Chapter 2
Tilda Wright, Mountain Fairy
The pain radiating from my knees and hands is muted by the thudding of my heart.
Someone is here.
In the middle of nowhere.
At the top of a freaking mountain.
Fear shoots through my veins as I scramble to my feet.
A boot crunches over the ground, and I shove my hair out of my face as a man steps onto the driveway.
From the direction of the woods.
If he’s here to do me harm…
He takes a step forward.
I step back.
“Stop.” His gruff voice cracks through the air between us.
I hold my hands palms out. “Y-you stop.” My voice shakes, revealing my nerves.
He halts and holds his hands out in a similar gesture. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His tone is gentler than it was before but still not quite friendly.
His hands are huge, and his forearms are covered in tattoos.
His tan button-down short-sleeved shirt is tight across his muscular chest.
His dark trimmed beard frames his not-smiling mouth.
And his eyes…
I blink.
He’s wearing a baseball hat that puts his eyes in shadows, but they look like they’re two different colors. One green, one brown. And they’re full of suspicion.
Did he really just come from the woods?
Is he a forest man?
I lower my eyes from his intense ones, and that’s when I see it.
The gun at his hip.
I stumble back. “Don’t shoot me.”
He drops his hands to his sides. Closer to his gun.
A shriek creeps out of my throat, and I glance around, looking for a weapon.
“Shoot? Lady, I’m not—”
I spot my box of suncatchers on the ground and run toward it.
Crouching down, I reach inside.
My knees sting with the movement, and I have one second to glance at the trickle of blood running down my right shin before I stand back up, brandishing my scissors. “B-back up.” I hold my arm out straight, trying to get the points of metal as close to him as possible. “Which one of them sent you?”
“Sent me?” The man furrows his brows. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you? Where’s Jack?”
That makes me pause.
That name.
My great-uncle.
I swallow.
Then I swallow again.
“Jack’s dead.” I can’t say it any louder than a whisper.
The man jerks back. He doesn’t move his feet. Doesn’t step away. But his weight shifts. Like the ground swayed beneath him.
His serious expression doesn’t change. “When?”
“Two weeks.” I wet my lips, my mouth feeling dry from the rush of adrenaline. “My cousin didn’t send you?”
He shakes his head slowly, looking at me like he can’t understand what I’m saying. “No one sent me. I’m not here to shoot you.” He lifts his hands away from his sides, like he’s reminding me he didn’t pull the gun from its holster.
Like he’s inviting me to look him over.
So I look at the forest man.
The size of him.
The air of intensity.
The dark, wavy hair sticking out around the edges of his hat.
And if I wasn’t scared for my life, I might appreciate how absolutely attractive he is.
Might.
He’s big and built and wearing boots with dark green pants.
He’s in a uniform.
But he’s not a cop.
He’s…
My gaze moves back to his hands.
The one near his holstered gun is empty, and the other one is holding…
I gasp and use my scissors to point to his hand. “Is that my ribbon?”
He looks down at the pieces of wadded-up fabric in his grip, then back to me. “This is paraphernalia. Where’s Matty?”
Para…
It takes my brain a second to comprehend his words. But when they do…
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. “Matty?”
“Yeah. Jack told me if something ever happened to him, his grandkid Matty would take over the place. So.” The grouchy man takes a step toward me. “I’ll ask you again. Who are you? And where is Matty?”
My shoulder muscles give out, and I drop my arm to my side, lowering my weapon. “I’m Matty.”