Rescue in Misty Mountain (Misty Mountain #12)

Chapter 1

ONE

TESSA

“Was that sound your car or a moose in heat?”

Despite the answer, I can’t help but laugh at my best friend Harper’s question over the speaker phone. “I don’t think there are any moose living in Colorado.”

At least not in the wild. I’d look that up right now, but I’m trying to keep my car securely on the winding mountain path. I hopped off the Interstate around the time my car started moaning like a ghost with unfinished business.

While I hope my car has what it takes to make the journey from Central Illinois to Las Vegas, I’ll feel better if I had a mechanic look at it. I took the first exit with a town’s name on it.

I hadn’t realized just how far off the route it was. Or how winding the roads would be. I called Harper just so there’d be one person in the world who knew where I was if my car craps out before I reach this place.

“Was it a mountain goat?”

My brow furrows. “Are there mountain goats in Colorado?”

“I don’t know. But unless it was one of them—or your poor cat is in serious pain—then I have to assume it was your car.”

I cast a sidelong glance at my blue tabby. Whiskey is happily curled up in his car seat on the passenger side of my car. Completely oblivious to the absolutely heinous sounds that have been coming out of my car for the last half hour.

Clenching my teeth, I groan. “I don’t know. Maybe my car wasn’t built for driving through the Rockies.”

“You did fine during the first leg of your trip,” Harper reminds me.

“Yeah, mostly across Iowa and Nebraska.” I roll my eyes and give Whiskey a sidelong glance, silently asking him if he can even believe we’re having this conversation with his aunt. “That’s a lot of flat land.”

“Maybe it’s just tired. You have been driving for a long time.”

“And I still have a long ways to go.” I take a deep breath. “Hopefully it’s just a belt or… gasket.”

“What’s a gasket?”

“I don’t know.” I blow a loose lock of hair off my face. “If I knew, I would have made sure it was working before I left town. Like an idiot, I didn’t have my car checked out at the mechanic before I hit the road.”

“That would have been awkward.” She gives a short laugh. “Especially considering that you broke up with the guy who owned the only shop in town.”

“Rafe didn’t own the shop.” I grit my teeth. “His dad did.”

Along with half the other businesses in town. Including the small marketing firm where I’d worked as a graphic designer. I’d given them my best until they announced they needed to “retrench” and given me a pink slip not long after the break-up.

“He still worked there. And, not just on cars.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

My ex-boyfriend’s inability to keep it in his pants was only one of the many reasons I broke up with him a few months ago.

I round another bend in the road and groan. “Come on. Where is this place?”

“Maybe it’s a Brigadoon-type situation,” Harper teases. “Maybe it only appears once every hundred years.”

“Then whoever put it on the exit sign has a sick sense of humor.”

My car gives another groan followed by a click-click-click. It shakes enough, Whiskey’s ears perk up and—with a yawn—he rises to his feet.

“Shit.” I hold on to the steering wheel more tightly, as if my grip will keep the damn thing from shaking. “I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

“What… you say?” Harper asks, half the words cutting out. “You… breaking…”

“I said, I don’t think I’ll make it to town.”

“You—” The phone goes dead just as my car does. “Well, shit.”

Whiskey gives a sympathetic meow.

“I know, I know.” I sigh. “Even though you were the one who wanted to go the scenic route, we should have stayed on the Interstate until I had eyes on a real town.”

He flicks his tail in annoyance and puts his paws on the window, pressing his nose to the foggy glass to get a better glimpse of the view. It is pretty here. Everything is so lush and green. If you have to be stranded somewhere, there are worse—uglier—places.

The first drops of water on the windshield make me jump.

“It’s raining,” I say. “Of course, it’s raining.”

The drops on the windshield grow heavier. And they’re coming down faster.

“Okay.” I rub my temples. “It’s no big deal. It’s just one more stop on the road to my better life.”

I open the door and step out into the drizzle. From the backseat of my car, I grab a sweatshirt and put up the hood. It doesn’t do much, being a cotton blend and all. But it’s better than nothing. I gingerly step through the mud and pop the hood of my car.

Streams of smoke billow from the edge, the scent of burnt rubber stings my nose.

“Right.” I slam the hood shut and reopen my car door. “I guess that means we’re walking.”

Whiskey yowls.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe and dry.” Even if I have to make him a rain poncho out of the plastic bags he’d rather chew up and vomit later. “But we can’t stay here forever.”

I just hope this town isn’t far away.

After spending a few minutes creating Whiskey’s rain poncho, tucking him into my sweatshirt, and grabbing a few necessities, I start walking down the path. We’re walking—and growing increasingly drenched—for all of five minutes before the crack of twigs in the brush gives us paws.

Whiskey’s head pops up next to mine. The back of my neck tingles.

We both hold our breaths. There’s another crunch. Another snap.

“It’s probably just the rain.” My teeth chatter, and I tell myself it’s from being cold. “Please let it be the rain.”

There’s more crunching. More snapping. It’s growing faster. Growing closer.

“Please don’t be a bear.” I clench my eyes shut for a moment. “Please be a goat.”

Our chances have to be better with a goat than a bear. Or a mountain lion. I know they have those here.

The crunching and snapping comes to a stop. “You lost?”

I open my eyes and find the source deep voice. My jaw falls open.

A tall bearded man with broad shoulders is staring at me with a pair of amber-colored eyes.

No, he’s not staring. He’s scowling. Oh God. What if he’s a serial killer?

My heart skips a beat. And not just from fear. There’s a twinge between my thighs.

I straighten, making myself half an inch taller. “I’m not lost. I’m just… out for a walk.”

“With a cat?”

I’d glance down at Whiskey, but that’s impossible. He’s popped up so far in my hoodie now, we’re basically standing cheek to cheek.

“We needed the fresh air.”

The man scoffs. “In the rain?”

“Yep.”

“Without an umbrella?”

“The water is refreshing.”

His dark brow knits together even more. “That wasn’t your car back there? The one with the cat carrier and two-months worth of cat food in it?”

Well… shit. I keep my mouth shut. Silence seems to be my best and only defense.

He takes a step closer.

Don’t look at his mouth. Don’t look at his mouth.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

My heart thunders in my chest and ears. It takes all my willpower to keep my breath steady. I have to keep myself in control in case I need to take off racing.

Or, try to stab him in the eyes with my car key fob and credit card.

“You and the cat can come with me.”

My eyes widen. “That’s okay. I think we’ll just head back to town.”

“You’re not from town.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw your car’s license plate. It would be all over the rumor mill if a woman and cat from Illinois had just moved in town.”

“We’re not moving here.” I lift my chin. “We’re on my way to Las Vegas to stay with my friend. Who is engaged to an FBI agent.”

Okay, engaged is a strong word. And her boyfriend isn’t actually an agent. Still, my would-be murderer doesn’t need to know I’m as unprotected as he assumes I am.

One of his eye eyebrows shoots up. “Good for her. Are you coming or what?”

I scoff. “Not likely.”

“Why not?”

“The first rule of not being murdered: Never let them take you to a second location.”

“You think I’m going to murder you?”

I tear my stare away from his chest, where the rain has molded the flannel to his muscles as if he’s carved from marble. “Well… yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because…. well…” I gesture around us. “This does seem like the ideal setting for a murder.”

“A wildlife reserve?”

“Exactly. I…” I trail off and cock my head to the side. “We’re on a wildlife reserve.”

“Yep. Just outside of Misty Mountain.”

Misty Mountain. That was the name on the sign I saw on the Interstate. “It’s a real place?”

“Of course, it is.” He speaks slowly, as if he thinks I’m an idiot. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

I could explain, but—honestly—I’m too drained at this point. “That’s a great question.”

He turns, giving me a good view of his well-formed backside. Not to be a complete pervert, but the way the wet denim is clinging to his ass should be illegal. “So are you guys coming to the shelter or what?”

“I guess we’re going.” I pull my head back to look at Whiskey, who is staring at our hero or murderer with fascination. “If this is the end, know I’ve never loved anyone the way I’ve loved you.”

The man turns and stares at me over his shoulder. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” I take a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

I’m about to be rescued or murdered. Either way, at least I’ll have a good view of this man’s nice ass along the way.