by Emily Bishop
“We’d better get to work on arranging this,” I said. “Not that I care whether we’re married when the kid arrives. I can’t wait for you to be Mrs. Tombs.”
“Me neither. God, I’m so happy you’re happy.”
“Hey, why wouldn’t I be?” I turned her in my arms and studied her expression, happy yet tearful. “This is the best thing that could’ve happened to us. We’re going to be a real family.”
“Yeah, but it’s like I said, this is a difficult time for you.”
“No way. I’m going to call Rod, right now. I’ll reschedule the meeting.” If she needed me, I’d be here. The script could wait. I’d spent a year writing and rewriting, ensuring that the characters weren’t one-dimensional as those in Pride’s Death had been. Another nine months wouldn’t hurt.
“No! Please, no,” Aurora said and rose onto tiptoes. She kissed me quick, a light brush of her warm lips against mine. “I want you to follow your dreams. I have everything I’ve ever wanted, like I said. A family and a home, a real home that my mother would’ve been proud of. You don’t have your movie.”
“My dream? What if this is my dream, too?” I asked and tightened my grip. “Just being here with you.”
“You have a passion,” she replied. “It’s your calling, and you’re good at it. Performing, writing, being who you are. I think you have a real gift, Jarryd, and you need to share it with the world. Please, you’ve got to go on Monday.”
“Are you sure? What if you need me?”
“I’m eight weeks pregnant. I think it will be a while before I need you to paint my toenails for me.”
I chuckled and kissed her forehead, inhaled that oh-so-Aurora scent. “All right, I’ll go. But man, speak about nervous, I’m going to shit bricks on Monday. Rod wasn’t exactly happy with me the last time we spoke.”
“It will work out.” Aurora perked up. “Wait, does this mean I finally get to read the script?”
I hadn’t let her, because I wanted it to be a surprise, but nothing I’d written could top what she’d told me now, not that I wanted it to. “Yeah, I guess you could. I don’t know how you’ll feel about it—”
Aurora sniffed. “What’s that smell?” she asked and gave a couple more sniffles. “Smells like—”
I inhaled, too. The acrid tang of smoke on the air, and something else, something sweet. “Apples?”
“Oh, Jesus, the pies!” Aurora jerked out of my arms and rushed for the front door. “I totally forgot about them.” She dashed inside, and a series of clatters and muted cuss words followed. “Ow, ouch! Hot!”
I started for the door.
“It’s all right, I’m OK,” she called.
Mistress wandered out of the front door, her whiskers twitching. She flicked her tail. Apparently, she didn’t care much for the smell either.
“There goes my plan for afternoon pies,” Aurora called back. “Damn, so much for my domestic vibe.”
“I’m not marrying you for your cooking.”
Aurora poked her head out of the open window and narrowed her eyes at me. A thin plume of smoke drifted out behind her. “Then why are you marrying me?”
“For your tarot reading skills, of course,” I said. “I need you on my side and all the fortune-telling I can get.”
She bust her gut laughing, and that rolling mirth washed over me and echoed across the lake and between the trees.
“Forget about the pies,” I said. “Come out here. I’ll tell you more about the script.”
Aurora’s curious streak got the better of her, and she immediately disappeared from the window. A minute later, she walked out, brushing off her skirt with the kitchen towel. “I got a little burnt crust on me, can you believe it.”
“Take a seat, pregnant fiancée,” I replied and gestured to the bench.
She sank onto it and folded her dainty hands in her lap. I joined her then cursed and popped up again. “Always with the splinters, hot damn. Why doesn’t it happen to you?”
“Because I am at one with nature,” she said, in a put on British accent. She cleared her throat. “Well, what’s it about? Don’t renege on the deal now, Tombs. I’ve been waiting a year to finally hear what it’s about.”
“All right,” I said, and my nerves got the better of me for a second, dried up my throat and my thoughts. I lifted the script from the bench and held it on my lap, hand over the title.
Mistress hopped onto the spot the script had vacated and settled in to listen.
“It’s important that you like this. I was going to tell you about it tomorrow but now that—well, yeah. Aurora, if you don’t like it, I won’t take it to Rod. That’s an important point to understand.”
“Why wouldn’t I like it?” she asked and took my hand.
I lifted hers to my lips and kissed it, relished that flavor, that natural sweetness. “The movie’s name will be Gypsy.”
“Gypsy,” she said.
“Yes.”
“All right, and what’s it about?” She tilted her head as she always did when she listened, and Mistress mimicked her exactly on my left side.
“It’s about this actor who comes to a small town and meets this girl.”
Aurora inhaled sharply. “Yeah?”
“She’s a gypsy, a magical, gorgeous gypsy, who changes his life forever. The story is about how they overcome countless obstacles, her jealous ex, media scrutiny, and an obsessive actress to find the meaning of true love. The meaning of home.”
“Oh, wow,” Aurora said. “Jarryd.” She leaned in and kissed me, hard, sealing this moment, the one I’d worried over for an entire year, with the one gesture that meant more to me than anything else. Her opinion mattered and that was it.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“I love it,” she whispered. “May I read it now?”
“Sure,” I said and held it out to her.
Aurora placed her hand on the first page then withdrew it, a smile as light as a rainbow dancing on her lips. “Actually, you read it. Read it to me and to the baby.”
So, I flipped to the first page and started reading them the story of how we fell in love.
Emily Bishop
Thanks to all the authors writing about sexy mountain men and inspiring me to do the same. I love this trope! Really poured my heart into it. Also, thank you to my fans for the kind emails and words of encouragement. Feel free to write me anytime. I love it!
This is my land. My girl. I protect what’s mine.
This mountain is my refuge.
And Rayne is my release.
I ran to these mountains to escape people like her.
This beautiful socialite reminds me of my greatest mistake.
One that nearly cost me billions.
My need for her is predatorial.
Her want for me is ravenous.
We’re alone on this snow-covered mountain.
Both battling our pasts.
Warming each other with our future.
She was followed out here. Her worst fears come true.
I’ll protect her from him.
Who will protect her from me?
Want a free book? Subscribe to Emily’s newsletter and receive a free novella from Emily. You will also receive sneak peeks and release dates for upcoming novels.
(Click here and get your free book NOW!)
Chapter One
Rayne
I might have made a huge mistake.
I glance around me and see nothing but trees. The path beneath my feet isn’t exactly well-marked. A smattering of gray rocks denotes the narrow dirt path, but they look exactly like the smattering of gray rocks I saw on the path like twenty minutes ago.
Am I walking in circles?
The sky above me darkens from a pale gray to a light charcoal shade, indicating that the sun is setting somewhere. I can’t see it because I’m dwarfed by a bunch of stupid trees.
Dumb trees. Dumb me. I shouldn’t have had my chauffer drop me off so far from the resort in Wy
oming, but I don’t want to be followed, and my assistant, Helen, assured me that this was the perfect place. That I’d be safe.
Fear washes over me. I’m alone in the woods. It’s getting dark. What if I was followed?
I exhale, and a puff of smoke releases into the air. I force myself to calm down as I pull out my phone and open a Google map of the area I saved before coming up. I zoom in and evaluate the trails. Judging from my drop-off point, I should continue straight from here and then swing a left to get there.
Easy. Everything’s going to be fine.
Boy, do I wish this cell phone had signal. Or battery. My screen goes black, and I groan. “Shit.” I’m out here in the woods, lost.
Alone.
Hopefully.
The crunch of leaves beneath my boots echoes through the woods as I trudge onward. With another step, there’s a loud crack, but it didn’t come from beneath my shoe.
My heart pounds against my sternum, and a bead of sweat traces a cold path down my face. I don’t want to look. What if my worst fears are realized? I’m a petite woman. There’s not much I can do to protect myself out here.
I should have brought pepper spray or bear spray or some kind of protective something or other. Why did I never take a class on self-protection? It never even occurred to me that whatever is out there could be a bear. Am I supposed to get big and loud, or run away and hope for the best?
I can’t remember. I should have watched more survival shows. There’s another crack a little bit closer to me, and I swirl around in a circle, searching. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to call out, to ask who it is. Is that more dangerous than staying silent?
A massive beast crashes through the trees to my right, and I release a piercing scream that reverberates down the mountain and across the lake. I cover my head and sink to the ground and wait to be mauled to death.
After several beats, nothing happens. I find the courage to pry open my eyelids and look up. My whole body is tense with fear.
My gaze lands on a pair of sturdy boots. Somewhere in my fear-rattled mind, it registers that bears don’t wear boots.
Bears don’t wear jeans, either.
My gaze combs up until it rakes over a burly, barrel chest covered in a thick green flannel jacket. Finally, I look past a pair of insanely broad, muscular shoulders until I can finally catch a glimpse of my would-be attacker.
It’s a man with a thick brown beard and stunning hazel eyes. I can’t tell if they are more brown or green in the fading light of day. His hair is thick but close cut, and it matches his beard. He is a beast of a man, but I’ve never seen a more attractive beast in my life, and that’s saying something. I mingle with celebrities on a daily basis.
There’s something raw about this man, animalistic, even. He stares down at me with those piercing eyes, and it occurs to me that I might be in more danger than I would be from an animal. There is no animal more dangerous than man, after all.
“Did I scare you?”
His voice is a deep baritone, but it scratches like it hasn’t been used in a long time. I glance down at myself, huddled in a ball on the ground, then look back up at him. “What gave it away?”
The corner of his lip twitches beneath his beard. Have I amused this mammoth of a man? Why does my heart cheer about that? This man is a stranger, possibly dangerous, but my fear has melted. He reaches a hand down to help me up, and I stare at it.
“I apologize. I’m not used to running into stranded women out here.”
“I’m not used to running into hermits, either, so I suppose we’re even there.”
“What are you doing here? I’ve never seen you before.”
His voice is gruff, and his eyes narrow as he works to puzzle me out. I look at his hand, ignore it, and press my palms into the cold earth as I lift myself to a standing position. Even then, I am dwarfed by this massive person. I wipe my hands together to shake the dirt off.
“What are you doing here? I’ve never seen you here before either.”
“Don’t play games with me. I live here, and you clearly don’t. Now tell me what you’re doing here, and I’ll help you be on your way.”
I cross my arms and stare up at him. I feel foolish. The man is clearly comfortable in the woods, and he’s ten times my size, but I’ll stand up to him anyway. I am Rayne Carr, after all. I’m not just anyone.
“How do you know I don’t live here? These woods are vast. For all you know, I’ve lived here my whole life and we’ve simply never crossed paths.”
He laughs then. His voice is deep and hearty, but his laugh lacks any real humor, and I sense a trace of sadness behind it, or maybe it’s bitterness. Either way, it’s not entirely genuine.
“You’ve lived out here your whole life? Tell me then, what does the moss on that tree signify? If you’ve been in the woods for long enough, surely you’ll know.”
I glance in the direction he’s pointed. A thick coating of moss shelters the side of a tree, but hell if I know what that’s supposed to mean. I brush a strand of blond hair behind my ear to buy time, then narrow my eyes at him in a badass glare.
Yeah. Totally badass.
“Wouldn’t you like to know? I don’t need to prove myself to you. I need to get to where I’m going.”
“Which is?”
We’re back to square one here. He wants to get information from me without providing any himself. My trust reserves are pretty low. I can’t trust this man any more than any other stranger who might cross my path.
They could be connected somehow.
Still, I need to get to that cabin. The sky is getting darker with each minute we waste. Maybe this man can help, if I let him. Do I have a choice?
Nope.
“The main cabin,” I say. “If you’ve lived here, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“Of course I do. I can bring you to the main hall at the resort and leave you there. That’s where you’re going, right? It’s the only main cabin I’ve heard about.”
“Or, you can point me in the right direction, and I’ll find it myself. I am not incapable, much as that may appear to be the case.”
“It certainly does appear to be the case. You’re lost in the woods, and you’re too stubborn to admit it,” he grunts.
“And yet here you are, ready and able to guide me in the right direction. Lucky me.”
“Lucky for you I found you at all, or you’d be shivering in the cold all night without any survival skills.”
“Don’t act like you know me.”
“Oh, but I do know you. I know your type. Look at you.”
I glance down at my designer winter jacket, trendy jeans, and upscale hiking boots. Granted, I look like a woman ready to go on an excellent glamping trip, but it irks me that this guy thinks he has me so easily pegged. He doesn’t.
He knows nothing.
“Do you always judge a book by its cover?”
“When the book is a woman, I know what’s beneath the pages.”
“That’s the most sexist thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Are you going to let me help you or not?” He stands ready, as if he’ll spring into action at a moment’s notice.
My neck hurts from craning it up to look at his chiseled face. Even beneath the beard, this guy is a knockout. I want to shove him away and stomp off. I also want to step a little closer and see if he smells like the forest. He seems like he would naturally carry its scent.
Now who’s judging a book by its cover?
I release a breath, and a shiver runs down my spine. I can hold onto my pride, or I can be warm. I decide to find the middle ground.
“Point me in the right direction, please, and I will be happy to make my way there alone. I don’t need any more assistance than that. Thank you.”
His shoulders are tense. He’s been oddly menacing and protective at the same time, which is a weird combination. Probably a red flag. I don’t need to spend any more time in the presence of this backwoodsman. I im
agine a hot bath and a warm cabin, and my motivation to leave increases.
Finally, a hundred years later, he points up the path I was about to take.
“Up that way, take a right. The main check-in is a thirty-minute walk that way.”
I nod up at him and walk past, not bothering to cast another glance his way. If I do, I might start having some pretty intense mountain-man fantasies, which is weird. That’s never been my type.
His footsteps crunch behind me, and I glare at the path ahead. I grip my small suitcase in a gloved hand and drag it behind me. “You don’t need to follow me. I’ll find the way, now. Thanks for your help. Bye.”
He ignores my dismissal completely. His heavy footsteps kritz against the dead leaves of early winter. My toes ache from the cold, which seeps into my boots in spite of their expensive covering.
I should have done more research about this damn trip. I reach the fork in the path and realize that I would have been majorly lost if it wasn’t for the man behind me. I would have turned left and ended up who knows where? A twinge of guilt blossoms in my chest, and I squash it.
I didn’t ask to be terrified by this behemoth. I want to get where I need to go in peace.
He’s still following me. “Don’t you want to go back to your hovel or whatever? I’m sure there’s a deer that needs to be skinned for your next pelt,” I shoot back at him.
“Nope.”
He continues his pace behind me. I’m both relieved and annoyed for his presence. At least with him here, I’m more likely to get where I need to be. But with him here, I can only question his motives. Still, if this guy is a regular, there’s a chance that he might be a good person to get to know, on some distant level. Maybe he’s a caretaker or something. He can’t be a renter.
After all, I’ve rented out every cabin here for the next month.
I keep my eyes peeled for any sign of human life. I have no concept of time without my phone, but the darkness creeps beneath my fancy jacket now.
If I don’t find shelter soon, I’m going to turn into a nicely dressed popsicle.