Dare to Fall (Mountain Men of Cinnamon Creek #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Gabby

“It’s not too late for me to hop a flight to Vegas so I can dump Chad’s body in the desert,” I say to my cousin Erin as we approach the baggage claim.

Bozeman, Montana is a far cry from Cancun. But I might be the only one not sad about missing out on a tropical resort. Beaches have never really been my style. I’m a mountain girlie through and through.

“Thank you, but no,” the ex-bride-to-be replies, her voice soft and void of emotion.

We’ve all been waiting for Erin to lose her shit since our cousin Bryan tipped her off about the infidelity earlier this morning, but so far, she’s just been a zombie.

If I found out my fiancé was cheating on me with my wicked stepsister of the north, I’d become the next feature on a Dateline documentary.

“I won’t kill him,” I add, hoping to lighten the mood. “I’ll leave that to the vultures. Somewhere remote, where the mob doesn’t even dump bodies.”

“No one is dumping a body,” Alanna, the maid of honor—or is it ex-maid of honor now?—snaps, spinning to point a finger at me. As though I’m a student being scolded by the uptight teacher who hasn’t been laid in forever. I like Alanna, but that woman seriously needs some dick to help her loosen up.

“I’m sure I could negotiate the charge down to manslaughter,” I say.

“Manslaughter?” Alanna repeats, her raised voice turning more than a few heads.

“She wasn’t serious, were you Gabby?” Stormi, Erin’s sister and my cousin, says.

“I’m not serious,” I say, nodding my head.

Alanna takes a deep breath, as though to center herself. “I know none of this is ideal—”

“We’re grateful you were able to switch reservations this last minute,” Devin, Erin’s book club bestie, says to Alanna. “And I, for one, am excited to see what this little town with a Hallmark-type name has to offer. Autumn in the mountains isn’t exactly a hardship.”

“Agreed,” I say, spotting my suitcase and yanking the heavy bag off the carousel with a grunt.

“You sure you didn’t stuff a body in there?” Stormi asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Not this trip,” I say, smiling.

Devin lets out a laugh she quickly turns into a cough when Alanna scowls.

“I’m an over packer,” I admit with a shrug.

“Since when?” Stormi challenges.

I grew up four houses down from my cousins.

Though I’m closer to Erin in age, Stormi was my little tagalong.

One who was always paying attention. Which is why her question is valid.

But this is not the time to announce that after this trip, I’m headed to California to start a new life adventure as a raft guide.

“How far is this Caramel Creek anyway?” I ask, deflecting.

“Cinnamon Creek,” Devin corrects.

“That sounds made up.”

“It’s real,” Alanna says, her tone slightly exasperated.

I feel for her, I really do. She put a lot of time and effort into planning the perfect bachelorette weekend for Erin.

Had the evil stepsister not been on her way to Cancun to join the bridal party, we’d probably be sitting on a beach right now, chugging margaritas.

But we didn’t want Gwen—or anyone else for that matter—to find us.

“I can’t wait to see the lodge in person,” Devin adds. “If that picture your brother sent is even half as good as the real thing—”

She stops mid-sentence, because the luggage carousel is dragging Erin away.

“Shit.”

I lunge into action, grabbing for the suitcase as Stormi unhooks Erin’s hand from the suitcase handle.

I yank her bag off the carousel with such force that I fall right on my ass.

The wheeled bag takes off toward the next carousel over.

Devin, the nurse in the group, examines Erin’s hand as Alanna runs after the runaway suitcase.

We’ve drawn more than a little attention from the crowd around us. Thankfully, the carousel didn’t devour Erin. I scan the people nearby, relieved that none of them appear to have been recording the incident on their phone. If Erin went viral, it’d be a lot harder to hide her away for the weekend.

“Are you okay?” I ask Erin, dropping my gaze to her red hand.

“Nothing’s broken,” Devin says, her tone purposely chipper, after several seconds of silence clearly indicating that Erin has exceeded her word count limit and may not speak again for a couple of hours.

Erin rubs her hand, almost absentmindedly. But that vacant look in her eyes is still prominent. God I hope this trip is the rejuvenating getaway she needs. Because once we get back to Omaha, everyone will lose their ever-loving mind about her calling off the wedding.

“Our shuttle’s outside,” Alanna announces, her tone a little breathless from running.

An older gentleman with a mop of thick, white hair and glasses helps load our suitcases into the back of a passenger van outside. The poor man breaks a sweat after the second bag. Apparently, none of us traveled light this trip.

“Let me help with mine,” I say, hooking my hand through the handle. “No fair making you lift the dead body.”

He chuckles instantly, a warm expression gracing his gently aged face.

“Fair enough.”

“Do you live in Cinnamon Creek?”

“Born and raised.”

I glance into the back of the van, quickly counting three women. Alanna stands on the curb near the open door, but she seems distracted by something on her phone. “How far from civilization are we going?”

“Cinnamon Creek’s a couple hours from Bozeman,” he explains. “But I assure you, it has everything you need.”

“Do you know if there’s any rafting tours in the area?”

“Oh yes,” he says. “Have you ever been?”

“Once or twice.” Because Alanna glances at me impatiently, I leave out the part that I’d live on the river if I could.

I don’t know how any of the others would feel about going white water rafting this weekend, but I’ll be damned if I sit in my room and miss an opportunity to take in all Montana has to offer in the fall.

I’ve wasted enough time not living these past several months.

On the water is the best place to do just that.

“You’ll want to talk to Winnie,” he says.

“Winnie?”

“She’s the event coordinator for the lodge. Sweet as apple pie, that woman.”

“Your wife?” I guess.

“No,” he says, though his eyes twinkle with something I’d dare say is mischief.

“Girlfriend?”

“You’ll want to get that rafting tour booked tonight,” he says, ignorning my question.

Ah, so I’ve hit on something. A secret love affair?

It makes me ache the tiniest bit. It’s been a good long while since I’ve felt anything for a man—at all.

“They book quickly, but if there’re any spots open, Winnie’ll find you one. ”

“Good to know…” I let my sentence trail off, hoping to get a name.

“Fred.”

“Fred.” I offer my hand to shake. “I’m Gabby.”

“As in Gabriella?”

“Yep.” My smile is forced. No one has called me that in a long time. Only my grandmother when I was a little girl, my mother when I’m in trouble—still—and Tucker Black. Speaking of He Who Shall Not Be Named men… “But I go by Gabby.”

“Gabby, are you coming?” Alanna demands, rounding the back of the van. She looks extra annoyed, but I’d wager some of that has to do with the phone she’s squeezing in her hand. If she grips it any tighter, that brand new device will shatter into pieces.

“Just asking Fred here if he knows where to buy a good shovel since you wouldn’t let me check mine on the flight.”

Alanna turns three shades of red, and I don’t bother swallowing my laughter as I round the van and hop in, taking shotgun since no one has claimed it.

I want to enjoy all the views before the sun goes down.

Maybe the rest of the women are bummed that we’re not hanging out on a beach right now, but I’m fucking giddy about the change of scenery.