Gabe Page 2

  Kate shrugged, trying to appear casual but deep down, her heart raced and her stomach tied itself in knots. There were at least half a dozen men from her past who matched the description of Morgan’s stranger. Of the six, five had been presumed KIA in East Timor, and the other, her most trusted mentor, had been killed in some random shooting not long after. Hard to comprehend that was ten years ago. Goodness, time moved quick.

  Not long after, Kate left the city and came here to the bush. Poof! Disappeared into thin air, as Morgan said. She thought she’d learned enough from the best about how to slip into the crowd and vanish without a trace but someone had picked up her scent and followed her here.

  Clever, she thought, giving kudos where it was due. But she’d learned a few new tricks that she kept up her sleeve. She’d keep her identity and her exact location hidden from the man now pursuing her.

  “There we go,” Morgan smiled triumphantly as he sealed the foil lid over her dish of leftovers—although to call it leftovers belied the effort to which he’d gone to prepare it. “Fit for a queen.”

  Kate chuckled. “Thank you.” She took the foil tray he held out and watched him place the cheesecake box on top. Their eyes and hands met momentarily. “You’re too kind.”

  “No problem,” he smiled. “But I will urge you to be careful. That stranger seemed determined to find his Emily, so he might resort to pulling up cars on the side of the road. You never can quite know these things.”

  Chapter Two

  By the time the snow began to fall in earnest, Kate had returned to her cabin. Thankfully, no stranger forced her to a stop to ask after his long-lost Emily MacIntosh. She was in no doubt that had anyone done such a thing, he would surely get the shock of his life to see her behind the wheel. Still, as she spent the afternoon storing her winter stock, she couldn’t help but pray that whoever he was, he simply moved on along the ridge to Wills Crossing. Because finding her, Emily MacIntosh who was now Kate Smith, could only mean one thing.

  Trouble.

  The word sat like lead in her gut, preventing her from even contemplating devouring Morgan’s delicious leftovers.

  Trouble.

  She should have had the word tattooed on her forehead long ago, just in case she ever forgot that it seemed to follow her around like a bad smell.

  Trouble.

  She shook her head to dislodge the repetition. Admittedly, she’d spent most of her twenties living right in the middle of trouble. She put it down to youthful exuberance. Hell, she’d even enjoyed some parts of it for a while. In a life of good guys and bad, she’d played a bit part, significant but definitely out of harm’s way. Standing on the sidelines, profiling the much-desired and highly sought-after bad guys, she’d played her role effectively. That was why, at the ripe old age of twenty-six, she’d had enough.

  Walking away from a life like that wasn’t easy. There was a saying amongst the boys in khaki, once a grunt, always a grunt. As soon as she’d grumbled about her time being up, fate stepped in to take away the people she thought would be there forever. She’d stuck it out in the Army as long as she could, but she felt far too alone.

  With the loss of her closest friends, Emily died too, at least in spirit. She planned her exit strategy, deciding on a new name, had and when the time was right, she disappeared. It was surprisingly simple to become Kate Smith—Smith as in thirty-seven pages of them in the phone book.

  Embracing her new identity and integrating herself into a new community was easy when she had nothing and no one tying her to her old life.

  Kate stared out the window as winter began to swallow her world. Steadily falling snow blanketed the ground, settling on the roofs of all the structures outside. The small shed that housed the chickens supported a thick layer of white upon its roof. Snowdrifts had begun to pile up against the walls of the tool shed—where she stored power tools, building supplies, the snowmobile and her truck.

  Despite the isolation, she was comfortable here, and rather than dislike the snow and the cold, she relished them.

  Standing in the kitchen beside the big slow-burning wood stove, alight twenty-four-seven, Kate understood she couldn’t let her past come back to haunt her. Her cabin, nestled in a valley, had kept her safe from the past. Even if it flew overhead in a small plane, or employed satellites in the sky, she was largely out of sight thanks to the thick canopy of forest. She’d chosen the land and designed the cabin specifically so that from above, it looked like a normal, natural bush setting.

  With one road for access, now under a few feet of snow, the cabin became more unreachable with every passing hour—at least by conventional means. One could ski here, or ride a Skidoo up the mountain, but unless you knew where you were going and what you were looking for, it was easy to miss.

  Reassured by completing a mental checklist of safety precautions, Kate continued putting grocery items away. At least once each winter she found herself snowed in. Two years ago, the snow had even reached the tops of the windows, blocking out the daylight altogether. But with enough firewood, stored in a room off the side of the cabin, and food, she survived the short isolation. Of course, the chickens outside had frozen to death because she hadn’t been able to reach them.

  On the upside, snap-frozen chickens had kept her well-fed throughout the summer.

  With the light waning and the embers slowly cooling, Kate restocked the stove and the fireplace in the living area until the fires in both popped and crackled contentedly. Pouring herself a cup of steaming hot coffee, she moved to the window overlooking the east. The mountain stretched toward the sky, leaving her with little to look at, but it was the prettiest in terms of vegetation.

  Hardy bush shrubs, tall gangly snow gums, even a pine tree or two. Some were beginning to gather snow, their branches bending under the weight. When spring came, they’d shoot back into life and fill the air with lovely fragrances.

  As her eyes moved up the mountain slope, Kate became aware of the silence. Nothing moved. No birds chattered, no leaves rustled, no wind sounded. Absolutely nothing. Ten minutes ago, she’d listened to a wattlebird whistle to another somewhere close by, and now she heard nothing. Kate had been here long enough to know something was up.

  Coffee mug in hand, she opened the door and stepped out onto the small veranda facing south into the frigid afternoon air. Absolute silence greeted her. So thick, she felt she could almost cut through it. Stillness closed around her and held her motionless. As a child, she hadn’t been much of a nature lover. In fact, she preferred playing inside with her dolls in front of the television. But since taking up residence here, her view had changed.

  The sensation of something being very wrong gripped her and refused to let go. Her eyes darted around the mountain, looking for signs of disturbance. If the man searching for her found his way here, he wouldn’t be skilled enough to approach without making tracks. Or noise.

  Then again, if it was one of the men from her past...his approach wouldn’t just be soundless...he’d take her out without a peep too. Setting the coffee mug down on the weathered wooden table, she turned to go inside for her jacket when something caught her attention.

  It sounded like a coat filling with air, like a large yacht sail unfurling in the breeze. But it wasn’t loud. And it wasn’t on the ground.

  Kate looked up towards the sky but saw nothing beyond the tree canopy. Stepping down off the veranda, she sank ankle-deep in fresh, powdery snow. Icy wetness soaked through the bottoms of her jeans as she peered through the tangle of branches and leaves above.

  Nothing.

  Just tiny glimpses of blue sky and gathering clouds.

  And then... whoosh!

  An object, the shape and size of a person, punched through the treetops and rushed towards her.

  She ducked reflexively and sucked in a breath as small clumps of snow smacked against her. Bright orange filled the sky and realization dawned on her. It was a parachute, one with a nasty great gash in it. Its occupant wasn’t aiming for her; it was out of control. Turning, she saw the person crash into the top of a snow gum, the body held still by the tree for a second or two before it began to fall.

  In agonizingly slow motion, she watched it tumble end over end fifteen feet toward the ground, bouncing off thick branches before landing in the snow and sending up a large plume of powder. The great orange canvas settled around the tree like a high-vis vest and it struck her hard that she had to act.

  Racing inside, she retrieved a pocketknife from the kitchen bench. In the pantry, she opened the safe and stared at her handgun. Was it even necessary? Yes. Grabbing the firearm, she lifted a jacket from the coat rack and threw it on as she ran outside.

  The intruder hadn’t moved and lay in a crumpled heap at the base of the tree.

  Unmoving.

  Deathly still.

  Edging closer with slow and cautious movements, Kate held her gun ready. The cold gray metal felt surreal and unnatural in her hands, its heaviness a reminder of how much damage it could do if she fired. Around her, the bush burst back into life. Above her, birds twittered noisily, as if gossiping to one another about the unexpected arrival. An excited flurry of wings sounded as wildlife awoke to the stranger in their midst.

  Wary, Kate nudged the body with the toe of her boot, expecting it at any second to leap up and rush at her. But nothing happened. Completely covered by goggles and thermal gear, she couldn’t see enough of the person to make an ID but this close, she suspected a male. Tentatively she pressed two fingers to the neck. She found a faint, thready pulse and had to trust that he’d be out for a while.

  Snow began to fall around her again, as if it had taken an intermission while the trespasser dropped in. It started out light but grew heavier—like mother nature was determined to cover up this mess.

  Springing into action, she stowed her gun in her jeans and zipped up her jacket. Kate used her pocketknife to cut the strings of the parachute and hurriedly dragged the orange canopy down off the tree. A branch cracked under the pressure and clumps of snow thumped on the ground around them while she reeled it in. Wrapping it into a ball, she stored it in the tool shed before making her way back through the deepening snow to the body.

  She eyeballed the large figure warily before grabbing the straps of the parachute harness, the cold loops freezing her fingers. She tugged on the harness, sliding the intruder an inch before she fell on her ass. With a grunt, Kate scrambled back to her feet and grabbed a secure hold once more. Using every ounce of strength she had, she dragged the body to the veranda.

  There, she leaned against the post to catch her breath. Her heart thumped against her ribs and the icy air burned her lungs with every breath. It occurred to her to leave the gatecrasher on the veranda. That was the safe option.

  Safe for whom?

  The alternative was to get him inside and out of the cold before hypothermia set in. She glanced from the stranger to the open door and took a steadying breath.

  Who are you?

  With her hackles up and her heart threatening to break out of her chest, Kate removed his snow goggles and ski mask to reveal his identity.

  Holy hell.

  Stumbling backward, she barely contained a scream. He was older, yes. Ten years older to be exact. But there was no mistaking that tanned olive skin, the chocolate brown hair or a pair of lips she had once known very intimately. Kate blinked rapidly.

  Gabriel Jackson.

  He was supposed to be dead. Declared Killed in Action a decade ago in East Timor, a mission she should have stopped when she had the chance. How could he be here? It shouldn’t be possible. This was the stranger who’d been in town earlier, asking Harry and Morgan all about her.

  Agony seared her heart. Despite everything that had happened, there was no way she could leave him out in the cold.

  Bending, she wrapped his arm over her shoulder. His limp body folded over her and she pressed her heels into the veranda to straighten. Her spine complained at the compression his significant weight delivered and her thighs burned under the load. Her first step wobbled unsteadily and her second felt less sure. After that, she hurried, afraid that she’d crumple into a heap under his weight.

  Inside, she dumped him on the couch, perhaps a little too roughly considering his condition. Removing her coat and boots, she checked his vital signs. Weak, erratic heartbeat. Slow, unsteady breathing. He wasn’t in great shape. Blood oozed out from under his thick coat.

  The past and the present collided in spectacular fashion. Here he was, in her home, bleeding all over her couch. Her head pounded at the sight of him but her mind was stuck on one thought: he should be dead.

  Except he wasn’t.

  ~

  As night claimed the sky, Kate rubbed her weary face and rose to throw another log on the living room fire. She needed to rest and, though her eyes were heavy from watching the sleeping figure on her couch, she was too wired to turn her back on him long enough to sleep.

  Selecting two thick and gnarly logs, she carried them to the hearth and placed them in the center of the gentle fire. A snap and crackle later, the flames wrapped around the fresh fuel and eagerly began consuming it.

  Glancing back over her shoulder, Kate saw he was right where she’d left him. Not that he’d woken in the six hours he’d been there. Out cold he was, but at least now he was all patched up. He’d wake with broken ribs and a groggy head, a long gash across his abdomen and a few other minor scratches, but he’d be up and about in no time. That scared her. She didn’t want him here. Hell, he shouldn’t be here considering he’d been pronounced KIA.

  But sure enough, there he was. All six-foot-two of him. Built like a tank with those long thick arms, the strong sure legs, and that square but reliable torso. He’d been that way since he was a young man of twenty-one. Back then, he’d relished playing the prankster and making everyone laugh. That was what had attracted her, the larrikin who liked to ham things up.

  As if it happened yesterday, a memory of Gabe dangling by one arm at the top of a single rope popped into Kate’s mind. He must have been thirty feet in the air, and yet he clowned around as if he were only two feet up. The others in his troop encouraged him, hooting and hollering. The loud noise attracted Kate’s class and, peering in through the gymnasium’s windows, she’d been sucked in by those fearless eyes.

  The rest, as they say in the classics, was history. It hadn’t taken them long to find their way into each other’s lives after that.

  Kate shook her head and stood, the heat from the fire reminding her of the heat they once shared. The passion of young, innocent love that knew nothing of loss or heartache; time sure knew how to knock down a woman’s resilience.

  Checking once more on his bandages, she grimaced at the bruises that covered him. The impacts from hitting the branches had left their marks, though they would heal soon enough. She’d have to take the Skidoo into town sooner rather than later to replenish her first aid stock. His wounds had taken a lot of bandaging and would mean he’d be in great pain when he woke. If she knew Gabe, he wouldn’t be out for much longer.

  Yes, he’d taken quite a knock but he was a strong man. Physically, she knew no one else like him. She remembered one training exercise where he’d taken countless hits and still kept going until he crossed that finish line. Only then did he sit down and rest. Of course, when the medic tried to see to his welts, Gabe had growled at the poor young man and stalked away.

  If she recalled correctly, Gabe hadn’t let anyone other than her mend his physical wounds. But that was all. He’d drawn the line at letting her into his head. Mr Strong Silent Type refused point-blank to let her shrink his head. His words, not hers. Kate never took offense to his objection of her specialty, psychology, but she’d grown angry at his stubborn streak, a character trait that caused him to bottle things up.

  In her professional and personal opinion, Gabe needed to deal with some of the demons in his head. It didn’t matter who he saw about it, so long as he did it. Gabe never agreed and the difference between their opinions sank their relationship. Where they were a physical match of the highest caliber, they were a total emotional wreck together.

  Out of respect for the good times they’d shared, she touched her fingertips lightly to his high forehead. He stirred before succumbing once again to the call of deep sleep.

  Straightening, she understood through her training as a soldier that Gabe’s presence was no coincidence. He’d come for her, and she needed to know why. Too many years had passed for them to rekindle the intimacy they shared and no length of time could repair the damage caused by their bitter arguments about what constituted an emotionally and mentally healthy relationship. There had to be another reason, she just didn’t know it yet.

  Hugging herself to brace against the sad memories trying to find their way to the surface, Kate decided she needed some sleep. She had to be on her game if she was to withstand this unexpected intrusion into her life. She hoped the lock on her bedroom door was enough to keep him out.

  Chapter Three

  The sound of a pop opened Gabe’s eyes. A blurry, incoherent picture of dancing light greeted him. Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus, but couldn’t. Too tired, he closed his eyes and allowed the arms of sleep to enfold him.

  When he woke again, his vision cleared a little. The dancing light belonged to the flames of a fire. A shadow near him, shaped like a human, sat still and silent. His lips were sticky and his mouth too dry to form proper words. He blinked, trying to force his eyes to cooperate, but the fuzzy view continued.

  He tried to move his arms. They were so heavy they felt like they’d been weighed down with lead. The shadow beside him moved and a heavenly voice called to him. He gazed openly as she moved forward, her face coming closer to the light.

  Finally, he could make out the face of an angel, with a warm smile and soft blue eyes so very familiar.

  “How do you feel?” she asked softly.

  He could only open and close his mouth like a goldfish out of water before his head felt heavy and his eyes started to close against his will. The effort exhausted him and left him in the comforting cradle of sleep.