Rescue My Heart

Or as alone as one could get surrounded by all the animals. Dell eyed his dog flat on her back, trying to entice Adam to rub her down again. “She missed you guys.”

“I see that.” Looking at Dell was a whole lot like looking in the mirror. Same dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin they’d gotten from their Native American mother, who’d given them up as young boys to go back to her reservation. Same big, broad build they’d gotten from their Texan, all-American football player father, who was long dead. Same matching commitment and authority issues they’d gotten from their unstable youth.

“You had a long few days,” Dell said casually.

The equivalent of a welcome-back hug. Adam shrugged and then sucked in a pained breath as the movement jarred his shoulder. He concentrated on the fresh warm blood that trickled down his back instead of his brother’s intense gaze.

Kel might have been a little clueless on exactly how long it had been since Adam had been on the active side of an S&R mission instead of running it, but Dell was not.

“So you saved the kid,” Dell said.

“Milo found him.”

“Clinging to the cliff that you then had to climb because no one else was close enough.”

Adam blew out a sigh. “Brady called you.”

“Brady called,” Dell confirmed. “Said you were favoring your shoulder and that you looked like you hadn’t eaten or slept in two days.” Dell paused, his gaze scanning the length of Adam, the doctor eyes carefully assessing. “He also said you were in a mood.”

Adam ignored this and snatched his messages from Dell’s fingers.

“So…how are you really?” Dell asked.

“I’d be better if everyone would leave me the hell alone.” He flipped through the notes. Several state S&R agencies wanted him to run some training for their staff. He did a lot of that, traveling across the country to set up systems and training. He also had some new sign-ups for the dog obedience class starting next week. Two more wanted to attend his tracking and agility class. A breeder was looking for advice. And three calls from…“Holly?” He stared at the name on the paper. “Holly Reid?”

Dell nodded. “She’s been here twice today looking for you.”

Adam kept his face carefully blank. As far as Dell knew, Holly was the daughter of one of Adam’s clients. And she was. But she was something else as well—a blast from Adam’s past, one that never failed to evoke an entire slew of emotions in him, not a single one of which he was equipped to deal with on the best of days.

Which today definitely wasn’t.

Most of Adam’s errant, misguided youth had been a blur of resentment, anger, and wildness. Growing up in a series of foster homes had turned him into a ruffian thug in the making. He’d thrived on trouble, all kinds, and he’d been exceptionally good at it.

In comparison, Holly had come from another planet. She was the daughter of Donald Reid, an extremely wealthy businessman who’d bought up a bunch of failing ranches in the state and turned them around. Holly handled the business side of her father’s ranching conglomerate. Which in no way explained the blast of fury she unloaded on Adam every time their paths crossed. It had been twelve years since they’d been young and stupid—emphasis on stupid—a virtual lifetime. She was settled and successful.

And married.

So he had no idea why she hated him.

Well, maybe he had some idea. But it would take some thinking about, an inner reflection that he wasn’t up for at the moment.

Or ever.

In the meantime, he had no idea what the hell she’d want with him. Her dad, Donald, was a big, old softie who often fostered young S&R puppies for Adam until they were old enough to be trained and adopted. The problem was Donald had been spending a lot of time up north helping upgrade his sister’s ranch, leaving Holly to handle the entire Reid empire, puppies included. Maybe that was it—she needed help. But he knew he was the last man on earth she’d come to if she needed something. Shrugging it off, he turned to the stairs.

Milo immediately leapt to his feet, ready to roll. The stairs led up to the loft above the animal center. At one time or another, each of them had lived there, but it was Adam’s at the moment. It was large, running the length of the center, and quiet. It suited him.

“So what does Holly want?” Dell asked.

“No idea.”

“Whatever it is, she’s not going to give up.”

No shit. When Holly sank her teeth into something, she was like a pit bull—the prettiest pit bull Adam had ever seen. Once upon a time she’d sunk her teeth into him, and he’d loved it.

And then he’d been an idiot and pried her loose. He’d done it for her own good, not that he’d gained any credit for that. So, no, he really couldn’t imagine what she wanted. Hell, she was married. Married, living the life as one half of a couple, sharing a place, sharing a bed.

Which he really didn’t want to think about. “Whatever she needs,” he said, “you handle it.”

Dell laughed softly, his tone suggesting that Adam was still an idiot.

Probably true.

Bessie came through, pushing a broom. Bessie was their cleaning lady, and somewhere between fifty and one hundred years old. They’d inherited her from Sol Anders, who’d been Adam and Dell’s favorite foster parent. Bessie came up to Adam’s elbow and was about as wide as she was tall, but she could clean like no one’s business, and she never took shit from anyone. A bonus in the Connelly Casa. She gave Adam a long look up and down, then shook her head. “You done it again, huh?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Adam said, automatically reacting like the guilty teenager she’d gone after with her broom a time or two.

She cackled. They both knew he was guilty as hell of something on any given day.

Adam started to climb the stairs. Aware that both Bessie and Dell were watching, he forced himself not to groan, but every single step jarred his shoulder, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

“That’s not good,” Bessie said conversationally to Dell. “You see that?”

“I see it,” Dell said, sounding grim.

“It’s nothing,” Adam said to them both.

“You need food?” Dell asked.

“Jade’s already on it, Mom.”

Bessie snorted. They all knew Dell was about as un-mom-like as they came.

“I’m coming up,” Dell said. “So don’t bother locking me out. I’ve got a key.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t look like it,” Bessie said. “You’re bleeding through your sweatshirt.”

Adam entered the loft and shut the door harder than necessary. He strode directly to the small kitchenette at the far end, where he poured Milo a big bowl of water and food. Then he headed to the bathroom, stripping as he went. He cranked on the water, and while waiting for it to heat up, checked out the back of his shoulder in the quickly fogging mirror. He had a two-inch-long gash that wasn’t going to kill him but definitely needed stitches.

Shit.

Rifling through the medicine cabinet didn’t yield much. He’d long ago tossed all the various meds the doctors had foisted on him after Afghanistan: the anxiety pills, the antidepression pills, the sleeping pills. He’d never wanted any of them, and seeing them in the cabinet day in and day out had only made things worse.

All he had in there now was a bottle of aspirin and a razor. Since he’d never been one for slitting his own throat, he shook two aspirin into his palm and then added two more. This was definitely a four-aspirin type of situation. Swallowing them dry, he stepped into the shower and hissed out a breath as the water hit his abused body.

While scrubbing up, he found an assortment of other cuts and bruises. Deciding he’d suffered much, much worse, he let the hot spray soothe him until the water cooled. He turned it off and heard the impatient knocking on the door.

Meddling Dell.

Adam grabbed a towel and his first-aid kit and left the bathroom. Milo had eaten and was curled up in the middle of Adam’s bed. “Five minutes,” he warned the dog. “And then I’m taking over that whole thing.”

Milo cracked open a single eye but didn’t appear concerned. On duty, the dog was attentive and polite. Off duty, he was lazy as hell.

Another knock. Milo just lay there, not a growl or even a heads-up. “No, don’t get up,” Adam said dryly. “I’ll get it.”

The yellow Lab rolled to his back, his head landing onto Adam’s pillow. All four legs in the air, he immediately began to snore.

The knock came a third time, much harder and firmer now. “What the—” He reached for the door. “Since when do you knock—”

Not Dell.

The leggy blonde in front of him wore a pale blue down parka, painted-on jeans tucked into knee-high leather boots, and a tight frown.

Holly Reid, looking city hot and as untouchable as ever. It was her shield, that sophisticated New York air, and she was exceptionally good at using it. Adam knew this. He expected this. Which in no way explained why his heart did a slow roll in his chest at the sight of her. He thought of all the long nights he’d spent somewhere out in the middle of hell, not knowing if he’d make it back alive, and how he’d often imagined a moment just like this to make it through.

Whenever he played that particular mental game with himself, it had always been Holly. He didn’t know the implications of fantasizing about her and wasn’t sure he was up for knowing, anyway. “Let me guess,” he said, propping his good shoulder against the doorjamb, casually crossing his arms. “Your daddy’s out of town and the two golden retriever puppies he’s fostering for me are on your last nerve.”

She flushed at the reminder of the last time she’d shown up at Belle Haven, a wriggling puppy beneath each arm, her blue eyes spitting fire. “Thing One and Thing Two are fine,” she said, and nudged him inside with a hand that, hello, had no wedding ring on it, not that he was noticing, and entered his loft.

In those high-heel boots, she clicked her way across the wood floors to the wide wall of windows that overlooked the property, which at the moment was nothing but dark looming shadows only hinting at the remote beauty beyond.

Pretty much like the woman in front of him.

She wasn’t particularly fond of him, and he couldn’t much argue with that. Adam wasn’t particularly fond of himself, either, but whatever her reason for being here, it was pissing her off.

She turned and faced him then, and he realized she wasn’t angry at all.

She was scared.

Two

Holly’s heart was pounding against her ribs, hard and way too fast. Her stomach hurt a little bit, too, but this might have been the fast food she’d grabbed for lunch on the run. Or the fact that because of said fast food, her jeans were a little too tight.

Normally, she prided herself on being in control, but that control deserted her completely now that she stood toe-to-toe with the tall, dark, and attitude-ridden Adam Connelly.

She’d faced him before, of course. Just last month she’d seen him here at Belle Haven, a memory burned in her brain. He’d been outside in the yard surrounded by a pack of dogs all suited up in their S&R vests.

Adam had been training them off leash, putting them through their paces on an obstacle course. The animal center behind him had been packed with dogs and cats and various other four-legged and not-so-four-legged creatures coming and going right past the training session, and yet the S&R dogs’ attention never wavered from the calm, confident Adam.

He’d obviously built a relationship with each of them based on trust and respect, and Holly remembered exactly how he’d looked working them in a pair of battered Levi’s, sweatshirt with the hood up against the cold, and five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. He’d looked good. Too good.

Now he stood in front of her in nothing but a towel and a few water drops. Sweet baby Jesus, he was built. As a teenager, he’d been lanky lean, almost too lean, though even back then the breadth of his shoulders had indicated he had more growing to do.

He’d come into that promise. He’d filled out in all the right places, leaving his body as good as a body could get, born from a life of outdoor, physical labor. Dark eyes, dark life.

Adam had been her first crush. Her first dance. Her first date. Her first kiss. Her first everything. And once upon a time she’d loved the wild, adventure-seeking troublemaker with all her eighteen-year-old heart. She’d have done anything for him and he’d known it.

He’d chosen to rip out her heart and stomp on it.

But that was in their past. She’d since grown up the hard way, and so had he. By all accounts, the military had beaten back the wild, reckless part of him, molding him, leaving him guarded. Stoic. He wasn’t the same, and neither was Holly. She reminded herself of that, even as her gaze drank in the sight of him.

Focus, she ordered herself. She wasn’t here for a walk down memory lane. She needed help. Needed it badly enough to come to him.

Unlike her, Adam didn’t appear unsettled by her presence, although he was the master of hiding his feelings so it was hard to tell. He stood there quiet, calm, expression impassive, tracking her with that always-aware-of-his-surroundings air he had.

A battle-ready soldier.

And the best tracker she knew. Actually, the only tracker she knew, other than her brother Griffin. But Grif was on the other side of the world, still in Afghanistan.

“I need your help,” she heard herself say, her voice not nearly as strong as she’d have liked.

Adam arched a brow. He didn’t like to waste words. She imagined that was what made him so good at what he did. He was pragmatic, confident, and utterly irritating. “My dad’s missing,” she said. “He went hunting three days ago and didn’t return.”