Hawk Valley Mountain Men Box Set

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Hawk Valley Mountain Men Box Set Page 2

by Mazzy King


  Normally, I like to listen to the radio or a podcast on the drive home, but I need all my concentration now. I grip the wheel with both hands and do my best to stay well away from the edge of the road, which, the higher we get, leads to a steep drop down the side of the mountain. There’s a guardrails, but it’s probably sixty years old and rusted. A good gust on a windy day could probably take it out.

  “Nice and slow,” I tell Sadie as we crawl along. “Easy does it.”

  She huffs, then, a few moments later, lets out a firm bark.

  I glance at her. “What?”

  Her gaze is fixed on something out the windshield, and I follow it, puzzled. “What are you locked on, girl?”

  Then I see it—two dull red spots of light in the snowy darkness off to the side of the road, but at a strange angle.

  When I pull up, I see it’s a small SUV, the front of it smashed against a tree.

  “Shit,” I mutter. I park my truck, turn on my hazards, and hop out. Sadie follows me then tears ahead toward the SUV. “Sadie! Come back here!”

  She barks two sharp warnings.

  I jog over, my feet sliding on the ice, to where Sadie is leaned up against the driver’s side, her paws on the window. She looks at me and barks again.

  Inside the car, a woman is slumped over against the wheel.

  “Christ,” I exclaim, then grab at the door handle. It’s either locked or jammed. I knock rapidly on the glass to see if she’ll wake, but she doesn’t move.

  She’ll freeze out here, maybe die, if she isn’t dead already.

  “Stay with her, Sadie,” I call, jogging back to my truck. In the bed, I pull out my own shovel and hurry back. I use the handle to tap the glass hard a few times until it cracks, then splinters. I use my gloved hand to punch out the rest of the glass, then yank off my glove to reach in and press my fingers to the woman’s neck. She’s warm, and I feel a steady pulse.

  “Miss?” I shake her a little, but there’s no response. She’s unconscious.

  I open the door, release her seat belt, then pull her out into my arms. Flowing dark hair spills back off her face as her head lolls back, and I nearly drop her.

  The unconscious woman I’ve just rescued is the most heart-stoppingly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  Her face is a delicate heart shape with full, soft cheeks. Silky dark brows arch away from wide-set closed eyes, and long lashes rest on her cheeks. Her lips are full but pale.

  Then I notice the rivulet of blood running from her scalp down one side of her sculpted face.

  I use one hand to fish out my cell phone. My reception is spotty on a good day, but the storm has completely destroyed any signal. I’m closer to my cabin than town, and she needs help. I know basic first-aid, and assuming she’s not internally bleeding, I’m confident I can take care of her. If she needs more serious help, I’ll risk the drive to get her to Hawk City.

  I gaze down at her still, pale face. “Guess you’re coming back with me, miss. I’ll take good care of you.”

  Sadie dances around my feet and whines, sniffing the woman’s hands. Then she gives one a lick and stares up at me with her best Daddy, please look.

  “You want to help me help her?” I ask. She barks. “Then let’s go.”

  I carefully load my brand-new passenger in the front seat. Sadie immediately jumps into the back seat of the truck’s cab, panting. She props her chin on the passenger seat, whining anxiously as she studies the unconscious woman.

  You don’t have to be a dog mind-reader to understand what worry looks like.

  “Don’t worry, girl,” I say, rubbing her ear. “We won’t let anything happen to our new guest.”

  3

  Stephanie

  My head hurts. A lot.

  It’s my first conscious thought since…I don’t know when. But a throbbing ache in my forehead coupled with a stinging near my hairline pulls me from under waves of unconsciousness.

  What the hell happened to me?

  I try to mutter words, but I can only groan.

  In the next breath, something warm and a little stinky laps at my face, over and over. A tongue. The accompanying whine I hear tells me it’s a dog.

  I don’t have a dog. Or do I?

  A state of genuine confusion comes over me. I can’t remember anything. I don’t know why. And why is it so hard to open my eyes?

  “Sadie, Sadie,” a deep, gentle voice says, and the face-licking stops, but the whining doesn’t. “Take it easy now, miss.”

  Miss…does that mean me?

  Wait. What’s a man doing here, wherever here is?

  This is what drives my eyes open finally. Bright light assaults me, but when my vision returns, I find myself staring up into a pair of crystal-blue eyes. They’re what I imagine the lake in a mountain valley to look like under the sun on a beautiful, still day. They’re steady, calm. Reliable. You can trust in those eyes.

  Mountain valley…

  Holy shit. The mountains. Lisa’s parents’ cabin. The snowstorm.

  The accident.

  It all rushes back in at once, along with the sudden understanding I am in a cabin, but it’s definitely not the one I was supposed to be in, and a man is definitely not supposed to be here. The furniture and decorations are entirely different, along with the layout, and it’s a little smaller than the other cabin.

  Every episode of the true crime murder podcast I love fills my head in that instant. Overly confident woman is over-confident and irresponsibly plows ahead with irresponsibility when she knew better. Then she falls victim to some murderous dude who wants to murder her and probably dismember her, and her family will never see her again or find the pieces of her body.

  I sit up straight on the large, wide-cushioned sectional I’ve been lying on. “Get away from me!”

  The force of my scream makes the dog who licked my face whimper and scamper away to hide behind a tall-backed easy chair, tail tucked.

  The owner of the blue eyes—who also has a heavy but short-cropped black beard, thick black hair, and a square jaw—backs away, hands raised. His eyes turn from calm to wary.

  “It’s all right, miss—”

  I vault off the couch and put it between us. “Don’t ‘it’s all right’ me! You think I’m stupid? I know what’s happening. You’re not about to dismember me!”

  There’s a lamp on a small table nearby. I lunge for it, intending to hurl it at the man’s head. Instead, a sharp throb of pain twangs through my own head and I stumble to my knees.

  He’s beside me in an instant. “You really need to take it easy. I’m not a serial killer, I promise.”

  “That’s what all serial killers say,” I grunt, trying and failing to stiff-arm him away from me. “Don’t touch me!”

  He backs up again right away. That’s surprising. I didn’t expect murderers to be so…considerate of personal space. “You were in an accident,” he tells me in a patient voice as I feel for the lamp, clutching my forehead with my other hand. “You hit your head pretty hard. I brought you up to my place so you wouldn’t freeze to death. I own the hardware store in town—people know me. I swear, I’m not going to murder you.”

  I hold out the lamp as if it’s a gun. My head aches so much. “Just tell me where my car is. I’ll be on my way.”

  “First of all, your car is smashed against a tree about three miles down that way,” he says, pointing. “Second of all, you’re not going anywhere in this storm, unless you have a death wish. Third of all…what exactly is your plan with my lamp?”

  I shake it at him. I’m not sure why. It just seems like the right thing to do in the moment. “I’ll…break it over your head if you come near me.”

  In a flash, the lamp is out of my hand in his. An eyebrow cocked, he sets it down on a table far away from me. “I’d rather you didn’t. My grandfather made that lamp for my grandma when they first started dating. It has sentimental value to me. You understand.”

  A sentimental serial killer? Do those exist?


  “Just stay back,” I order, crab-walking backwards. My clothes are still intact, but I’m not wearing my coat or my boots. I don’t know how far I’ll be able to run in socks in the snow.

  Something nudges me from behind and I squeal in surprise, whipping around, which makes my head hurt even worse. Huge brown eyes stare at me timidly from a broad doggy face as the animal I frightened earlier creeps towards me.

  The dog is huge. It’s definitely part pit bull based on the wide skull and shape of the snout, but it’s less stocky than a pit, lean and sleek with long legs and a longer tail.

  “That’s Sadie,” the blue-eyed murderer tells me, folding his arms and leaning against the table he set the lamp on. “She won’t hurt you.”

  As if on cue, Sadie lowers herself to her belly and crawls toward me. I gulp and watch her, waiting for the quick lunge to my throat.

  Instead, she rests her head on my knee and whines at me.

  “Well?” Killer says, the chuckle he’s trying to hide evident in his voice. “She’s asking to be pet. You gonna leave her hanging?”

  “What is happening?” I murmur, but those big, dark eyes of Sadie’s swallow me whole and I put both hands on her head. She’s all soft velvety fur, and her tail thumps the side of the couch happily as I stroke her head and rub her ears. Before long, she’s fully in my lap, all what has to be ninety pounds of her.

  “She thinks she’s a cat sometimes,” Killer informs me. “But she likes you, all things considered. Maybe don’t yell around my dog next time, yeah? She doesn’t like that.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter automatically, gazing down into Sadie’s liquid brown eyes, then snap my head up. “Wait. You’re really not a murderer?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but no, I’m not a murderer.” He holds up his palms. “I’m just the hardware store owner. My name’s Asher Hillsong. Nice to meet you, Stephanie.”

  I was this close to accepting his words as truth, but his use of my name snaps me back. “How the hell do you know my name?”

  Asher gestures to a bag on the kitchen table—my bag. Then I notice my suitcase is on the floor underneath it. “I’m sorry for violating your privacy, but I had to know who you were. I tried to get a hold of some contacts in your phone, but the cell signal’s knocked out, apparently. On my phone too.” He hands me my purse and I immediately rifle through it, going for my wallet to make sure all my money and cards are there. “I promise, I just looked for your driver’s license. That’s all.”

  This man saved your life. My inner voice kicks in, full of scorn. You’re treating him like a criminal. Maybe try saying thank you?

  I stop my rifling, my cheeks flushing, and lift my gaze to him. “I’m—I’m sorry. I’m out of it, I’m scared, and my head hurts. I—thank you. I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t found me.”

  Sadie whines a little from my arms again, as if to agree.

  Asher gives me an understanding smile. “I don’t blame you one bit. I’m a stranger. You’re right to be suspicious.” Then he squints at me. “Of course, you could be a serial killer too, and this is just your ruse to get unsuspecting men to fall into your trap. How do I know you’re not a murderer?”

  I laugh weakly. “Well, I guarantee you’ll have a pretty easy time fighting me off.” Sadie slides off my lap, and I rise, my knees wobbling. “I can hardly stand by myself.”

  Asher reaches my side in two steps, sliding an arm around my waist, frowning. “You really need to lie down. You could be concussed.”

  He’s tall. Like, really tall. He’s easily got a foot of height on me, and the arm around me feels rock solid, secure. Like I could never fall with him near me.

  He gestures toward a room down the hall. “You can use my bed.”

  I want to protest, but a wave of exhaustion sweeps over me. Suddenly, lying down in a bed and taking a nap sounds like the only thing I want to do in my life.

  He leads me down the hall. His bedroom is simple but comfortable—creamy gray walls with white trim, glossy dark wood floor covered with a big throw rug. The bed is king-sized, with four tall dark wood posters and piled high with comforters and furry throw blankets.

  I moan before I can stop myself. “That looks like heaven.”

  He chuckles softly, pulling down the comforter. “I can’t complain. I like it here.”

  It occurs to me dimly that he must not have a wife or a live-in girlfriend, because it seems like such an intimate thing to do—offer the space where you lay your head to a perfect stranger.

  There’s a fireplace in the wall across from the bed. He kneels to start a fire, and I take the opportunity to pull off my sweater and jeans as fast as I can and slide into the bed. The back of my mind screams at me that I shouldn’t be doing this, that he’s a total stranger, but my body begs me for rest. The end of the world couldn’t pull me from this bed right now. I’m not going anywhere.

  I’m buried under a mountain of blankets, listening to the friendly crackle of the fireplace, and suddenly, things don’t seem so bad. Sure, I wrecked my car, I’m totally lost, I have no food, and my cell phone doesn’t work.

  But a fresh pine and spice scent clings to the pillow under my head. The bed embraces me like a long-lost lover. And a warm, soft hand lands on my forehead.

  “You’ll be all right,” the deep, gentle voice whispers to me. “Just rest.”

  The words, the voice, the scent, and the protective muzzle of a dog resting on my leg follow me into a deep sleep.

  You’ll be all right.

  4

  Asher

  A city girl. Who the hell knew the next woman I’d be even remotely attracted to—and with Stephanie, that’s putting it mildly—would be the very sort of woman I told myself to stay far away from, forever?

  I’ve been mulling things over—not the least of which includes the fact that beautiful and barely dressed woman has been asleep in my bed for the last two hours—nonstop since I helped her lie down. Since then, I’ve taken a hot shower to scrub the day off, changed into clean, warm clothes, prepped ingredients for the stew, and thought about her continually as I did. I might be going a little crazy. I swig some of Mr. Morris’s lager as I toss minced garlic into a pan with diced onion. The hiss is so satisfying.

  Now, I’m not some stalker creep. When I pulled out her wallet to check for her ID, it was right there. Plain as day in black and white—her address is Hawk City, about two hours from Hawk Valley. The same city Beth was from, and where she moved back to. Seeing it written out made my stomach hurt, but not because it stirred any long-buried feelings for Beth. Absolutely not—more that it stirred memories of how much pain she put me through. For me, Hawk City will forever be linked to incredible heartbreak.

  And Stephanie Ramirez—the woman who tried to kill me in “self-defense” with my own lamp, the woman who immediately moved something long dead in my heart with a flash of her fierce dark eyes, the woman who tried to quickly undress to get in my bed but whose delectable curves and ass nicely showcased in those lace panties I peeked at anyway—was from that same terrible place.

  To be fair, it’s not the place that’s horrible. Hawk City doesn’t have anything to do with what happened to me. But something about it made me less than enough for someone I gave everything to, someone I gave every single part of myself.

  Beside me, Sadie woofs and gazes up at me with pleading eyes. She’s after the raw roast I just cubed up to go into Mrs. Morris’s stew. Hopefully Stephanie likes beef stew and cornbread. Hopefully it’s not too simple for her tastes. Hell, I muse, taking pity on Sadie when she begins to whimper pitifully and tossing her a cube of raw Angus beef, maybe she’s vegetarian or a vegan. Beth had decided to go vegan in the last year of our relationship—the influence of the guy she started seeing behind my back, I later found out—and our once-fun nightly cooking routine became yet another form of separation between us.

  I frown, adding the meat to the pan where onions and garlic sizzle. Why am I thinking about Beth so damn
much right now? Irritation razes my chest. That part of my life is over. Just because a beautiful stranger whose life I essentially saved happens to be from the same city, that doesn’t mean I need or want to be thinking about Beth. Or, more accurately, what happened while I was with her.

  I make a roux with flour and butter in another small pan, then add it to the stockpot where fresh veggies, herbs, vegetable stock, and beef stock concentrate simmer. It smells intoxicatingly good, and when I add in the seared beef, onions, and garlic to finish cooking in all that goodness, my mouth waters. It’s all underscored by the buttery and slightly sweet scent of the cornbread I made from scratch that bakes in the oven, another Mrs. Morris specialty.

  Sadie whines and paces. The smells are driving her crazy too. Normally she adheres to a well-balanced diet of protein, veggies, and grains in a top-notch fresh dog food I buy from my buddy Clay who makes it, but whenever I make The Stew, she always gets a bowl to herself. A little chunk of cornbread included.

  “Wow,” a slightly hoarse voice says behind me. “Smells great.”

  I whip around.

  Somehow, a disheveled Stephanie is even more beautiful than I could have imagined. I moved her suitcase to the bedroom I already decided I’ll relinquish to her, and she’s now dressed in a pale pink tunic top and leggings. For some reason, it makes me ridiculously happy she feels comfortable enough to dress down in my presence. I guess she’s decided I’m not a serial killer after all. Besides, the sight of all those gorgeous curves showcased to perfection in her tight clothing makes my mouth water more than the smell of the stew.

  “Beef stew,” I tell her, unable to keep my gaze from traveling down her body. “And cornbread. Hope that’s all right.”

  “Sounds great.” She still leans against the kitchen doorway, making no move to step toward me.

  “You can come in, you know,” I say, turning around to give the stew a stir. It’s just starting to blurble. “I won’t bite. Or kill you with a stockpot or whatever. Of course, that’s more your speed.”

 

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