Page 2 of Unintentionally Yours

Layla surged forward, nearly weeping with relief. Shelter. Warmth.

***

Finn Brody paused on a narrow outcropping of rock, calloused fingers tightening around the battered grip of his camera as he surveyed the rugged terrain through the high-powered lens.

At over six feet of solid muscle, Finn cast an intimidating figure even against the vast backdrop of mountains. His body was a roadmap of scars and ridges, souvenirs from a decade spent in the most unforgiving warzones on earth. Each puckered furrow or pitted divot held a story - of sacrifice, suffering, and bloodshed.

Among them was the silver gash along the left side of his face, a ragged smile carved from his tanned cheek to his tightly-trimmed hairline. The legacy of a roadside bomb that had abruptly ended his military career several years earlier. That fateful explosion had nearly stolen his sight, along with any hopes of continuing his service. The fact that he could still see the grandeur before him was something he would never take for granted.

Now that his military career had ended, he lived on a secluded mountain in Sheridan, Wyoming. Far from civilization. Far from people. Alone. Which was precisely what he wanted. People made him nervous. People were dishonest.

But up here, he could escape the ghosts and memories that haunted him. Here, he had finally found a semblance of peace.

Finn rocked back on his heels to study the darkening horizon. The last fading rays of the afternoon sunlight were being swallowed by the cobalt shadows fast approaching. It was still early spring so storms were sometimes a guessing game. Rain or snow? Today, Finn thought it was just a heavy thunderstorm, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He packed up the rest of his gear and headed down the mountain.

He’d been watching a female wolf and her pups for several months. Today, he hadn’t spotted them. Probably because the wolf had more sense than him and had sensed the approaching storm. He kept his eyes peeled as he walked down the mountain. The wolf was elusive and careful, watching over her pups carefully. He had seen the male only a time or two before.

The wind picked up, rushing through the pines and carrying an array of scents. Finn inhaled; his attention caught by a shadowy overhang rimming the densely-timbered ravine...

There.

A darker shadow. A moving shadow that finally emerged as the unmistakable outline of a fully grown wolf. A massive predator loping silently through rocks and trees. The thick ruff of his slate-colored pelt conformed to every rippling muscle and sinew coiling his athletic body. Finn followed the sleek form with his camera, clicking away to capture the male’s dominating presence. Behind him was his mate. Her smaller legs carried her with the same fluid grace, perfectly adapted to the unforgiving terrain.

Behind the adults were two impossibly small bundles of animated fluff – the wolf pups. They yapped and frolicked bravely behind their mother and father. The wolves moved carefully through the forest, a family seemingly out for a hike.

An unaccustomed sense of wistfulness filled Finn. A family. Something he’d longed for once upon a time. Now that dream had been pushed so deep inside him, he wasn’t sure it would – could – ever see the light of day again. When he’d been injured, his fiancée had walked away without a backward glance.

Finn’s grip on his camera tightened as he continued to take pictures, despite his turbulent thoughts. Was he truly so different from the elusive male wolf? A hardened loner doomed to wander? Or could he, too, find the one to be his mate?

He shook away the thoughts as the wolves melted into the forest, seeming to disappear as suddenly as they had appeared. He pulled his weatherproof jacket tighter and trudged onward, leaning into the gusts that now whipped around him. He embraced the elements; having come to love whatever this mountain gave him.

***

By the time she reached the cabin, Layla was a breathless, bedraggled mess. But the sight of it made her breathe easier. It looked like something out of a fairytale. A very expensive fairytale, she thought, looking at the large logs and stone chimney. It wasn’t huge, but it appeared that money had not been an issue in its construction. She staggered up the wooden steps to the porch, her hair hanging now in sodden ropes around her face. Gathering the tattered remains of her dress, she raised a hand to knock...only to find the door already slightly ajar.

Layla hesitated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. It was probably a bad idea to just waltz into a strange cabin in the middle of the woods. Horror movies had taught her that much. But the alternative—staying out here in the freezing rain with night fast approaching—was even less appealing.

Deciding to chance it, Layla pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Hello?” she called out, wincing as her voice echoed through the empty interior. “Is anyone home?”

Silence. Nothing but the steady patter of rain on the roof and the occasional groan as the wind rushed around the cabin. Well, she’d worry about the legality of breaking and entering later. Right now, she just wanted to be warm and dry. She bit her lip, thinking her next move might be even more adventuresome than running from the church.

Shutting the door behind her, she fumbled along the wall for a light switch, breathing a sigh of relief as warm, buttery light flooded the space, revealing a cozy living area straight out of Cabela’s catalog. It was giving off a very masculine vibe, a very Brawny Paper Towel Guy kind of vibe. Worn leather furniture clustered around a stone fireplace. She was surprised there were no hunting trophies adorning the walls. Instead, there were beautiful photographs of wildlife and landscapes. Layla ran an appreciative hand over the spines of the books lining the built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace. Lots of non-fiction. Biographies of adventurers and explorers. Books on the military, survival skills, and wildlife.

Her stomach chose that moment to emit an embarrassingly loud gurgle. Right. Food. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper meal, what with her mother insisting she needed to lose a few pounds before the big day. This morning, the scale had told her she’d failed in that objective.

Out of habit, she took off her sneakers before padding into the adjoining kitchen. She winched as the sodden hem of her dress left a trail of muddy water in its wake, mentally placing it on her growing list of things to deal with later. The space was spotless—gleaming countertops, shiny appliances, not so much as a dirty dish in the sink. Whoever owned this place clearly took pride in keeping things tidy.

Layla pulled open the refrigerator, finding a bounty inside. It was stuffed to bursting with fresh produce, various meats and cheeses, and even a few bottles of craft beer. Her gaze settled on the pantry next, hope flaring anew in her chest. She rummaged through the shelves, shoving aside boxes of protein bars and bags of trail mix until...eureka! Her hand closed around a can of sour cream and onion potato chips.

Layla popped the lid, practically salivating as the tangy aroma of artificial flavoring hit her nostrils. She snagged a chip, shoving the entire thing in her mouth with a blissful moan. She munched happily, savoring the treat. A giddy thought struck her as the salty, crispy snack melted on her tongue. What if this was fate? What if the owner of this cabin, with his excellent taste in chips, was her soulmate? Afterall, she felt as if she was trapped in some type of reverse fairytale? What princess ever ran away from the prince?

She snorted. The only thing Randall had in common with a fairytale prince was, not to be unkind, his two-dimensional personality. She promptly returned her wistful thoughts.

If only they were here now. And single. And interested. Minor details, she thought with a smile. Her first one of the day.

Munching contentedly, Layla resumed her exploration of the cabin until she almost tripped over her wedding gown. She was still wearing the ruined, waterlogged garment. The fabric was heavy and clammy against her skin.

“Oh, screw it,” she muttered. She reached for the zipper, having to contort her body into all sorts of unlikely positions as she attempted to wiggle free. Finally, the dress dropped to the hardwood floor in a soggy heap. Kicking it aside, she picked up her can of chips and continued down the long hallway. As she walked, she grew colder, still wearing her wet undergarments. She took off her thigh high stockings, throwing them to the floor before taking another few steps. Next, she removed the breath-stealing corset that had left red welts on her sides and breasts. Then her panties, and finally, her veil. Just outside the bathroom door, she stood naked, her wedding finery strown behind her like a weird line of flower petals. Maybe she could just burn them and pretend this day never happened.

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