Page 5 of Owned By the Mountain Man

The town reminds me of home, of the things I left behind. I rub my chest, the familiar ache sharper than usual. After I let this curvy thief go, I’ll be alone in the world again. Won’t feel her presence hovering all around me, making me feel like I have companionship.

It’s foolish thinking, and I know that. Forcing myself to pull it together, I leave the closet. She’s exactly where I left her. I thought for certain she’d have lifted the window and shimmied right on out.

“Come on now. You made me a promise and I’m trusting you,” I tell her as I lead her to the bed. “Keep your hands to yourself or your ass ends up on the floor.”

“You sure you don’t want to turn this into a third date?” she asks in a flirty tone as I secure the belt around one of her wrists then to the bed post. She can get up and down easily enough but there’s not enough give to get her close to the window.

I grunt at her words. I’ve never had a woman in here. Never wanted to learn that I was replaceable again. My hand is low on her back and I swat her ass. Don’t know why I do, only that it feels natural. “Settle down.”

“You’re the one in charge.” She makes a soft whimper that goes straight to my cock. Is she the type of woman that likes a little pain mixed with her pleasure? Fuck, I can’t be thinking like that. Not when I’ve done a citizen’s arrest.

I move my hands and walk around the bed, hoping that in the moonlight she can’t see the way I have to adjust my tented boxers. I’ve lived on my own for years and never longed for a woman’s company. Never wanted to spend a night writhing against someone as badly as I do her.

I settle on the bed and wait for her. She can stand there all night if she wants. Or sit on the floor. She has enough room to do either. “What’s your name?”

She doesn’t answer for a long time, and I accept that I’m not getting one. I don’t even know why it disappoints me so much. “My name is Nash. You probably already know that one, don’t you?”

Another long breath of silence passes before she finally asks, “What happened to Frankie? I’ve never seen a dog with a wheelchair.”

I can still remember the horror I felt when I reached for Frankie that day. He couldn’t leave his bed. I helped him to his feet only for him to fall right back over. “He has intervertebral disc disease. He went paralyzed one day with no warning. Sometimes, vets can fix it. Sometimes, they can’t.”

“You ever think of giving him up? I mean, seems like he’s a lot of trouble.” There’s no accusation in her tone, only curiosity.

The sun was setting, pink and purple across the late summer sky. It’s the last thing I remember seeing. The last perfect moment of my life. “Didn’t seem fair to give up on him.”

The mattress dips then, and her clothes rustle against the sheets.

“You’ve seen me. Now tell me what you look like.”

“Forgettable,” she says the word softly. “You have to be if you’re going to make a good thief.”

Forgettable.The word lodges deep in my chest, reminding me of the day I realized I’d been replaced. Just like throwing out an old sponge and swapping it with a new one. Throw out a disabled son and replace him with a new one. Just a few easy steps.

I reach for her free hand in the darkness. When I find it, I wrap my fingers around hers and give a gentle squeeze. “Me too.”

4

LAURA

Warmth spreadsthrough me when Nash takes my hand, putting his calloused fingers against my cold ones.

For a long time, we lie there in the darkness, neither of us speaking a word.

“Laura,” I finally say. It’s not my legal name, not yet anyway. But it will be soon enough, and it sounds better than admitting I was named Random. That’s pretty dumb and you can only go by Randy for so long until the other kids figure out that your mom thought you were a random mistake.

Thinking of her makes my chest feel tight and not in the good way. Why did she pick that name? Better yet, why did she abandon me at a fire station when I was just three years old? These are questions I’ll never get the answer to.

“Laura,” he says it softly and I like the way he rolls it. Sort of like he’s singing it. “What do you do when you’re not robbing folks?”

I should bristle at the question but there’s no condemnation or anger in his tone. Guess that’s something. “I paint here and there.”

“You any good?”

I shouldn’t be telling him details about myself. But then, he can’t really use anything against me. After all, this is a silly citizen’s arrest and I’m leaving long before Sheriff Luke gets here. “I guess so. Sold my last one for a couple million.”

He blows out a breath and there’s bewilderment in his tone. “And you have to rip off people like me?”

“Everyone needs a hobby, Nash.” It’s hard to explain, the incessant need I have to take things that aren’t mine. To build a little stockpile of goods I can trade. If you have enough, you don’t have to sleep on the streets or forage in the trash for food. You don’t have to duck some old guy trying to put his hands all over you on the cold park bench.

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