Page 2 of Mountain Man Daddy

In front of her, at the bottom of the hill, climbing over the guardrail was a moose. It stepped over with such ease it had to be six and a half feet at the shoulder easily.

Hullo, Bullwinkle, she thought, a dead calm sweeping away her panic.

It was the most majestic creature she’d ever seen—so wild and yet so unhurried. He belonged here. This was his land—road-be-damned.

Everything slowed, and despite her bowling toward the huge animal, serenity overtook her. Today she would die, but by nature and not at the hands of Alex’s killers. She would finally be at peace, and that was a relief.

The moose turned its glorious, long face toward her and one thought dominated her mind.Don’t be like Alex and take an innocent with you.

She cursed and yanked the wheel. Even though the roads were dry, without ice or snow thanks to the sun, she still spun in a full circle.

An incredible shrieking wail pierced the quiet as metal scraped metal and the Jeep tore through the guardrail and went down. It wasn’t a sudden drop, but a jarring roll through dense brush and trees. She jolted violently in her seat, the crushed front end pressing on her like a tombstone. Hot blood spilled down her face when her head collided with something. Various parts of her body screamed for attention, but when she focused on one pain, a new one joined the chorus.

She knew she’d be free soon, though—free ofallher pain. The idea calmed her further and slowed everything around her. The car would hit a tree, and she’d find release from the cage Alex had put her in, and like a bird, she’d flutter away. With that thought as her final one, the burgundy Jeep plowed into a huge pine tree, and with a sickening cry from her iron-tasting lips, she found blackness.

Chapter Two

Avery opened her eyes but shut them immediately as bright light seared through her brain like a hot poker. She opened them again, only a slit this time and shuttered them against the reflecting sun. She throbbed everywhere as she became fully conscious, but had no idea why. Her face was tight, swollen, and painful—then again, that’s how her whole body felt.

She moved cautiously but felt restrained, and the pain was so intense, she howled. When the cry trailed off, it dragged memories from the depths of her mind, but knowing where they were leading, Avery halted them. She tried to look at her surroundings, but her vision was both doubled and blurry. Where was she? Had she been caught? She moved her arms slowly to feel around her, but when she met resistance, her heart began to hammer. Did they have her tied down? Urgency welled in her. She struggled and then gasped at the pain that arced through her entire body until she slumped back into the dark.

When Avery opened her eyes again, there was no difference between the black of her mind and the black of reality. Crickets, though, there were crickets, and it was bitterly cold. Her brow tightened. Wasn’t it just morning a few minutes ago? How could it be night already? Again she wondered where she was. She breathed in deeply, although it hurt fiercely, and she wanted nothing more than to give in to the hushing sound in her ears. Pine, she smelled pine, earth, and blood. She gripped her thoughts to stay conscious, to fight for her life, but once again she slipped away.

* * *

“Rocky! Where you goin’?” Mike watched fondly as the bear’s backside jiggled as it ran around the side of the cabin down into the forest. He chuckled, shook his head, and slammed the ax into another log. It split, and Mike tossed the pieces onto the pile, the dense clunk as satisfying as the cracking split of wood. He could smell the smoke from his woodstove, and it, too, gave him a sense of well-being. He loved it here, hidden in the side of the mountain, far from people and the cruelty of a life left behind.

He unbuttoned his thick lined flannel lumber jacket to let the heat escape, and pushed his shoulder-length dirty blond hair back behind his ears. The task of chopping wood made the chill in the air welcome. The temperature had dropped suddenly again a few days ago so he doubted the snow that lined the mountain would be the last. The cold wasn’t enough to freeze everything solid again, but it wasn’t the eastern Ontario spring weather he’d grown up with either. He slammed the ax hard into his chopping block, and took a moment to cool off. His breath came out in a wispy cloud before disappearing.

The key to spring weather in the mountains was layering. The crisp air felt nice against Mike’s hot chest. He scanned the peak above the cabin before loading his arms with the logs. The sun was lowering and would soon fall behind the mountain. He took his time carrying the wood to the shed. There was no rush in his life now—no traffic, no noise, and the best part, no people. He grinned. He definitely didn’t miss people.

He dropped his log pile down on the shed floor and began loading the wood on top of the other neatly stacked logs. It was still two lines deep from floor to ceiling, but he needed more. He’d run out of wood earlier than planned, so whenever the temperature allowed it, he’d chop. The shed was plenty big enough for more, but it served as a workshop as well. He didn’t like it crowded—probably a quirk from years of living shoulder to shoulder in the big city, but crowded or not, he needed to fill it. It was only early April, and winter in the mountains persevered.

As Mike picked up his ax to start another pile, he glanced at the old checkered dog bed that Rocky’d had since he was a cub. It was too small, and Rocky’s body always hung off of it, but when Mike had bought a bigger version, Rocky refused to use it. The bed was empty then, as was the doghouse Mike had built for him.

Rocky had been hibernating in the doghouse up until a few weeks ago, although hibernating wasn’t quite the right word. He slept for days, sometimes weeks through winter, but he woke on warmer days and poked his head out to explore a little, or maybe it was to check on Mike. He chuckled at the thought. The bear was probably just making sure he hadn’t left him.

Rocky didn’t need Mike for food. He found his own sustenance. The only thing he got from Mike was companionship. Mike shook his head. Some scientist somewhere would have a heyday trying to figure them out if they knew. When he had chopped enough for ten more armloads, he took another break and looked down the mountain, attempting to spot Rocky. Something glinted from the valley. Mike grabbed the small pair of binoculars he always kept in his jacket pocket to keep an eye on his mountain.

He found the road first, and his eyes followed it, thinking maybe it was a stopped car, but instead he found the mangled guard rail.Shit.

He scanned the area in a grid pattern until the glint caught his eye again. A vehicle—even more twisted and misshapen than the guardrail. He also noted Rocky was there, pacing like a guardian, and that told him two things. The vehicle wasn’t empty, and the wildcat was near.

* * *

“What’ve you got, Rocky?”

A gruff voice pulled her from the darkness this time, but her eyes remained closed as she hovered on the edge of wakefulness. It could go either way, she thought and then gave one huff-like laugh. The moisture from her breath seemed to freeze on her lips.

Rocky?Honestly, she felt like she’d had one too many rounds with the Italian Stallion. Another humorless grunt followed as she thought of the moose.

“Rocky and Bullwinkle,” she murmured but before she could focus on which was the moose and which the squirrel, she slipped away again.

“If you’ve got time for old rerun television shows, you’ve got time for more chores.”

“But it’s funny, Grandmother. I like the way the moose talks.” The TV clicked off, and the rail-thin woman handed Avery a heavy bucket with water and a soapy sponge. She didn’t dare sigh or huff like she wanted to, but stood instead and asked where she was meant to scrub. This was why she kept her library books hidden beneath a loose floorboard in her closet. If she had time to read, she had time for more chores.

“Basement,” she said tersely and left Avery to carry the bucket down the steep staircase. Tonight, she’d readAnne of Green Gablesagain, if her hands weren’t too sore from scouring the cement floors.

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