Redemption (Three's Allowed, Book 4)

By Laura Harner

Two’s company. Three’s a...temptation. A hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon isn’t supposed to be an erotic adventure. Dr. 'Gabe' Gabriel is more than a little turned on by the young couple he meets on the trail but he doesn’t do threesomes anymore. Someone always gets hurt.

Not everything is what is seems and despite a close encounter of the intimate kind, Uriah and Diane are here for a reason. Leaving any possibility of romance behind, they head to the inner canyon and the isolation they need.

Reunited by chance, the threesome’s mutual attraction is hotter than the scorching Arizona desert in the middle of August. Still, secrets have a way of chilling the strongest passion, especially a secret holding a gun, and a heart cold enough to pull the trigger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura Harner
• Release date: Jun 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781937252205

Laura Harner

Laura lives on waterfront property in Arizona because she's always wanted to be an oxymoron. She once enjoyed hobbies such as gardening and travel—now the characters in her head compel her to tell their stories, so she writes. (It doesn't actually help quiet the voices—but it keeps the folks in the white jackets at bay.)She shares her home with an ever-revolving cast of characters—some of whom are actually real—and is living her dream of building her own version of the Willow Springs Ranch.With over fifty published novels and novellas, Laura is an international bestselling author of erotic romances, romantic suspense, urban fantasy, and Highland romances. Her books can be found at all major online retailers.Connect with her online at:http://lauraharner.com

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Copyright

Redemption: Three’s Allowed is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Laura Harner

Cover photograph by DWS Photography

Cover Art by Laura E. Harner

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition Published in the United States by Hot Corner Press

ISBN: 978-1-937252-19-9

Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any many without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this book.

Contact the publisher for further information: [e-mail]

Dedication

To my loyal readers. The Three’s Allowed Series has always been your favorite, so I thought it fitting to place this story in Grand Canyon National Park, a place I lived and worked for eight years.

I would also like to offer a special thank you to Jae Ashley, Lee Brazil, and Tom Webb for your many contributions.

And as always, thank you Dan for helping to bring the image in my head to life through your photography.

Trademarks Acknowledgement:

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

Suburban: General Motors Corporation

Sig: Sig Sauer Inc.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Meet the Author

Chapter One

The doors opened with a whoosh and Dr. Richard Gabriel pushed through, blasted by the baking heat of a late summer night in Phoenix. The sirens growled to a stop, and blue and red flashed from the vehicles in the drive. Orders were shouted, emergency gurneys snapped into position, and the tense EMT at his side murmured updates even as the hospital staff rushed to take possession of the patients.

Gabe? Doctor Gabriel! Did you hear me? Toby, one of the older paramedics yelled over the commotion. Grabbing Gabe’s arm and tugging, he brought Gabe’s focus to the stretcher and the young man who needed his help.

He hasn’t regained consciousness. Blood pressure is still dropping. Had to wait for Fire Rescue to cut him out. Right leg looks to be just about gone, Toby reported tersely as they ran toward the treatment room in the ER.

What happened? Gabe asked.

Dust storm on I-17. No idea how many cars. This kid was in an accordion. Name’s Kirk Garland. Sixteen, on his way back from a weekend baseball tournament in Tucson. Fuck.

Carter, Gabe called to the head triage nurse. I need this one to go straight up to OR—

His words cut off as the heart monitor went from an erratic pattern to a steady tone. There was a momentary a lull and all faces in the crowded emergency room turned in his direction. He saw the looks: anxiety, pity, grim determination. Then the other ER staff went on with their own crises, and prayed the same thing wouldn’t happen to them.

Crash Cart, Code blue, Gabe snapped. "On three, transfer.

Toby locked the wheels and the staff surrounding the kid used the edges of the sheet to shift him to the more stable ER bed.

Everything happened according to the way they practiced. Bare chest. Paddles. Clear. Spasm. Stethoscope. Nothing. Paddles. Clear. Spasm. Stethoscope. Nothing. And again. And again. Until hands pulled him and the voice penetrated his saturated brain.

He’s gone. Kirk is gone and we’ll never get him back. You fucking killed my son! You drunk son of a bitch, you killed my son!

With a startled gasp, Gabe woke, feeling disoriented, lost in the nightmare.

A quick flare of orange told him exactly where Melody stood in the dark room. He heard her hard pull on the cigarette, then the prolonged exhale. As his head cleared, the fuzzy realization hit that she had been standing there watching him fight his demons and had done nothing to help.

*

Two hours later, Gabe shoved the final box into the back of his SUV and slammed the cargo door. He wished he could close the driver-side door with the same finality and leave, but good manners demanded otherwise.

You don’t have to go back, you know, Melody said. For perhaps the hundredth time in the past two weeks.

Yes, Mel, I do. You know I do. Look, we’ve been over this. We both knew this was a temporary gig for me. Just a way to get out of the Phoenix heat for the summer. I have to get back to my practice. Gabe climbed the steps to the singlewide trailer that served as employee housing for the transient medical staff of the clinic in Grand Canyon National Park. He took the petite blonde’s face in his hands and felt the slight trembling of her body. After their short eight weeks together, he realized what she would try to disguise as pain or passion was nothing more than rage at her status as dumpee rather than dumper. Knowing made the goodbye much easier. He just wanted to be finished.

Look. We agreed, Mel. Neither of us was looking for something permanent. Don’t make this any harder. I’m not going to change my mind.

Well, God forbid! I wouldn’t want to make anything too hard for the self-important Dr. Richard Gabriel. Go ahead, Gabe—go back to your life, to your boy toys, your kinky club, to your bottle. I’ll be watching for the headlines when you crash and burn!

Wow. The real Melody Case just showed up to the party, huh? I thought we had a chance to remain friends, even though we both knew we wouldn’t stay lovers. Guess I can just add this time with you as yet another of my failings. Good to know. With a wave of his hand and without a backwards glance, Gabe climbed into his SUV and backed out of the small lot.

*

After a quick stop at the small market, Gabe was ready for the final two weeks of his summer hiatus. He parked as close to the lodge as he could and made one last phone call.

Hello?

Marcus! I’m checking in before I head down…as I promised, Gabe told his old friend.

Hey, Gabe, all packed? And did you dump the old bag? Marcus and his partners Jolynn and Max had visited the Grand Canyon for a long weekend and been less than impressed with Melody. Now that his three friends were in a committed relationship, they’d forgotten what it was like to be lonely. It was galling to admit they were right.

Yep. You were right; she didn’t take it well. Anyway, my boxes are in the Suburban. I sent my full pack and sleeping bag down yesterday with the supply mules. I’ve got a cabin at Phantom Ranch for two days, then I’ll be in the backcountry for the rest of the week. My hiking plan is on file with the permit office. Quit worrying, Marcus. I saw enough hiking and heat related injuries working at the clinic this summer. Believe me…I know how to stay safe.

Gabe tucked his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he could stuff the fifth of whisky into his daypack. He slipped in a couple of smaller bottles. Just in case. He wasn’t going to mention his last minute purchases to Marcus. With a jolt, he suddenly realized his friend’s concern might be related to After Hours, the ultra-private BDSM club owned by Max and Marcus. Gabe served as the club’s on-call physician, in the rare instance someone got hurt, despite the rules and the member screening.

Dr. Jerome is still covering for me, right? he asked.

"Don’t be an ass, Gabe. We miss you. We’re worried about you. Not the club."

Well, stop. I’m not one of your subs, Marcus. He laughed at the thought. I’m just going on a hike. I’m looking forward to finally getting to the bottom of this big ditch and see what I’m made of.

All right, Gabe, but you call me the minute you get back to the top next week. Stay sober, babe. See you soon. Marcus sounded especially serious when they ended the call, and guilt washed over Gabe. He made a silent promise to stop drinking after he finished the bottles he’d just tucked away.

****

If you tell me to hurry up one more time, Uriah Wadsworth, I’m going to push you off the next available ledge. The harsh words snapped off with the precision of gunfire, but the woman’s voice was soft southwest layered with maybe a little bit of Texas. Considering they were at Indian Garden, with another three miles of descent before they reached the floor of the canyon, it wasn’t exactly an idle threat.

"Fuck off, Diane. Pick up your damn pack and let’s go. We’re over halfway to the bottom. You know what they say…it’s all downhill from here." The male’s sneering counterpoint sliced across any further comment the woman might have made. Without waiting to see if she followed, the man loped off down the trail, leaving his companion scrambling to her feet from the small wooden bench in the shade.

Huh…Uriah Wadsworth and Diane. Gabe watched the little skirmish with interest. He was an unashamed voyeur of everyday life…and other things. These two definitely tweaked his interest. Talk about a match made in hell.

With a little grunt, the woman bent to pick up her pack from the dirt. She managed to get the bag onto her shoulders without help, but Gabe could see her strap was twisted, and the tube from her hydration pack swung uselessly behind her back. As she tried to steady the bag with one hand, she flailed the other hand behind her, trying to locate the tube that ran through her pack to the lifesaving water she would carry deeper into the canyon.

Gabe stood a little too quickly, ignoring the protest of his thighs at the sudden movement. Contrary to popular belief, it was the downhill portion of a hike in the canyon that was the hardest on the body. Let me, he said. He caught the rubber mouthpiece and threaded the tubing back through the plastic clips. He turned the pad and smoothed the nylon shoulder strap so it rested comfortably.

There you go, he said. He gave the woman’s shoulder a friendly pat as she fastened the waist strap. Her movement drew his attention to the damp T-shirt that clung to high, tight breasts. A good looking woman who nearly matched him in height at just a couple of inches less than six feet, with long, honey legs that seemed to stretch forever below her hiking shorts. Her long hair was matted with sweat and the color obscured by dust, but judging from her skin tone and hazel eyes, he thought she might be a dirty blonde. He bit back the laughter that threatened. Dirty blonde. God, I crack myself up sometimes.

Thanks, sugar, she said, but her gaze was turned