Page 1 of Forsaken Mountain Man
CHAPTER ONE
CORA
Three days after I left Red Hart Ranch and headed into the rugged mountains behind the big house, I found Bode Hunter’s cabin.
I hadn’t planned on tackling the entire hike to the estranged artisan gem carver’s hut quite so quickly, but the weather closed in on me during day one, so I made tracks to avoid getting soggier than a wet wolf in springtime. Tracks I sloshed about on the rough and ready not-trail that I forged myself, because apparently I managed to lose the one both Travis and Trader Kyle mentioned could disappear on me at a moment’s notice.
That didn’t stop me from heading in the direction of my ultimate destination: the remote, reclusive man who carved Red Hart’s Yogo sapphires by hand into intricate works of art. The man who I needed to convince to sell his wares to the only nearby jewelry store: White Cap’sGem on the Rangewhere I’d worked for the past three years, sourcing some of the most unique jewelry and suppliers in northern Montana.
White Cap sat a good few hours from Red Hart Ranch, run by a pair of twins, Travis and Eve. Bode Hunter’s cabin was… well,three days’ walkwas the most accurate gauge I had after that, because with no path and a mud map in hand plus no vehicle access in sight, there wasn’t any other way I could describe the mountain man’s choice of living situation.
Except maybe beautiful.
Rugged. Remote.
These trees I walked beneath only saw attrition from their fellows or in a storm. No roads or other damage felled their thick trunks out here, apart from the small clearing around Bode Hunter’s rustic, hand built hut.
And for the last few days, I’d wondered what on earth had happened to this man that made him want to walk away from the rest of humanity, leaving society so far behind that he refused to come back, and exist alone out here.
Not that I truly questioned his life choices. I mean, the man was an artist and, from trader Kyle’s samples spread over the twins’ table back at the Red Hart big house, Bode obviously had talent and inspiration aplenty out here. His carvings of their rough stones were incredible. Animals, plants, leaves, flowers. Every aspect was captured in lifelike, stunning detail. I could see those carvings fitted into fine gold pieces that would be heirloom keepsakes passed down for generations.
That was the level of skill the man who I hunted—ha, pun intended—today, possessed. And I’d walked all the way out here to locate him. Having found his house, I considered the job fifty percent complete. But the yard was empty and no smoke rose from the chimney, considering the chill in the air at this altitude with the whisper of winter’s tendrils in the air.
I should know. I didn’t stop walking for the first day in an effort to dry the only clothes I brought with me—the ones on my back that started drenched in the sudden deluge the moment I passed the only other hut out here. That one belonged to Walker Roan. But he was busy building, orrebuilding, his mountainview home to accommodate a growing family of his own. I had no intention of interrupting his slice of peace.
And so I powered on to end up here.
Alone.
My intended destination.
“Hello, the house,” I called, not wanting to interrupt the man in his private space or scare him.
Maybe he was as soft and quiet as his art suggested? Trader Kyle had gifted me a carved bitterroot bloom, its petals curved so slightly that I swore the entire bud would fold in my fingers the moment I closed my hand, and disappear before I opened it again, such was Bode Hunter’s skill. I’d opened my fingers on more than one occasion to check it still existed and hadn't crumbled away while I wasn't looking.
I stopped walking, though I rubbed my thumb over the gem’s center more than once, for luck. The stone seemed to warm between my fingers just before I slipped it back into my pocket.
My mouth opened, but I didn’t call out again. The yard’s sense of stillness left me in a quiet mode I wasn't used to after seventy-two hours and change of constant motion with little sleep. My nerves buzzed beneath my skin with the need to complete my mission before I crashed out and headed back, but I had to face it: the house appeared deserted.
Even the birds had stopped singing.
The implications of that thought caught up with me way too late, along with the crack at my back.
I squeezed my eyes shut, already muttering under my breath. “Seriously, now?” I pivoted slowly on my heel, hands half raised. I hoped it was the right sort of bear to get myself big for, and not the death dealing sort.
Or a not-bear, at all. Yes. Not-a-bear would be a whole lot better right now.
My circle completed, I found myself peering at a dark, hair covered face with matching dark eyes. The beast who stared down at me from a towering height growled, too. I wondered if I should answer in kind, then decided against it as folly.
Because this particular beast held a rifle with the wrong end pointed at me so close I swore I could see his eye through the other end of the scope.
Not true, but the comical impression left me giggling at an inopportune moment.
My not-a-bear man stared me down a second longer, then lowered his weapon.
“What the hell are you doing on my land?” he groused, still glaring at me.
Maybe the artisan wasn’t a soft man after all. But at least I’d completed my mission. Good thing, because my legs were ready to give out and I could do with that sleep now that I'd missed for the past few days. I managed a wan smile as I stumbled backward, all too aware of his muttered curses as he discarded the rifle and lunged forward to catch me as I dropped.
