Chapter Three
CLAIRE
I don't fucking belong here.
That's the first thing I think when I step out of the rental car. The summer sun doesn't ease you in; it cranks the heat until the air tastes like dust, and my lungs work twice as hard. The sign at the edge of town didn't help either.
WELCOME TO CEDAR RIDGE. HELP YOUR NEIGHBOR. DON'T ASK ABOUT THEIR PAST. NEVER LEAVE ANYONE STRANDED.
No population count. No cheery bullshit. Just rules carved into weathered wood that's probably been here longer than the town itself.
I slam the car door harder than I mean to, and the sound echoes off the empty street before the pines swallow it whole.
The mountains don't just sit in the background here. They crowd everything, the street, the buildings, the sky. I'm learning fast: you either make peace with them or you fucking don't.
I came to Cedar Ridge to prove something.
At least that's the bullshit I fed my sister, my therapist, anyone who asked.
Truth is, I typed "wilderness survival Montana" into Google at two in the morning, three-quarters through a box of Barefoot Moscato, "Someone Like You" on repeat because apparently I hate myself.
Still wearing my wedding ring. Daniel's voice in my head, calling me too soft, too sensitive, too much.
The whole pathetic scene: me, drunk and crying, scrolling through survival courses like that would fix whatever was broken in me.
Adele wailing about never minding, and me sobbing into my wine like a fucking cliché.
The worst part wasn't the divorce papers.
It was all the years I actually started believing him.
The friends who said “you're so strong” in that tone that really means “thank god it's you, not me.”
So here I am. Thirty-three. Newly single. Standing in the middle of fucking nowhere, Cedar Ridge, Montana, about to spend a week learning wilderness survival with some stranger who probably eats nails for breakfast. Which reminds me…
I need coffee.
As if on cue, the smell hits me before I even see the place. Coffee, bacon, something sweet. My stomach growls. I haven't eaten since North Carolina, and my stomach knows it.
I glance up and down the pretty much empty street, spotting a diner at the end of the block. The Last Stop.
The Last Stop? Who the hell names a diner that? Like this is some final destination before you die? Before you give up? Jesus, Claire. Dramatic much?
But the neon sign buzzes OPEN, and my stomach is eating itself, so I guess this will have to do.
My feet move before my brain catches up. Next thing I know, I'm pushing through the door. The silence hits first. That awkward moment when a room full of people all stop talking at once. Every head turns, every pair of eyes on me, assessing.
Outsider. Female alone. City clothes. Too fucking clean.
I pause, half in the doorway, letting the cold air hit my skin. Fuck the stares. I've had worse.
"You must be new in town, or lost?"
The voice comes from a woman behind the counter, fanning herself with a laminated menu like it's the only thing keeping her alive.
"I'm just passing through," I say, already moving toward her.
Lou... her name tag reads... grins, knowing she can see right through me. "Honey, if that's the case, you picked a hell of a place to stop. Most people only end up in Cedar Ridge if they're running from something, or hoping nobody finds them."
I slide onto a stool. "Lucky me. I'm doing both."
Lou slides a menu in front of me. "Do you want food, or are you going to sit there looking hungry?"
I don't even open the thing. "Bacon, eggs, whatever's fast. My stomach's about to start digesting itself."
The place is half full, but everyone here looks like they came out of the womb wearing Carhartt and flannel.
I'm the only one in the building not drowning in flannel and Carhartt.
Wearing denim shorts with holes I paid extra for, a white tank top, and sneakers that have never seen actual dirt.
I look like I got lost on the way to a girls' day at the mall.
Or better yet, a "divorced woman finds herself" Pinterest board threw up on me.
It's pathetic.
I'm pathetic.
She puts the order in, then comes back and pours a cup of coffee. "Let me guess...man problems, and you're trying to prove you're not broken."
"Something like that." I don't bother correcting her or elaborating. "Actually, I signed up for some wilderness skills thing."
She sets the mug in front of me. "Oh, you poor, sweet thing."
I shoot her a look. "What?"
Lou leans in, dropping her voice like she's about to offer me something illegal. "You signed up for Cross' course, didn't you?"
I blink. "I... what?"
"Rowan," she says. "He’s the only one who runs those up here. Ex-military. Scares the shit out of half the county, and the other half wants to fuck him. You'll know him when you see him. He’ll be the only guy glaring at the world like it personally offended him."
"Great. Is he really that bad?"
"No, girl. He's that good. But he'll chew you up if you don't keep up. And trust me, I've thought about letting him. I may be fifty-two years old, but I'd still climb that man like a fucking tree. Don't tell my husband. Actually, tell him. Maybe it'll finally get him to fix the garbage disposal."
At the same time, I take a sip of the burnt, bitter coffee, almost choking on the fucking thing. I cough into my fist, eyes watering, and she just grins at me. Like she planned it.
Jesus Christ. This town is insane.
"Thanks for the warning."
Lou shrugs. "You're welcome.”
“Order up!” someone yells from the kitchen.
“Oh. And one more thing.”
I brace myself.
"If he tells you to shut up and listen, do it. And if you need a safe word, mine's 'blueberry pancake.'" She winks and walks away, leaving me to wonder if she's fucking with me or not.
I stare into my cup, trying to imagine the kind of man who'd make a whole town warn strangers about him. I picture some big, burly guy with a beard, mean eyes, and built like a bear, with hands that could snap me in two.
I almost laughed.
What's the worst that can happen? I cook out there, and the vultures pick my bones? Hell, that's better than going back to Daniel and the life I used to have.
The bell over the door rings again, and I immediately feel the air in the room shift.
Lou emerges from the back, carrying a plate loaded with bacon, eggs, and toast. She slides it in front of me.
"Eat up, city girl. You're gonna need your strength.
" I grab a piece of bacon and shove it in my mouth like an animal, not giving a fuck who sees.
Then Lou's smile turns to more of a knowing look. "Speak of the devil."
I turn.
Big mistake.
He's tall, broad in a way that isn't just muscle, but presence.
Doesn't just take up space; he fucking commands it.
Dark red flannel, sleeves rolled to the elbows, inked forearms corded with scars and veins.
Worn cargo pants, scuffed boots, and a jawline that looks like it's been hit plenty and kept going.
Hair dark, disheveled, falling into eyes that are the exact color of dirty ice.
He doesn't look at me. Doesn't look at anyone.
Some guy in the corner booth calls out "Rowan" and gets nothing.
A woman three stools down tilts her chin up as he passes, doing that thing women do when they want to be noticed.
He doesn't entertain it. Rather, pulls a mug from the rack, sets it down, and waits.
"You know where the fresh pot is," Lou says.
"I was hoping you'd pour it."
"I've spoiled you."
"You have."
His voice is low, rough like gravel under tires. It vibrates in my chest, and lower places I don't want to think about. Places that haven't woken up in years.
Holy shit. It’s all I can process while continuing to shove my face with a heaping amount of eggs. Rowan is definitely not the kind of mountain man I was expecting.
I’m finishing off the last piece of bacon on my plate when I feel someone watching me, choosing that exact moment to glance up, finding a pair of expressionless, assessing eyes looking back at me. They’re not unkind, but not warm either.
I’m frozen.
It’s only for a second, maybe two, the weight of it pressing against me. Against my chest, my thighs, between my legs, where I’m suddenly, stupidly wet. Mentally cursing my body for responding to a stranger like I'm some desperate housewife in a porno.
Daniel used to have this effect on me, before he learned how to make me feel small without even touching me.
Before his eyes turned cold, and his hands turned mean.
After I signed the divorce papers, I pretty much swore off men and relationships.
Telling myself I'd never want this again.
But here I am, clenching my thighs under the counter like a fucking liar.
"Claire," Lou says, "meet Rowan Cross."
He nods. "Ma'am."
I blink. “Ma'am?”
Lou smirks. "Don't pay him any attention. He only has manners when he wants to."
Rowan doesn't bother reacting. Just goes back to his coffee like I’m another pain in the ass he has to tolerate.
My gaze moves down, noticing the way his Adam's apple moves when he swallows, and I imagine the rough scrape of stubble against my lips, the taste of salt on my tongue. I wonder if he’d let me, or if he’d grip my hair and take control.
Push me to my knees right here in this diner…
Jesus Christ, Claire. Get it together. You're in a diner in bum-fuck Montana, not some smutty romance book. And that man would probably rather eat glass than let you near his dick.
I shift on my stool, suddenly aware of how damp my underwear is, and clear my throat. "So, do all your students get the silent treatment, or am I special?"
His gaze flicks back to me. Slow. Deliberate.
"The quiet makes people nervous," he finally says.
"Does it?"
"Yes. Tells me who can't handle it."
I raise an eyebrow. "And what does it tell you about me?"
“That you talk too much.”
I can’t help but laugh.
It's either laugh or throw my fucking coffee at him.
"Tell me something, Rowan Cross from Cedar Ridge, Montana. Do you have to practice being an asshole, or does it come naturally?"
For the first time, something flickers in his eyes. It’s not amusement or irritation, but something darker. Something else about this man that makes my pulse kick up a notch.
"It comes naturally," he says.
Lou shakes her head. "Don't let him fool you. Rowan's got a soft spot."
"No, I don't," he says flatly. "Soft is for pussies."
Lou rolls her eyes. "You keep telling yourself that, honey."
He ignores her, his attention already shifting to the door as three guys walk in, laughing. One of them looks to be in his twenties, already sunburned, grinning at Rowan like they're old friends. Two more follow behind him, all college frat boy energy.
"Well, hello," Sunburn says, sliding onto the stool next to me. "Are you from around here, sweetheart?"
I don't look at him. "Nope. Just leaving."
"Stay a while. I'll buy you another coffee." He leans in close enough that I can smell his cheap cologne. "Or whatever you want."
I turn to face him. "What I want is for you to fuck off back to whatever frat house you crawled out of."
His smile disappears while his buddies laugh behind him, and he shoots them a look that says shut up. "Bitchy. I like it," he winks.
"I bet you won’t like what comes next if you keep on."
Before he can answer, the air in the room shifts. I feel it before I see it. Rowan's still holding his coffee, still not looking at us, but something's different. His shoulders are tighter. The muscle in his jaw is ticking. He's staring into his mug like he's imagining snapping someone's neck.
Sunburn notices too. "You know this guy?" he asks me, nodding toward Rowan.
"That is none of your business."
"Everything's my business when you're sitting there with your legs open like an invitation, sweetheart."
Rowan sets his mug down. Slow and deliberate. The sound of ceramic against Formica is somehow loud enough to make Sunburn flinch.
"Say something like that to her again," Rowan says, not looking up, "and I'll break your fucking jaw. Now get out."
Sunburn opens his mouth, then thinks better of it. He slides off the stool, muttering something to his friends, and they shuffle out the door like scolded dogs.
Lou watches them go, then looks at Rowan with raised eyebrows. "That was almost protective."
"Wasn't," he says flatly.
"Sure looked like it from where I’m standing."
"Looked wrong."
I hide my smirk behind my own mug. The mountain man has a temper. Who knew.
I finish my coffee and slide a twenty across the counter. Lou pushes it back.
"It’s on the house."
"I can pay."
"I know." She leans in, her voice dropping. "But you came a long way to find something. I hope you do."
I swallow. "Thanks."
She nods toward the door. "Better get moving."
I pause at the door, glancing back. "See you soon, Rowan."
He doesn't say anything. Only a low grunt that could mean anything.
I push outside, and the heat hits like a wall, even more brutal. There's no escape from it now.