Mountain Hero (Green Mountain Guardians #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

WINTER

How did I end up here?

This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

I’m supposed to be in my cozy Cape on Maple Street, snuggled on the couch in my comfiest clothes and reading the newest release from my favorite romance author; the final one in a series I’ve been reading for years.

The weather is nice enough that I could open the windows to let in the cool night breeze. And if I got chilly, I could pull out the blanket my aunt made for me when I went away to college; a quilt she painstakingly created out of dozens of my parents’ old T-shirts.

If things worked out the way they were supposed to, I might even have a kitten cuddled against me, like the tiny calico I eyed at the shelter the week before everything went wrong.

Violet would probably be texting me, telling me funny stories about the kids she nannies for and asking when I’m going to come visit again.

Even if I could get her messages now, I bet she wouldn’t send them. Not after the terrible things Thomas said to her under the guise of being me. Awful insults he delighted in showing me—calling her fat and ugly and how she only worked as a nanny because she wasn't smart enough to find a real job.

It hurt when he did it, and it still hurts now.

She must have felt so betrayed. After years of friendship, to have all her insecurities thrown back at her…

Someday I’ll explain. I’ll beg her to believe it wasn’t really me.

But it did the trick. The last message I saw from Violet before my phone disappeared will stick with me forever.

I thought you were my friend. I trusted you. But I was so wrong. Don’t text or call me again.

How could I have imagined that happening? How could I have imagined any of it?

This move was something I dreamed of for years. I planned for it. Saved every spare cent. Picked up extra graphic design work wherever I could. Scoured the real estate listings until I finally found the perfect fixer-upper and wrote a heartfelt letter to the owners, begging them to sell it to me.

When I finally got to Bliss and I drove down Market Street past the quaint storefronts and the white clapboard library and the sweet town park with the adorable gazebo, I was so happy I almost burst into tears.

I’d had a brief rush of fear while I was packing up the moving van, just days away from my official move from New York to Vermont.

What if it wasn’t like I remembered when I used to visit with my parents? What if my dream was nothing like reality?

But then I got here, and I discovered it was even better than my hopeful fantasies.

At least, it was. Until I met Thomas.

Not Tom. Never Tom. That should have been my first clue. When I called him Tom after a couple of weeks of dating—I never considered he wouldn’t like it—he reprimanded me; his gaze narrowed and flinty and a scowl twisting his features.

He apologized a moment later, saying his estranged dad used to call him that and it brought back bad memories. And he was so sincere, and he didn’t actually yell or anything, and I definitely understood having bad memories, so I let it go.

I actually forgot all about it. Now, I can’t stop remembering and wishing I’d seen the red flag sooner. Wishing I could go back and end things right then, instead of letting them go on until I ended up here.

Here is unfortunately not my little house just a few miles away, but the dark, cramped bedroom I hide in whenever I can. I’d much rather stay in this depressing room than be out there, in the rest of Thomas’s house, being insulted and ordered around and hit whenever I don’t do something perfectly.

If dinner isn’t ready exactly when he demands it, or the food is overcooked—usually because he abruptly decides he’s not ready to eat, so the food sits in the oven, warming—or I somehow didn’t read his mind and prepare it exactly how his gram used to, Thomas takes great pleasure in punishing me.

It’s always painful, but nothing that requires a hospital visit. He’s careful like that.

I never could have pictured it when I met him. Thomas was just this friendly, slightly scruffy guy with a big smile and lots of compliments.

How dumb was I? How clueless? At thirty-two, I should have known better.

Now I’m stuck. Trapped. Terrified to leave.

And I’m ashamed of myself for ending up here.

For all my self-proclaimed independence, I’m still doing exactly what Thomas tells me to. I’m hurrying to clean and cook and make myself look presentable because if I do, there’s a better chance he’ll leave me alone. If I fulfill the duties he expects of me, he doesn’t seem to care if I scurry off to the bedroom later. If I’m quiet, I’m much less likely to draw Thomas and his friends’ attention.

Tonight’s like all the other nights in the month I’ve been here—now that all my cooking and cleaning responsibilities are done, I’m back in my bedroom, trying to concentrate on reading one of the old books I scavenged from the basement. It’s a musty copy of To Kill a Mockingbird , which is a good book, but nothing like the escape my longed-for romance novels would give me.

One ear is perked, always listening for some sign of trouble. Raised voices. Glass smashing. Something heavy falling over. There’s no one else aside from Thomas at the house right now, but that doesn’t mean one of his buddies won’t come over.

I really hope not. If it’s just Thomas, he’ll drink a few beers and fall asleep on the couch, and I won’t have to deal with him again until breakfast.

As I burrow under the covers, a tremendous wave of despair crashes over me. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I swallow against them.

Crying isn’t going to get me out of here. Neither will pleading, reasoning, or trying to escape.

Especially not escaping. I learned that the hard way. Even now, I can vividly remember the pain as Thomas struck me over and over, promising to make it worse if I tried it again.

I still might have, had he not brought my aunt into it.

My sweet, kind, wonderful aunt who’s done so much for me. Aunt Linette, who is finally getting to enjoy her retirement—taking cruises and renovating her kitchen just the way she always wanted and visiting friends she hasn’t seen for years. My aunt, who still lives in a suburb of Albany, which is close enough for Thomas to get to in just a few hours.

If it were only me suffering the consequences of failing, that would be one thing. I might be brave enough to fight back, or try to break one of the permanently-locked windows.

But with Aunt Linette dragged into it? I have to come up with another way.

And I will. Eventually, I’ll find a way to escape and get my aunt to safety. I just have to keep watching and waiting for the perfect time; the moment when Thomas slips up and I can finally make my move.

Unfortunately, that leads to the terrible question that never leaves my mind— how long will I have to endure this?

During the day, when I’m focused on cleaning and doing everything I can to avoid Thomas, it’s easier to keep my mind from going into dangerous places. But at night, when I’m alone in my room? That’s when the claustrophobic hopelessness is harder to ignore.

I hear footsteps in the hallway—not right by my door, but closer to the living room—and my stomach lurches. My chest gets tight.

Please. Let him just be using the bathroom. I’m already feeling on edge and raw tonight. I can’t deal with anything else.

But like most of my life since I was dragged here, my hopes are nothing but that.

Thomas flings the door open so hard it bangs against the wall and ricochets back at him. For a second, I think it might hit him in the face and I let myself hope, please, let it hit him, I know it won’t get me out of here, but it would be so rewarding to see it.

But he catches it. Of course.

By the time I scramble to a seated position, he’s at the side of the bed. I flinch as he grabs my arm in a punishing grip, his fingers digging into my skin. Then he yanks me out of bed, snarling, “What do you think you’re doing? If you have time to read, you have time to clean. Cook. Do something useful.”

He snatches the book up from where I dropped it on the mattress and flings it across the room. “When we get back, I’m throwing that out. It’s a waste of fucking time.”

My heart shrivels. The tears threaten to escape no matter how hard I’ve trained myself to keep them in.

“Please,” I whisper. “I cleaned everything. I was just looking at it for a minute. Don’t?—”

“Shut up!” he barks, and shoves me against the wall. My teeth clack together, catching the tip of my tongue. Coppery blood mixes with the lingering taste of toothpaste. He leans close enough for me to see the small cut on his neck and the pimple starting on the tip of his nose.

“You’re going to make yourself useful,” he continues. A slick smile pulls at his lips. “You’re going to help me make a bunch of money.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m just as confused as before, but much more terrified.

We’re in a borrowed car—probably one of his friends’, but knowing Thomas, it could be stolen—heading through town toward an unknown destination.

Nowhere good. That’s a certainty.

Before I got into the car, I couldn’t help noticing the mud smeared all over the plates and the darkly-tinted windows I’m pretty sure are illegal.

That would be alarming on its own, but then I caught a glimpse of the items in the backseat, and the pit in my stomach got ten times heavier. A black face mask. Gloves. A crowbar. Spray paint. A gas can.

As we reach the outskirts of town, everything grows darker. There’s just a faint smattering of stars peeking through a cloudy sky and the headlights cut through inky black. On the rural roads outside of Bliss, there aren’t any street lamps or twenty-four hour gas stations or diners, just faint specks of light from houses at the ends of long, winding driveways.

Panicked thoughts collide in a dizzying frenzy. Where are we going? What is he planning? Why did he bring me?

It’s the first time I’ve left his house since I got there, and I highly doubt he’s about to let me go free.

I want to ask, but the fear of another slap or punch keeps me silent. Instead, I huddle into the passenger seat, trying to appear as small as possible. My heart is jackhammering, slamming against my chest, the beats so loud I can hear them.

This is a different fear than I’m used to. Back at the house, I know what to expect. But here? In the dark? With the gloves and the crowbar and the gas can…

Oh . A terrifying possibility brings a surge of bile and I almost vomit all over the car. Is he taking me into the middle of nowhere to kill me?

I’d have to run. Do anything to fight back.

I’m envisioning terrible scenarios—Thomas swinging the crowbar at me, sprinting through the woods with him hot on my heels—when the car begins to slow and the headlights go off. A sliver of moon casts just enough light to follow the dark strip of road.

A few seconds later, Thomas turns off the road and onto a gravel driveway.

My muscles tense. I search my memories for the self-defense skills I learned when I took that class in college. Go for the groin. The eyes. Yell. Kick. Punch. Run.

Then we come to a stop. At first, all I can see is an expanse of pavement and a small building, dark and silent, beyond it.

Hopefully not where he’s planning to kill me.

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Thomas shifts the car into park and turns to me. “You’re going to stay here. Be my lookout. You see anyone come near, you honk the horn.”

“What are you doing?” It just comes out, and I inwardly scold myself while bracing for the inevitable punishment.

But this time, Thomas doesn’t hit me. He grins, which is even worse. “I’m robbing the place. Lots of valuable shit in there I can sell. And all that expensive gear means plenty of money somewhere inside.”

I peer out the window again, trying to figure out where we are. But I’m not familiar enough with the area to know without the advantage of daylight.

“Where are we?” I whisper, unable to stop myself.

“Rossi’s Outfitters.” His eyes narrow. “Wasn’t so bad when the old man ran it. But his nephew’s a fucking prick. Thinks he’s so damn special because he was”—his voice pitches up mockingly—“in the Army. Like his shit don’t stink like the rest of ours.”

Thomas grabs my face, his fingers digging into both sides of my jaw and squeezing. “And you’re going to help me. Don’t even think about running, either.” Voice dipping dangerously, he adds, “You know what’ll happen if you try to run. I will catch you. And if you think that punishment before was bad… you’ll be crawling to get the chores done after I’m done with you.”

I don’t doubt him. If not from history—which would be enough—but from the malicious look in his eyes, like he wants an excuse to hurt me.

“Okay,” I whisper, and he releases me.

Then he turns off the car and pockets the keys, crushing the slim hope that he might forget.

What am I going to do?

The question keeps repeating as I watch Thomas get ready—pulling on the knit mask that covers everything but his eyes, sliding on the thin gloves, setting the gas can on the pavement outside the car.

What am I going to do?

“Don’t fucking move,” he repeats just before he gets out of the car. I just nod at him.

Then he does something I wasn’t expecting. He grabs my hand and clamps it around the crowbar. “There,” he hisses. “Now you’re really an accessory. They’ll find this in the rubble and know you were involved.”

A small whimper sounds in the back of my throat.

Thomas shoves his face close to mine, close enough to feel his hot breath through the knit fabric. “I fucking mean it. Honk if you see anyone. And don’t try anything.” He pauses. “If you do it right, maybe I’ll let you keep that book, after all.”

Once he’s gone, all I do is tremble for a few seconds. Tears threaten. My chest aches with the emotions swelling up inside me—fear, desperate hope, guilt, and despair.

What am I going to do?

I could still try to run. Out here, with all the woods around, I might make it to a house before Thomas could find me. I might be able to get to the police before he or his friends come after me. I could call my aunt and warn her.

But…

If I run, I leave the store to ruin. Someone’s livelihood, gone. Stolen. Destroyed.

And it’s not just anyone. I know who owns Rossi’s Outfitters. Enzo .

I met him; back before everything went bad. I was excited about being back in Vermont, being in the Green Mountains, so I stopped into his store to get some hiking gear. We spent a good fifteen minutes talking before he was pulled away by another customer, all about the best trails and times to hike and how I was enjoying living in Bliss. I went back again, after I ended things with Thomas, and we talked even longer that time.

I liked Enzo. He was nice. Handsome. Patient. Quietly funny. Before I left the store, I even thought he might ask me out. And despite my newly-formed vow to stay single for a while, I think I might have said yes if he asked.

He didn’t, but that doesn’t change how I feel about him. He’s a good guy. Nothing like Thomas. He recently left the Army—that came up during our second conversation—and he’s trying to build a new life in Vermont, just like me. And he mentioned how the store belonged to his uncle, who passed away a year ago, and how much it means to him.

And now Thomas wants to destroy it.

It would be terrible if it happened to anyone. But Enzo? To lose the last connection he has with his beloved uncle? To hurt this man who just wants to live a peaceful life in Bliss after his years of service? It’s unthinkable.

There isn’t really a choice.

This could end horribly for me, but at least I’ll be doing the right thing.

So I wait another minute, hopefully giving Thomas enough time to get inside the building. Then I slip from the car and sprint toward the store.

As I run, I try to cobble together a plan. There’s probably not a security system—I don’t remember seeing one—and if there is, Thomas must have a way to bypass it.

Is there a phone inside? A landline? I didn’t have one at my house, but don’t most stores have one? For payments or customer service or if the cell reception is bad?

Please. Let there be a phone. I’m not sure what else to do if there isn’t one.

I dash around the back of the store and immediately see the door Thomas used to get inside. It’s not even latched, sitting a few inches ajar. Which is good for me—less noise as I move into the back of the store.

My heart is beating so loudly I have a moment’s panic that Thomas will hear it. He’ll hear my heart and find me and this all will be for nothing. I’ll be punished, my aunt might be hurt, and Enzo’s store will still be destroyed.

Oh, please.

As I make my way through the back of the store, down a narrow hallway lined with several closed doors, I can hear Thomas in the front, muttering and chuckling to himself. Something heavy hits the ground.

I try each door, holding my breath every time. The first is a storage closet, the next a small bathroom. There are only two doors left, and I’m praying one of them is an office, hopefully with a phone inside it. If there’s a phone in the front by the register, I’m out of luck.

At the third door, I find it. A small office, decorated simply—just a desk and worn office chair, some metal file cabinets, and a few framed photos on the walls.

And a phone.

My legs go weak in relief.

I just need to call 911 and somehow keep Thomas from burning the place down before the police get here.

With a shaking hand, I lift the receiver and dial 911. When the operator answers, my whispered words come out in a rush, “I’m at Rossi’s Outfitters. There’s a robbery in progress. He’s going to burn it down. Get the police here quickly. Please .”

The operator is still talking, but I can’t hear her voice past the rushing pulse in my ears. Finally, I hear a faint, “They’re on their way, ma’am. Can you give me your name?”

But I’ve already made enough noise. “Please hurry,” I whisper, and end the call.

How long will it take them to get here? Do I go out there and try to distract him?

Did Thomas hear me?

He couldn’t, could he? Not out there…

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Oh, shit. He could.

Thomas bursts into the office. His face is contorted in fury. His hands are clenched into fists.

My heart stops.

I’ve never seen him look this angry before.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

He advances on me, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m trapped between him and the desk.

“Please,” I wheeze through a narrowing throat. “Don’t. Just go?—”

His fist snaps out.

I try to duck, but I’m not fast enough.

The pain .

Everything shifts off-balance.

Bursts of light fill my vision.

I’m falling. My muscles won’t work.

Something hits the back of my head.

The lights fade and blackness closes in.

As the darkness beckons, I make one last, silent, desperate plea.

Please get here in time. Please.