Rebel of Hollow Peak (Hollow Peak Mountain Men #5)

Chapter 1 Daisy

The " Welcome to Hollow Peak" sign looked the same as it did eight years ago. Faded green paint. Chipped gold lettering. A hole in the corner that nobody had ever bothered to fix.

Some things never changed.

I wished I could say the same about myself.

The windows of my Toyota were down, mountain air filling the car with pine and dust. I'd driven six hours with the radio off, letting the silence sit with me. Hoping it will start to heal me.

Hollow Peak. Population 3,247. The kind of town where everyone knew your business before you did, and where the mountains held you close whether you wanted them to or not.

I loved the mountains, but I hadn't wanted to come back.

But when your engagement implodes, your savings account hits double digits, and your ex's new girlfriend moves into the apartment you picked out together, your options get thin.

Cal had offered without me asking. That was the thing about my uncle. He never pushed or pried. He'd heard the short version on the phone, the one where I said "it didn't work out" and he said "come home."

Now here I was. Twenty-eight years old. Broke. Exhausted. Driving back to the one place I swore I'd never return to.

Temporary, I reminded myself. A few months only. Work at the clinic, save money and get my head straight. Leave before the snow hit and the roads got bad.

Leave before anyone figured out how badly I'd failed.

The town unfolded around me as I drove down Main Street.

Three blocks of brick and timber storefronts, hanging flower baskets, tourists in hiking boots wandering between shops.

The Switchback Café still had the same red awning.

Timberline Tavern still had the same neon sign buzzing in the window, even though it was two in the afternoon.

I passed Vega's Auto, the new art gallery, the old bookstore that apparently hadn't changed in a decade. Everything looked smaller than I remembered. Softer. Like a photograph left too long in the sun.

My chest tightened.

I kept driving.

Cal's cabin sat at the edge of town, where the pavement gave way to gravel and the trees pressed close. It was a solid A-frame with a wide front porch, a stone chimney, and a view of the mountains that made your throat ache if you looked too long.

His truck was in the driveway. He was on the porch before I even cut the engine, coffee mug in hand, wearing the same flannel he had for years.

I climbed out of the car and stretched, my back cracking from the drive.

"You look like hell," Cal said.

"Missed you too."

He almost smiled as he came down the steps and pulled me into a hug that smelled like cedar and coffee, the same way he'd smelled my whole life. I let myself sink into it for a second longer than I should have.

"Long drive?" he asked, pulling back.

"Long year."

He nodded but didn't push. Cal was good at that, at letting silence do the work. He grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and headed inside.

The cabin was warm and clean, tidier than I expected. A fire crackled in the woodstove. The kitchen smelled like something had been baked recently. Cinnamon, maybe. He'd probably stopped by Mae's.

"Guest room's ready," he said, setting my suitcase by the stairs. "Fresh sheets. Towels in the bathroom. Fridge is stocked."

"Cal, you didn't have to."

"You're family." He said it like that ended the conversation. It did. "Lila's expecting you Monday at the clinic. She's down a nurse and happy for the help."

"I talked to her last week. She seems great."

"She is. Keeps this town healthier than we deserve." He studied me for a moment, his cop eyes seeing more than I wanted them to. "You hungry?"

"Tired, mostly."

"Get some rest. I've got a station shift tonight, but I'll leave dinner in the oven. I have some things to do out back before I go. I’ll let you get settled."

I nodded and waited for the questions. When did you and Garrett end things? What happened? Are you okay?

They didn't come.

Cal grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. "It's good to have you here, Daisy."

The door closed behind him, and I was alone in the quiet.

I stood in the middle of the cabin for a long moment, listening to the fire pop and the wind push through the trees outside. Then I grabbed my suitcase and climbed the stairs.

***

The guest room was small and simple. Log walls, a quilt on the bed, a window that faced the driveway and the tree line beyond. I dumped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at nothing.

This was fine. This was manageable.

Three months. Maybe four. Long enough to pay off the credit card debt Garrett had talked me into. Long enough to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my life now that the plan I'd built had collapsed.

I'd been so sure. College, career, marriage. The right steps in the right order. I'd done everything I was supposed to do, and I'd still ended up here, sitting on my uncle's guest bed in a town I'd spent years running from.

The thing about failing is nobody warns you how quiet it is. No dramatic crash. No explosion. One day you wake up and realize the life you thought you were building was never real in the first place.

I unpacked slowly. Clothes in the dresser. Toiletries in the bathroom. The framed photo of my mom stayed wrapped in a sweater at the bottom of the suitcase. I wasn't ready for that yet.

By the time I finished, the sun was starting to dip behind the mountains, turning the sky pink and gold. I changed into leggings and an oversized sweater, then went downstairs to find the cinnamon rolls Cal had left on the counter, seeing he had already set aside some to take for his shift tonight.

Mae Whitlock's handiwork. I recognized the glaze. I ate one standing at the window, watching the shadows stretch across the driveway, letting the sugar hit my bloodstream.

This was fine.

I was fine.

I was halfway through my second roll when I heard the truck.

The engine was loud, deep, the kind of rumble that vibrated through your chest. I watched it pull into the driveway, a black Ford with mud on the wheel wells and a dent in the front bumper.

Not Cal's truck.

The door opened.

A man climbed out, tall and broad, wearing a fitted shirt and jeans that sat low on his hips. He moved like he owned the ground under his feet. Confident and unhurried. Dark hair, a little too long to see his face clearly. But I knew that body too well.

My stomach dropped.

No.

He turned toward the cabin, said something to someone I couldn't see and laughed. The sound hit me like a punch to the chest, dragging up eight years of memories I'd spent every day trying to bury.

Knox Parker.

He was still here. Of course he was still here. Where else would he go? This was his town, his territory, the place he'd been causing trouble since before I ever set foot in it.

Did I move away from the window to step back, out of sight and given myself a second to breathe?

No. I'm a sucker for punishment. Instead, I stood there, frozen, watching him laugh at something, watching the way his shoulders moved, the way his hands hung loose at his sides. He looked older and a little harder. The scrappy troublemaker I remembered had filled out.

He looked good.

I hated that I noticed.

Cal appeared from somewhere out of frame, clapping Knox on the shoulder, their voices too low to hear through the glass. They talked for a minute, easy and familiar, like this was normal. Like Knox Parker standing in my uncle's driveway was something that happened all the time.

Maybe it did. What did I know? I'd been gone for eight years. A lot could change in eight years.

Knox nodded at something Cal said. Glanced toward the cabin and looked up.

Our eyes met through the window and everything stopped.

I couldn't do anything but stare at the man who had broken my heart in a single silent act of abandonment.

He'd promised me forever. Promised me we'd leave together, build a life together, figure it out together. And then, the night before I left for school, he hadn't shown up. No call. No explanation. Nothing but empty silence and the slow, humiliating realization that I'd been a fool.

I'd waited at the overlook for three hours. Watched the sun set, then watched the stars come out. I told myself he was running late, that something had come up, that he'd have a reason.

He never came.

And now he was standing in my uncle's driveway, staring up at me like I was a ghost.

His expression was unreadable. He didn't wave, didn't smile and didn't look away.

Neither did I.

The moment stretched.

Then Cal said something, and Knox blinked. Looked away and said something back.

I stepped away from the window.

My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth. My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the kitchen counter and forced myself to breathe.

It didn't matter. He didn't matter. Eight years was a long time. I was over it. Over him. Whatever we'd had, whatever I'd thought we'd had, was ancient history.

I was here to work and save money and leave. That was it.

Knox Parker was nothing to me.

I told myself that three more times.

My racing heart called me a liar.