Chapter - Sloane
Sloane
A week ago, I was running for my life.
Today, I’m arguing with Farmer Dan about whether there’s actually something in the water in Crescent Ridge that makes women stay.
“I’m telling you, it’s real,” he insists, leaning back against the picnic table with a grin. “You drink enough of it and suddenly you’re married with a baby on the way.”
Cole snorts from the other side of the table. “Or maybe it’s just that we’re all charming as hell.”
“Speak for yourself,” Casanova mutters, not even looking up from his sandwich.
I laugh before I can stop myself, the sound slipping out easy. It startles me a little, how normal it feels standing here in the middle of the yard, handing out lunch like I’ve been doing it for years instead of days.
Carter takes the basket from me without a word, his hand brushing mine just enough to tease.
I don’t feel like I’m hiding.
I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong.
For a few minutes, I feel like I belong here.
By the time I leave the yard, I’m in no rush. I visit with Carina and Sam Carmichael at Sugar Crossing for a couple of hours before stopping by Reid’s Garage to see if he’s hiring. He is, but he’s not available to meet me until after he gets back from vacation.
I stop at the grocery store, picking up a few things Carter doesn’t even know he’s out of, and exchange a few words with the woman behind the counter. When I pass the diner, Wendy waves from inside, and I wave back without thinking about it.
Everything feels normal.
That’s why I notice him.
He’s standing near the front window when I go into the grocery store. He’s still outside when I come back out. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, but then I see him in a truck two streets over from the diner.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I take the next turn slower than I should and watch my mirror.
The truck follows.
The burner phone is in my hand before I think about it, Carter’s number already pulled up. It rings once, twice, then goes to voicemail.
I try again with the same result.
My chest tightens, breath coming shorter as I glance back at the road and then the mirror again. I’m not staying in town.
Instead of heading back the way I came, I turn onto the road that leads up the mountain and press harder on the gas.
If he wants to follow me, he’s going to have to keep up.
By the time I pull up to the cabin, my hands are shaking bad enough that I have to force them to be still before I open the truck door.
Carter is outside, splitting wood.
He lifts the axe and brings it down in one smooth motion, the movement controlled and efficient.
The log splits clean under the force, wood cracking sharp against the quiet of the mountain.
Sweat darkens the collar of his shirt, the fabric pulling tight across his shoulders with each swing, clinging just enough to show the shift of muscle underneath.
My mouth goes dry. Every swing of that axe makes his biceps flex and his powerful thighs strain against his jeans. Too easily I can imagine those strong hands gripping my hips instead, holding me open while he drives into me.
My panties are already damp, and when his green eyes lock on mine, dark with something far more possessive than concern, fresh heat floods my core.
His forearms flex as he adjusts his grip, veins standing out under his skin, and when he swings again the impact travels through his whole body, grounded and steady from his boots up.
For a second, I almost forget why I’m here.
My attention sticks on the rhythm of his swings, the way he moves like nothing can throw him off balance. Then he looks up.
“Sloane?”
The axe is on the ground before I reach him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I think someone followed me,” I say.
His expression shutters, all traces of warmth gone as he grabs my arm and starts leading me to the cabin while demanding every detail I can give him.
“Describe him.”
“Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. He was at the grocery store, then the diner, and he followed me when I was driving.”
“What was he driving?”
“Dark Red 1978 Ford F-250. I didn’t get the plate.”
“That’s fine,” he says. “You came straight here. That’s what matters.”
“I called you,” I add. “You didn’t answer.”
His jaw tightens as he pats his pockets. Inside the cabin his phone rests on the kitchen counter. He probably set it down and forgot it after washing his hands. His gaze follows mine.
“That won’t happen next time,” he says as a man steps into the cabin.
I don’t think, I back straight into Carter. His hand comes up immediately, settling at my waist.
“Easy,” he says.
The other man lifts his hands slightly.
“Didn’t mean to scare her.”
“That’s him,” I say. “That’s the man who was following me.”
Carter exhales and rubs the back of his neck with his free hand.
“That’s Walker,” he says. “We served together. He’s one of the good guys.”
I stare at him.
“Why was he following me?”
“Because I told him to.”
“You had someone stalking me?”
“He’s there to protect you when I can’t and he’s not the only one,” he says. “Sheriff Larson’s in on it. Walker’s rotating with a couple others. No one comes up the mountain without us seeing them first.”
I take that in, knowing he didn’t tell me about this protection detail or ask for permission, he just handled the situation. This past week I’ve been worried that the bikers would catch us off guard but glancing between the former military men I realize that would never happen.
Carter devised and executed a plan without adding more stress and worry to my plate.
Back home, I was the one paying attention to everything, listening for the wrong sound, watching for the wrong car, waiting for something to go bad. No one stepped in. No one took it off my plate.
Until him.
“You did all that for me?”
“Yes.”
The tightness in my chest eases.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he says.
I frown.
“What?”
His hand slides up my back, settling at the nape of my neck, steady and sure. Walker, sensing that the conversation has shifted into one of a personal nature, has the decency to step out onto the porch.
“Whether those bikers show up looking for a fight, or if they have the common sense to never climb this mountain. It doesn’t matter because the outcome will always be the same.”
Carter leans closer to me, his proximity stealing my ability to speak.
“You’re staying,” he adds. “With me.”
My breath catches.
“Carter—”
“We’ll make it official,” he continues, like it’s already decided, and maybe it is. “You’ll be my wife. No one gets near you without going through me first.”
My heart stutters hard enough that I feel it’s fluttering beat in my throat.
“You’re serious.”
His thumb shifts against my skin, gentle and smooth.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
I swallow, searching his face.
“Is this just because of what’s happening?”
He lets out a quiet breath, something almost impatient in it.
“No,” he says. “I don’t need a reason like that.”
“Then why?”
His gaze drops to my mouth for a second before he looks back up.
“I want to.”
I don’t think about it. My hands come up, grabbing his shirt and pulling his lips to mine. He kisses me back without hesitation.
This time there’s nothing careful about it. His mouth moves against mine with purpose, his hands firm at my neck and waist as he pulls me closer. I press into him just as hard, my fingers tightening in his shirt as I match his desperation.
His hands slide into my hair, guiding me where he wants me. My breath catches when the kiss deepens, and I feel the shift in him immediately, the way his grip tightens, the way his body presses closer.
Everything else fades out as he kisses me, the fear from earlier losing it’s grip until I’m not thinking about leaving or what comes next, just the way his hands hold me steady and the heat of his mouth on mine.
When he pulls back, I follow without thinking for a moment and I wonder if it’ll always be like this.
Hot, greedy, and always wanting just one more kiss.
“Sloane…”
I don’t want him to stop. So I lean in again. He kisses me back, rougher this time, like he’s done holding back.
“Carter.” Walker’s voice cuts in from behind us.
He goes still and slowly, he pulls away.
“We’ve got movement down the ridge,” Walker says. “Three of them.”
Carter’s focus shifts immediately, his attention locking onto Walker like I’m not even standing in his arms anymore.
Except his hands are still holding my waist, the fingers on both hands kneading my flesh as his training takes over.
I step back, catching my breath. The fear from earlier doesn’t come back the same way.
I know exactly who’s standing between me and whatever is coming, and I know he’s not going to let anything happen to me.