Swept for Forever (Buffaloberry Hill #3)

Chapter 1

AUTUMN JONES

Bitterroot Valley, Montana

I paced the clearing, my phone digging into my palm. My backpack sat on a flat rock.

An hour turned into two. Each time the call failed, I reached for the straps, threading them through my fingers, undoing knots that weren’t there.

Maybe he’d gotten a flat tire. Maybe there was no signal where he was.

Maybe something really bad had happened.

Come on, Jimmy. Pick up.

I pressed the call button again. This one finally connected.

“Autumn,” he answered.

“Jimmy? Are you okay?”

There was a beat of silence, then he answered, “I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t pick up earlier.”

He sounded calm. Too calm.

I stared into the air, trying to make sense of that. “Where are you?”

“Home.”

Home? Yesterday, he’d said he was already on his way to check the trail ahead of time. That was the whole reason I’d come here with Mom.

Then he said, “Hey, listen…I’m sorry. Raincheck?”

Seriously? After I’d been standing out here like an idiot, my fingers aching from clutching my phone while my mom’s car had long since disappeared down the road, he had the nerve to say “raincheck”?

“I’ve been here two hours.” The words scraped on the way out. “My mom drove five hours to get me here.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize she brought you. Thought you drove yourself.”

I stared at the empty trailhead. “And that would’ve made it okay?”

“Well…I guess it would’ve been less of a hassle for your mom.”

Something mean stirred under my ribs. “My car’s in the shop. I told you that. Brake trouble, remember?”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, babe. I forgot.” His voice hadn’t shifted at all. “I just didn’t wanna mess up your birthday. That’s why I figured it’d be better this way.”

My hands curled into fists. “This way?”

“If I came and we ended up arguing or something, it would’ve ruined the whole trip. This way, you’re not stuck with me.”

A year away from getting my Physical Education degree, and I was still falling for freshman-level bullshit.

“So you’re doing that now? Acting like this was some kind of favor?”

“I was gonna go, I swear,” he rushed, “but then I started thinking…we haven’t really been us lately, have we? And faking it for three days wouldn’t have helped anything.”

My patience circled the drain. He was a smart guy—on paper. But this? I almost felt secondhand embarrassment just hearing his logic.

“And you didn’t even bother telling me until now?” I said.

He sighed, as if he were the one let down. “I knew you’d be upset. That’s why I didn’t want to do this now.”

“Oh? So, when would have been a better time, Jimmy? After we’d pitched the tent? After we were halfway up the fucking mountain?”

“Autumn, come on. Don’t make it worse.”

I laughed. “Right. Of course. I’m the problem now.”

“I’m just saying. You’ll be fine. You’re not like any girl. You’ve got a tough heart.”

There it was. The line. The excuse.

I was tough, so it was okay to ditch me. Tough, so he didn’t have to feel guilty. I could take it, right? That was the unspoken deal. He got to walk away clean.

I inhaled. “Jimmy, I still love you.”

He made a strangled sound. “Autumn, I care about you, even if this isn’t working. I’ll always look back on the good stuff.”

I stuck my tongue out and made a panting sound.

“What was that?” he yelped.

“That was the sound of a lapdog,” I said flatly. And before he could gather enough brain cells to argue, I added, “And that was me bullshitting you. Because I’m not your lapdog!”

I straightened as I let it carry into my voice. But inside, I was shaking my head. Thinking about letting him pop my cherry? Might as well have handed it over to a vending machine and hoped for the best. At least a Snickers wouldn’t have ghosted me on my birthday.

“And you know what? Do me a favor, Jimmy.”

“Autumn—”

“Lose my number.”

I ended the call, dropped my phone in my crossbody bag, and stared at the dirt path ahead.

My mother would be halfway home to Idaho Falls by now. She’d woken up early just for me, and she had work this afternoon. I wasn’t calling her back.

Besides, for all his crap about me having a “tough heart,” that bastard Jimmy never really thought I could handle this trail. A multi-day hike? Please. He’d dropped hints more than once. It’s brutal out there, Autumn. I won’t let you go alone. People get hurt all the time. Yeah, no kidding.

I scoffed, taking my first steps. “Watch me!”

Who needed a double-crossing, trail-dodging human toenail?

I had supplies and equipment. And I was the one in charge of bringing the backup lightweight tent. A whole tent, all to myself. No waking up to a faceful of his morning stink. I’d have enough space to starfish without sharing sweat space.

I tightened the straps of my backpack, rolling my shoulders as I trekked along.

For the first few hours, the hike felt more like a victory lap. The trail climbed in steady switchbacks, and even with the extra weight strapped to me, my steps felt strong. The rhythm of hiking—foot forward, push, breathe—settled into my stride.

The trees swayed in the breeze, birds flitted through the canopy, and for a while, I forgot about everything.

Just me and the wild.

Soon, the ascent started. My thighs burned on the inclines, and my breath came quicker. The path narrowed, overgrown in places, forcing me to maneuver around loose rocks.

I slackened my steps, glancing up. The sky had dimmed slightly, and the afternoon had shifted into something cooler.

Still fine. Time to channel Mr. Keating, my motor control lecturer and part-time philosopher, and finally make his course useful.

I paused for a few gulps of water, then stilled.

There was a dull thump ahead, a grunt and the sound of something heavy hitting dirt.

Keeping my movements quiet, I took a couple of steps forward.

Just beyond the curve of the trail, the trees thinned. Sunlight dappled the ground in patches, hitting a small clearing where a man stood, half-hidden by the foliage.

Instinct kicked in before logic. I ducked behind a thick bush and peered through the branches.

The guy was lanky, wearing a black jacket zipped up high. He moved in quick, jerky motions, shoving dirt over a shallow hole.

A prickle ran up my spine.

Inside the hole was a duffel bag.

Money? Drugs? Cache of weapons?

It had to be something illegal. Had to be.

The man straightened abruptly and…ow. His whole upper body did this weird hitch, like his neck had a rusted hinge in it. He winced, then gingerly tilted his head left. Right. Left again.

I clamped a hand over my mouth.

A mobster with a neck problem?

My pulse spiked as he scanned the area, his head swiveling in halting motions.

I barely breathed.

He grabbed the duffel bag, then gave one last twitchy glance around. I should’ve used that moment to back away.

I should’ve.

Instead, a rock shifted under my boot.

Crunch.

The man’s head jerked, his whole body stiffening.

Right then, a bark split the air.

The surprise nearly had me falling backward.

Rounding the corner was a black-and-white blur—medium build, lean legs, ears cocked. A dog.

Shit. The man has a dog?

I might’ve escaped a near miss, but a dog wouldn’t miss me.

But the dog wasn’t looking at me. It was barking at him.

“Oh, you decided to come back, huh?” He abandoned his shovel, annoyed. “Lulu, come here.”

Lulu hesitated.

The man’s voice dropped. “I said, come here.”

Her tail tucked, but she didn’t move.

I pressed a hand to my chest, frozen behind the bush as the man took a step toward the dog. Then another.

And then he lunged.

Lulu yelped and sprang back. The man snarled. “You little shit—”

He snatched the dog’s collar and yanked.

She twisted, whimpering, her paws scrabbling against the dirt.

“Lulu! Sit!”

But she wasn’t listening.

She gave me another jerk. Harsher this time.

Her lips peeled back in a snarl. Then, in a burst of panic, she sank her teeth into his hand just as the collar came free.

The man screamed.

“You fucking—!” He ripped his arm away, staggering.

I expected him to lash out, maybe kick the dog, but he only clutched his injured hand, drawing a sharp breath through his teeth.

After another round of swearing, he shoved the collar into the bag and zipped it shut with a grunt. The dog made a slow circle around him while he reached for the shovel. Just as he angled it toward the dirt, he froze.

He went upright all at once, his shoulders squared. His torso turned first before his head followed, his eyes finally locking onto me.

Shit! He might’ve seen my pack.

They always said to wear a bright pack so rescue crews could spot you in an emergency. This was not that kind of emergency.

For half a second, neither of us moved.

Then he dropped the shovel and stepped forward.

“Hey there!” he called out smoothly. “Nice day for a hike, eh?”

My foot edged back. I wasn’t buying the smile.

“Don’t be scared,” he said, holding up a hand like I was some skittish animal. “I’m just…doing something innocent here. Well, maybe there’s a rule against burying things in these woods, but it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

He moved back to the pit. “You wanna see?” His tone was friendly. But his eyes weren’t. He crouched near the dog, one hand reaching as if to pet it while the other drifted toward the half-buried bag.

Gun.

I bolted.

Shit, shit, shit.

I crashed through the undergrowth, branches clawing at my arms, my pack slamming into my spine.

Behind me, the man let out a dragging chuckle. “Come on, girl. There’s nothing out there.”

Nothing was better than him, so I kept running.

A gunshot cracked through the trees.

I flinched as something whooshed past my side, but I kept running. The jolt threw me off balance, but I managed to stay on my feet.

Another shot came, then a noise to my left, Lulu letting loose in the distance.

My lungs burned, my legs pumping as I tore through the forest. My pack weighed me down, the straps biting into my shoulders, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

Lulu’s barking kept ringing through the chaos.

“Go ahead, run,” the man called out. “If you make it out today, good for you. But I’ll find you. Girls like you? Always leave a trail. Friends, family, a sweet little mom and dad. Just sayin’.”

My chest heaved. I veered right, leaping over a fallen log, twigs snagging at my pants.

Footsteps pounded behind me.

My ankle twisted on a root, and pain flared up my leg.

Go, go, go!

I crashed through the brush, my lungs screaming, my heart a drum in my throat.

Another gunshot.

Then silence.

But I kept running.

Minutes blurred together. My breath tore out of me in ragged gasps, my feet barely touching the ground.

The barking faded.

Then nothing.

I didn’t slow down. Not until my body forced me to, until my knees nearly buckled, my vision tipped sideways, and I had to slap a hand against a tree to steady myself.

I choked on air, my head snapping back to listen.

The man was gone.

I swallowed, forcing oxygen into my lungs. That was when I felt it, cold liquid trickling down my leg.

Not blood.

Water.

Hands shaking, I yanked off my pack and turned it over.

The first casualty was my stainless-steel water bottle.

There were two holes—one punched clean through the front, the other torn out the back.

The metal around them was warped. It had to be the stiff-necked mobster’s bullet.

The shot had ripped through and kept going.

A few inches over, and that would’ve been me.

I inspected the rest of the pack, trying to find where it exited. Since it wasn’t lodged in me (I didn’t think so, anyway), it had to be buried in there somewhere. Luck, maybe, considering how bulky the thing was. But they also said you made your own luck.

A cold sweat broke over my skin. I grabbed the bottle and shook it, but it was useless. There were just a few drops left.

Yeah, damn. Jimmy was supposed to bring the big bottles.

I wet my cracked lips. This was bad. I had to find water.

Legs aching, I pushed on. The slope pitched steeply, the ground slick from the damp. I half-stumbled, catching myself against trees and ducking under branches.

Then the rain came. It was a mist at first, kissing my face like a blessing. Then more. A steady sheet.

“Yes!” I murmured.

I scrambled for my bottle and angled the mouth skyward. Rain splattered in, rising just enough to reach the bullet holes before leaking straight out. It was not much, but enough to keep me going.

My teeth chattered. The temperature had dropped fast.

I’d planned for this trip. I knew how to hike. But knowing something in theory and dealing with it while wet, freezing, and chased by a lunatic were two different things.

Still, I could figure this out.

I wasn’t helpless.

I wasn’t an idiot.

I just needed shelter before it was completely dark.

The thought pushed me forward. My boots sank into the mud, the slope getting more dangerous.

I nearly wiped out twice before I saw it.

A shallow, rocky overhang, half-hidden by a cluster of trees. It was not perfect, but it was low enough to keep me concealed and deep enough to block the wind.

I half-slid down the slope, gripping roots to keep from tumbling. When I finally reached the rock, I ducked inside, pressing myself against the cold stone.

Rain eased, and water dripped from the edge of the overhang.

Then, high above, came a faint glint of light.

Maybe I was seeing things. Maybe not.

As the drizzle sifted through the leaves, I heard him crashing through the trees, moving with purpose.

I pressed deeper into the rock, barely breathing.

He was too high up to see me. He had to be. But the light flickered again, shifting, moving away.

Then…nothing.

No barking. No footsteps.

I checked the map. My phone battery was blinking low. GPS showed another trail nearby: Raven Bluff. If I could reach it, it’d lead straight to a town called Buffaloberry Hill.

I was freezing, dead tired, and running on nothing but adrenaline. But I told myself that worst-case scenarios were my specialty. “I can do this.”

Funny thing? If toenail Jimmy hadn’t pulled his crap, I wouldn’t be this fired up. The old Autumn Jones would’ve curled up and called this the worst day of her life.

Well, yeah, it was. Before this, the worst thing I’d ever endured was tearing my ACL in the middle of Idaho’s state swimming championships. One second, I was surging through the water, and the next, everything stopped. There was a snap and a shock so deep it left me gasping.

The pain wasn’t the worst part. Waiting to heal was.

Waiting it out in the middle of Montana’s soaked wilderness was officially worse, but I wasn’t done yet.

I just had to make it through the night.