Chapter One
Eric
With a broad grin and anticipation buzzing through me, I stepped out from the employee apartment building at Rawhide Ranch into the spring sunshine, turning my face up to the rays for a moment. Not that there was much heat in it. While winter had technically been over for a month, that didn’t matter up here in the Montana mountains. Despite the sunshine and clear skies, the air still had a chill to it, and small patches of snow still lingered in the corners of the parking lot.
My good mood wasn’t about the gorgeous day though. No, that was all about her. My baby. The one piece of my past, from before life had brutally taught me some humility, that I’d brought with me after I wiped the slate clean to start over. It had been surprisingly easy to walk away from my old life. All the prestige, money, glory I’d worked so hard to obtain hadn’t meant a damn thing when I’d been kidnapped and found myself chained to a wall at the mercy of a woman who’d had none.
She hadn’t cared about how far I’d come from the trailer I’d grown up in. How fancy my house had been. How much money I had. I was nothing more than a toy for her to vent her frustrations on, or a tool she forced to provide medical aid to hermen. Everyone I’d tried so hard to impress, to gain respect from, hadn’t come looking for me. It was only after I’d not turned up for my shift at the hospital that the alarm was raised.
Hell of a wakeup call.
Mom may have been poor, struggling to put food on the table each week, but she was rich in friends. If she’d vanished without a word to anyone, or taking any of her things, most of the folks in the trailer park where we’d lived would have been out looking for her.
From a young age I’d vowed to myself that when I was an adult, I’d make sure I was never poor. That I’d never have to live in poverty like I’d been at the time. I’d gone to bed hungry most nights, never had clothes that fit or shoes without holes. Mom had tried to tell me there was more to life than material possessions, but I hadn’t believed her back then. I’d seen all the suffering and struggling and naively had assumed if only we’d had more money, everything would have been perfect. I hadn’t learned yet that while the grass always looks greener on the other side, it’s nothing but an illusion.
Now that I was older, and wiser, I could look back and remember how happy Mom had been when she used to dance around our tiny kitchen, a big grin on her face. How she would often make herbal concoctions to help ease the suffering of those who, like us, couldn’t afford to go see a doctor or pay for medicines. She’d known every local herb and weed, how to use them in teas, creams or soaks to fix a seemingly endless array of ailments. Mom had been a true old-school healer, the type who’d existed before it became all about following rules and pandering to egos. Before the insurance and drug companies got involved and the focus somehow got moved from healing people to making money off them.
I hated that I’d become one of those egos, so caught up in trying to make myself important that I forgot who I was at mycore. Who my mother had inspired me to be. I’d wanted to be a doctor to build on what she’d taught me, so I could better help people, do more. Also it didn’t hurt that I’d known, even as a child, that doctors made good bank.
Sunlight glinting off the deep green of my 1962 Aston Martin DB4 caught my attention, stilling my thoughts. Reaching her side, I ran my palm over the cool metal of her fender, the familiar smooth feel of the paint under my touch grounding me back to the present.
It was the same make and model that British secret agent 007, James Bond, drove in the most iconic of all the filmsGoldfinger. In the movie they call it a DB5, but that hadn’t been released yet so they modified a DB4. I’d gotten hooked on the older Bond movies as a kid. The guy living in the trailer next to ours had an old video player and according to him, it would only play Bond movies. Every Friday and Saturday night he’d put one on and crank his TV up loud enough half the park could hear it. If I sat on the kitchen bench in front of the window, I could see the screen and watch too.
When I got accepted into medical school, the only way I could focus in the evenings to study was if I had one of those old Bond movies playing in the background. That was why I couldn’t part with 004, the name I’d given her the moment I first saw her. A little ode to James Bond. All the other possessions I’d accumulated—houses, cars, rare artworks—I’d sold them all off without a second thought. None of it mattered. But I couldn’t bring myself to part with 004. Couldn’t give up how free I felt when I drove her.
“Hey girl, you ready to take me for a ride?”
Unlocking the driver’s door, I ran my gaze across the horizon as I slid down into the leather seat. The Montana mountains rose high, as though they were stretching up, trying to reach through the sky to something above. Since the twisty roads that ranall through the range were absolute heaven to drive on, maybe they’d fallen from there and were simply trying to return.
Twisting the key, the engine roared to life and I hummed in bliss. Best sound in the world. Taking it slow through the parking lot and down the gravel drive, my foot itched with the need to press down, to send us flying. But I had to wait until I was off Rawhide Ranch and on the paved road to do that.
I was more riled up than normal to get going because I’d only just gotten her out of storage. The winters up here were too harsh to risk her in, so after Thanksgiving before the first snow fell, I’d tucked her away. Poor 004 had been forced to spend way too much time locked away recently, but it couldn’t have been avoided. I hadn’t been able to drive at all for some time after the injuries I’d sustained during my captivity and rescue. Nor did I trust anyone enough to look after her, so it had been logical to have tucked her safely away.
Reaching my right hand out, I gently ran my palm over the immaculate Bakelite dash in apology.
“Sorry, girl. Trust me, I didn’t like it any more than you did.”
Out of habit, I flexed my wrist, moving my hand up and down, before returning my grip to the steering wheel. The test was pointless, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. Seven years out from injury and I still didn’t have full feeling or movement back in my right hand. No longer had the fine motor skills I’d needed to work as an Emergency Physician.
Despite the fact that, with the single-minded focus that had gotten me through medical school, I’d completed every exercise and rehab task I’d been set. Tried every surgery and treatment I could find. None of it changed the fact that the damage done by the bullet I’d taken to the upper right side of my chest during my rescue, had done irreparable damage to my Brachial Plexus Nerves in both my shoulder and hand. Both wrists had also sustained injuries from how I’d fought to get free of the metalcuffs I’d been shackled with. I shook my head in frustration, of course it was my dominant side of my psyche that had taken the worst of the damage and wouldn’t heal.
Pressing the button on my keychain to open the main gate, I waved at whoever was manning the gatehouse without looking their way. My gaze locked on to that sweet strip of dark tarmac just ahead. As soon as I left the drive and hit the road, I revved 004’s engine and let her take me away from the ghosts of my past that were hovering too close today.
Twenty minutes later, I had a good buzz going from taking my girl through a series of tight corners on a particularly twisty stretch of road I often found 004 bringing me to. In the ten months I’d been working and living at Rawhide Ranch, 004 and I had spent a lot of time exploring these mountains. But today wasn’t about searching out new roads. For this first drive of the year, I needed a route I was familiar with, that had corners I knew well enough that I could take them a little faster than I probably should.
A loud ringing had me cursing, the sound cutting through the bliss I’d only just managed to find. Damn phone. Since I refused to violate 004 by installing a handsfree phone system and hadn’t thought to bring my Bluetooth ear piece with me, I let the call go through to voicemail while I started looking for a spot where I could safely pull off the road. For a brief moment, I tried to tell myself whoever it was could wait until I got back to the Ranch, but old habits prevented me from going through with that. I’d spent too many years working emergency medicine to be able to ignore a call. What ifs would play through my mind until I knew who it was who’d called.
Thankfully, it wasn’t long before I spotted a rest stop. Slowing down, I crept across the loose gravel, making certain I didn’t kick up any stones as I got 004 all the way off the road. Glancing out my side window as I reached to twist the key tocut the engine, I spotted a flash of purple on the ground several feet from where I’d parked. Curious what it could be, I got out and strode over to what turned out to be a dragon stuffy. Clearly handmade, crocheted in yarn that was a mix of purples, pinks and blues, with bits of white to depict cute little nails and teeth. The animal was a little worse for wear, the seam between the head and body having come partially undone, and from the marks across her middle, I figured she’d been run over. Poor lass.
Picking her up, I brushed off as much of the dirt and muck as I could while I strode back to 004. No doubt a Little somewhere was very upset at having lost their prized stuffy. This close to Rawhide, I doubted it was owned by an actual child, but either way, I’d put the word out around the Ranch, Porter’s Corner and the Ridge. Someone would know who this little lass belonged to. I’d ask Nanny J if she could work a little of her magic to fix her so she was good as new. That woman was a miracle worker with stuffy first aid.
After getting back behind the wheel and settling my new little friend on the passenger seat, I slipped my phone from my pocket to see who’d called. I huffed out a laugh when I saw it had been Jacqui of all people.
Dr. Jacqueline Stringer was a wonderful, caring woman. She was also a psychiatrist. I’d started seeing her in a professional capacity soon after my rescue. She ran a clinic in Bridgewater, Texas, called “Pieces to Peace,” where I’d lived for a while after I’d gotten out of the hospital. Even after I’d moved out, I’d continued to see her. Since I’d relocated to Montana, she wasn’t officially my therapist anymore, but she’d still call every month or so to check in with me.
Not bothering to look to see if she’d left a voicemail, I hit the button to return her call. She picked up after the first ring.
“Hi, Jacqui, sorry I missed your call. I was driving and had to pull over. What’s up?”
