Page 2 of Her Mountain Man Outlaw
God, I really can’t catch a break.
I look back toward the firewood stand. The man who owns it must live nearby. I’ll have to find his cabin. The thought of wandering around the woods in a snowstorm trying to find a stranger’s home doesn’t sound all that appealing, but right now, it’s my only hope.
I keep hold of my phone to use as a flashlight, then reach for the door handle, about to open it. But something stops me. A shadow. Something is moving around the edge of my headlights, just out of sight. Something big.
My heart leaps to my throat, and I freeze, hardly daring to breathe.
Then, a giant steps into the light.
2
MADDOX
The woodshed is almostfull when I stack the final logs I chopped earlier, making sure there’s room for air to circulate. They’ll take a while to dry but should be ready to sell next winter. Firewood is in high demand around these parts. Hell, the wood I cut last year is selling like hotcakes. Feels like I’m always hauling firewood out to refill the stand at the end of the road. But it’s a good setup. Means I don’t have to talk to anyone. Even in the wilderness, interacting with people is a risk I don’t like to take. Luckily, people out here are honest enough. They always pay.
I straighten up and brush the wood dust from my palms. Then I grab a few bundles of last year’s wood, loading them onto my handcart and covering them with a tarp. I figure I might as well fill up the stand before I head back to my cabin, so I wheel the cart out of the woodshed, dragging it up the forest path. I barely even notice the snow pelting down through the canopies. Fifteen years on Cherry Mountain will do that to a man.
It’s pitch-black out here, but I know these woods like the back of my hand, and my eyes adjust to the darkness as I reach the firewood stand. I’m unsurprised to see several empty spaces, so I slot the new bundles in like blocks in a Jenga tower. I preferto refill the stand at night when nobody’s around. It’s safer that way.
Hiding out is pretty damn easy up here in the mountains. My cabin is off-grid, but I live close enough to Cherry Hollow to get everything delivered—from food to gasoline—so I never have to go out in public. I even built a little storage shed about a hundred yards away from my cabin, so drivers can leave packages without getting too close. No risks.
Well, almost no risks…
Once a month, I put on a baseball cap, pull it down low, and drive to a post office. Any post office—as long as it’s at least three hours away from my cabin. Has to be a different one each month. When I’m there, I send a money order to my little sister back in Florida. I can’t afford to send much, and I keep it anonymous, filling out the sender details with a fake name and address. But I hope Ruby knows it’s me. I hope she knows I haven’t forgotten about her…and that I’m sorry.
I shake off my thoughts and pocket the money from the cash box, when suddenly a glare of headlights crests the mountain road ahead. Instantly, I’m on high alert. I let go of the handcart and retreat into a thicket of pine trees, watching as the car pulls to a stop by the firewood stand.
Who the hell goes out to get firewood in the middle of a snowstorm?
I can’t help the flare of suspicion, the paranoia that floods my system. Even after all these years, I can’t stop looking over my damn shoulder, waiting for the flash of red and blue to appear. But this janky old car clearly isn’t a police vehicle. Hell, I’m surprised it made it this far up the mountain. I can make out the rust from here, the glow from the headlights illuminating patches of orange and brown.
Not a cop.
The tension eases, my shoulders relaxing a little as I watch the car door open. A shadowy figure climbs out. A woman. The light catches her as she walks around the front of the car, her breath misting in the air. She’s only visible for a moment, just long enough for me to catch sight of her thick curves and wavy brown hair before she fades into the darkness once more. Snow swirls around her car, flakes falling hard. The cold pricks at my face, but I don’t move. I’m totally frozen as I watch the woman’s shadow pay for a bundle of firewood before stowing it in the backseat of her car.
As she climbs into the front, the interior light flickers on. My pulse jumps. I can see her pretty face—plump lips, rounded cheeks. All soft lines and smooth skin.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
I feel like a creepy old man, watching her like this from the trees. But I can’t look away. A fierce protectiveness washes over me as I realize she’s seriously about to drive away in the middle of a snowstorm. She shouldn’t be out here. She should be tucked up somewhere, safe and warm.
Before I can decide what to do, I hear the crank and sputter of the car’s engine trying to start. The sound stops, then starts again, just audible over the icy wind. The girl’s face crumples. She keeps trying to turn the key, but nothing happens. Anxiety takes over, and she bites her lip, looking anxious as hell. I watch as she checks her phone and realizes how screwed she is. There’s no cell service out here. She won’t be able to call anybody. Right now, I’m this girl’s only option.
Goddammit.
Every instinct is telling me to turn around and go home. To let her figure something out and make her own way down the mountain. I’ve built my life around being invisible—sticking to the shadows. I’m not the kind of guy who helps strangers. But something twists inside me as I watch her—this beautiful youngwoman, stranded in the dark. She starts to shiver, cupping her hands and breathing into them to warm herself.
I don’t have a choice.
With a deep breath, I grit my teeth and step out of the trees.
3
SOPHIA
My heart thumpsas the giant steps toward me, looming out of the darkness like a mountain. He’s at least six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders and a burly chest wrapped up in a flannel shirt. He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen, and as he approaches my window, I feel my chest tighten. Not just the biggest man…the handsomest, too.
Am I hallucinating right now?
