Page 1 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

Chapter One

Zoe

Ichecked my GPS—2235 miles.

That was how far I’d run from a man who’d broken into my house and tried to kill me.

Years ago, I’d read about things like this, an angry boyfriend, a jealous ex-husband, even a bitter mistress who wanted to take your place. Back then, it was somebody-else’s-problem, not mine. Until it happened to me.

This time—I had no idea who had attacked me. I had no revengeful exes or some woman out there decided on getting me…but I knew why.

That why led to something that would lead to someone.

Being a whistleblower was more of a curse than a blessing.

Squinting, I looked at the faint sign for the inn at Silver Ridge, Montana, at the base of Mt. Ascension Park, where I was to stay for a few months while the police and FBI tried to find the man who’d almost choked me to death.

“Whispering Pines Inn,” I said while driving down the main street. “It should be somewhere around here.”

This really was a one-horse town; the main street didn’t even have a stoplight at the T-section. At the very end of the road, another sign indicated right to the inn. While driving through the outskirts, I’d seen the set-up of a…rodeo? I don’t know. They didn’t have rodeos in New York.

The road to the inn was dark, but at least it wasn’t riddled with potholes and ditches. About a mile in, I came up to a clearing with a brick cabin. It was dark, but one light was on because someone was expecting me. Parked, I looked at the folder on the passenger seat.

I plucked it up again and read over my new identity: Zara Harrington, twenty-seven years old, the newest secretary to Warrick Donovan. He owned the Flathead Ranch but was in town overseeing the rodeo and staying at this inn. The FBI handler had contacted him as a talent recruitment officer and told him his new hire was on the way.

I’d be meeting him for breakfast.

Shoving the file into my purse, I left the car, tugged the suitcase and duffel out, hauled it to the flat steps, and felt dew wet the feet of my jeans as I headed on.

“Jesus, this is heavy,” I grunted while dragging the suitcase up. I’d forgotten it only had one wheel.

Knocking on the door, I shivered with the cold wind coming off the mountain beyond us. I banged again. Jesus, it was cold up here. I knew New York was cold, but this was beyond cold. I’d need a sweater under a cardigan, under a woolly mammoth coat.

The door creaked open. A woman stood there, with shoulder-length, curly grey hair, clad in a simple button-down and a pair of khakis. “Miss Zara, I presume?”

“Yes,” I said, shivering. “May I come in, please? It's freezing out here.”

“Oh yes, yes, please,” she said, crow’s feet crinkling at the sides. “I’m Laura Bennet, the innkeeper. Please, come in.”

I yanked the suitcase in. “I am so sorry I kept you up so late.”

She waved. “Don’t worry about it. The night manager covered for me earlier, so I am taking over for him now. It might not look like it, but we get a lot of late-night drop-ins, even in this rural neck of the woods.”

I rubbed my cold hands. “If you don’t mind me asking, how are you not an icicle?”

She laughed, blue eyes merry. “I was born here, Miss Zara; I don’t feel it, but I suppose outsiders would. So, I have you checked into Cabin 22, and while we don’t have dinner, we offer a happy hour with appetizers and lay out a full breakfast in the morning. We’ve stocked the cabins with tea bags, sugar, liquid milk, and sachets of powder creamer.

“I don’t mind,” I replied, as she spun a book toward me.

“Drop your John Hancock here and add your cell,” she said.

“Erm,” I grimaced. “I lost my phone two days ago and didn’t get a chance to get a new one.”

“No problem,” Laura said cheerily. “We have an all-good store around here where you can literally buy anything from a pin to an anchor. Hank Garrison will have what you need, I can assure you.”

Smiling, I dropped my new signature on the paper and sighed, “I need some shut-eye.”

“I’ll show you to your cabin,” Laura said, grabbing a set of keys. “C’mon.”

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