Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
ROSCO
I 'm halfway through cleaning my hunting knife when the storm hits full force.Wind howls through the valley below, making the cabin windows rattle.I've weathered enough mountain tempests to know this one's just warming up.
Good. The worse the weather, the less likely people venture up here.That's exactly how I want it.
The fire crackles in the stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across the living room.I set the knife aside and reach for my whiskey, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat.Three years I've been back in Serenity Hollow, and most nights still feel like this, quiet, solitary, and exactly what I signed up for when I walked away from the Jagged Saints MC.
Some might call it exile. I call it peace.
Lightning flashes, illuminating the mounted deer head on my wall.Thunder follows immediately telling me the storm's right overhead now.I settle deeper into my leather armchair, the one luxury I allowed myself when furnishing this place.
My phone lights up on the side table.There's usually no reception during storms like this, but the screen shows three missed texts from Tank.Probably club business I want nothing to do with.Despite leaving the Saints officially, Tank still checks in, still tries to pull me back into that life with updates about brothers and rival clubs.
He doesn't understand that I meant it when I walked away.When you've seen what I've seen, done what I've done as club enforcer, there's no halfway out.It's all or nothing.
I toss back the rest of my whiskey just as another crash of thunder shakes the cabin.My dog, Bear, lifts his massive head from his bed near the fire, ears perked.
"Just the storm, boy," I tell him, but he's already on his feet, a low growl building in his chest.
Someone's out there.
I reach for the shotgun I keep by the door, a habit from years of watching my back.Bear's growl deepens, his attention fixed on the front entrance.
"Quiet," I command, and he immediately sits, still alert but silent.
For a long moment, there's nothing but the rain hammering the roof.Then I hear it, the unmistakable sound of footsteps on my porch.Bear hears it too, muscles tensing beneath his thick coat.
I position myself beside the door, shotgun at the ready.Nobody comes up here by accident, especially not in a storm like this.It's either someone looking for trouble or someone in it.
The knock, when it comes, is hesitant, easy to miss beneath the thunder.I wait. Another knock follows, more urgent this time, then a woman's voice calls out.
"Hello? Anyone home? I need help!"
A woman. Alone. On my mountain in a thunderstorm.This has trouble written all over it.
I don't move. Maybe she'll give up, go back wherever she came from.Seconds tick by, and I think it's worked until I see the shadowy outline of someone peering through my front window.
"Great," a voice mutters from the porch, followed by more knocking, harder now, almost desperate.
"Hello! Is anyone--"
I've had enough. In one fluid motion, I flip the locks and yank the door open, shotgun still at my side but visible.The sudden movement catches her off guard, and she stumbles backward.
Small. Soaked. Glasses. Wild curly hair plastered to her skull.Something familiar about her shape in the darkness triggers an old instinct.
I raise the shotgun to chest level."You have five seconds to explain why you're trying to break into my house before I make a decision I won't regret."
Her hands go up immediately. "It's me," she says through chattering teeth."Deena Wilson. Millie's niece from over on Lavender Hill.My house--her house--the ceiling collapsed, and--"
The name hits like a physical blow. Deena.
Fucking Deena Wilson.
I lower the shotgun a fraction."Deena?"
"Yes." She pushes dripping hair from her face, and now I can see it, the woman she became overlaid on the girl I once knew.Same stubborn chin. Same wide eyes behind those glasses."I know this is awkward, but I need shelter.Just until the storm passes."
I say nothing, trying to process the fact that the woman I once planned to propose to is standing on my porch, twelve years after walking out of my life without a backward glance.The woman who chose fancy college over me.Over us.
"Please," she adds, her voice smaller now."I have nowhere else to go."
Behind me, Bear whines, sensing my tension.Part of me wants to shut the door in her face.Let her feel a fraction of what I felt watching her taillights disappear down the mountain road all those years ago.
But even I'm not that much of an asshole.
"Get in before you catch your death," I say, stepping aside."And before I change my mind."
She hurries inside, bringing with her the scent of rain and something floral that triggers memories I've spent years burying.Bear approaches, sniffing curiously at her legs, but keeps his distance, unsure of this drenched stranger.
I close the door against the storm."That's Bear. He won't hurt you unless I tell him to."
Her eyes widen as she takes in the size of my Cane Corso, but she doesn't flinch."He's beautiful."
"He's a guard dog, not a pet," I correct, though I scratch behind his ears as I pass."Stay," I tell him, and he retreats to his bed, watching us both with intelligent eyes.
I set the shotgun back in its place and really look at Deena for the first time.She's shivering violently, clothes plastered to her body, showing curves that weren't there when she was twenty-one.Her face has lost its girlish softness, cheekbones more defined, but her eyes are the same deep brown and too perceptive by half.
"You're dripping on my floor."
She glances down at the puddle forming around her boots."Sorry. I didn't exactly have time to pack for a flood."
Something that might be a smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.Same smart mouth too.
"Bathroom's down the hall," I say, gesturing."There are towels in the cabinet.I'll find you something dry to wear."
"Thank you." She shifts the backpack on her shoulder."I have the quilt from Millie's, but everything else is soaked."
The mention of Millie softens something in my chest.The old woman was good to me after I returned to Serenity Hollow, bringing casseroles and never asking questions about why I'd come back or what I'd left behind.
"She passed away, right?" I ask, though I already know.Small towns have no secrets.
Deena nods, grief flashing across her face."Three months ago. I inherited the house, but it's... not in great shape."
"So I gathered from the ceiling comment." I head toward my bedroom, calling over my shoulder, "Get yourself cleaned up before you catch pneumonia.We can talk after."
In my dresser, I find a flannel shirt and sweatpants with a drawstring she can tighten.Both will swallow her whole, but they're clean and dry.I grab an extra blanket from the closet too.
When I return to the living room, she's still standing exactly where I left her, as if afraid to move further into my space without permission.
"Here." I thrust the clothes at her."They'll be big, but they'll have to do."
"Thank you." She takes them carefully, our fingers brushing in the exchange.Even that fleeting contact sends an unwelcome jolt through my system."I really appreciate this, Rosco.I know it's not... ideal."
That's one way of putting it.Finding your ex-girlfriend on your doorstep during a thunderstorm twelve years after she ditched you for city life isn't what most people would call ideal.
"Bathroom's the first door on the left," I repeat, ignoring her attempt at connection."There's hot water if you want to shower.I'll make coffee."
She hesitates, looking like she wants to say more, but thinks better of it.Good. I'm not interested in a stroll down memory lane or whatever bullshit she thinks we need to discuss.
Once she disappears down the hallway, I exhale slowly, unclenching fists I didn't realize I'd made.Bear whines softly, sensing my agitation.
"It's fine," I tell him, though it's anything but."She'll be gone as soon as the storm passes."
I busy myself in the kitchen, measuring grounds into the coffee maker with more force than necessary.The machine hums to life, and I grab two mugs from the cabinet.
The bathroom door opens, and I hear her soft footsteps approach.I turn, coffee pot in hand, and nearly drop it.
She's swimming in my clothes, the flannel shirt hanging almost to her knees despite being rolled at the cuffs, the sweatpants bunched and tied at her waist.Her curls are damp but beginning to spring back to life, framing her face in a way that's painfully familiar.Without her glasses, which she must have left to dry, her eyes seem larger, more vulnerable.
She looks like she did on those mornings after she'd stayed over, wearing my clothes, sleepy-eyed and soft in a way no one else got to see.
I clear my throat. "Coffee?"
"Please." She sits at the kitchen table, tucking her legs beneath her."I think I have ice in my veins."
I pour the coffee and slide her mug across the table, keeping a careful distance."Sugar's in the canister. No milk.I don't get deliveries up here."
"Black is fine." She wraps her hands around the mug, inhaling the steam."This place is amazing, by the way.Did you tear down your parents' old house to build this?"
"I just renovated it," I correct, leaning against the counter rather than sitting with her."The original cabin was my grandfather's.I expanded it when I moved back."
"When was that?"
"Three years ago."
Her eyebrows lift slightly. "So you've been here in Serenity Hollow all this time, and I never knew."
"Why would you?" I take a sip of coffee, using the mug to hide whatever might show on my face."Not like we kept in touch."
She winces slightly. "I guess I deserved that."
"Wasn't trying to be mean. Just stating facts." I shrug, aiming for indifference."So what brings the city botanist back to our humble mountain?Millie's house can't be worth much in the state you described."
"Sabbatical," she says. "Six months to renovate and decide whether to sell or keep it.My department head practically forced me to take the time off.Said I was burning out."
"And were you? Burning out?"
A flicker of surprise crosses her face, like she didn't expect me to be interested."Maybe. I've been living in the lab more than my apartment lately.Some rare orchid specimens from Ecuador needed constant monitoring, and then there was the grant proposal for my native pollinator study, and--" She stops herself."Sorry. You don't care about all that."
I shrug again. "You asked for shelter, not a vow of silence.Tell me about your flowers if you want."
"Plants," she corrects automatically."I specialize in native Appalachian flora and their conservation, not decorative flowers."
There's the Deena I remember, passionate about the correct terminology always ready to educate.Some things never change.
"Plants," I concede, the corner of my mouth lifting despite myself."So prestigious Dr. Wilson had to be ordered to take vacation.Sounds like you got exactly what you wanted when you left."
She flinches slightly at my tone."My career worked out, yes."
"But?"
She takes a long sip of coffee before answering."But nothing's ever exactly what you imagine it will be, is it?"
The simple honesty of her statement catches me off guard.I'd expected defensiveness, maybe a listing of her accomplishments, proof that leaving Serenity Hollow, leaving me, was the right choice.Instead, there's a weariness in her voice that resonates with something in my own chest.
"No," I agree quietly. "It isn't."
Silence falls between us, not entirely uncomfortable.The storm rages outside, rain lashing against the windows, but in here, it's warm, the fire casting golden light across the wooden floors.
Bear, apparently deciding Deena isn't a threat, pads over and lays his massive head on her knee.She startles slightly, then carefully places a hand on his broad skull.
"Traitor," I mutter, but there's no heat in it.
She smiles, the first real smile since she arrived."Animals always liked me better than people.It's why I chose plants as a career.Less complicated."
"Smart choice." I refill my own coffee, watching her scratch behind Bear's ears.My dog, who normally won't let anyone but me touch him, is practically purring."You'll be stuck here till morning at least.This storm isn't letting up anytime soon, and the mountain roads will be washed out."
"I figured." She looks up at me, and there's that vulnerability again."I really am sorry to impose.If there had been any other option--"
"There wasn't," I cut her off."Your aunt's place was always held together with hope and baling wire.Not surprised it finally gave out."
"It's worse than I imagined. The lawyer said 'needs work,' not 'actively collapsing.'"
I snort. "Lawyers. About as useful as a screen door on a submarine."
That gets me another smile, smaller this time."I should've known better. Should've come up to check it out before committing to six months."
"Why didn't you?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Her gaze drops to her coffee."Honestly? I was afraid of running into you."
The admission hangs in the air between us, too raw and honest for comfort.
I clear my throat. "Well, you managed almost three hours in town before that happened.Not bad."
She looks up sharply, then sees the slight quirk of my lips and relaxes."My personal best for avoiding exes.I'll mark it in my calendar."
"Just how many exes do you have, Dee-Dee?Should I be expecting more waterlogged scientists on my doorstep tonight?"
Her old nickname, paired with the joke, surprises both of us as a glimpse of the easy banter we once shared breaks through years of distance.
"Just the one worth avoiding," she replies, her voice softer now."The rest didn't matter enough to hike three miles in a thunderstorm to escape."
Our eyes lock across the kitchen, and something electric crackles between us that has nothing to do with the lightning outside.For a heartbeat, I'm twenty-three again, watching her laugh in the sunlight at Miller's Creek, planning our future together before it all fell apart.
I break the contact first, straightening from the counter."You should get some rest. Guest room's next to the bathroom.Sheets are clean."
She blinks, clearly thrown by the abrupt dismissal."Okay. Thank you again, Ross.I mean it."
I nod once, already turning away."Goodnight, Dee-Dee."
"Goodnight."
I wait until she's disappeared down the hallway before releasing the breath I've been holding.Bear looks up at me accusingly from where he sits by her empty chair.
"Don't start," I tell him, draining the last of my coffee and adding a generous splash of whiskey to the cup. "She'll be gone tomorrow.Nothing's changed."
But as I settle back into my armchair by the fire, listening to the storm and the soft sounds of Deena moving around in my guest room, I know it's a lie.
Everything's changed. She's here, under my roof, wearing my clothes.
And for the first time in three years, my self-imposed isolation feels like a prison rather than a refuge.
I wake before dawn, an old habit from years with the club when sleeping too deeply could get you killed.The storm has diminished to a gentle rainfall, its fury spent sometime in the night.My neck aches from falling asleep in the chair, whiskey bottle at my feet.
Bear isn't in his bed. That's my first clue something's different.Then I remember. Deena.
I find him outside the guest room door, loyal sentinel to a woman he met only hours ago. Real subtle, Bear.
"Move," I whisper, and he reluctantly follows me to the kitchen.
I start coffee, quiet as possible, not ready to face morning conversation just yet.The eastern windows show a gray landscape, mist clinging to the treetops, the first hint of sunrise still below the horizon.Perfect time to check the damage.
I pull on boots and a rain jacket, grab a flashlight, and slip outside.Bear follows, happy for the early excursion.
The air smells of wet earth and pine, clean in a way city air never is.I inhale deeply, letting it clear my head as I survey the property.Fallen branches litter the clearing, but the cabin itself shows no damage.My generator hums steadily behind the woodshed, keeping the power on despite the storm.
I make a circuit of the property's edge, checking for downed trees that might block the access road.There are a few, but nothing my chainsaw can't handle once the rain stops completely.
My thoughts drift to Deena as I work, cataloging the changes twelve years have brought.She's softer now, curves where there once were angles, but her eyes still spark with the same intelligence, the same determination that drew me to her in the first place.
And there's a wariness that wasn't there before.The carefree girl who'd drag me into the woods to identify wildflowers has been replaced by a woman who seems... guarded. Careful.
What happened to her in those fancy labs and universities?Who hurt her after she left this mountain?
The thought brings an unexpected surge of protectiveness that I squash immediately.Not my business. Not my problem.She made her choice twelve years ago when she chose ambition over love.
By the time I circle back to the front porch, the eastern sky has lightened to pale gold.I'm soaked again, but the physical exertion has burned off some of the restless energy that's plagued me since opening my door to find Deena on my threshold.
I kick off my boots outside and hang the wet jacket on a hook by the door.The smell of strong fresh coffee greets me.
Deena stands at the kitchen counter, her back to me, still swallowed by my flannel shirt.She's found her glasses, now perched on her nose as she reads something on her phone.Her curls have dried fully, a wild halo around her head that I once knew intimately, soft between my fingers when we--
I clear my throat, and she jumps, nearly dropping her mug.
"Sorry," she says automatically."I hope it's okay I made coffee.I'm useless without caffeine, and I didn't want to wake you, but then I realized you weren't in the house, and--"
"It's fine." I cut off her nervous rambling, moving past her to pour my own cup. "I was checking the property."
"How bad is it?"
"Few trees down on the access road.Nothing serious." I take a sip of her coffee and raise my eyebrows.It's good, better than what I make."Storm's passed. Once it dries out a bit, I can clear the road and take you back to your car."
"About that..." She bites her lip, a gesture so familiar it makes something twist in my chest."I went up on the roof while you were out."
"You what?" I set my mug down harder than intended."My roof?"
"No, sorry. I meant I used your bathroom window to check what I could see of Millie's house." She gestures vaguely in that direction."The whole east side of the roof has collapsed.I could see it from here with my binoculars."
"You brought binoculars in your emergency backpack?" Of course she did.Always prepared.
"Botanist," she reminds me with a small shrug."Never know when you'll spot an interesting specimen."
I scrub a hand over my face, stubble rasping against my palm."So your housing situation is worse than you thought."
"Much worse." She adjusts her glasses nervously."I called the insurance company.They're sending someone out, but with the storm damage countywide, it could be days.Maybe a week."
I see where this is going. "The nearest hotel's in Riversend, thirty minutes down the mountain."
"I know." She meets my eyes directly."But the road to town is completely washed out on the east side.I checked the county emergency services website.They're saying at least three days before it's passable."
Silence stretches between us as the implication sinks in.She's stranded. Here. With me.
"I understand if it's too much to ask," she continues, words tumbling out faster now."I can... I don't know, pitch a tent or something.I saw you have camping gear in the mud room, and I'm not completely helpless in the woods, contrary to what you probably--"
"Deena." Her name still feels strange on my tongue after so long."I'm not making you sleep in a tent."
Relief flashes across her face."Are you sure? I don't want to impose more than I already have."
"It's fine." It's not fine. Nothing about this situation is fine.But I'm not enough of a bastard to turn her out."Guest room's yours until the roads clear."
"Thank you." She smiles, genuine gratitude warming her expression."I promise I'll stay out of your way.You won't even know I'm here."
Unlikely, given that every cell in my body seems hyperaware of her presence, but I just nod."I do have a few house rules.Lock the doors if you go out.Don't touch my weapons. Bear eats at seven and five, he has special food in the pantry.I work in my shop most days; don't interrupt unless something's on fire.Oh, and for the love of all things holy, stay off the damn roof."
She nods, hiding a smile as she, no doubt, takes mental notes."What's in your shop?"
"Woodworking. I like doing restorations." I don't elaborate, don't tell her it's the only thing that quiets my mind these days, the only peace I've found since leaving the club.
"I didn't know you did woodworking." Her eyes show genuine interest."That's the addition on the north side of the cabin?"
"Yeah." I drain my coffee, uncomfortable with her questions."I need a shower. Make yourself at home, I guess."
I'm halfway to the bathroom when her voice stops me.
"Ross?"
I turn, finding her watching me with an expression I can't quiteread.
"I really am sorry. About everything." She gestures vaguely betweenus."I know this is awkward, and I'm the last person you want to be stuckwith."
For a moment, I consider agreeing, maintaining the wall I've built between myself and the past sherepresents.It would be safer.Cleaner.
Instead, I find myself saying, "You're not the lastperson.Maybe topfive."
A genuine laugh escapes her, and the sound unlocks something rusty inside mychest.
"I'll try to work my way down the list," she says, smile lingering at the corners of hermouth.
"See that you do." I turn away before she can see the answering smile threatening to break through my carefully maintainedindifference.
Three days. Maybe a week. I can handlethat.I spent five years with the Saints, surrounded by chaos andviolence.Surely, I can survive one botanist temporarily sharing myspace.
Even if that person is Deena Wilson, the only woman who ever made me believe in something beyond theclub.The woman who leftanyway.
The woman who's currently making herself at home in my kitchen, humming softly under her breath as she moves around the space like she belongsthere.