.
“Jonas…” she moans as she shifts restlessly underneath me.
“Patience,” I mumble against her skin.
No way in hell I’m going to rush this.
Her legs open in invitation as I kiss my way down her body and she lifts her hips in offering when I reach her core. No underwear in my way, I push the hem of her nightgown up her hips. The neatly trimmed patch, the same color as her hair, is also woven through with strands of silver. I run a single finger through the curls until I dip into liquid heat.
Christ, she’s so ready for me.
My lazy discovery suddenly turns urgent as the first taste of her sears itself on my brain.
It doesn’t take long before I have her squirming, her fingers digging into the mattress as she rocks against my mouth.
“I want you inside,” she pants.
Thank fuck.
I was about to blow my load in the tangled covers.
Rising up on my knees, I reach over to grab a condom from my nightstand when she grabs hold of my wrist.
“I want to feel all of you. I’m safe,” she adds breathlessly.
Hell, yeah.
“Me too,” I tell her as I grab a pillow and shove it under her hips.
Then I take hold of her ankles and lift her legs up and wide. This way I can see all of her.
Perfection.
Her hand guides my cock, teasing me with her soft folds before she takes me inside her, her fingers testing our slick connection.
Getting lost in her body is like barreling down a mountain, with no way to slow things down or prevent yourself from flying off the edge.
And I go willingly.
Alex
* * *
Light is streaming into the room when I blink open my eyes.
Jonas’s side of the bed is empty, the sheets already cool when I touch the imprint he left behind.
I lift my arms over my head and stretch, some of my muscles tight with our early morning activities. I feel myself smile at the memory and settle back into my pillow, enjoying the afterglow a little longer.
At some point I start noticing sounds of activity filter in from outside. Guilty for being so lazy, I drag my ass out of bed and peek through the blinds. The bedroom is at the front of the house, with a view of the barn and corral. I recognize Jonas at the gate of the corral, one foot lifted onto the bottom rung as he watches Dan work Blitz in the ring. I’m so glad he’s giving the guy a chance; he looks like he’s in control on the feisty stallion.
I should get out there.
Wrapped in a towel after a quick shower, I head for my duffel bag at the foot of the bed to grab some clean clothes. I notice the rolled-up plans tucked on the side and pull them out. I’m not sure what had me shove the rolls I found in the attic in my bag yesterday. Other than I’d hoped to have some time to check them out. I haven’t had a lot of that in recent days.
Tossing the blueprints on the bed, I quickly get dressed and smooth out the covers. Then I spread one roll out. It’s a true blueprint, with the actual drawing in white lines. It must be old, because as far as I know, those haven’t been used in decades although the term still exists.
I don’t pretend to understand any of the details, but I can recognize the general shape of an elongated building and the different rooms inside. I know for a fact it’s not my house since the footprint of that is basically a square. This structure is longer than it is wide, with two large rooms, one behind the other, and what looks to be a hallway along the length. On either of the short ends there looks to be two smaller spaces.
I have no idea what I’m looking at so I spread out the second one over top. This one has the same outline but is covered with a grid of lines and minute writing that I don’t understand.
I’m no wiser, but when I start rolling the blueprints up together, I notice yet another drawing stuck behind the first one. Same size, only this one is on white paper and looks to be a sketch.
It takes me a moment to register what I’m looking at but when I do, I shove the drawings under my arm and rush downstairs.
“Those are stairs.”
Jackson points out.
He, Jonas, and Sully are bent over the first blueprint I spread out on the kitchen table.
“Leading where?” Jonas remarks. “There doesn’t seem to be another floor.”
“Leading above,” I clarify, pulling the sketch out and smoothing it on top of the blueprint.
“Is that a silo?”
“No.”
I give the drawing a quarter turn so Sully—who is standing at end of the table—can see it at the proper angle.
“That looks like a bunker,” Jackson observes.
“More like an underground shelter,” Jonas corrects.
The image is a concept sketch of a cylindrical structure, showing stairs coming down from the surface into the long hallway. In the depiction, the two small rooms behind the stairs on that end look to be a small kitchen and bathroom. The first large room is shown as living and sleeping quarters, with bunkbeds up against the walls. The second room looks like a storage facility, and I can’t make out what the two end rooms are supposed to be.
Jonas taps his index finger on that side.
“I bet that holds mechanical equipment. Water pump, air filtration, maybe a furnace.”
“Where did you find these?” Jackson wants to know.
“I was cleaning out a dresser I found up in the attic and these were in one of the drawers.”
Sully is studying the small writing at the edge of the blueprint.
“The drawing was done by some architect group in Helena. Dominion Architecture.”
He leaves the kitchen and returns moments later with his laptop, copying the name into a search engine.
“Yup. Helena based,” he confirms. “Specializing in emergency shelters. Got big during the Cold War, but went belly up in the early nineties.”
“Emergency shelters were big during the Cold War. Fear of a nuclear attack had every Tom, Dick, and Harry wanting one,” Jonas explains. “Cold War ended in 1989, as did the imminent threat, so any business related to these shelters wouldn’t be far behind.”
I remember what James said about the previous owner, which makes me wonder.
“Do you think Clive Jenkins would’ve built one on his property?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Sully answers. “A lot of those sovereign types are terrified of anything that reeks of communism.”
“Quite a few of them are doomsday preppers too,” Jonas contributes.
From my limited understanding, preppers are survivalists. I’ve heard of people who have stockpiled basic necessities to last them for years in remote bunkers or cabins they can escape to in case disaster strikes. The closest I ever get to stockpiling is the occasional extra package of toilet paper I pick up.
“I should let Agent Limpkin know,” I suggest, turning to Jonas.
“Not sure he’ll be that receptive to anything from you, or me, for that matter. And even if he is, he’ll try to find a way to turn the information against us. No,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “We stand a better chance if we hand this off to Wolff. Let him bring it up with Limpkin.”
That makes sense. The younger agent is actually a likable guy.
By the time Wolff shows up, forty-five minutes later, we have a few possible locations identified on the satellite images Sully pulled up. All three look to be small clearings surrounded by rocks and trees. Shivers run down my spine when I notice how close they all are to the now all-too-familiar ridge and the creek, and all three within my property boundaries.
When Jonas points them out to the agent—who appears to be paying close attention—he voices his suspicion that the dual tracks may lead to a back way onto my land. A way to get in unnoticed with supplies.
“It’s a stretch,” Wolff indicates, but he’s the one who just told us they haven’t had any luck with their search yet. “You’re suggesting these guys stumbled on some bunker built decades ago on private land? What are the chances of that?”
“Wouldn’t be that far-fetched if this general Jonas heard them mention is in fact a local. Someone who might have heard of the existence from the previous owner himself,” I suggest.
“That’s a whole lot of ifs, Ms. Hart.”
Despite his obvious misgivings, the agent collects the drawings and the printout Sully hands him of the possible locations, and promises to look into it.
“Well, that was rather anti-climactic,” Jackson comments when he’s gone.
“Haven’t we had enough excitement?” I suggest.
“Maybe for you, but I’m still young, the more excitement the better,” he teases.
If only he knew what his ‘elderly’ mother was up to around four thirty this morning.
“If you want some excitement, come with me,” Jonas says, clapping Jackson on the shoulder. “We could use an extra pair of hands in the breeding barn.”
I stifle a snort as Jonas winks at me before leading my son out the front door. Then I turn to the pile of dishes in the sink. Ama apparently was off somewhere with Thomas this morning, and I see Jonas isn’t the only one who takes the woman for granted.
After I’ve straightened up the kitchen, I head outside to the corral where Lucy is working with Hope. The poor mare has suffered a massive setback and jumps at any sound or anything that moves. We’re almost back at square one and the worst part is, once we can return to the rescue, she’ll have to go through it all over again.
So much for thinking she might be one we could sell.
“How is she doing?”
Even the sound of my voice startles Hope, who almost rips the lead from Lucy’s hands.
“She was okay in the stall with Daisy, but is pretty freaked out here.”
“We need to find a way to build her confidence,” I suggest. “What if we got Daisy into the ring with her as a grounding presence? You’d still work with Hope, but let’s see if she’ll respond better with her buddy around.”
“How is that going to build her confidence, though? Won’t that just make her dependent on Daisy?”
“At first, probably, but it would give us a good idea of her potential. When we see clear improvement, we could slowly separate the two again. Wean her off Daisy, so to speak.”
“Worth a try,” Lucy concedes.
I head into the barn and retrieve the donkey, who happily trots beside me as I lead her to the corral.
I’ve just closed the gate when I notice Ama’s SUV pulling up to the house. I see her get out of the driver’s side and round the hood to the passenger side. She opens the door and helps Thomas out of the vehicle. I’m shocked when I see how old and frail he suddenly looks, leaning heavily on Ama’s arm.
My feet are already moving in their direction and I’m just in time to firmly grab Thomas’s other arm as they start up the porch steps.
“How are you doing, Thomas?” I ask as we lead him inside.
“Tired. No breakfast before the blood work and waiting for almost an hour for the damn doctor to get to me does that,” he grumbles. “Be right as rain after a nap.”
Sully, who is just coming out of the office, catches that and quickly steps in.
“Come on, Thomas. Let’s get you upstairs,” he says.
To my surprise, Thomas doesn’t object.
When they’re halfway up the stairs, Ama motions me into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask in a low voice.
“He fainted at the lab and was weak as a kitten after. The doctor just received his medical records from his physician back in Texas and, apparently, the old man hasn’t been taking his medication.”
“Medication for what?”
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t want me to say anything to Jonas, which is why I’m telling you.”
“And you want me to tell Jonas?”
She nods.
“Tell him what?”
“His father has a heart condition.”
Twenty-Four
Jonas
* * *
Heart failure.
It sounds so damn final.
Damn, I knew there was something wrong. Felt it in my gut. Now I understand why after years of brushing me off, he finally agreed to sell his place and join me up here in Montana.
Oh, I know heart failure doesn’t necessarily mean imminent death, but it will be the ultimate outcome. I may be fifty years old, and lucky to have had my dad for so long, but I’m not ready to say goodbye.
Alex’s footsteps sound going down the porch steps. She just left my office, giving me some time to process, and I’m grateful. There’s a lot to wrap my head around.
I look at the row of pill bottles I lined up on my desk. Ama picked them up at the pharmacy in town. Medication he should’ve been taking all along.
Why? Why did he stop?
It’s one thing not wanting to tell me he’s been on medication for arrhythmia for the last ten years, I get it. He’s a proud man and would hate to admit to something, which in his eyes, conveys weakness. But then at some point early last year he consciously decided to stop taking them, stopped going for his regular visits with the cardiologist I didn’t know he had back in Texas. That’s the part I can’t make sense of.
Dad’s not a stupid man by far. He may not have a college education and spent his entire life on a ranch, but he’s always been well-read and smart as a whip. He must’ve known what he was doing to his heart muscle. The medication was intended to slow down the progressive damage, which now apparently has left his heart in sorry shape.
Goddammit, Dad.
In a surge of anger I swipe everything off the top of my desk, sending paperwork flying and those damn pill bottles clattering on the floor.
Then I get to my feet, grab my hat, and stalk out the door.
I throw the last pebble I’ve been lobbing into the Fisher River and sit down on the large rock. The same one Alex and I were sitting on the last time I was here.
Most of the anger has faded—washed away by the river’s cool waters—leaving only a sense of sadness in its wake.
Nothing like a few solitary moments communing with nature to ground me. Oh, I still want answers, but I feel better equipped asking for them now.
Sully had come flying out of the office next door when he heard my racket earlier, but I ignored him. He followed me to the stable where Alex stopped him. Told him to leave me be as I threw a saddle on Phantom. I even ignored her, but something tells me she understands.
That’s why it doesn’t surprise me when I hear a soft footfall behind me and two slim arms slip around my neck from behind. I feel her lips press a kiss to the top of my head and my hands automatically grab on to hers.
“Better?”
“Mmm.”
I loop her arms over my head and guide her to stand in front of me before tugging her on my lap. Then I kiss her properly.
“I am now,” I say, telling her the truth. “You make everything better. Thanks for checking up on me.”
She strokes a hand over my bald head and down the back of my neck, resting her forehead against mine.
“That’s good, but I’m afraid there’s another reason I’m here.”
I pull back slightly so I can look her in the eye.
“What is it?”
“Limpkin showed up. Apparently, Agent Wolff shared our findings with him. He wants to talk to you. I think he’s looking for your input.”
I bark out a laugh, but it’s more in disbelief than from amusement.
