Mountain Ambush

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She sensed he was processing her explanation. It didn’t surprise her that Dr. Spencer wasn’t one for prayer. He was a physician, a profession prone to big egos. Some docs didn’t feel the need to look outside themselves for guidance, comfort or emotional peace.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For not listening to me? I get it, you’re used to giving orders, not following them.”

“Not that. I’m sorry I dragged you into all this.”

“Hey, I chose to respond to the call in the mountains.”

“But not to do hand-to-hand combat with a psycho in my living room.”

“It’s good to know I still have my skills. Now shush, we need to listen.”

This whole apology and conversation moment in his bedroom felt unusually raw and authentic. She sensed his guard was down, probably because of the head injury, or because of the threatening encounter with the bearded guy. At any rate, a connection was developing between herself and Dr. Spencer, a connection that made her uncomfortable on so many levels.

Maddie had no interest in romance, especially not with a charming city doc she knew would grow tired of country life and flee town soon enough. And Maddie didn’t plan on leaving her hometown of Echo Mountain. This was where she belonged.

A crash echoed from the living room. She straightened.

“He broke another window. Determined, isn’t he?” she said, positioning herself between the door and Dr. Spencer. She gripped the hiking stick with white-knuckled fingers. If the guy made it into the bedroom, she wouldn’t hold back. She’d deliver a full-on assault, the goal being to knock him out.

Could she really do it?

She heard Spence rifling through drawers behind her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Looking for a weapon.”

“I got this.”

“I can’t sit here and do nothing,” Spence said.

Someone jiggled the nickel-plated door handle.

She adjusted her grip on the stick. “Got anything heavy, like a paperweight or rock or something?”

“I’ve got a salt lamp.”

“Get it and stand on the other side of the door. If he breaks in, I’ll lure him into the room and you whack him in the head with that thing.”

He glanced at the salt lamp in his hand with a distasteful expression. Maiming, killing, was not in his makeup.

Nor was it in hers. But before he’d abandoned her, Dad had taught her the importance of survival, a good thing since that kind of determination could very well save her life tonight.

She and the doctor waited for the assailant’s next move. Although Spence seemed fragile, he gripped the eight-inch oblong lamp with resolute focus. She sensed that he, too, would do what was necessary to survive.

“Dear Lord, give us courage,” she whispered.

The door handle rattled again, followed by a smacking sound, as if someone was kicking the door.

“And the strength to do what is necessary,” she continued.

Whack, whack.

Sirens wailed in the distance, sending a rush of relief through Maddie’s chest.

The intruder pounded one last time on the door, probably in frustration, and she heard footsteps echo across the living room.

“He’s leaving,” Spence said with surprise in his voice. He put down the salt lamp and went to open the door.

“No.” She blocked him. “Not yet. Let’s wait until we know it’s safe.”

“Right, okay.” He leaned against the wall, blinked a few times and lowered his head.

“Are you light-headed? Dizzy?” She propped the stick against the wall and gripped his arm.

He shook his head and wandered back to the bed. “I’m—”

“Don’t say it.” She sat beside him on the bed. “We both know you’re not fine. Neither am I.”

Her phone vibrated. “Hello?”

“We’re pulling up now,” Chief Walsh said. “Is he in the house?”

“I heard him flee the cabin, but we’re staying in the bedroom to be safe.”

“I’ll let you know when it’s clear.”

“Thanks.” She redirected her attention to Spence.

“This is happening because of me, because I did something that’s made me a target, and now you’re a target.” He caught her gaze for a brief second and then began pacing the room.

“Come on, this isn’t your fault,” she said.

He paced, rubbing his hands together, growing more agitated. Another symptom of the brain injury?

“What if Officer Carrington is hurt and Gwen doesn’t recover?” he said. “What if she dies?”

Maddie had to stop this frantic spin. “Hey, her injury wasn’t serious. She’s breathing on her own, remember?” She blocked him from pacing to the other side of the room. “Spence?”

“What do you think happened to Red?” he said.

“He’s a savvy and strong officer. He’ll be okay.”

“What if he’s wounded? I need to get out there and offer medical assistance.”

“Stop.” She placed her open palm against his soft cotton T-shirt. “Remember what they taught you in SAR? Don’t become another victim the team has to rescue. Let’s wait until we get the clear signal from Nate, then we’ll see if Red needs medical assistance.”

He turned and paced away from her. She sensed if the armoire wasn’t blocking the window he’d climb out and search the property for Red. He wasn’t unstable exactly, but he was definitely a tangle of emotions, especially guilt. That seemed irrational, making her question his condition. At times he seemed confused and agitated, and other times he could be totally calm, like when he’d asked her about karate and prayer.

She considered his decision to jump out of hiding to defend Maddie. Was that irrational or sensible? She could make an argument for both sides. It was irrational to expose his location, yet his motivation was pure, born of his protective instinct.

His actions exposed his good heart in wanting to protect Maddie.

Don’t go there, Madeline.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” he said in a soft voice.

“Why would you say that?”

“The look on your face.”

“I was thinking about something else.”

The thought of falling in love and being devastated again, because that’s what would happen. There hadn’t been enough excitement to keep Waylan in town, and there certainly wouldn’t be enough to keep a man like Kyle Spencer in Echo Mountain.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. Shocked by his touch, she looked up into his blue eyes.

“I am truly sorry. About everything,” he said.

“Stop apologizing. None of this is your fault.”

He studied her like he didn’t quite believe her words, but wanted to desperately. She also sensed he wanted something else. A hug?

Don’t do it, Maddie. The intensity of their situation was causing a visceral, emotional connection, nothing more. It wasn’t real.

“I can’t help it,” he said. “I hardly know you and yet you’ve saved my life what, three times now, and in doing so you’ve risked your own. You didn’t sign up for all this. You’re just a paramedic.”

The sting from his insult must have shown on her face because he put out his hand in a soothing gesture.