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The Rescuer
Ellen James
Type R Men: Rescuers. Restless, reckless…sometimes unsettling.Dr. Alexandra Robbins may have a successful career as a psychologist in Chicago, but she's had a very unsuccessful marriage. Right now, she's in the middle of a messy divorce. What a relief to get away from her soon-to-be ex and head for a small town in Idaho to complete her study on Type R men–"rescuers," men compelled to risk their lives to save others.Colin McIntyre caught Alex's attention when his daring rescue of a young child was shown on TV. He's obviously the ideal candidate for her research. Only, he doesn't like the idea of being a guinea pig. He likes her though. So maybe he'll cooperate just a little.Sounds good to Alex. But the more time she spends with him, the more he fascinates her.Soon Alexandra Robbins isn't just researching the Type R man anymore!
“Dammit, Colin. I feel like I’m unraveling. And I hate it.” (#u8880219c-525d-5677-9527-b7af5fdd5b23)ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#u8aeb7ce8-1e3b-5dae-acfa-09612d43971d)Title Page (#u7a11e89f-a889-5ce7-9e00-45e5f3edf91d)CHAPTER ONE (#u63201cee-0369-5e76-9e5d-8aa9cd0971e0)CHAPTER TWO (#u8f1c1ea8-3901-59f9-837b-39a0bc805c89)CHAPTER THREE (#u74f7d32a-6a54-5333-87aa-26b4d3581e4c)CHAPTER FOUR (#u911e7f16-b174-5f79-9dc9-3fdfd443a6f5)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Dammit, Colin. I feel like I’m unraveling. And I hate it.”
Colin had no more suggestions to make. So he went to her and took her in his arms instead.
She stood rigidly in his embrace. It occurred to him that he’d never known a woman as complex as Alex, as difficult to reach. She was fighting so many battles. She had to be exhausted trying to do it all on her own.
“Alex...let somebody help now and then. Maybe even somebody like me.”
“What can you do for me, Colin?” she whispered against his chest. “How can you help me?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Maybe just by being around.”
“That’s not the kind of rescue you’re accustomed to. And I keep telling you...I don’t want to be rescued.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Rescuer is the twentieth published book by Ellen James. Ellen won a national short-story contest when she was in high school, and ever since then, wanted to be a writer. She’s certainly succeeded! Ellen’s interesting premises, fresh, charming style and appealing characters have made her popular with readers the world over. Bestselling author Debbie Macomber says, “I love Ellen James’s stories! Her wit sparkles and her full-speed-ahead heroines are sure to capture your heart—as they do mine.”
Ellen lives in New Mexico with her husband, also a writer. They share an interest in wildlife photography and American history.
The Rescuer
Ellen James
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
ANOTHER DAY OF SOBRIETY.
Colin McIntyre slid into his usual booth at Maggie’s Diner. Less than a week back in his hometown, and already he’d fallen into the old routine. Sobriety, Idaho, was that kind of town. No wonder he’d left—and no wonder he kept asking himself why he’d returned.
Denise brought his coffee without having to be asked—straight black, no cream, no sugar.
“Pancake special this morning,” she said.
“Fine,” Colin told her.
She walked away, slapping a towel at the crumbs on the next table. Colin drank his coffee and looked out the window. A few summer tourists wandered along the street, pausing now and then at the redbrick storefronts. In the distance rose the mountains of the Idaho Panhandle, blanketed thickly with pine. Admittedly the view was majestic—but the whole time Colin was growing up he’d wanted to get beyond those mountains. He’d been restless. Unfortunately, when he’d finally left town at eighteen, the restlessness had followed him. It followed him still.
Now a woman came along the sidewalk, and stopped to peer up at the diner’s sign. Then she opened the door, entered and glanced around.
She was very pretty, with dark blond hair falling past her shoulders, brown eyes, curves just where they should be. She wore jeans and an elegant business jacket. He liked the combination. It made her look... unpredictable.
Her gaze settled on him, and a mixture of emotions crossed her face. Wariness, reluctance... maybe even resentment? Her hand tightened on her purse and she half turned toward the door, as though to leave. He couldn’t help being intrigued when she turned slowly back and stepped toward him. She seemed about to speak. But then she changed her mind and sat down in the next booth over. Denise drifted out of the kitchen and took her order: tea and the pancake special.
The woman brought a book out of her purse and started to read. Colin sipped his coffee and watched. She was making too much of an effort to appear engrossed, purposely turning one page, then another. At last she glanced up at him. Now her eyebrows drew together, as if something about him puzzled her. She’d captured his curiosity.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi,” she answered, her tone a bit strained.
He could see the book was a mystery—the cover had a stylized dead body sprawled below the tide. She followed the direction of his gaze and selfconsciously slipped the book into her purse once more.
“Don’t worry on my account,” he said. “I like mysteries, too.”
She almost smiled. “I picked it up at the drugstore last night, and I can’t put it down. It’s not how I expected to spend my time in...Sobriety.” She said the name doubtfully.
“A local joke that stuck,” Colin told her. “Story goes that during the silver rush in the 1870s we had thirteen saloons but only one hotel. Kept the miners happy.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “You sound like a native of this town.”
He hadn’t meant to sound that way. He’d moved away from Sobriety all those years ago, and he wasn’t exactly back by choice.
“Let’s just say I grew up here. Care to join me?” he asked.
She seemed to think it over. Finally giving a toocareless shrug, she went and slid into the seat opposite him.
“Colin McIntyre.”
“Alex Robbins.” They shook hands briefly.
Denise brought both orders of pancakes, doing only a slight double take when she saw Colin and the woman sitting together. She did, however, give him a meaningful stare as she put the plates before them. He’d known Denise ever since she was a kid tagging after her brother, one of Colin’s high school friends.
“Thanks, Denise,” he said now.
“Sure thing,” she answered flippantly. She set down a cup of tea, replenished his coffee, gave him another look and went off again.
“Am I missing something?” Alex Robbins wanted to know.
“Not much,” he said. “It’s just that Denise figures she knows everything about me. She probably thinks I’m trying to pick you up.”
“Are you?” Alex asked.
Colin poured blueberry syrup over his pancakes. “I’m out of practice when it comes to picking up women. And, as I recall, I wasn’t very good at it.”
She eyed him consideringly. “You’re being modest, no doubt. Something tells me you don’t have to try very hard when it comes to women.” It didn’t sound like a compliment. But she was right about at least one thing. Since his divorce, he hadn’t tried very hard where women were concerned. Somehow he’d lost the knack for doing all the little things you were supposed to do to attract a woman. Any relationships he’d had could be blamed on happenstance, and they’d all been for the short term. Maybe he was just proving his ex-wife right: he was no good for the long haul.
Alex Robbins started in on her breakfast.
“No syrup?” he asked. “Trust me, it’s good. Maggie’s secret recipe.”
She took the jar of syrup and poured out a cautious amount. “Just who is Maggie?”
“You know, of Maggie’s Diner...Denise’s grandmother, and founder of this place.”
“Do you know everybody in this town?” Alex asked.
“Just about.” He spoke without enthusiasm. “What about you?” he asked. “Vacationing in Sobriety?”
She hesitated, and again he sensed her reluctance. “Actually,” she said at last, “I’m a psychologist. Mr. McIntyre, you’re going to find out sooner or later. The reason I came here was...for you.”
He settled back. “Hmm...I see,” he said gravely. “You’re here for me.” He took another forkful of pancake and a sip of coffee.
Now Alex Robbins seemed impatient.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what I want from you?”
“No, not really. I figure you’ll tell me soon enough. Besides, right now I’m enjoying my breakfast. I’m also enjoying sitting across the table from a pretty woman. Kind of hate to ruin the moment.”
She glanced at him sharply. “You are trying to pick me up.”
“Is it working?”
They gazed at each other once more. A very subtle, very appealing flush stole over her cheeks.
“Mr. Mclntyre—”
“‘Colin.’”
“Mr. McIntyre, I saw a video of the Bayview rescue. You were quite impressive.”
“What video?” he asked indifferently.
She swirled the tea bag in her cup. “You’re being deliberately obtuse. You must know your rescue of that child made the national news. And so, of course, did you. Not that you were cooperative about giving an interview.”
“Never did care for journalists.” He’d finished his pancakes. Denise promptly appeared and placed a fresh stack in front of him.
“You’re having more?” Alex asked disbelievingly.
“Pancake special is all you can eat,” Denise supplied. “And Colin has a healthy appetite.”
“Thanks, Denise,” Colin said pointedly.
“Oh, you want me to leave.” With a sarcastic little wave, Denise went off to another table.
“Let me guess,” Alex said. “Ex-girlfriend.”
“No. Denise was too smart to ever get involved with me.”
Alex appeared to give this some thought. “Anyway,” she went on in a determined voice, “a colleague of mine recorded you on the news and sent the video to me. She thought you’d be an excellent candidate for a study I’m conducting. I believe she’s right.”
Colin poured more blueberry syrup. “You know,” he said, “someday I’ll have to ask Maggie exactly what’s in this stuff.”
“Mr. Mclntyre—Colin. Ignoring me won’t make me go away.”
“I’m not ignoring you,” he said, his gaze lingering on her. He liked the way the flush deepened in her cheeks.
“Now, here’s the deal,” she muttered. She leaned toward him, her brown eyes serious, intent. “I’m doing an in-depth study of the Type R male. Rescuers—men who risk their lives for others. And after I saw you on that video... well, the rest is simple. When I called your number in California, your boss told me you were visiting out here—and I got on a plane from Chicago as soon as I could.”
Too bad Alex Robbins wasn’t just a pretty girl in a diner. “So you want me to be a kind of guinea pig,” he said.
“That’s a crude way of putting it. I just want to find out what motivates someone like you, what makes you choose a job where you risk your life for others.”
Maybe he was through with the pancakes after all. He took some bills from his wallet and put them on the table. “My treat,” he said.
“I can pay for my own breakfast,” she objected.
He stood. “Nice talking to you, Alex.”
She stared up at him. “Is this your way of telling me I won’t get anything from you but a free breakfast?”
“I don’t think I’d make a very good guinea pig,” he remarked. “Besides, you’re not sure about it yourself. You don’t want to be here. This whole time you’ve been debating whether or not you even want to talk to me. For a shrink, you’re kinda easy to read, Alex Robbins.”
She looked exasperated. “I’m not giving up,” she said.
“Could be fun, you not giving up.”
She looked more annoyed than ever.
“See you around, Alex,” he said, and then he left the diner.
“HERB—YOU HERE?” Colin’s voice echoed along the mine shaft. His flashlight glimmered across the walls of gray rock, where whitish beads of moisture had formed. In another hundred years or so those beads might evolve into small crystals. Another thousand years after that and the crystals might form the beginnings of stalactites and stalagmites. Life moved slowly underground—very slowly.
“Herb,” Colin called again.
“Hold on...no need to shout.” Colin’s grandfather came trucking along the shaft from the opposite direction, his own flashlight sending a wavering beam through the darkness. “What are you doing down here, Colin? I told you when you were a kid—these tunnels aren’t safe. Heard me say anything different since?”
“If they’re not safe, what are you doing here?” Colin inquired reasonably.
Herb shone his flashlight over the walls. “Difference is, I know this place inside out. I know this mine better than anyone.” A quiet pride had come into his voice.
“Yeah, well...I need to talk to you. Can we get out of here?”
Now Herb shone his flashlight in Colin’s eyes. “Still don’t like it down here, eh?” he asked skeptically. “Even after all these years?”
Some things you just didn’t forget. Colin had only been eight the time he’d gotten lost in the mine, but he still remembered: the darkness pressing down on him, the dampness of the sharp rock walls against his frantic fingers, the wavering sound of his own voice echoing back to him. It had taken six hours for his father to find him... six long hours until he was in his dad’s strong arms and felt he could breathe again. That was the most vivid image he’d kept of his father. Knowing that his dad wasn’t afraid. Not of the mine—not of anything. And Perhaps that was when Colin himself had vowed never to be scared of anything again.
“All right, all right,” Herb grumbled now.
He led the way up the slope, and he and Colin emerged onto the side of the mountain. The pungent smell of pine surrounded them. Herb didn’t bother to take off his battered old miner’s hat. It was probably the same one he’d worn as a sixteen-year-old, when he’d first started working underground. But now the mine was played out, abandoned. And Herb was a long way past sixteen. The deep grooves etched into his face reminded Colin of the mine walls, scarred by the years but ever enduring.
Herb looked Colin over. Colin knew that expression. The whole time he’d been growing up he’d had the feeling he was on probation with his grandfather—Herb waiting to see how he turned out before giving the okay. Colin was almost thirty-eight, but he still felt he was waiting for Herb to pass final judgment. It made for a certain restraint between the two of them. Maybe that was why he called the old man “Herb” instead of the more relaxed “Herbie” everyone else had adopted.
