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Were they getting closer?
A sob tried to escape her, but her chest was too tight, her heart was racing too fast.
“Found her trail,” a man yelled. “This way!”
No. She bit her lip hard enough that she tasted blood, but she ignored it and pushed for more speed.
How much longer could she keep running?
Gemma shoved through some more trees…and came out at the edge of a river.
Oh, God.
One second the ground and trees were right there, and the next, her foot hit nothing but air.
She windmilled her arms, trying to stop her momentum. She had a brief moment to take in the tree-lined river and all the colorful leaves, then she was tumbling down the riverbank.
She might’ve screamed, she wasn’t sure. Something hit her head, and pain exploded through her skull.
She hit the water. It was a shock of cold.
After that, there was nothing but blackness.
* * *
“Okay, you stay in the truck.”Boone Hendrix turned off the engine and pulled out his keys. “I won’t be long.”
A low whine sounded from the seat beside him.
He turned to face his dog.
“I’ll be quicker by myself. We only need a few things. If you come, you have to flirt with everyone and explore. I want to get home so we can maybe do a bit of fishing before it gets dark.”
Atlas, his German Shepherd, whined again and edged closer. He butted his head against Boone’s side.
Boone let out a gusty sigh. “Fine.”
Atlas lifted his handsome head, his tail wagging.
“Manipulative, you are.” Boone opened the door and slid out. He held it as Atlas jumped down.
The German Shepherd was big, fit, and well-trained. He’d worked as a military dog until his handler had been killed in combat. Atlas hadn’t coped well and couldn’t go back to work.
Boone understood that feeling.
Atlas had come into his life just as Boone had left the military. When an Army friend had called, asking if he was interested in a dog, he’d said no. At the time, he hadn’t been interested in anything.
But he sure as hell hadn’t been able to let a dog—who’d served his country, no less—be put down.
So here he was, several years later, getting bossed around by the big furball. His boots crunched on the gravel as he walked toward the stone building that housed the local general store.
Haven, Vermont was tiny. It had one café, one hardware store, an auto shop, and the general store that sold a little bit of everything. That was about it. The best thing was that there weren’t too many people, and there were no reasons for tourists to venture this way.
It was a pleasant fall afternoon. It wasn’t too cold yet, but the evenings were starting to get chilly. Last night, Atlas had snuck into Boone’s bed. Something the spoiled dog tended to do in winter.
Boone pushed open the door, and a bell rang. The store was filled with shelves. There was a display of some baskets up front by the counter, filled with local produce. This time of year, it was pumpkins and apples.
An older man sauntered out of the back room. “Boone. How ya doing?”
