Kristen Ashley - The Gamble

But I didn’t fall because Max caught me in his arms and hauled me deep into his large, tall, strong body, holding me close, holding me tight, holding me safe.

Told you he was close, Charlie said in my head, his voice teasing but relieved.

It was funny and I would have laughed if I wasn’t busy bursting into tears.

“I got you, Duchess,” Max’s gravelly voice rumbled in my ear.

I lifted my arms to wrap him as tight as I could with the little energy I had left and I shoved my face in his neck. One of Max’s arms stayed locked around me and his other hand slid up, palm warm on my neck, fingers in my wet, snow tangled hair and he held my face to his warmth as I sobbed.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered. “You’re safe. I got you.”

I nodded into his neck and when I had it together enough, I whispered, “Bitsy’s up there somewhere. Shauna too.”

“All right, darlin’,” Max muttered, I felt his lips leave my ear and he asked someone else quietly, “You hear that?”

“We’re on it,” I heard Mick say then I felt Max’s breath warm again on my neck.

“Hold tight, Duchess,” he urged and I did the best I could do and held even tighter. “That’s it,” he whispered, his arm returning the favor.

Things were happening around us, people talking, moving, Steve’s murmur from behind me, his hand touching my hair before it fell away but nothing penetrated the fortress Max had built around me with his arms, his body, his strength. All that was my world was being held in his arms.

When I got myself together, I whispered, “Max?”

“Right here, Nina,” he whispered back immediately, “I’m always right here, honey.”

I hiccoughed another sob and pressed deeper into him.

Then I asked, “Will you take me home?”

Again, Max answered immediately, “Absolutely.”

Then he bent, lifting me in his arms, he carried me through the snow and pine trees of a Colorado mountain, straight to his Cherokee where he set me gently in the passenger seat, buckled me in safely, folded into the driver’s side and then he took me home.

I walked into the A-frame carrying my bags and shouting, “Max!”

I received no reply.

I dumped the bags on the dining table, considered for a moment how angry Max was going to get when he saw that I’d bought myself a whole new outfit (including shoes and underwear), decided that he’d be pretty angry (until he saw the underwear) then I shouted again, “Max! I’m home! Where are you?”

I was shouting because now, if you couldn’t see the person whose attention you wanted, you needed to shout in the A-frame. This was because Max had built off both sides.

One side, off the kitchen, was a one story, huge family room that was stuffed full of furniture that invited you to lounge and do it a long time (and we did); a big flat screen TV on the wall; and inset shelves all around filled with books, CDs and DVDs. There was another enormous stone fireplace in there that helped to heat the space in the winters and made it even cozier and it was already, no matter how big it was, pretty cozy considering the high lounge factor of the furniture.

The living room also included an enormous wedding portrait taken by none other than Jimmy Cotton. It was a portrait that, personally, I thought was far and away Cotton’s masterpiece.

It was a black and white candid of me in my ivory gown, Max in his dark suit. Max had guided me away from the party for a private moment and he had an arm light around my waist. I had a hand light on his neck. My head was tipped back, Max’s tipped down so our faces were close. We were talking, about what I didn’t recall, but whatever it was, even though we were both in profile, you could see Max had a small smile playing about his mouth and I had a huge one on mine, like I was about ready to burst out laughing. We both looked happy, we looked natural standing close and touching and, best of all, we looked obviously, unashamedly and completely in love.

I adored that picture. It was my favorite thing in the house and I never tired of looking at it even though Max teased me (frequently) when he caught me lost in study of that picture.

At the other side of the house, off the great room, Max built on two stories with two bedrooms and a bath downstairs. Upstairs was Max and my master suite with a big bathroom and a sitting room. I loved that master suite, it was beautiful, but I missed being with Max in our loft which we now used as a guest room whenever Mom and Steve or friends from England came visiting.

Therefore, considering the fact that even with me shouting, Max might not hear me, I went in search of him.

As I moved through our house, I tried not to think of seeing Shauna at the mall with her husband. I hadn’t seen her in ages, it had to have been at least two years, and seeing her brought up thoughts that hadn’t occupied my mind in a long time. Thoughts I didn’t want to have but thoughts, whenever they started to crowd in, I couldn’t keep at bay.

Word was, Shauna lived just outside Carnal now, a town about thirty miles away. Gossip in Gnaw Bone reported she actually loved this guy. Seeing him for the first time, I was surprised. He was shorter than her, older than her and not nearly as physically attractive as her. Gossip also said he wasn’t exactly rolling in the dough but she was content in her average house with her husband’s average salary.

Max said it was bullshit since she still didn’t work and likely she had her eyes peeled for her next target just like always.

My thoughts were that it might not be bullshit. Even an ice queen would rethink her life’s path when, because of her actions, her mantoy gets murdered leaving his kids fatherless; her previous life path set her up to be framed for multiple murders; and when it came out she tried to fleece her lifelong best friend, everyone in town stopped not liking her and started actively hating her and they were not afraid to show it even if she’d survived a significant trauma.

As they would, thoughts of Shauna unfortunately led to thoughts of that night and what came of it.

Mom had seen Damon carrying me to his truck and she’d called Max immediately. Just as immediately, Max sprung into action, calling Mick at the same time he and Steve started their search for me. Max and Steve had found Damon not thirty minutes later since he was not hard to find, seeing as his truck and body were off the main road just a couple miles out town.

With Damon down and me gone, my purse still in Damon’s truck and there being no word or sighting to prove me safe, confusion reigned so Max talked Mick into setting up an all-out manhunt or, in this case, a womanhunt.

It was not lost on Max that as word flew through Gnaw Bone and every man and most of the women in town dropped what they were doing to join the hunt, Harry was the only one unavailable to participate. Things became clearer when Bitsy’s sister reported that Bitsy was missing and they couldn’t get hold of her and they never couldn’t get hold of her. Mick ran a search on properties that Curt, Bitsy and Harry owned and found a hunting cabin Harry had and, upon learning this knowledge, Max and Steve headed to the cabin and Mick, Jeff, Brody and the rest followed.

By the time Max found me, Harry had had me for seven hours. It wouldn’t be until much later, indeed when we were in my bed in Charlie’s house in England, that he would confess that those seven hours “were the worst seven hours of my fuckin’ life, Duchess.”

I hated Harry because he made Max experience that fear. And I hated him even more because he made my Mom and Steve experience it too. The only good thing to come of it was that I didn’t stay in Gnaw Bone an extra week and Max didn’t come to England for a couple of weeks’ visit. Instead, I stayed in Gnaw Bone an extra week and Max came to England and stayed with me for three months as I worked my notice, sold Charlie’s house and prepared to leave my old life behind.

Since that day, outside of working, trips to the mall or grocery store, when Max was in town doing something for his Mom and other normal life things, Max was never far away from me. He was usually right there and if he wasn’t, he could be right there in under thirty minutes.

This wasn’t suffocating. When you’d been kidnapped and narrowly missed being shot to death, having a mountain man at your back was reassuring.

And having an amazing man love you so much that experiencing the threat of losing you meant he didn’t like you far away was beyond reassuring. It was beautiful.

Harry had shot Damon in the heart therefore he was dead before his face hit the dirt. He wasn’t missed much because he was a serious jerk but no one believed that was appropriate comeuppance, even if he was a serious jerk.

Harry had confessed to three counts of murder, conspiracy to commit murder and four counts of kidnapping for, in the end, he’d kidnapped Bitsy too. Even if he confessed to the crimes, he still received a life sentence as, I thought, he definitely should. Max was of another mind, namely the death sentence but since the state of Colorado had only put one man to death since 1976, Max had to make do with Harry not breathing free and having plenty of time to reflect on his actions for the rest of his sad, wasted life.

Bitsy had confessed to conspiracy to commit murder.

The fallout had rocked the town of Gnaw Bone for no one suspected either Harry or Bitsy. Both of them were well-liked and the entire town was stunned that not only did they perpetrate this heinous deed (or, in Harry’s case, deeds, plural), they’d planned it for years.