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“I don’t think so.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “You’re alone?”

“Why do you care?”

Instead of answering, he reaches past me for his beer, his arm brushing mine in the process. Heat flashes up my skin instantly.

Jesus.

“You should head back before dark,” he says.

I laugh softly. “You really do enjoy sounding ominous, don’t you?”

His eyes lock onto mine again.

“No,” he says quietly. “I just know this mountain better than you do.”

The way he says mountain feels loaded somehow.

Like it belongs to him.

Like he expects it to listen.

I force myself to look away first and head for the door before this conversation gets any stranger.

Cold air slaps my face the second I step outside, and I suck in a steadying breath as I cross toward my Jeep. The street’s quieter now, festival lights glowing softly against the darkening mountain sky.

For the first time all night, I almost relax.

Then I see it.

A dark truck parked across from my rental cabin farther up the road.

Engine off.

Lights out.

Watching.

And even from here, I know someone’s keeping an eye on me.

Chapter Two

Rhett

The elk’s bleeding heavier now.

I crouch beside the disturbed patch of snow and mud, dragging two fingers through the fresh crimson streak cutting across the trail. Not arterial. Shoulder wound, maybe higher. Still moving fast, though. Too fast for an animal carrying that much blood loss.

“Stubborn bastard,” I mutter, straightening slowly.

My knee protests immediately.

Old injury.

Old war.

Old reminder.