CHAPTER ONE
GABE
Ihaven’t dealt with a single person in over four months, and that’s the way I like it.
Hope Peak is the sort of small town in Montana that you can pass through on a tourist drive or stop and stay for a lifetime.
It’s the sort of small town that has secrets, a rumor mill that rivals any government agency in its efficiency, and a population so inbred that it keeps men like me away for most of the year.
I lie. There are no other men like me around my part of the town. Or more accurately, the part of the town that I’m farthest from.
Years ago, I took the advice of a ranger in that same town after I came back from a desert mission and hiked into the mountains.
After a week of messing around, I came back into town, found the land owner I needed to speak to and paid double what the little slice of peace that I found for myself was worth in order to keep the rest of the world at bay.
Which is why, when I stare through my rifle’s scope and see the sort of mark that has nothing to do with my dinner but has the potential to sate a very different sort of appetite altogether, my interest sparks.
The woman in my mountains has no right to be here, and that makes her all the more fascinating.
Dressed in a dark green jacket that covers her to the knees but hangs open with a fluffy hood, I think she’s a damn bear at first and nearly end her life before I have a chance to find out anything about her.
But she’s not a bear, or even a small bear, at that.
The moment the flash of red of her chequered shirt, knotted at her navel to expose the swell of her stomach catches my eye, my focus shifts significantly.
From there she’s all curves of the luxurious sort.
Not the hiker sort, that’s for fucking sure.
The sort a man can sink his hands into and—well.
Do some damage. Her pale, tight jeans look painted on, and a fantasy of peeling them from her to find out how her flesh dimples beneath my roughened hands infiltrates my mind within seconds.
Hell, I’m an ex-soldier not a saint, for fuck’s sake. And I never did get myself a Christmas present this season, Here’s one ready made to order just for me.
Strawberry blonde hair is wound into a messy knot on top of her head, though plenty of strands escape around her face.
Dirt streaks one cheek where it looks like she’s battled a trash panda.
Her rose stained lips are turned up in a pensive smile that reflects inward as she climbs the last boulder to reach my yard.
That boulder that may as well have a keep out sign attached to it for its aggressive profile.
At least she’s wearing sturdy boots as she traverses the thin trail that leads toward my cabin after she climbs as though that’s her only destination with a few days to go until Christmas.
But it’s the quick glance as she checks over her shoulder like she expects there to be traffic on this deserted road of mine and the haunted look in her pretty, sky blue eyes when she turns back my way that grips me at stomach level and refuses to let go.
Christ. What sort of bait is she that she’s out here alone and fucking miles from anywhere?
Answer: the sort that I want to take hold of and find out what the hell she’s doing here and why she’s on my land.
Which means it’s time to show my hand.
Lowering my rifle a fraction, I step away from the hide I've been resting behind and let her see me. She freezes, widening those pretty eyes framed with thick lashes. Her hands splay at her sides. Breaths come short before they stall altogether. I can almost taste her panic, relish the way she wants to bolt, because I’ll chase her down and we both know it.
She won’t make it as far as the Red Cedar that’s just beyond my place before I take her to the ground beneath me and start my interrogation. The thought of finding out what those curves feel like first hand against my skin is enough to send blood roaring south a second time.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” I murmur, just to antagonize the shit out of her as I lower my rifle a little more.
Enough to give myself freedom to chase her when she runs.
Enough to let her think she has a chance if she does.
Her feet angle towards my cabin like she thinks she might beat me there and lock me out. It’s cute, the tiniest signs of hope she displays.
“You live here?” she calls, her voice loud enough to bounce off the granite rocks around me.
Defiant and sassy as all hell.
I love her attitude. This is going to be fun.
“This is private property.” I suppose I’m supposed to put on a show of humanity or some other bullshit around what’s probably a local girl or some tourist out to climb the mountains.
In winter. With snow coming on that’s been holding off for a week or more this season already.
Christ. She must have a death wish.
Where the hell is her pack?
“People don’t usually come out here.”
There’s a reason I’m out this far on my own, honey. A man like me isn’t fit for human consumption.
Especially not for a woman like you.
She might have figured that out on her own by now. Not that it seems to deter her.
“People might, but I do. I’m looking for someone.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Not anyone else is out here to be found.”
“Who says I’m looking for anyone else?” The sassy tone is back in her voice.
That sass calls to me like honey.
I’m so fucked just looking at her that it takes a moment too long for her words to register. “Why are you out here?” My rifle rises. I relax my grip with effort.
That rifle has been an extension of my arm for decades.
It kept me safe in deserts that contain sand that’s a different color to this country.
Shit, I can still taste that pink dust on the back of my tongue on nights when it’s snowing outside and too damn damp for grit to be fucking anywhere. But it's damn well there anyway.
That rifle stayed with me all the way home. I nursed it on my lap right next to the box that held my best friend. The only time I put it down was to kneel before his mother and beg her forgiveness.
Then I brought my ass up north and walked away from the rest of the world.
I’ve been here ever since, and that rifle has saved my life countless times. Kept me fed, too. Now, that same rifle feels heavy in my grip. For the first time, I wonder if I’ve been holding on to it too tightly.
“Who are you looking for, honey?” I ask softly.
Too softly.
Her chin rises.
She’s all sass and filthy from her walk up my mountain. Dirty in all the right sort of ways. When she pops a hip with the sort of smile that promises sin, my blood runs hot despite my inner reflections.
The effects this woman has on me, when I don't even know her name, is insanity itself.
“You’re Gabriel Decker, right?” She watches me carefully.
I nod slowly. She knows my name. That’s…something new. A game changer for sure. I keep my grip on my rifle all the same.
“That’s right.” Just because you know who I am doesn't stop me from wanting to play, honey.
“Good.” Her feet plant firmly in the hard packed dirt before me. “Because I’m sick of walking. I need your help.”
I huff a laugh under my breath. Who in the hell has this woman been talking to in Hope Peak that gave her the impression that I’m one of the good guys? Because I’m sure as hell not one. She can keep thinking that if she likes. It’ll mean a cute surprise for both of us.
Merry fucking Christmas to me.