Sloane
I didn’t pick Carter at random. Not truly.
I’ve been friends with Delilah Henderson for years.
She brought in her father’s truck a few years back.
No mechanic in Texas would touch it, claiming it wasn’t worth saving, but I saw the way she looked at it.
Sentimental value can’t be measured. So, she hauled the truck from Texas to Louisiana, and I did what I do best.
That old work truck was my first restoration project, and it made us fast friends. We talked about everything from cars to cattle to men. She even tried to set me up with the youngest of her eight sons once. I let her give him my number but luckily, he was already engaged to a woman up in Colorado.
I love Delilah but I do not want to be a rancher’s wife.
Boone became a mail order groom, a concept I thought was outdated and ridiculous at the time.
But when I had nowhere else to go, I remembered the company he used and the small town high in the Viridian Mountains he moved to that has more men than women.
I remember his mother gushing about his happiness when he and his bride came to visit a month later.
“Never happier,” she said.
I was already on the road before I filled out the application for Pearl’s, but once my identity was verified, I set my location preference to Crescent Ridge and luck was on my side when I matched with Carter so quickly.
If only we were an actual match and not some stupid prank his friend pulled behind his back.
Following him across the yard, my gaze traces the broad line of his shoulders and the way his worn t-shirt stretches tight across a muscled back that looks strong enough to carry me without breaking a sweat.
His arms are thick, corded with veins from years of hard labor, and when he glances back at me, those dark green eyes darken further, like he can feel me staring.
Heat pools low in my belly. God, he’s huge, tall, powerful, and every inch the kind of man who could pin me down and take exactly what he wants in the best way. The thought should scare me. Instead, my nipples tighten against my damp tank top and a slick ache blooms between my thighs.
I’ve never reacted to a man this fast. This desperately.
“Is there really only one coffee shop in town?” I ask in an attempt to cut through the awkward tension bubbling up between us.
“Bean There,” Carter says with a nod. His deep, gravel-rough voice alone sends a shiver straight to my clit. “But the bookstore sells tea too.”
“Bleh,” I groan before I can stop myself.
His laughter catches me off guard. It’s loud and deep and the rumbling vibration makes me ache. I’ve never been good at dating. I’d rather spend my time covered in grease, working on old cars than trying to decipher body language. But for a man like him? I’d drop everything.
“It’s awful,” he agrees. “But don’t tell Cole. His wife is the owner.”
His casual comment abruptly brings me back to reality. I’m not going to meet Cole or his wife. I’m not going to stop at the coffee shop or the bookstore unless it’s on my way out of town.
I can’t stay here. This giant lumberjack didn’t sign up for a wife and he sure as hell doesn’t want one.
He’s just being considerate by leading me away from his friends so he can break the news to me gently and send me on my way.
My eyes burn as we walk over to the line of square bodied trucks I parked next to. Working with gruff mechanics who think a Sports Illustrated calendar is wall art, I’m not used to anyone treating me like I’m fragile.
“Are there any apartments in town who wouldn’t run a background check?” I ask.
His dark blonde eyebrow jumps up.
“I’m not a criminal,” I rush to add. “I just want to go off grid for a while.”
He glances down at my hand, where I’ve been clutching my phone like a stress ball.
“You got a cellphone,” he says slowly.
“Yes?”
“Going off grid is all about cutting yourself off from the network. Solar panels for electricity and all that. No TV, internet, or cell phones allowed.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Harder to be tracked that way,” he adds. “I’ve got a few buddies from my SEAL team that are big into conspiracies.”
“Tracked?” I whisper. My eyes dart down to my phone. My very trackable phone with GPS enabled.
“Yeah, they don’t want anyone to be able to follow them. Not the government or the police or any crazy ex-girlfriends.”
He keeps talking, the soothing rumble of his voice blurring into the background as blood rushes to my head. I kept my cellphone. I didn’t toss it, or get a burner, or even turn off the location tracking.
The cops are dirty. The cops who can trace calls, and license plates are working with the Iron Vultures.
I’m so fucking dead.
“Hey!” Carter yells and I look up at him in a daze. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
I shake my head. He sighs before lifting his baseball cap and running his hand through his dirty blonde hair.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and before I can brush him off with a nonanswer he adds, “Don’t lie to me. Something’s got you backed into a corner and running like you’re scared for your life.”
I blame his eyes. Dark green with the smallest sprinkle of chocolate near the pupil, they undermine my defenses.
So, I tell him everything. He’s not going to marry me, and I’ve got no reason to keep my mouth shut. The stakes are too high with my life on the line. I don’t even care how desperate I sound.
When I’m done, he doesn’t immediately speak. He stares at me while leaning against the side of his truck.
“How’d you know where to find me?” he finally asks and I couldn’t roll my eyes harder if I tried. I’m dealing with murderous bikers and death threats, but he’s only concerned with how I found him in this tiny town.
A smartass remark is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t let it slip out.
“I stopped by the bakery and asked if anyone knew where I could find you.”
“You talk to anyone else?” he asks.
“No.”
“Good,” he says. “That’ll buy us some time. The Carmichael wives work at Sugar Crossing, and they’ll keep your secret safe. Don’t worry about the guys either, they’ll keep their mouths shut too.”
He glances over his shoulder like he’s checking to see if anyone is watching us.
“Give me your phone,” he orders.
I slap it into his palm without a word of protest. He storms off, long legs eating up the distance between the row of parked vehicles and the semi-truck being unloaded.
A broad-shouldered man wearing a tattered blue baseball cap is talking to the driver and neither man notices Carter opening the cab door and sliding my phone underneath the driver’s seat.
“It’ll be in Denver by tonight,” he says when he rejoins me.
Stupid phone. It has my entire life on it. Photos, social media accounts, phone numbers of every friend I’ve had since I was sixteen. It has everything.
As if reading my mind, Carter mutters, “It’s not worth your life.”
He opens my car door for me, beyond ready to send me on my way.
“Thank you,” I blurt out. “I’m sorry your friend pranked you.”
He snorts.
“I’m not.”
The two words form a mantra echoing throughout my brain as I slide behind the wheel.
I’m not. I’m not.
What does that even mean?
“I’ve still got half a shift left. If I give you directions, do you think you can make it to the cabin on your own?” Carter asks, snapping me out of my spiral.
“What cabin?”
“My cabin,” he answers like it’s obvious. “Ours now I suppose.”
His plan hits me like a bullet train on speed.
“No, I can’t,” I whisper trying to ignore the tantalizing bead of sweat rolling down his neck. “You don’t know me. You didn’t even know about the match.”
Dark green eyes meet mine and I lose my train of thought.
“That was before,” he says.
I can’t manage another protest as he kneels down in the mud to fasten my seatbelt and scribble directions onto an old fast-food napkin. This is insane. I’m insane. He’s definitely insane.
“Before what?” I ask, clutching the napkin.
His whole face lights up when he grins at me.
Those dark eyes shift from shadowy forests to a warm spring meadow, and I freeze as his big calloused palm comes up to cup my cheek.
For just a split-second I forget all about the men who want to kill me and the likelihood that trouble will follow me to this small idyllic town.
“Before I met my Angel,” he says, thumb tracing a lazy circle on my cheek. “Drive safe and make yourself at home. I’ll be back in four hours.”
His free hand bumps the brim of his hat up before he leans forward to kiss me.
It’s soft at first, like he’s giving me a chance to pull away. I can’t. Not because of his hand that’s shifted to the back of my neck. No, he’s giving me plenty of room to escape.
I just don’t want to.
My fingers curl tighter around the napkin in my hand, crinkling it as my heart pounds. His lips press a little firmer, a little surer, and I feel it everywhere, down my spine, in my stomach, in the sudden ache blossoming between my thighs.
Up close he smells like pine, sweat, and raw male musk. So fucking addictive it makes my head spin. I can feel the restrained power in his body, the way his chest rises and falls, and I wonder helplessly how that heavy, solid frame would feel pressing me into the mattress.
A small, helpless sound escapes me before I can stop it, and I feel the way his mouth curves against mine.
The kiss deepens just enough to steal the rest of my thoughts, his tongue brushing mine in smooth intoxicating strokes. My free hand lifts without permission, hovering for a second before settling against his chest.
His shirt is damp with sweat around the collar, but I don’t mind. I always have a trace of grease or oil on my clothes. It reminds me that he’s real, not just some figment of my imagination I’ve conjured up to ease the crushing panic that’s been chasing me since I left Hollow Creek.
The hard, thick ridge of his cock twitches against my thigh through his jeans and realize with a dizzy rush just how big he is. The thought of trying to take all of him makes me tremble.
He pulls back, my lips parting as I chase the warmth he leaves behind before I can stop myself. His forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my skin.
“Drive safe, Angel. Before I decide not to let you leave at all.”
I drive away, dazed and breathless, knowing with terrifying clarity that I’m already in too deep.