Page 1 of The Awakening
Chapter One
Gavin
My boots crunched in the fresh snow, the sound loud in the stillness of the cold evening. I stepped with care, knowing that a hard-packed sheet of ice had formed beneath. It didn’t matter how many times I shoveled the path from the barn; the snowfall was relentless this high in the mountains. The only thing more oppressive than the endless snowfall was the bone-chilling cold. When I’d come to Montana to escape my family and the failed expansion of my company, I hadn’t realized how long the days would be or how hard I’d have to work.
Sure, I had worked on a ranch in Texas, but the elements had worked in my favor more often than not, and the ranch hands were more experienced. Fewer people knew what they were doing here in Montana. My brothers and I had started from scratch a few years ago, and we’d been struggling to get reliable workers ever since.
I’d been asked to step in when our ranch manager up and left. We didn’t have anyone to fill the role, and since I was the only brother without a wife or kids, I’d take over the responsibilities.
The sun had set while I was in the barn bedding the horses down for the night. They were the only tolerable part of being here. They never argued, and I could talk to them about my problems or rant about how inexperienced everyone was around here without the threat of gossip.
I took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, the little hairs in my nose freezing from the invasion of cold. The one thing about mountain air in winter was that it had a way of cleansing a person’s frustrations. I rounded the corner to the cabin, finding light from the kitchen window casting across the snow.
I hadn’t left that on.
The single-person log cabin had been built long ago out of hand-hewn logs and had to be maintained every spring. It was the oldest structure on the ranch. With just a kitchen and a bedroom, it was easy to heat using the firewood I chopped specifically for the purpose. I climbed the stairs, noticing the faint outline of footprints on the steps.
Was someone inside?
Very few people knew of this cabin. I opened the door as quietly as I could while I knocked the snow off my boots. I stepped inside and slipped off my winter coat and hung it on the hook. The house was warm, a fire burning in the hearth. A soft humming that came from the kitchen was the only sound besides the crackle of logs. The sweet melody eased my nerves, disarming me. My footsteps were deliberate as I side-stepped a known squeaky floorboard and followed the sound.
In the kitchen, a woman with long fiery red hair stood in front of the stove, her back to me. Hair as vibrant as the sky when the late summer sun set on the horizon swished across her back as her hips swayed to the rhythm of whatever she was listening to in the earbuds nestled in her ears. I smiled, realizing my quiet approach had been unnecessary. The upset of a home invasion was long forgotten as I admired her perfect, round ass thathugged tightly in her jeans and the long, slender legs that acted as a pedestal for the goddess-like woman in front of me.
I leaned on the archway, folding my arms across my chest. “What are you doing in my house?”
The swaying stopped as she froze in place. She shifted her bare feet on the tile and turned, looking at me. Her green eyes were as big as dinner plates, her body rigid like she was trying to decide if she should attack or scream and run.
But there was only one way out.
And I was between her and the only exit. She looked at the door, then she looked back at me.
Scream it was.
My eardrums vibrated as a scream piercing enough to start an avalanche threatened to shatter them. “Hey, hey. Lady, stop screaming.”
Closing the gap between us, I reached out to touch her shoulder, a move meant to soothe her, but the second I made contact, my cheek stung, and I felt the wet warmth of whatever she was cooking splatter on my face and nose.
Okay, so I’d missed the wooden spoon she had in her hand, but I was intimately familiar with it now.
She stopped screaming with the shock of hitting me. I couldn’t deny my ears were happy for the silence.
I wiped what I realized was tomato sauce from my face with the sleeve of my work shirt. “What are you doing here?” I asked through gritted teeth.
This woman didn’t look much over twenty. Her features were delicate, and her skin as smooth as porcelain. She looked like a doll.
A doll with a wicked arm.
“Matt said I could stay here for a while.” Her voice was soft, and she let her gaze drop to the floor.
“Who?” The name wasn’t familiar to me, but maybe he was a local who knew about this place but didn’t realize I’d moved in.
“Matt Riley. He’s a ranch hand here and a friend of mine.” She took a step back and bumped into the stove. “Sorry,” she said as she turned to the gas range.
Despite her wooden-spoon wielding skills, it was difficult to feel threatened by a woman who apologized to inanimate objects. She would be a harmless house guest for the night, of that I was convinced. Besides, I hadn’t seen a vehicle in the driveway. The ranch hand must have dropped her off. And I wasn’t about to send her out into the cold, dark night alone.
“Now that I know why you’re here, will you tell me who you are?” Moving to the table, I sat and waited for her to respond.
“Elyse Bowers. I live around here.”
