My pulse pounded in my head, and I slowed down my pace, jogging at a steadier speed and taking deep, calming breaths. But despite a week or two of inactivity, I was pretty sure the spiked heart rate had more to do with my thoughts than the activity.
I had to admit, it was a nice place to run. The rugged landscape was so different from all the green back home. It was almost like being on a different planet—perhaps Mars, since everything was so red.
Maintaining my slower speed, I jogged on, my eyes on the rocky hills in the distance. It wasn’t until I was almost level with it that I noticed the people in the tent. Well, it wasn’t really a tent. More like four poles with an awning on top. A couple of people huddled under it as they studied what looked to be computer monitors. It seemed like a strange place to watch TV, but to each their own. A dusty pickup truck was parked behind it.
I ran steadily on, matching my pace to the music in my ears while the dirt road inclined. I was so intent on not slowing on the way up the hill that it took a moment too long to register that I could hear noises through my earbuds. A loud roaring sound and shouting.
I halted and turned back to the tent with the monitors only to see several people racing toward me. The nearest one was waving and gesturing. I felt the ground tremble, and a shadow caught the corner of my eye. My mind went on high alert. It was clear that something was very wrong—I just didn’t know what it was. Or where it was coming from.
My heart hammered in my chest as I spun around just in time to see a car soar over the hill in front of me. Its wheels lifted off the ground as it caught air—and headed right toward me.
Instinctively, I ducked, even as my mind clamored in alarm. The car was too close. It was going too fast. Crouching down wouldn’t do any good, it was about to crush me—
And that was when someone tackled me, pushing me off the road and sending us both tumbling down the slope beyond.
2
Ronnie
Aches. Pain. Lots of both. Those were my first thoughts when I came to a stop on the hard ground. And noise—lots of that, too. Mostly shouting. I must’ve lost my earbuds as we tumbled over and over on our way down the rocky slope.
Wait, we?
I had no idea who the other half of “we” was, but the person sprawled over me was heavy and masculine. The hard muscles—the strong hands that still gripped me—the aftershave that spoke of pine forests… yep, he was definitely male.
Wiping a hand over my face, I tried to take stock, but I was pinned on my back. All I could see was the bright blue sky and a dusty clump of my own hair. I squirmed until I was able to work my arm out from under the guy on top of me. He’d saved me, and I needed to make sure he was okay—well, I needed to make sure both of us were okay—but first I needed to be able to see.
After I brushed my hair off my face, I could see better, but now my view was no longer of the sky. Instead, a large, round, heavily bearded face obscured my view. “Veronica?”
It was too late to pretend to be unconscious.
“Hi, Mac.” My voice was barely a croak, and I licked my lips, trying to regain some moisture. That was a big mistake—now I had dry dirt in my mouth. It was probably coating every inch of me. This was not how I’d imagined our reunion going.
“Are you okay?”
Mac seemed to be talking to both of us. With one long arm, he yanked the man off of me. My savior rolled over and sat up. With his weight off me, I could sit up, too. Mentally, I took inventory. My back and hips ached, but nothing seemed broken. I stretched my arms and legs, trying to check. My knee hurt the worst, but it didn’t feel as bad as when I’d torn a ligament a few years ago.
“Are you okay?” the man next to me asked, echoing Mac’s words. He looked to be in his late twenties. His wavy hair was dark, or at least it would’ve been without the red dust that covered both of us. The only parts of him that wasn’t currently tinged red were his light green eyes.
Uh-oh. I’d always been a sucker for men with light eyes that seemed to look right through you.
“I think so.” I wiped my hands off on my t-shirt, but it did little good.
Mac crouched down and held out a handkerchief. Memories hit hard. When I was a kid, he’d always had a handkerchief. I hadn’t thought about that detail in years. Decades, perhaps.