Protective (Mail Order Mountain Men #1)

Chapter Eight

Chevy

The snow is that heavy, wet shit that catches in your tires and makes driving absolute hell, but I make it to the police station within twenty minutes and toss the sack of shit in the back toward the officer.

There are questions and a small load of paperwork to be had, but for the most part, the asshole runs his mouth straight into a jail cell where he’ll stay until the storm clears for further questioning.

Maybe I did the wrong thing. Who knows? I wasn’t made for emotional shit. I was made for tactical military shit. I was made to problem-solve and protect, not think about how I’m affecting everyone’s feelings with the actions I’m taking. That’s the problem. It’s always going to be the problem. The second Heather meets me properly, she’s going to know that.

Snow falls heavier. Visibility is only inches, and the normally familiar landscape is a blanket of blinding white. I could go back up the mountain toward my cabin, but I doubt I’d make it. The most logical conclusion is a ride back down to the ranch, though that could be my heart convincing me of something that I don’t fully understand.

My phone rings and I’m thankful to see Ryder’s number pop on the screen. “Checkin’ in.”

“Thought you were busy getting the last of the boards cut?”

“Cut and done. Got out of there an hour ago. You close to Main Street? I made it to the bar, so I’ll be sitting at Mullet’s until the storm is over.”

I laugh because the bar is past his house by at least three miles. “Sorry, man. I’m headin’ back toward the ranch.”

“You left?” I hear the click of a beer bottle hit the bar.

“For a while.” I don’t offer details on why I left, mostly because I’m not in the mood for anyone’s advice on the topic.

“Okay,” he groans. “You guys figure that shit out?”

“No. You know I’m making you try this next, right?”

Ryder laughs. “No fuckin’ way. I’m not that guy.”

“What kind of guy is that?”

“Lonely. I’m fine on my own.”

“Are you fine on your own, or are you obsessed with someone you can’t have?” I pull out onto the road, thankful for the winter tires, but when the back-end slides, I’m disappointed in myself for not putting the chains on.

He gives me a short, firm laugh that’s more sarcastic than anything. “Umm… get fucked.”

I laugh. “Is it not true?”

“I was drunk. That’s all that was. Sasha is my son’s ex. She’s off limits. It’s a known fact.”

“And yet you pine after her like she’s an option.” I don’t know much about feelings, but I know enough to be aware of the fact that I’m using his drama to ease the stress about my own.

He sighs. “Once you see the perfect piece, it’s hard to see anything else.”

That part is the truth. Heather and I have only had a couple of conversations, but I already know she’s the one.

How fucking dumb is that? I need to get a grip. Two conversations do not equal love, and this is proof that I’d suck at it.

I grumble under my breath and stay focused on the road. “This whole fuckin’ thing is stupid, anyway.”

“Damn, man. Sounds like you need a beer.”

“Truthfully,” I lean forward, as though changing my position will help me see through the snow more clearly, “I probably could. I don’t know what I’m doing right now. I should’ve told Heather who I was when I was trying to help her. She’s going to think I’m a fuckin’ cock if I show up now.”

“Yup,” he laughs, “but it’s gotta happen sooner or later. Might as well happen when she’s trapped and can’t get away.”

“Ha. Ha.” The wind howls and blows the falling snow into a frenzy of white, shaking the truck as I descend the mountain. If I go off the elevation alone, I’ve nearly reached the left turn toward the ranch, but that road is gonna be hard to find in this storm. Not only is the visibility low, but the snow has piled up, and my truck is the only vehicle that’s driven this way since it started accumulating. “I think I’m almost there. I gotta watch for this turn, but I’ll be sure and sign you up while I’m out here. No worries.”

He laughs. “Not sure that’s what I said, man, but good luck. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Sure ya will,” I groan with laughter in my throat as the sign for the ranch comes into view. I’m gonna have to go past it and come back again, so I don’t spin out trying to turn, but at least I see the direction of the road. Thankfully I’m at a low enough elevation now that I can’t go careening off the edge of a cliff onto the valley floor, though, at this point, a ride over the edge doesn’t sound half as bad as the reality of my dumbass telling Heather that I was the guy stalking her all day.