Damaged Mountain Man (Whiskey Mountain #1)

Chapter One

Luna

I just have to make it to Whiskey Mountain.

This is the thought that I have kept on loop since last night when I decided I had to get out of town or risk losing my sanity for good. I have repeated the thought every minute of my nearly eight hour drive so far and now that I’m almost there, I’m not sure making it to Whiskey Mountain is the solution I thought it would be.

This has been the worst year of my life, and that’s not even a bit of an exaggeration. My parents were killed in a car accident six months ago. It was so unexpected, so final that I hadn’t had time to fully process it before the incident occurred.

Just as I was starting to put my life back together, having finally sold my parents’ house and gathered the courage to put their entire lives in storage, I witnessed a crime. I was walking back to the parking lot from the storage unit I had rented to put my parents’ belongings while I figured out what my next step was. It was a rough day, I had just brought over my mother’s countless photo albums and I couldn’t help looking through them as I was placing the crates on the shelves.

I ended up staying for hours longer than I planned and when I walked out of the unit, it was completely dark out. As I was closing the door to my unit, I heard a gunshot and was shocked to see a dark haired man fly past me in a very distinct silver car. I was terrified, but knew something must have happened so I looked back towards the end of the unit alley and saw something that changed my life forever.

There, in the open garage of one of the units laid a man with blood pooling around his head. I ran closer to see if he was alright, only to find that he had one perfect bullet hole right through the center of his head. He was dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. I immediately called the police, wanting to make sure this man was taken care of, even in death. It was the most basic human decency, but it has cost me greatly.

I told the cops who arrived on the scene about the silver car, about the dark haired man racing away. They let me know that the city had been having problems with the mafia and that this shooting was likely connected to that. Suddenly, I went from being sure I had done the right thing to scared out of my mind. The mafia in my city was not something to mess with and I couldn’t shake the feeling that they would find out who I was.

The next week, I came back to my storage unit with the last of my parents’ keepsakes. I had just closed on the house, something that felt like both a relief and the end to the early part of my life. As I went to open the garage-style door to my unit, I found a note haphazardly taped to the door:

You will pay for this.

I nearly dropped the box in my hands in fear. I quickly unloaded the car, locked my unit up, and headed back to my apartment. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me the whole night, that someone had seen me at the storage unit and followed me back to my place.

Instead of sleeping that night, I stayed up and looked for quick rentals in small, secluded towns in the mountains. As soon as I saw the quaint cabin in a town called Whiskey Mountain, I knew that was the place for me. I booked the cabin as far out as it would let me. With the money from the house and the sum my parents left me as their only child, I knew I could swing it. Maybe I could get a job in Whiskey Mountain. I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I just knew I needed to get the hell out of the city.

I just have to get to Whiskey Mountain. I repeat once more and just then, I see the sign welcoming me to the small town.

Welcome to Whiskey Mountain!

Population: 4,000

Perfect.

I follow my GPS to the cabin and feel the first semblance of relief I’ve felt in weeks at the sight. It’s a cute log style cabin with a bright blue door that makes me feel welcome immediately. I get out of the car and punch in the key code the owner messaged me this morning.

I drop my bags by the door and take a deep breath. This is it. My new life. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to stay here, but for now, I’m off the grid. No one knows where I am. I’ll be safe here.

But the thought doesn’t comfort me as much as I’d like it to. I can still feel that lingering fear, the sense that someone’s watching me, even though I’m alone. I walk over to the window, peeking through the blinds just to make sure no one followed me. Of course, there’s no one out there. Just the trees and the dirt road and my beat-up car. But the paranoia is hard to shake.

I sit down on the couch, my mind racing. I think about my parents again, how much I miss them, how I wish they were here to help me through this. They always knew what to do, and always had a plan. But now it’s just me, figuring it out as I go. I can’t believe I’m here, in some random cabin in the middle of nowhere, trying to stay alive because I saw something I shouldn’t have and thought I was doing the right thing by reporting it.

The weight of it all hits me suddenly, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I press my palms into my face, trying to hold it together, but it’s hard. I feel so lost, so disconnected from the life I had before.

After a few minutes, I take a deep breath and force myself to stand up. There’s no point in breaking it down now. I’m here. I’m alive. And I just need to get through this, one day at a time. I start unpacking, trying to make the cabin feel a little more like home, even though I know it never really will.

After a few minutes, I head into the kitchen and find a note from the owner detailing where everything is and what I might need for my stay. She noted that there is a stash of firewood behind the cabin, next to the hiking trail. I decide a nice fire doesn’t sound so bad and, despite having no desire to leave the first place I’ve felt a smidge of comfort in months, venture out to the stash.

As I walk behind the cabin, I notice the trail she mentioned, it’s blocked by a few trees, but still pretty close to the house. Maybe once I’m feeling more secure, I can venture out and explore the wilderness. I think that would do me some good. I’m lost in my own thoughts, picking out the best looking pieces of firewood when I feel a tickle on my ankle. Without thinking, I jump, falling backwards as the wood I had gathered goes flying around me.

I land flat on my back, grateful for the soft ground to break my fall. What I’m not thankful for is the piece of firewood I tried grabbing onto as I was going down. The log has landed on my wrist and I can already feel the bruising forming. I remove the piece of wood with my good hand and try circling my wrist around.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter, still sitting on the ground. I start moving my wrist in tiny, agonizing circles. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem broken, but the pain still makes me wince.

I look up when I hear a rustling in the woods, just through the trees. I peer in and see a man rounding the curve, he must see me through the trees because he pauses. I stay frozen in place, not sure if I want to make contact with a stranger—especially with everything going on.

“Everything okay over there?” the man asks, taking out one of his earbuds but still standing a healthy distance away. He’s wearing a forest green puffer jacket, hair covered by a gray beanie, a thick, chocolate-colored beard, and face tanned like he spends time outdoors all year long. He gives me a small smile and something about him makes me feel safe.

“Just took a tumble, I think I felt a leaf blow by my ankle and it sent me flying,” I say with a laugh. “It’s my first day here, I don’t know if I’m built for this wildlife.”

“Do you need a hand?” he asks, still standing in the clearing. I don’t know why, but his keeping a distance makes me feel like I want him closer. Like he wants to make sure I feel safe before he approaches me.

“That would be great, thank you!” He steps toward me and reaches out a hand. I take it with my unharmed hand, but stumble a little as I’m standing up, falling forward but he catches me. He stabilizes me right in front of him and I get a true look at his face for the first time. His eyes near-perfectly match his green jacket, they’re like looking into pine trees themselves. I’m mesmerized.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Ethan,” he interjects with a grin that lights up his whole face.

“Ethan,” I nod. “I’m Luna.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Luna. How’s the wrist?” he asks, eyeing where I’ve clutched it in my good hand.

“Definitely sore. I don’t think it’s broken, but I don’t think I can manage carrying back the firewood that was the whole purpose of coming back here,” I finish in a huff, back to feeling helpless and overwhelmed. This stranger doesn’t need to hear my ramblings.

“I can carry it back for you, if you want.” Before I can answer, he backs away and starts gathering the firewood in his arms. He seems so kind and I am such a mess in comparison, I can’t even form words.

After staring at his very lithe body for a little too long, I swallow and spit out, “If you don’t mind! I’m staying just around the bend.”

He gives me another glowing smile and says he knows the place, but tells me to lead the way.

Maybe my time in the woods won’t be so bad.