3. Ambrose
CHAPTER THREE
AMbrOSE
W hat I’m doing is recklessly stupid. No one should drive up a mountain in these conditions. But here I am, too worried about the “what ifs” to stop myself. It’s not a hero complex. More of an “I couldn’t live with myself” conscience if there was some other fool tied to a tree in this weather.
Cursing to myself, I drive as carefully as I can up the muddy—growing more hazardous by the second—logging road. The chains on my tires are the only thing keeping my truck from losing purchase. The wind howls fiercely around the outside of my truck. Branches and leaf debris slam against the windshield, only adding more menace to the risky commute. I take the road as far as I can before it runs out. I’m on foot from here on out.
After donning my rainwear, I climb out of the bed of my truck with the bolt cutters. Tree hippy mentioned the other marked tree further up the mountain. There’s only one other pine this high up that the park rangers marked for removal. With the tree’s location on my GPS, I hike the trail.
The rain is coming down in sheets, drenching everything. Water runs along the rocky landscape, looking more like a shallow, flowing creek than a hiking path. The smell of ozone is thick in the air, sending alarms bells off in my head. If the little hairs that cover my skin suddenly stand at attention, I’m toast. Doesn’t matter if I drop to the ground, cover my head, and lift my backside up in the air, there’s not a dry spot around. Water and electricity don’t mix. It would mean lights out for me.
As if to mock me and stroke my fear, lightning fractures along the rock-strewn mountainside skyline, lighting up the sky for seconds at a crack. As much as I don’t want someone trapped out in these elements, I’m going to be pissed if I made this dangerous trek and find no one by this tree.
Several long minutes pass of me moving upward before the dead Ponderosa comes into view. It looks more like a funeral pyre, ready to go up like a Roman torch at an errant lightning strike. And at the base of the tree, I can discern the dark outline of what appears to be a person.
Concerned about this stranger, I break into a jog. It’s impossible not to be worried about someone out in these harsh conditions. Who knows how long they’ve been stranded. It doesn’t take long for hypothermia to set in if you’re not properly dressed for the weather. These mountains may be beautiful, but they’re not kind to the unprepared.
When I’m closer to the tree, I can see the person is a young woman, soaked through and weary. And just like the moron further down the trail, this poor thing is chained to the trunk, too.
It’s not until I’m standing over her that the tiny woman raises her gaze to mine with eyes greener than the needles of a Douglas fir. Her eyes penetrate me to my core, heating me from the inside stronger than any bolt of lightning ever could. She looks at me with such relief, like I’m her savior. Given the circumstances, I guess I kind of am.
Her hero. It does something in my chest, making my heart pound harder with adrenaline.
Huh. Maybe I have a hero complex after all, at least for her . But damn, I wish I could be more—something permanent. She certainly needs someone looking after her, especially if the fool I cut loose earlier talked her into thinking this was a smart idea.
She sobs, bringing me back to the severity of our situation. “Help!”
My hands are already busy feeling for the lock connecting the chain, frantic to free her. “Don’t you worry, darlin’. I’m gonna get you outta here and some place warm. You keep your eyes open long enough for that to happen, you hear?”
A sad little whimper is the only response she gives.
“Don’t shut down on me. You stay awake.”
When I finally locate the lock, I nearly break my bolt cutters in my haste to remove the damn thing. It takes me a few tries to get a good grip on the cutters to remove the lock—the rain doesn’t help me any—before I free her.
As soon as the chain falls away, the woman is tumbling against me, too weak to hold herself up. I gather her in my arms, her slight frame tucked tight against my chest.
“I’ve got you, darlin’. Stay with me.”
Her green eyes roll around as she looks at me, helpless. It makes me nervous, seeing the precious little thing delirious from her harrowing experience and exposure.
The trek back to my truck will take twice as long carrying her bridal style, but she doesn’t appear to have the strength to hang on for a piggyback ride, nor do I feel okay throwing her across my shoulders in a fireman’s carry. She’s too delicate in her current state to do anything other than hold her in my arms with her face pressed close into the crook of my neck. I do my best to shelter her from the rain and wind, carefully trekking down the trail.
As expected, the path is unkind. My feet slip over the mud and wet rocks and I nearly fall on my ass, but right myself without dropping her. My need to keep her safe has me super focused on watching where I step, continuing to put one foot in front of the other.
When we finally make it to my truck, I practically toss her inside the passenger’s side of the cab before running around the hood and jumping in. I turn over the engine and crank the heat to max. Grabbing an old wool blanket under the passenger seat I keep for emergencies, I tuck it around her until she’s cocooned and the only visible part of herself is her face. The woman is curled into a tight ball in the passenger seat, teeth chattering and eyes squeezed shut.
My heart clenches in my chest. Poor sweet thing.
“Hold on.”
I throw my truck in reverse, steer us around, and drive as quickly as I dare down the logging road. More than once, my truck slides in the mud, nearly causing us to spin out of control. My tire chains are no match for these conditions. I grit my teeth, fighting the wheel until my truck hits the asphalt on the main road down the mountain.
The main road isn’t a lot better with fallen trees and runoff water causing hydroplane conditions. It leaves me in quite the pickle.
Driving to the nearest Fort Collins hospital isn’t an option if I can’t make it off the mountain. Besides, the extra hour plus back into town will not get her body temperature regulated the fastest. My cabin is the closest safe place to us. It’s stocked with everything I need to take care of her.
Not thinking twice, I head for home.
“C—C—Cold,” the little woman chatters between her clenched jaw. Her teeth are chomping together so loud, I’m surprised they aren’t busting off at the roots.
“I’m going to get you warmed up soon. I promise.”
It’s hard to keep my focus on the road when all I want to do is watch over her, but I force my attention on getting us home safe. The last thing we need is for me to flip my truck and have us stranded or worse.
Ten minutes later, I make the turn off the main road onto my long gravel driveway. Luckily, there are no down trees across our path. Nothing is worse than having to breakout my chainsaw from the bed of my truck to cut apart a tree when fighting the elements.
Skidding to a halt in front of my home, I jump out, run around to the passenger side, and pull out the nameless woman. I don’t mess around to see if she can manage walking herself. Instead, I sweep her into a threshold carry. She curls into me as I take the steps up my porch two at a time to my front door and let us inside.
Once the door is closed behind us, I lock and deadbolt it, all while holding the woman in one arm. It’s the first time I recall locking my home. Never needed to do so before. It’s not like anyone has trekked this far into the woods or has dared to mess with my shit.
However, now that I have a young woman in my care, I’m locking this place up tighter than a bank safe. Precious things should always be guarded, and this woman is no different.
Turning on my heels, I head straight for my master bathroom. The space is bigger than the main bath, with enough room for two people to move around comfortably.
Upon entering my bathroom, I set her down on the toilet seat before I spin around to turn on the walk-in shower. The space fills with hot steam, making me sweat in my rainwear. I tear off most of my layers, kicking off my boots. I won’t completely strip down—my jeans will stay on to make her feel less uncomfortable with what I must do to help her.
I kneel in front of her, looking into her eyes with apologies.
“I’m sorry, darlin’. Don’t want to upset you, but I need to get you out of your wet clothes.”
The woman says nothing, her teeth chatter increasing.
Working quickly, I remove the few layers she has on, averting my eyes to maintain her modesty. Ogling her while she’s completely exposed and without her consent is not something I want to be known for.
When I have her undressed, I waste no time picking her back up and carrying her into the shower with me. I set her on her dainty feet, my arms wrapped around her as I ease her into the water spray.
As soon as the warm water hits her skin, she cries out in pain. “AHHH! It hurts!”
No doubt. It probably feels like she’s being scalded when in actuality the water is a comfortable bath temp.
I grip her tighter, holding her with one arm around her waist while using my other hand to soothe her pain by rubbing her arms to get the blood flowing faster.
“It’s okay, darlin’. It won’t last long. I promise.”
After a few minutes in the warm water, her whimpers stop. Her head falls back against my chest, her slight frame going dead weight in my arms. She’s past the threat of hypothermia—it’s time to move her and make her more comfortable.
“I’m going to get you dried and dressed, okay?”
Shutting off the water, I hoist her out of the shower. She groans, barely conscious.
Once again, I set her on the toilet seat, propping her against the back to prevent her from tumbling forward onto the slate floor while I grab what she needs. I yank out a fresh towel from the cabinet beneath the sink, wrapping it around her. With another towel, I begin the delicate task of drying her off. I try to be thorough while moving quickly, not daring to let my hands rest any place on her body for longer than is absolutely necessary. I try my best not to look at her body, but it’s hard to dry her without looking at where my hands are going.
When I rub between her legs, she moans, biting her plump bottom lip.
“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely, hoping she doesn’t think me a creepy old man trying to cop a feel.
With her mostly dry, I lift her back into my arms. Her head lolls against my arm, her pretty green eyes now closed. I carry her into my room, setting her gently on the king-size bed. She moans, but doesn’t move.
My mind races, seeing her slight frame sprawled on my bed.
I’ve never had a woman inside my home before, let alone in my bed. When I want to get my rocks off, I go into town and find a willing woman for the night, opting to stay in hotels. It makes the morning after less dramatic when we part ways.
It’s been months since I last had the urge to have sex, too damn busy with the startup logging business to think of my personal needs outside of the necessities.
Seeing this pretty little thing naked and spread out on my bed has me turning away with a curse. I should not be thinking about getting my dick wet with a vulnerable woman in my care. It’s not right, and she certainly doesn’t deserve it.
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I do my best to ignore the ache in my balls.
Clothes! She needs to be covered before my eyes wander back toward her exposed body. I tug open my dresser drawers to see what might fit her.
Willing my cock to settle down, I hold up a pair of sweats that may work.
Taking a quick peek over my shoulder to where the slumbering woman lies, I quickly determine the sweats will slip right off her. I’m a big dude, weighing in at two-twenty and measuring six-three. She’s at least a foot shorter, weighing one-twenty sopping wet.
Dropping the sweats, I opt for a long sleeve Henley shirt. It will swallow her whole, but that’s the point—keeping her tight little body covered from my eyes while keeping her as warm as possible.
Dressing a sleeping woman is the equivalent of wrangling a limp noodle. It’s a bit of a struggle, but I manage. As soon as she’s covered, I consider tucking her into my bed before thinking better of it. Waking up in a stranger’s bed wearing different clothes than what they last remembered wearing would terrify anyone.
Her teeth chatter, alerting me she’s not as warm as she should be. I toss my down comforter over her, haul her back into my arms, and head for the living room. I lay her on one of the two leather couches I have, brushing her wet hair away from her face. She smiles in her sleep, leaning her soft cheek into my palm.
Fuck me, she’s gorgeous. Like drop dead gorgeous. She’s got the natural beauty women pay money for. High cheekbones, thick dark lashes, and a heart-shape face sporting some full pale pink lips. I already know her eyes are the most beautiful green spheres I’ve laid eyes on, and her body is lithe and curvy in all the right places.
She’s breathtaking. And she’s relying on me.
Her teeth chatter again.
I sigh, reluctantly pulling my hand back. She needs more warmth.
Within minutes, I have a fire roaring in the fireplace. The couch she lies on is pushed as close to the fire as I feel is safe. She seems content, slumbering peacefully in my home.
As a final touch, I place a glass of ice water on a coaster on the end table nearest her. She will wake up parched from her harrowing experience on the mountain.
The wind howls outside, and thunder shakes my cabin. The weather is getting worse. It’s a good thing I brought her to my home instead of fighting the rain into town. We’re safe here and she’s comfortable—more comfortable than what a sterile hospital could give her. If the power goes out, my generator will keep my heavier appliances going, the log burning fireplace will keep us warm, and I have plenty of candles to light the rooms.
I take a moment to watch over her, to make sure she’s truly okay. It would be a lie if I said my hovering was only to insure she’s safe. Her beauty is alluring, but it’s more than her looks calling to me.
For whatever reason, I feel overprotective of her. Dare I say, territorial. Strange, considering I do not know who she is, nor do I know anything about her.
Still, there’s something about this woman that sucks me right in.
Shaking my head at myself, I force my feet to turn away from the sleeping beauty. There’s a lot I need to do to make my house guest comfortable when she wakes.
While she rests, I clean my master bathroom and mop up the wet oak floors leading into my cabin. I prefer my home spotless and sorted, but knowing there’s a lady in the house, I want my space to be presented at its best.
As good as she looks in my Henley, I toss her clothes in the wash, assuming she’ll want to be dressed in her own clothes once she’s awake.
After I get the laundry going, I make my way into the kitchen to prepare a meal. No doubt, my woman will be hungry once she wakes.
Whoa there now! My woman? Seriously, what is wrong with me? I’ve been in her presence less than a couple of hours and I’m already claiming ownership of her?
Shaking my head at my ridiculousness, I reach into the fridge to retrieve a pound of ground venison for dinner this evening. Considering the temperature has dropped dramatically with the storm, I opt for chili—easy, tasty, and filling. The sourdough rising in the bowl I prepared from the day before will be the perfect addition to the meal.
In no time, I have chili warming on the stove and fresh bread baking in the oven. Hopefully, a hearty home cooked meal will win me some points with the little lady. It can’t hurt, right?
The idea of winning her over is taking root the more I think about her. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be this attached this early in the game, especially when I don’t know the first thing about her. Yet here I am, imagining a fall wedding and decorating a nursery in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs.
This is nonsense. Or is it?
Staring at the back of the couch where she rests, that odd tug deep in my chest has my feet crossing the room toward her in a nanosecond.
One look. One more look and then I swear I’ll put distance between us.
As I peek at the dark-haired beauty who has magically wormed her way into my heart, she stirs from her slumber. She opens her sleepy green eyes, looking up at me.
“My hero,” she murmurs before shutting her eyes once more. Her soft snore follows almost instantly.
FUUUCK! She called me her “hero.” A hero is fine and all, but I want to be so much more now.
She may as well have stuck a flag in me and called dibs.
This woman—unconscious or not—has claimed me. Fucking me .
Reasoning be damned. I need to convince her to stay and be mine. My mind runs wild with all the ways I could make her stay permanent.
The buzz from the washing machine alarm is the only thing snapping me out of my plotting. I head for the washroom, determined to be the best version of myself. Women like a man who shares in the household manual labors. Hell, I already do it for myself. Doing it for her will be easy brownie points.
I throw what clothes of hers appear safe to dry in the dryer and the rest I hang above my stationary tub to air dry.
Able to take care of her in her time of need? Check.
Able to be mindful of her things? Check.
Able to cook a good meal? Check.
Able to keep a clean and organized home? Check.
With all the things that need to be done in my home to make a good first impression on a woman checked off my list, I decide to shower—a real one this time. Women like a clean man, right? Or at least, they prefer the men they choose to be intimate with to be clean.
The thought of sex with this beauty has me adjusting my hardening cock in my still-wet jeans as I speed walk back to my bathroom to get showered. While I’m at it, I may need to take care of myself in the shower, too, anything to calm my dick down. I don’t want to scare my house guest with a massive tent in my pants. It’ll definitely turn her off before I use my charm on her, and I can’t afford to take any chances.
My houseguest—whoever she is—I want her to see the best version of myself, to put her nerves at ease. Regardless of whether she likes it, she’s at least stuck with me for the night.
If I have it my way, I’ll make it so she’ll never want to leave me.