Chapter 4
ELLIE
I rubbed my face against the soft pillow, smiling, cozy and content. I couldn’t remember sleeping so well, which was a surprise because of what Father and–
I popped up, the thick down comforter falling away. Looking around, I blinked. This wasn’t my room in Father’s house. I was in someone’s bedroom, but whose? Mr. Trout’s? No. God, no.
I ran away, escaping their plan they had for me. I’d been stupid to think Father cared about me, even a little bit. Stupid to think a man would want to marry me for love. Stupid for running off into a blizzard.
The question was, where did I run to?
I sat still, listened. The house was quiet. Daylight filtered through the room’s two large windows, snow falling steadily outside. Still. God, would it never let up?
The room was neat, the wood furniture simple but well made.
The walls were thick log. Between two windows hung three cowboy hats.
Two white and one black. On the floor beneath were a pair of well worn boots.
There were two framed photos on a dresser, but I couldn’t see much of them other than people smiling.
Next, I took in the huge bed, big enough for a giant. I felt tiny sitting in the middle with the navy comforter around my waist. The bedding was red plaid flannel, making me wonder if I was in a lumberjack’s bed.
This was clearly a guy’s room.
The cowboy.
The guy who’d saved me from a blizzard, brought me to his home and put me in his very large bed. I glanced down. He also put me in one of his t-shirts. It was soft and worn, heather gray with “Montana Bobcats” written across the chest.
I ran my hands over myself. No bra. No panties.
“You’re awake.”
The voice startled me so bad I must’ve jumped a foot.
There in the open doorway was a man, the owner of this bed.
Maybe he really was a lumberjack because he took up most of it.
He was tall and broad shouldered. Thick.
Solid. Dark hair, dark eyes. Dark beard.
Dark everything, except his gaze, which somehow held warmth as he smiled at me.
In a blue flannel that was closed with only one button done, a pair of well-worn jeans with the biggest belt buckle I’d ever seen and thick socks, he looked… cozy.
Cozy? He was hot, plain and simple. Brawny. Virile. Different than the big city guys I was used to. Those who wore the same flannels and jeans but didn’t fill them out like he did. They never interested me in any way. That was why I may have been asked out a few times, but I never said yes.
Except this guy, he made my heart race and not because I was in only his t-shirt and his bed.
My mouth went dry as I kept right on staring. My heart pounded as he stared right back.
What was this? This connection? It felt like tension. Electricity. Nerves. Butterflies in my stomach. For a stranger.
“Yes,” I said, then cleared my throat, as if my voice was rusty. I kinda forgot what I was agreeing to.
He set his hand on his chest. His big hand that had veins on the back and a smattering of hair. God, looking at it was like eyeing hand porn. I licked my lips and wondered what those fingers would feel like on my skin. Inside me.
“I’m Trig Wilder,” he said, his voice deep and rough. “My friend and I found you wanderin’ in a blizzard. This is my place.”
Shit. I was imagining all kinds of naughty things with him and all he’d done was save me. He’d have done the same thing for anyone. Right?
Or was I in danger being here? Had the only axe murderer in the area saved me so he could chop me into bits?
I was insane. Why would he warm me up and let me sleep first?
I should be thankful, not thinking he was a murderer. Because I remembered climbing out of Nora’s car. Remembered how cold it was. How I’d been stuck in the blizzard so quickly.
“I remember your hat, but not much else,” I admitted.
His dark brow shot up. His hand went to his bare head, ran through his thick dark curls. “You don’t remember bein’ out in the storm?”
“Yes, of course.” I nodded, then shook my head. My fingers played with the comforter. “That, but I don’t remember coming here. Ending up in your bed. Um, what happened to my clothes?”
He stepped into the room, tucked his thumbs into his low-slung jeans pockets. He was bigger now, almost looming. I probably only came up to his shoulder.
“They were icy and wet. I had to take them off.”
All the air seemed to be sucked from the room as I looked at him because his dark eyes were on me. Focused, roving over my face, lower, at what he saw when he took them off .
I could feel my cheeks heat under his scrutiny.
“We came upon you drivin’ home from dinner in town. You passed out in my arms. Want to tell me why you got out of your car in the first place?” He didn’t sound angry, but he did sound bothered, as if I’d done something wrong.
I glanced away, feeling–again–stupid. Because maybe I was. I had done something wrong, almost gotten myself killed. But the alternative?
Not happening.
“I ran out of gas,” I explained.
He cocked his head. “Ran out of gas?” he asked, as if the idea was ridiculous. Who ran out of gas? Me. That was who.
Did I check if the housekeeper’s car had a full tank when I snuck out and drove off before Father could marry me off to Mr. Trout since the man paid off his gambling debts instead of selling his land? No, I hadn’t.
Shame heated my cheeks. “It’s not my car and I wasn’t at home and… um, was in a rush. Plus, it wasn’t snowing that hard when I left.”
I knew now that the ranch that had been in my family for generations wasn’t home.
Trig stayed quiet, eyes still on mine. Waiting, which was slightly unnerving. He seemed to have a well of calm and patience.
I’d gotten a text from Mr. Trout while I’d been driving.
I will find you. I’ll make you pay for this stunt. You go to a hotel, I’ll make the manager pay for giving you a room. You go to a friend, I’ll make them pay for taking you in. You’re mine.
I’d been motivated by his words to keep going. The tone. The… evil. Except, it sputtered and stopped just as I told Trig. The car had died.
“I saw a light and thought it was a house, or at least shelter,” I added, hoping he didn’t think I was completely stupid. “I would have frozen if I stayed in the car.”
“You’d have frozen if we hadn’t come along, sugar,” he added, running a hand over the back of his neck, as if the idea bothered him.
I nodded, knowing how close I came to killing myself in my haste to get away from what I’d thought was my father finally wanting me in his life. Well, he had, but not for the naive reasons I thought when I left school and came to Montana.
“You’re right.” I met his dark gaze. “Thank you for saving me.”
“You said you were in a rush. Gotta be somewhere?” He sat by my hip, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.
This close, I could smell him. Mint and laundry detergent and probably pheromones, because I couldn’t look away. He had a little scar bisecting his right eyebrow and those lips looked full and kissable, even turned down like they were now.
Be somewhere? I had to be anywhere but at my father’s house, preferably miles and miles away.
Another state. I had no idea what I was going to do now.
I hadn’t been to Montana in over thirteen years.
For thirteen years, Father hadn’t wanted anything to do with me.
My parents divorced when I was eight and my mother took me with her to Seattle for a fresh start.
Never heard from him again until a few weeks ago.
Over the years, Mom had told me all kinds of shitty things about him, but she was a drunk and a schemer, so I never held much value to her words.
Except when I returned last week, I discovered she’d actually been right for once.
Besides being a chain smoker and having a heavy hand with whiskey, Lance Mann was a jerk.
No, an asshole, who didn’t give a shit about me.
Hell, he even greeted me as Ellen, which was not my name.
I picked up quickly that he had cronies all over town.
Mr. Trout, included. I was merely a pawn, a chip tossed into a poker game Father already lost. I’d dealt with all of Mom’s shitty boyfriends.
The handsy ones. The ones who looked at me in a special way when I was too young to understand what it meant.
The parade of men started when I was nine and only stopped when I moved out for college.
I spent a shit ton of time at the public library.
Reading and studying and staying out of the house and away from my mom, the men, the partying, the drinking and drugs.
“I was headed back to Seattle,” I admitted, although there hadn’t been a destination in mind when I’d run out. “I live there.”
Father and Mr. Trout would look for me but that city was really the only place I knew.
His dark brow winged up. “Seattle? That’s a long way. Couldn’t it have waited until the storm stopped?”
I shrugged and told him the truth. “I didn’t know it was going to be so bad. I know you must think me stupid.”
He reached out, tucked my hair behind my ear and I bit my lip so I didn’t whimper. No, moan. My gaze flicked up to meet his. My cheeks got hot.
The touch was gentle. A caress, yet I felt it all the way to my toes. And my nipples. An ache formed between my legs.
I sucked in a breath and I picked up his clean scent. Soap and man. My heart started to race. His fingertips were rough, but gentle. Warm. Without thinking, I tilted my head into the touch.
“Reckless, perhaps.” He hadn’t let go of the ends of my hair, his fingers rubbing over it, his eyes on his task. “Want to tell me your name?”
My name. Shit.
I might have been in his bed, but I didn’t know Trig Wilder.
Never heard of him. He was a local and probably knew my father. That was the way it was with rural communities.
From what I could see of his bedroom, the place was nice. Well made furniture, thick bedding. Heat. Windows that weren’t cracked. Wood floors that gleamed. There was money here.
Was he part of the monthly high-stakes poker games? Was he friends with Father and Mr. Trout? Did he know of the bargain they made? Pay off Father’s debt in exchange for me?
Trig seemed too nice to be one of them. The way he looked me over, I felt it everywhere. It was completely different than my mother’s creepy boyfriend’s glances. Different than Mr. Trout’s leers.
Mr. Trout had made it very clear that I had no options.
“You’re marrying me,” he’d said, cruelly gripping my wrist. “Your father owes me half a million dollars if you don’t.
He can’t help you. No one can. You go to the police, they’ll just bring you back.
You ask for help from someone I don’t know, I’ll make them pay.
And so will you. You wouldn’t want to see someone you care about get hurt now, do you?
Because it would be all your fault.” His gaze had raked down my body and I tried not to hurl.
Even the bowler boyfriend Mom had back in seventh grade who’d wanted to feel me up wasn’t as scary as this.
“That pussy better be fucking worth it. If not, I’ll take your ass, too.
Hell, I’ll do it anyway. Make you scream. ”
I’d fought him then and he’d grinned. “Fight. I like it better that way.”
Two hours later, I’d fled.
He’d inferred the police were in his pocket. If I went to a friend for help, he’d hurt them.
I hadn’t meant to end up in Trig’s house–in his bed–but here I was.
I wanted him to be a good guy, but I couldn’t trust anyone, so I lied.
“Ellie Raintree,” I said, using the nickname my friends in Seattle called me and my mother’s maiden name.
He dropped his hand and his gaze met mine again. Smiled.
“Ellie. Pretty name for the prettiest girl.”
This close, his perfection was even sharper. Chocolate eyes. A beard I wanted to touch. Lips I wanted to kiss. He was a stranger! A stranger who put me into one of his t-shirts and nothing else. Who must’ve seen me naked. My cheeks flamed even hotter.
I wasn’t a prude, but I hadn’t had much experience with men. Especially not waking up in one’s bed and only in his shirt. Or stranded with him in a storm. Or being attracted to him so intensely.
“Well, Ellie, need to call someone to let them know where you are? I didn’t grab any of your things from your car, but I’ve got a phone you can use.”
My eyes widened and I felt the same lick of panic I had the night before. No way was I calling anyone. Not with his phone. As for mine, I’d tossed it into the snow berm when I got out of the car, not wanting to touch the device that held Mr. Trout’s texts.
He studied me for a few uncomfortable seconds, then said, “The snow’s not lettin’ up anytime soon. Might be a day or more before things’ll be dug out enough for you to get on your way to Seattle. Looks like you’re staying here with me.”
A few days with Trig? Why did that idea excite me? I felt safe, at least for a short time. But what about Trig? Was staying here putting him in danger?
Except if I couldn’t get out, that meant Mr. Trout and Father couldn’t get out either.