PROLOGUE
Apretty girl comes up my mountain and I fall in love. That’s how this love at first sight thing works, right? Let’s pretend she’s more than pretty. Beautiful, actually. Strawberry blonde hair that tumbles over her shoulders in glorious waves that a man can wrap his hands around his fists and the sort of hips that rough, calloused fingers can sink into without hurting her. Let’s pretend she’s stunning.
Actually, let’s not pretend at all.
Her name is Elena Markham, and three days before Christmas, she walked up my mountain, the one a few behind Hope Peak, and asked for my help.
I promised her I’d give it and she stayed.
We’ve been happy ever since.
Now, what if I said that my favorite game is two truths and a lie? Can you pick out the parts that’s bullshit in that little segue of my antisocial life? Because that last partistrue. I don’t go into town more often than I need to—which is about three times a year, and only for the sorts of supplies I can’t garner out here for myself.
And I sure as hell don’t need other people around me.
Let me give you a hint: Elena Markham came to me. She asked for help.
And those hips of hers are made for fucking.
How much of the rest is bullshit, I’ll let you decide for yourself.
CHAPTER ONE
GABE
Ihaven’t dealt with a single person in over four months, and that’s the way I like it.
Hope Peak is the sort of small town in Montana that you can pass through on a tourist drive or stop and stay for a lifetime. It’s the sort of small town that has secrets, a rumor mill that rivals any government agency in its efficiency, and a population so inbred that it keeps men like me away for most of the year.
I lie. There are no other men like me around my part of the town. Or more accurately, the part of the town that I’m farthest from.
Years ago, I took the advice of a ranger in that same town after I came back from a desert mission and hiked into the mountains. After a week of messing around, I came back into town, found the land owner I needed to speak to and paid double what the little slice of peace that I found for myself was worth in order to keep the rest of the world at bay.
Which is why, when I stare through my rifle’s scope and see the sort of mark that has nothing to do with my dinner but has the potential to sate a very different sort of appetite altogether, my interest sparks.
The woman in my mountains has no right to be here, and that makes her all the more fascinating.
Dressed in a dark green jacket that covers her to the knees but hangs open with a fluffy hood, I think she’s a damn bear at first and nearly end her life before I have a chance to find out anything about her. But she’s not a bear, or even a small bear, at that. The moment the flash of red of her chequered shirt, knotted at her navel to expose the swell of her stomach catches my eye, my focus shifts significantly. From there she’s all curves of the luxurious sort. Not the hiker sort, that’s for fucking sure. The sort a man can sink his hands into and—well. Do some damage. Her pale, tight jeans look painted on, and a fantasy of peeling them from her to find out how her flesh dimples beneath my roughened hands infiltrates my mind within seconds.
Hell, I’m an ex-soldier not a saint, for fuck’s sake. And I never did get myself a Christmas present this season, Here’s one ready made to order just for me.
Strawberry blonde hair is wound into a messy knot on top of her head, though plenty of strands escape around her face. Dirt streaks one cheek where it looks like she’s battled a trash panda. Her rose stained lips are turned up in a pensive smile that reflects inward as she climbs the last boulder to reach my yard.
That boulder that may as well have akeep outsign attached to it for its aggressive profile.
At least she’s wearing sturdy boots as she traverses the thin trail that leads toward my cabin after she climbs as though that’s her only destination with a few days to go until Christmas. But it’s the quick glance as she checks over her shoulder like she expects there to be traffic on this deserted road of mine and thehaunted look in her pretty, sky blue eyes when she turns back my way that grips me at stomach level and refuses to let go.
Christ.What sort of bait is she that she’s out here alone and fucking miles from anywhere?
Answer: the sort that I want to take hold of and find out what the hell she’s doing here and why she’s on my land.
Which means it’s time to show my hand.
Lowering my rifle a fraction, I step away from the hide I've been resting behind and let her see me. She freezes, widening those pretty eyes framed with thick lashes. Her hands splay at her sides. Breaths come short before they stall altogether. I can almost taste her panic, relish the way she wants to bolt, because I’ll chase her down and we both know it.
She won’t make it as far as the Red Cedar that’s just beyond my place before I take her to the ground beneath me and start my interrogation. The thought of finding out what those curves feel like first hand against my skin is enough to send blood roaring south a second time.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” I murmur, just to antagonize the shit out of her as I lower my rifle a little more.
