Arrested By the Mountain Man Cop (Mountain Man Cops #1)

Chapter 1

Ashley

I should not be speeding.

I know that. I really do.

But the road is empty, the sun is already slipping behind the ridge, and my nerves are stretched thin. If I slow down long enough to think, I might fall apart completely.

My knuckles are white on the steering wheel. I tell myself I'm almost there. Wherever there happens to be.

Somewhere new. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far from my controlling ex-boyfriend.

The speedometer creeps higher.

Then red and blue lights flare in my rearview mirror.

The breath leaves my lungs in a rush. My hands start trembling.

"No," I whisper, even though there's no one to hear me. "No, no, no."

I ease my foot off the gas and pull onto the narrow shoulder, pulse hammering in my wrists like I've done something far worse than drive too fast on an empty mountain road.

This can't be happening.

I glance at the passenger seat, then the back seat, cataloging everything that suddenly feels incriminating now that a police cruiser is parked behind me.

Boxes. Bags. A duffle stuffed with clothes I grabbed in a hurry. An envelope of cash. A folder with all my personal papers, my birth certificate, and social security card.

It looks like I’m running from something.

I roll the window down and wait, forcing myself to breathe as boots crunch against gravel behind me.

When he steps into view, my brain stutters.

He’s beautiful. Tall, with broad shoulders that fill out his uniform. The badge on his chest catches the last of the daylight.

Officer Ross Kavanaugh, his nameplate reads.

He stops beside my window, posture relaxed, eyes sharp. Not unfriendly. Not aggressive. Just... present.

"Evening," he says. His voice is deep, calm and steady, and he has a gentle Appalachian drawl. "Any idea how fast you were going back there?"

My face flushes. "I'm sorry. I wasn't watching the speedometer."

That's technically true, even if the reason I wasn't watching it is because I was busy trying not to panic about my entire life.

He studies me for a second, and I have the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that he sees more than he should. My clenched jaw. The way my hands won't stop shaking.

"License and registration, please."

My fingers fumble as I reach into the glove compartment. Papers spill out, sliding onto the floor at my feet. I mutter an apology that sounds thin even to my own ears and scramble to gather them.

He waits, patient and observant.

When I finally hand everything over, his gaze flicks briefly to the backseat, where boxes are stacked like I packed my life in a rush.

Which I did.

Cold sweat pricks at my hairline. "Everything in there is legal, I promise."

He raises an eyebrow, just slightly.

"Not where my mind went," he says. There's a hint of something in his tone. Not amusement. Maybe curiosity. "Where are you headed?"

I hesitate for half a second too long.

"I'm... passing through."

Another look, longer this time. His eyes are a cool gray, focused in a way that makes me feel transparent.

"Passing through from where?" he asks.

I bite the inside of my cheek. "From out of state."

That's also true. I just don't add the part where I left in a hurry and didn't look back.

He nods once and glances down at my license.

"Ashley Clark," he reads. "You picked a quiet road to speed on."

"I prefer back roads,” I admit. “They’re safer than the highway, and you never know where you’ll end up.” I immediately kick myself for saying that out loud.

The corners of his mouth twitch with amusement. “It’s only safer than the highway if drivers follow the law. So, stick to the speed limit, okay?”

I nod quickly. "I will. I promise."

He studies me again, and I can tell he's weighing something. His eyes flick to the packed car, then back to my face.

"You doing okay tonight, Ms. Clark?"

The question is gentle. It shouldn't undo me the way it does.

I let out a breath that feels like I've been holding it for miles. "Yes. Just tired."

He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. Instead, he steps back toward his cruiser, license and registration in hand.

"Sit tight."

My pulse spikes again as he walks away.

Sit tight sounds suspiciously like something you say before someone gets arrested.

I stare straight ahead, mind racing. If he asks to search the car, what do I say? None of it's illegal but explaining it feels impossible. Explaining why I'm here, alone, with everything I own stuffed into my backseat, feels even harder.

The minutes drag.

When he returns, the tension in my shoulders is so tight it almost hurts.

He hands my paperwork back through the window. "I'm letting you off with a warning tonight."

Relief crashes through me so hard my vision blurs.

"Thank you," I say, the words tumbling out. "I really appreciate it."

"Where are you headed exactly?" he asks again, softer this time.

Where exactly? I haven’t a clue.

I hesitate, then give him the truth, or at least part of it. "Until I find a decent place to stay for the night.”

His jaw tightens, just a fraction.

"This area doesn't have much," he says. "There's a small motel about fifteen minutes down the mountain. If you keep going straight, you won't miss it."

I nod. "Okay."

He steps back, then pauses. "Ms. Clark?"

"Yes?"

"Take it easy on the road. And if you have any trouble, you can flag down a patrol or call the station."

I meet his gaze, something warm settling in my chest that I don't expect.

"Thank you, Officer Kavanaugh."

His mouth curves, just barely. "Drive safe."

As he walks back to his cruiser, I let out a long, shaky breath.

I wasn't arrested.

I sit there for another moment, hands still gripping the wheel, watching in my side mirror as his taillights disappear around the bend. The adrenaline that's been flooding my system begins to ebb, leaving me hollow and shaking.

But something else lingers too. The memory of gray eyes that saw too much. A voice that asked if I was okay like he actually gave a shit. The way he could have made this so much worse and chose not to.

I put the car in drive and ease back onto the road, forcing myself to stay under the speed limit this time. Fifteen minutes to a motel. Fifteen minutes to figure out what comes next.

As the road winds down the mountain, I catch myself glancing in the rearview mirror one more time.

Officer Kavanaugh is long gone.

But he’s reminded me that good men do exist in the world.

Well, one does.