Page 1 of Her Mountain Man Protector

1

Colt

I grip the steering wheel of my battered truck like it owes me money, the engine rumbling beneath me as I navigate the winding road into Woodbridge Falls. Fog hangs thick in the air this morning, the kind that swallows everything and spits out secrets only when it damn well feels like it. Upstate New York in late fall is exactly my kind of place: remote, unforgiving, and zero people asking why a guy like me needs three burner phones and enough gear to survive a small apocalypse.

The trail on Dad has gone stone cold these past few months. Nash and Sin pulled some leads that nearly got them killed, Banks is buried in his cyber puzzles in Halo City, Jace is playing beach bum bodyguard down south, and Mack is off charming supermodels or whatever the hell he does. Me? I’m the one stuck chasing ghosts in the mountains because somebody has to. Vanguard Helix is the shadow behind all this. I can feel it in my bones. That corporation doesn’t just lose people. It erases them. And my father knew too much.

One lead. That’s all I’ve got. A blurry photo of a man matching Dad’s description spotted near an old ranger station two weeks back. No confirmation, but it’s better than staring at blank screens with my brothers. I park the truck at the edge of town, grab my pack, and head out on foot. The air bites cold, pine sharp and clean. My boots crunch over fallen leaves as I push deeper into the woods.

“Stay hidden, old man,” I mutter under my breath. “We’re coming for you.”

I crest a ridge, scanning the fog for any sign of movement. Nothing. Just trees and silence. Perfect. Until it’s not.

A flash of color cuts through the gray. Yellow. What the fuck is that? I freeze, hand instinctively going to the knife at my belt. Then I hear it: the snap of a branch, followed by a string of creative curses that would make a drill sergeant blush.

“Fucking fog, shitty boots, stupid⁠—”

A woman bursts out of the underbrush like a startled deer, camera swinging from her neck, tripping straight into my chest. I catch her on reflex, my arms locking around a bundle of sunshine-yellow jacket, wild curls, and way too much energy for this early. She smells like vanilla and trouble.

“Whoa there, mountain man,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her eyes are big, green, and sparkling with zero fear. Sunshine spiked with mischief. “Didn’t see you there. Or the tree root. Or my own two feet, apparently.”

I set her back on solid ground faster than I should, scowling down at her. She barely reaches my shoulder, but she stands there like she owns the ridge. “What the hell are you doing out here? This isn’t a damn tourist trail.”

She brushes dirt off her ridiculous boots and lifts her camera like it explains everything. “Photography. Capturing the moody fog rolling in over the falls. It’s magical. You should try smiling. Might improve the scenery.” Her grin is pure sunshine, wide and unfiltered.

I don’t smile. Grumpy is my default, especially when some quirky woman is about to blow my only lead. “Magical. Right. Take your pictures somewhere else, sunshine. This area’s off-limits.”

“Off-limits according to who? The grumpy mountain man patrol?” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m the one intruding. “I have a permit. Sort of. And my name is not sunshine. It’s Oakley. And you look like you eat nails for breakfast and growl at puppies. Rough night chasing Bigfoot?”

I cross my arms, ignoring how her banter tugs at something I’ve got no business feeling. Witty. Great. Just what I need. “Colt Hawthorne. And if you’re smart, you’ll turn around and head back to whatever city you escaped from before you trip into real trouble.”

Oakley snaps a quick photo of me before I can stop her. The shutter clicks like a gunshot in the quiet. “There. Now the scenery has a story. Brooding protector type. Very mysterious. You here hunting something specific, Colt? Or just scaring off the wildlife?”

My jaw tightens. She’s too close, too bright, and way too observant. The fog shifts, and I catch a glimpse of movement down the ridge. Footprints? Or just my imagination? No time for this. “None of your business. Go home, Oakley.”

She doesn’t move. Instead, she steps closer, lowering her voice like we’re sharing secrets. “You know, for a guy built like a lumberjack who benches trees, you’re awfully tense. Bad guys on your tail? Or are you the bad guy?” Her eyes dance. “Either way, I’m not leaving until I get the shot I came for. The light’s perfect right now.”

Perfect. Except now two shadows detach from the trees below us. Not hikers. Wrong posture. Too deliberate. Vanguard? Or locals protecting whatever secret Dad uncovered? My hand twitches toward my pack.

Oakley notices my shift and follows my gaze. “Friends of yours?”

“Stay behind me,” I growl, shoving her gently toward a cluster of boulders.

She plants her feet instead. “Make me, mountain man.”

The figures move faster. One raises something that glints in the weak light. Knife? Or worse? Gun. My heart kicks up. This woman just crashed my solo op, and now she’s in the crosshairs.

“Oakley. Now.”

She finally listens, but not before muttering, “Bossy. I like it. Sort of.”

I draw my sidearm, positioning myself between her and the threat as the first shot cracks through the fog.

The chase is on. And this ray of sunshine just became my problem.

2

Oakley