Guarded By the Mountain Man Game Warden (Mountain Man Cops #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Trista

Nate always made this look so easy.

I didn’t hike with my brother often, but whenever I did, we never got lost. Now I’m standing in the middle of an overgrown trail, sweat prickling at the base of my neck, realizing that I haven’t seen a trail marker in at least a mile.

I stare into the trees surrounding me, looking for one with a splash of paint on the trunk. There’s nothing.

I kick a small rock in frustration, sending it sailing into the trees.

“I hate this,” I grumble.

I like clear signs. Neatly drawn blueprints. Not dots of paint on random trees.

I can practically hear Nate laughing at me from beyond the grave. He was a wanderer. A free spirit. And I’m so not.

The late afternoon sun slants through the pines, casting long shadows across the path.

Pine needles crunch under my boots. Somewhere above me, a bird calls out, sharp and insistent, like a warning.

The air is thinner up here than I expected, each breath pulling deeper into my lungs.

The scent of sun-warmed pine sap hangs heavy around me.

I stop and turn slowly, scanning the trees again. The path behind me is narrower than I remember, packed dirt fading into rock and scrub. Ahead, the trail looks clearer. More worn.

I must be on the right trail, I tell myself as I step forward.

The footing changes quickly. The dirt thins, replaced by loose stone and uneven slabs of rock that tilt at odd angles. Lichen covers some of the stones in pale green patches. The incline steepens just enough to make my calves burn. I slow, adjust my balance, and keep going.

“This is fine,” I mutter, channeling my brother’s voice. Take chances. Don’t overthink it.

The pep talk doesn’t help, but I forge ahead anyway. What other choice do I have?

The rock under my boot shifts. Just a little. Enough to spike my pulse and make my body freeze in place.

I’m halfway up a rocky slope that feels steeper now that I’m standing still. Above me, the rock face rises at an angle I don’t love. Below me, the drop is just enough to guarantee a broken bone or two.

Shit. This is not good.

I test my footing carefully. The stone moves again.

Okay. No.

I press my palm to the rock, breathing slowly, the urn in my pack suddenly feeling heavier than it did ten minutes ago, as if I’m being pulled down by the weight of my brother’s judgment from the afterlife.

Judgement was never Nate’s style, but I know he’d be disappointed that I put myself in this kind of danger just to spread his ashes.

“Think, Tris,” I whisper.

I try to remember what he would’ve told me. Shift your weight. Don’t rush. Don’t panic.

A voice cuts through the quiet. The voice of someone very much alive.

“Don’t move,” it commands.

I flinch, heart slamming against my ribs.

Below me, a man stands on solid ground, one hand braced against a tree, eyes locked on me like he’s been here the whole time.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in neutral tones that blend into the mountain so well it’s unsettling.

There’s a radio clipped to his belt and a patch on his chest I can’t read from here.

His jaw is set, expression focused but not harsh. There’s something about the way he holds himself, completely still, completely certain, that makes my pulse slow down just a fraction. If anyone can help me, it’s this guy.

“I need you to stay exactly where you are while I figure out the best path to get you down, okay?”

“I’m not planning to do anything dramatic,” I promise, my voice steadier than I feel.

“Good.”

I swallow. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “You thought you were following the hiking trail.”

“I’m not?”

“Nope,” he says, climbing up below me. “You’re on a game trail.”

“A what?”

“Game trail. Animals use them. Deer. Elk. Bears.” He tips his head, assessing the terrain with a quick, practiced scan. “They have no trouble with this kind of terrain.”

“I’m walking straight toward a bear?” I ask, my voice shrill.

A corner of his mouth lifts, just barely. The almost-smile transforms his face, softening the weathered lines. “If you were, you’ve made enough noise to scare it away.”

“That’s a relief,” I mutter.

He reaches my side. “I’m going to talk you down. You’re going to do exactly what I say. Deal?”

I nod. “Deal.”

He moves closer, not too close, placing his boots deliberately. Each step is sure, calculated. “See that flat gray stone there? That one’s solid. It won’t shift. Step on it.”

He shows me where the rock is stable and where it isn’t. Points out places to put my hands and feet, small divots and edges worn smooth by weather and time. His voice stays low and even, like he’s done this a thousand times. Guess I’m not the only dumb hiker to accidentally go off trail.

I focus on him. On his steadiness. On the fact that he isn’t panicking, which makes it easier for me not to.

When my boots finally hit stable ground, relief floods through me so fast my knees wobble.

He’s there instantly, hand hovering near my elbow without touching. Waiting for permission.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” I say. “I think so.”

He studies me for a moment longer, then straightens.

Up close, he’s even more imposing. Wide shoulders that strain against his shirt.

Forearms corded with muscle, visible where his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

His face is weathered in a way that speaks to time spent outdoors rather than age, though I’d guess he’s somewhere in his late thirties.

Dark hair, just a little too long, with streaks of gray at the temples that catch the fading sunlight.

Eyes that are somewhere between green and brown, flecked with gold.

Something low in my stomach tightens. I tell myself it’s adrenaline. Leftover fear. Anything except what it actually is.

Attraction.

Raw and immediate and completely inappropriate given the circumstances.

“How long have you been hiking?” he asks.

“I’m not much of a hiker,” I admit. “I mostly walk easy trails closer to the city. I’m not used to anything like this.”

He nods. “So, why are you here today then? And alone?”

I reach back, fingers brushing the strap of my pack where the urn rests. “My brother used to hike up here. It was his favorite place in the world, so I thought it would be a good place to spread his—” My voice catches in my throat, unable to say the final word.

Something shifts in the man’s expression. There’s no pity there. Just recognition and understanding.

“Where were you headed?”

I point toward the ridge line visible through the trees. “An overlook. He said it was breathtaking. That on clear days you could see three states.”

He exhales slowly. “It is. But you took the wrong way to get there.”

“Story of my life,” I mutter.

This time, his mouth curves a little more. The smile reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners. “I’m Duke,” he says. “State game warden.”

“Trista,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind an ear. “Game warden, huh? I guess that explains the appearing out of nowhere thing.”

He glances back at the trail I wandered off. “I was tracking movement through this section. Looking for a tagged elk. That’s how I found you.”

“Lucky me.”

“Yes,” he says quietly, and his tone makes me look up sharply. “It was.”

He shifts his stance, positioning himself just slightly between me and the slope I foolishly tried to climb. The protective gesture is subtle, but I notice it anyway. Notice the way he seems to be cataloging my condition, checking for injuries I might not have registered yet.

“I’m going to walk you back to the main trail,” he continues. “From there, I’ll lead you to the overlook.”

“I don’t want to be a problem. I’m sure you have actual work to do.”

“It’s no problem,” he says. “Besides, if I don’t stand guard, you may wander off trail again. Making sure hikers can safely access and follow the trails is part of my job.”

I look at Duke, at the calm certainty in his posture, the way he seems perfectly at home on the mountain.

I’d be safer with him hiking with me, no doubt about that.

But something tells me there’s also a risk in spending too much time with him…

like I may not want to say goodbye at the end of the trail.

My brother’s voice echoes in my head. Take chances. Don’t let fear decide everything.

“Okay,” I say. “Lead the way.”

He gestures toward the correct path, and I fall into step behind him. He glances over his shoulder every twenty feet or so to make sure I’m still here.

And for the first time since I started this journey, I don’t feel like I’m doing this alone.