Chapter Four
ROWAN
The mountains don't give a shit how bad you want to live.
You can pray. You can cry. You can promise God every fucking thing you own. But they don't hear you. They just wait, wanting to break you if you fuck up bad enough.
I've seen too many people die in my lifetime. In war. In these woods. Good ones. Tough ones. People who thought wanting it badly enough counted for something.
It doesn't.
That's what I tell every group on day one. Not in those exact words, and not because I'm an asshole. But because I'm the only thing standing between them and a body bag, and I need them to know I'm not their friend.
I'm the one who keeps them breathing.
I watch Claire Calloway walk across the parking lot to join the rest of the group. Cutoff jean shorts, frayed edges, thin tank already darkening with sweat. Wrong clothes. Wrong shoes. Wrong everything.
She’s going to be trouble.
"Think she'll make it?" Asher asks, walking up to stand next to me.
Asher Merritt. Cedar Ridge's one and only logger. Handles his business and doesn't ask questions. He used to fight fires, but a year ago, he started his own company from nothing. Keeps his secrets buried deep. Bigger asshole than me. But a good man.
I shrug. "She's wearing fashion sneakers and carrying a Stanley. What do you think?"
Asher snorts. "You're a real class act."
"She's paying me to keep her alive, not to like her."
Asher follows my line of sight to the ridge, where clouds are starting to stack. "The radar's showing something brewing."
I look away. "It'll blow over."
“You know it could turn fast. Might need to cut the course short.”
"Don't be a pussy, Merritt."
He smirks. "Is that confidence keeping you dry when it doesn't?"
I start to answer, but Claire's laugh cuts through. She's talking to some guy in brand-new hiking gear, probably dropped five hundred dollars to look like he belongs here. Head thrown back. Dark hair coming loose from its pile on top of her head.
She's not paying attention to the sky. Not paying attention to anything that matters.
My jaw tightens. "Ridiculous," I mutter.
"What's that?"
"Nothing." I turn away. "Fuck off, Merritt. Go check your equipment."
"Aren’t we touchy today?" But he goes.
I watch her from the corner of my eye. She's still laughing. Still not looking up.
Fucking tourists.
"Alright. Listen up." I raise my voice. Most of the group works their way closer. A few keep fiddling with their gear until I stare them down.
"I'm Rowan Cross. Welcome to hell. This isn't a nature walk. You want pretty views and Instagram photos, you're in the wrong place."
I let that sink in. A few faces go pale, and some look like they’re about to piss themselves.
Good.
"We hike five miles today. Expect steep grades, loose rock, and no trail markers above the tree line. You don't hydrate, you cramp. You cramp, you fall. You fall, you break something. Nobody's airlifting you out."
Claire's hand goes up.
I ignore it.
"Hydrate every thirty minutes. Don't wait till you're thirsty. If you're thirsty, you're already fucked. Pass out from heat stroke, I'll drag you to shade and keep walking. I’m not carrying anyone, and I sure as hell am not waiting."
"That's comforting," she says, loud enough for the group to hear.
I stop. Turn.
"Miss Calloway. Do you have something to share?"
"Well, yeah. For what we paid, I expected some protocol for safety."
"You want safe? There’s a Hampton Inn in town. There’s a hot tub. Continental breakfast. Zero chance of me leaving your corpse for the coyotes." I maintain eye contact. "It’s your call."
She doesn't flinch. "Noted. Next time I'll make sure and pack 'emotional support.' Major Payne."
A few people laugh.
I don't.
I close the distance between us in three strides. Close enough that I can smell her shampoo, her sweat. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
"Keep talking," I say, in a low voice. Just for her to hear. "And see what happens when little girls test men like me."
Her throat moves. Swallowing.
I hold her gaze one second longer, taking a step back.
"Five minutes," I tell the group. "Then we head out."
She just stands there, watching me with those brown eyes, while something shifts in them that wasn't there before.
Fear. Good.
She should be afraid.
The group takes off toward the trailhead, some glancing back to see what’s going on. Claire still hasn’t moved. I try to walk past her toward the equipment shed, but she steps in front of me.
Fuck.
She’s really starting to test my patience.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. "Move."
"No." She crosses her arms. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to threaten me in front of everyone and then just walk away."
I open my eyes, and I’m close enough to see the flush in her cheeks, the set of her jaw. She's scared. Standing her ground anyway.
Okay. I can respect that. But that doesn’t mean she’s not pissing me off.
"Get out of my way."
"Or what?" She tilts her chin up. "You'll leave me for the coyotes?" she says, waving an arm in the direction where everyone is now waiting.
My hand shoots out before I think. Wraps around her wrist, pulling her in.
“Hey,” she squeals as her body collides with mine, soft, warm, and all wrong. “What the hell, Rowan?” I press her hand flat against my chest, over my heart. Let her feel how fast it's beating.
"This, Claire," I say, my voice low but rough. "This is what happens."
Her eyes widen, feeling her pulse jump against my thumb.
I hold her there a few seconds too long. Let her understand exactly how easy it would be.
Then I drop her wrist like it burns, stepping back.
"Why did you do that?" she asks, rubbing her wrist.
"Because you’re too fucking stubborn. You don’t listen."
"To what, asshole? Your vague threat? Your big, bad scary voice?" She laughs, but it's shaky. "I'm supposed to just... what? Fall in line because you said so?"
"You're supposed to stay away from me."
"And why’s that? We just met this morning. You know nothing about me."
"Don't I?" I’m now crowding her space even more.
"Claire Calloway. From Charlotte, North Carolina. Recently divorced, guessing that’s the reason for the tan line on your ring finger.
" I watch her hand curl into a fist. "You stepped out of the car this morning ready to fight someone. Walked into Lou’s, ordered bacon and eggs, shoving it in your mouth like an animal who hasn’t eaten in days. "
Her mouth opens to say something. Then, closes.
"You talked back when I called you ma'am.
Laughed at me. Asked if being an asshole comes naturally.
" I pause, watching her eyes move, searching mine.
"Then you told Sunburn to fuck off when he hit on you, and I sat there with my shoulders so tight I could barely breathe, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
And why some douche speaking to you was having this effect on me. "
I grab her wrist again. Not hard. Just enough to make her gasp. "Rowan…"
"I went back to my office," I say, thumb tracing the vein in her wrist. "Pulled your application.
Read every word." My voice drops. "I don't do that, Claire.
I don't care, much less memorize what my students wrote about proving something to themselves.
" I tighten my grip. "But I did. With you.
From the moment you walked out of that diner, I've been thinking about your mouth.
Your hands. How you'd feel if I actually touched you. "
Her throat works. She doesn't pull away.
“I'm not safe. I'm not good.” I say. “But I can’t stand here and pretend I don't want to break every rule I have with you.”
I drop her wrist. Step back.
"So move. Go join the group. Before I decide, keeping my distance isn't worth it."
She stands there, breathing fast, still not moving.
I stare at her. Standing there in those cutoff shorts, thighs bare and sun-kissed, top clinging to her skin. She's breathing hard from the confrontation, chest rising fast, and I shouldn't be watching. Taking in the shape of her perfect tits, or imagining how she'd feel pinned under me.
"Claire." My voice cracks. "Go."
"I'm not afraid of you," she whispers.
"You should be. I'm not safe," I say. "Because I don't want to be safe. Because the last thing you need is someone like me noticing you, and I've already fucking noticed."
The color drains from her face, then comes back.
"That's not your decision."
“It is now.” I turn toward the shed. “Go join the group, Miss Calloway.”
I hear her breathing behind me, fast and shallow.
"You're not as scary as you think you are," she says, but her voice trembles.
I turn back. Smile. But it doesn't reach my eyes.
"Keep telling yourself that."
She holds my gaze for three seconds. Then she walks away, shoulders straight, not looking back.
I watch her go.
Fuck.
She's going to be a problem.