Exposed - My Mountain Man Protector

by Alexa Ross

  I said nothing in the pause, because the pause was for him, not me. The night was still quiet, listening to us now.

  “She left me,” he said. “She left me because I had changed. I was lethargic, gloomy, ‘not myself,’ she said. She didn’t seem to realize that it was sacrificing everything for her that had made me that way. She left right around when Grandad died. Everything fell apart at once: I lost my job, my friends disappeared, my parents descended upon me. So I left. Stuck around just long enough for Grandad’s funeral and then left. Ran away from it all. Came here.”

  Now the pause was an ending, a space where I was expected to respond.

  “And?” I asked.

  “And I’ve never been happier. I hunt, I cook, I read. I do odd jobs for campers and people in the area, just enough to get by. It’s not much, but it’s enough.”

  I nodded. “I can see why. This place is beautiful.”

  Blake’s arm was grazing mine oh so slightly, but his gaze was still straight ahead, on the dark line of the horizon. He probably didn’t even notice.

  “So if I’m short with you sometimes, it’s because of that. Because in some way, though I’m not sure how, you remind me of her.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  He flopped onto his back. “Want to try spotting Coma Berenices again?”

  I fell onto my back beside him. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he said. Then, turning to me, a smile playing on his face, he said, “You first.”

  I shoved him. “That’s not fair. You only showed me how to find it yesterday—how to do that and about ten hundred other things.”

  Blake’s smile was indefatigable, and he urged me on. “Go on. Show me how it’s done.”

  I sighed, and, throwing up my hand at a collection of stars that could have been Coma Berenices (or the Big Dipper for all I knew), I said, “Okay, so up there, you know that clump that kind of looks like a pack of hot dogs?”

  Blake laughed. “Yeah.”

  “So the things at the bottom, the ones that look like individual hot dogs, they’re like this Berenice queen woman’s hair, because she loved her husband so, so much and gave it to some powerful goddess woman who put it up there in the stars.”

  I let my hand fall and, turning to Blake, said, “There. Happy?”

  Blake’s response was to burst out laughing.

  After a minute, he fell quiet and asked, “After what happened with your husband, do you still believe there’s someone out there?”

  I felt his gaze on me, but I didn’t look over. I scanned the stars, the swoops and lines and clumps of constellations, where the answer was somewhere.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  The truth rang loudly in the quiet, and tears came to my eyes at the bitter irony of it, of loving the wrong man and being punished the rest of my life for it.

  I turned so that my back was facing him, and after a minute, Blake said, “You’re cold.”

  I wiped my eyes and tried to make my voice steady. “No. I’m fine.”

  Blake swept his hand across my upper arm, his fingers leaving a tingling in their wake.

  “You have goose bumps,” he said.

  I paused. I almost wanted to deny it and argue with him so he’d touch me again.

  But my eyes were still full of tears and I was horribly, hopelessly afraid, and Blake still didn’t want me here—not really—no matter what he said.

  “I guess so,” I finally said.

  The next second his massive arms were wrapping around me and his warm breath on the back of my neck was saying, “Me too.”

  He said nothing more, because he didn’t have to. This right now, this quiet still night, this clasped union of us, it was enough.

  As we lay there, Blake radiated more and more heat while I wiped at my eyes every once in a while. I wasn’t sure what the tears were for: happiness or sadness or fear, or all three. Because, just now, enclosed by these strong arms, excited butterflies fluttering through my veins, I knew. There was no denying it anymore.

  I was not falling for Blake; I’d fallen for him. And it terrified me.

  Lying pressed together here, even our breathing was in time. I wished I could roll over and see his face, see if it was wearing the same blissful expression mine was, if it was lit up by the same euphoric feeling. And yet the way he looked at me, our almost kiss last night, hell, here, now—how could he not feel the same?

  I sighed.

  Did it matter? How could I trust myself anymore? After Angelo, the red flag should have been when I was attracted to someone, not when I wasn’t. As my mind rang with these tumultuous worries, Blake was seemingly oblivious. After a few minutes, he rested his head on my back and adjusted his grip around my stomach.

  All the while, I didn’t move. I pretended I was a doll. As it was, it was taking everything in me not to turn around and kiss him the way he had almost kissed me last night.

  I didn’t know when I passed out, when my worries got swallowed by sleep, but I did know when I woke up.

  Blake was shaking me, and I was freezing.

  “Claire,” he said. “Wake up, Claire.”

  I opened one eye and rolled around to face him.

  “We should get back,” he said. “It probably isn’t safe sleeping out in the open like this.”

  I nodded and then forced myself to sit up, and not without a wistful scowl. Of course it was, because of Angelo, my relentless, murderous husband. I’d almost forgotten.

  Rising, Blake offered me a hand. I took it, and once I was up, he paused.

  “Do you want a piggyback again?”

  I shook my head, too tired for words. If I let Blake carry me, I’d probably pass out again, and waking up a second time would not be fun.

  So, we made our way back, Blake moving a touch too fast, pausing every few minutes to check that I was still stumbling after him. It seemed an age before we got to the familiar red-brick house.

  We walked in listlessly, made our way to our beds, and slipped under our sleeping bag halves without a word. I just wanted to fall asleep and forget. Forget Angelo, forget how I had felt back there in Blake’s arms, forget everything. The floor was cold, and even the sleeping bag felt cold. Everything was cold compared to Blake’s arms.

  I tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep. On the other side of the room, I heard Blake doing the same. A few minutes later, there was the sound of footsteps outside. I sat up to see a shadow pass the window.

  Oh God, no.

  I turned to Blake. He was already on his feet, holding a gun that, judging by his askew pillow, had been hidden there. It was the fake police officer’s gun.

  His eyes meeting mine, holding his finger to his lips, he motioned for me to follow him. Creeping out silently, he peered around the corner before heading to the front door. He did the same there, peering around before going out to the side where my window was.

  But there was nothing.

  Suddenly there were footsteps right behind me. I whirled around to see a deer eyeing me dopily. I practically collapsed in relief while Blake burst out laughing. Spooked, the deer trotted off into the trees.

  “Must have been an old senile one,” he said mid-chuckle.

  Turning to Blake, I felt a hysterical laugh rising in my own throat. “I thought…I thought…”

  Blake clasped my face in his hands. “I know. I did too.”

  Now the laughter came bubbling out of my lips, and he was laughing too, still grasping my face, and the only thing that seemed right to do next was to kiss him.

  So I did. As soon as our lips met and I realized what I was doing, I jerked back. I gaped at Blake, scanning his face miserably. Oh God. What had I done?

  Blake didn’t move. His eyebrows were frozen up, his lips still parted. His gaze was on my lips.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured, but he only shook his head. Taking my face in his hands, he kissed me again, and then again and again.

  His hands ran up and down me with unrestrain
ed passion, while mine clutched at his face, his arms, his chest. We kissed our way back inside, back into the second room where, under my sleeping bag, after shedding our useless clothes, we joined into one. We were warmer than ever.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I awoke warm, cozy. Blake. I was in his arms, his soft pine breath tickling my cheek. Though asleep, he was still wearing a smile from last night.

  I didn’t wake him. I watched him, marveling at every blond fiber of his beard, the trembling of his sandy blond lashes, the full curve of his lower lip.

  Everything, suddenly, was so clear. What I really wanted, what was right for me, was him, here, this. Blake and Aspen and nature. This was the life I wanted for myself.

  I carefully untwined myself and rose. I was not afraid anymore. I knew what I had to do. I put on Blake’s shirt, turned on my phone, and went outside.

  I got the fire started and put the last four pieces of bread we had on a stick. Once they were toasted nicely, I laid them on the tree stump and padded back inside the house.

  Kneeling down, I woke Blake with a kiss. One eye sleepily regarded me, widened, and then both opened. He gazed at me with a stupid grin.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Good morning,” he mumbled, still staring at me like he’d just won a million dollars.

  “Last night…”

  “Was phenomenal,” he said, his smile growing even larger. “I…I’ve been wanting to do that for some time, but your situation…”

  I put my finger on his lips. “Come have breakfast. I have something to tell you.”

  Stretching, Blake let his eyes settle on me. “Is that my shirt?”

  “You did say that I could,” I said, sauntering out of the room.

  As we ate, I watched him like a scientist studying a specimen. Blake ate with that slow, thoughtful chewing. His eyes were closed, his toast-eating an entirely immersive experience. No, he had no idea what I was considering.

  I took out my phone and stared at my sure reflection. The determined, makeup-free woman who looked back seemed like a stranger. I hadn’t been determined about anything for a while, but now I was.

  I tapped my phone to wake up the screen and then turned off airplane mode before tucking it in my shirt pocket. I didn’t feel like dealing with a deluge of messages right now. Then I smiled to myself.

  There. Now there was no turning back, no matter what Blake said. I had made up my mind about what I was going to do.

  The longer I watched Blake, the slower he seemed to chew. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he swallowed the final bite of toast, and I started talking.

  “About my situation… Blake, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’ve decided what I’m going to do.”

  I held up my phone. “I’ve turned it on. I’m going to call the police. Now, maybe. I don’t want us to have to hide anymore.”

  Blake blinked, and I felt like throwing up.

  “Sorry. I’m pretty useless in the morning,” he said.

  Then he glanced at me, like I was supposed to pick up this thread of conversation, change the subject or something. But I sat there and stared at him insistently, saying nothing.

  If Blake wasn’t sure of this, of me, then he was going to have to come out and say it to my face.

  Finally, after another minute, Blake said, “Mind if I take a walk to think?”

  With my heart falling, my “sure” came out even more unenthusiastically then I’d intended. What if Blake wasn’t as sure of me as I was of him?

  “Hey,” he said, touching my arm. “We’ll figure this out, okay? I just need a second to think.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll wait here.

  So I did. I waited and I worried, and, five minutes later, Blake was back, sitting down beside me.

  “Okay, so, contacting the police. I don’t think you should.”

  I gaped at him. “What? Why?”

  “Sorry. Don’t get me wrong; I think you’re doing the right thing facing this, turning your husband over to the police.”

  “So?” I asked.

  Blake wasn’t making any sense.

  “It’s just—the police here, I know them, and they aren’t reliable. They won’t take your story seriously. We should go there in person. I know a guy in Aspen who works with the FBI. I think he’ll be our best bet. Anything else will just get us laughed at or hung up on.”

  “Okay,” I said, still clenching my phone. “So you’re saying…”

  “We’ll have to go back to your car and get your ID to prove you are who you say. You said you lost your main IDs, but that’s where you kept a passport printout, right?”

  I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “I know it’s dangerous, but it’s our best shot,” Blake said, turning to wrap his arms around me.

  I nodded again.

  I was afraid of what was waiting for me at that car, and yet, in those strong, powerful arms, it felt like nothing could touch me.

  The rest of the morning was full of quiet, peaceful preparation. It was comical how fast packing our things, our sleeping bags, tools, and food took. There was no more bread, but at the bottom of his massive duffel bag Blake found some crackers, so we were all set for the journey even if he didn’t hunt on the way.

  I changed into my old Guess shirt and jeans. Blake and I were probably going to make quite a scene as it was by coming into town all scruffy like this. There was no point in making it worse by wearing a men’s plaid shirt and nothing else.

  With one last fond look at the ranger’s station, we left. We passed by the unused dead rabbit, its head twisted in our direction, accusation in its black eyes. Why did it seem strangely prophetic?

  As we walked, I finally got around to checking my phone. The deluge of messages was as bad as I had expected. My parents had texted me several times, each time growing more insistent. The latest one was an actual plea: “We’ve contacted the police. Please, please tell us where you are.”

  Lila’s, on the other hand, started off jokey:

  Hellooo, have you died or something??

  Before it devolved into insulting:

  K, I get that you’re oh so happy with Angelo, but the least you could do is respond

  And then became concerned:

  Claire, are you okay?

  Her final message, sent yesterday, read:

  Have talked to your parents. We will find you.

  Seeing me reading my texts, Blake asked, “Are you going to respond?”

  I kept my gaze on my phone screen. Something told me this was a trick question. Sure enough, a second later, Blake answered for me. “You can’t. Any text you send, Angelo can track. He can use it to get to you. Just another day or so for us to get to the FBI, get you protected, and then you can let everyone know you’re safe.”

  I sighed.

  He was right, but it was nearly unbearable to think of the pain I was causing my family and friends—had already caused them.

  “Okay,” I said.

  I turned my phone off and then tucked it in my pocket. Tomorrow couldn’t have come soon enough.

  The trek was a long trail of déjà vu. It was an eerie, unnerving feeling, one where I both recognized everything and saw it with different eyes. The pond was now eerily still and the ground was poop free, begging the question: What had happened to the ducks? Farther on, the bluebells seemed too blue to be real, while the sunflowers looked downright fake.

  My changed viewpoint was greatest, however, when it came to Blake. I smiled when I thought of how I had first seen him, of the pompous jerk I had pegged him as. Now, every one of his sure steps and every affectionate look he shot back at me filled me with such a strong joy that I wanted to throw myself on him right here and now.

  But I didn’t. If I started kissing him, I wouldn’t be able to stop, and out in the open, we were vulnerable. We had to keep going.

  For our first break, we slumped against a tree and each other. Blake cradled my head in his arms,
while I smiled at nothing in particular.

  After a few peaceful minutes, Blake’s worried voice came as an unwelcome slap back to reality.

  “Claire, you didn’t take your phone out of airplane mode, right?”

  “Yeah, I did. Why?”

  “Oh. Just...turn it off now, would you? By the sound of it, your husband has quite the arsenal of resources at his hands, and I wouldn’t want to give him any chance of tracking us.”