Protective (Mail Order Mountain Men #1)

Chapter Seven

Heather

My heart slams against my chest as Bryan trudges through the snow toward the car. I should’ve figured he’d come back to ‘ rescue ’ me. That’s a famous move of his. Cause problems just so he can make them better again.

I’m not falling for it this time. He can sit out there all night and bury himself in the snow. That’d be fine by me.

“Come on, baby. I’ll take you home. You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

I glare toward him and roll my eyes. I don’t understand why I ever dealt with so much from a guy who doesn’t bother showering every day. It’s funny the things you notice when the rose-colored glasses come off.

“Don’t be like that.” He yanks on the door and yells, “Fuck! I tried to apologize! I try, and try, and fucking try, but where does it get me?”

Thankfully, I’m behind a locked door, so I don’t have to hold back on my laughter. It’s almost funnier when he gets worked up, starts yelling, then pulls on the knob repeatedly as though he’s an ape who’s been caged too long.

“Laugh all you fucking want, bitch.” He slams the window twice, then pulls a metal spike that’s attached to his key ring, smashing it against the window once before I realize that he’s trying to break the window.

What is my life? How is this happening? I’m here trying to start over. Trying to do the right thing. Trying to make something of the wasted years I’ve already spent with this jerk who couldn’t manage a nice word if he tried. Unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to want that for me. Apparently, the universe would prefer I’m surrounded by a narcissistic asshole for eternity.

Tears stream down my face as I scream for him to stop, but he only laughs harder and continues to smash at the window with the small metal spike. I don’t get why he’s acting this way. He cheated on me. He doesn’t even want me.

Why is he doing this? Why won’t he let me move on?

I’m mid-contemplation when I catch the red truck from earlier out the corner of my eye spinning back into the snow-covered parking lot like a race car drifting into first place. The truck is barely parked when the man from earlier jumps out with a two-tone handgun pulled and aimed toward Bryan.

“Get on the fuckin’ ground!” the man shouts, stepping closer.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The man fires a warning shot. “Get on the fuckin’ ground!”

Like the bitch I’ve suspected Bryan was all along, he holds up his shaking hands and drops to his knees before throwing himself face first in a bank of snow.

Maybe I should be terrified. The vest guy was lingering around all afternoon, and it looks like he never truly left. Maybe he’s some kind of weirdo who’s also trying to get me out of my car.

I really need to lay off all those murder mystery podcasts and start surrounding myself with good people. Clearly, I’ve become skeptical of the world. Then again, if I were truly that skeptical, I probably wouldn’t be lustfully watching his biceps flex as he holds the gun against Bryan’s back, or delightfully giddy as I stare at the man’s shoulders when he carries my ex to the truck like a sack of feed. Lord knows that if I was well-adjusted, I wouldn’t be soaking wet watching the man’s thick fingers rope my ex down for safe keeping.

When he’s finished, the man glances toward me, and my stomach tightens. I should’ve called Trish and at least let her know what was going on.

I roll down the window a smidge as the man approaches in the near whiteout conditions. Too much longer out here and I’m going to have to turn off the car and conserve gas.

He’s a little out of breath and a puff of condensation leaves his lips before he says, “Sorry if I scared you. I know you asked me to leave, and I should’ve, but I was worried for you.”

My cheeks blush, and though I should be disgusted, I’m sort of flattered. “So, you were watching me?”

“I was watching,” he brushes his hand down over his beard and bites back a grin, “ over you. Does that make it sound less creepy?”

I glance toward the ranch house a few hundred yards away. “If it gets too bad, I can go inside.”

“I had a buddy once get lost in a blizzard behind his house. He almost lost his foot due to frostbite. He was only fifty feet away from his front door. Couldn’t see a damn thing. He was goin’ in circles all night.”

“Sounds like your friend isn’t very bright,” I manage with a straight face.

Thankfully, the man takes it as the joke it’s meant to be. “That might’ve been part of it for sure.” He brushes his giant hands together and stares toward me for a long while before glancing toward his truck and back again. “Well,” he taps the top of my car, “I guess I should get this guy over to the police station. It’s not far from here. I could give you a ride too, or at least drop you off at the main ranch house.”

I stare toward the man with kind, dark eyes, knowing he has a gun tucked into the back of his jeans. I’m pretty sure my mother taught me not to take rides from strangers, especially strangers with weapons, but something about this stranger is warm, trusting, and familiar somehow. That said, Ted Bundy made people feel comfortable too, and look how that ended for at least thirty women.

“Thanks, but… I’m good. I think I’ll contact the ranch and have them send someone out to help me. It’s probably what I should’ve done to begin with.”

The man wets his lips and steps back before pulling down his hat, then lifting it again. “No problem. I, ugh, hope you have a good night.”

My heart squeezes as he turns away, and though I want to jump out and hug him tight with proper thanks, I stay planted right where I am and dial the ranch office for help.