Seduced By Sasquatch

Chapter 1

Squatchin’ Birthday Blues

Olivia

I should have realized my brother’s birthday was headed for disaster when he said, “Bring your boots, Liv—we're going squatchin’.”

While most sisters expect dinner, cake, and maybe a cute selfie together, I was handed a flashlight, a rifle, and a promise that we’d “make history.”

Around here, that phrase usually meant someone was going to end up muddy, drunk, or on the six o'clock news. But I would do anything for my big brother.

The weekend had actually started out normal enough.

Earlier that day

Friday morning dawned bright and hot. Heat shimmered off the gravel as I pulled into the range, and the smell of spent gunpowder clung to the air. A line of pickup trucks sat crooked along the fence, like a row of bad ideas.

The house where I grew up was twenty minutes back up the ridge, tucked behind a stand of pines where the road turned to dirt.

Mama and Daddy left it to me when they passed away.

My big brother, Gunner, already had a job in the city by then and said it made more sense for me to keep the place since I was the one taking care of it.

He wasn’t wrong; I had handled the bills, the dogs, and everything else since the day we buried them.

He sent help when I needed it, but the land and the house were mine now.

I guessed all those years of doing everything myself had carved a stubborn streak into me—one wide enough to argue with a man like T-Bone, a redneck Casanova we went to high school with who’d been chasing me ever since I was old enough to say no.

T-Bone leaned against the target frame by the firing line, looking like he thought the pose might win him a modeling contract.

His sunglasses caught the glare, and that grin of his stretched too far to be sincere.

He was one of those guys who believed he was more than he really was—God’s gift and all that.

I glanced toward the driveway, wondering how long it’d take for Gunner to show.

He was supposed to meet me at the range later, but I wouldn’t have minded him getting here early.

“Alright, Liv,” he said, his Southern drawl dragging out the first word. “You just slide in right here, and I’ll get behind you.”

I looked at him, the thought making my skin crawl. “No.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I said no. I can stand on my own.”

He laughed, but it came out a little high. “Just makin’ sure you got the right stance.”

“I’ve got the right stance,” I replied, setting my feet. “I Googled it.”

Leaning his rifle against the wooden post, he huffed. “You can’t learn shooting off the internet.”

“You can learn anything off the internet,” I said, cocking my rifle. “I fixed my dryer last week, learned how to can green beans, and even figured out how to tell a man to back off. Want me to demonstrate that one?”

He held up both hands, grinning wider, but his eyes dropped down my shirt like he couldn’t help himself. I tightened my grip on the gun.

“I live alone,” I said. “I stay feisty.”

The first shot kicked hard against my shoulder, but the bullet hit dead center on the target. The sharp smell of gunpowder hit the back of my throat, and satisfaction rolled through me.

T-Bone let out a low whistle. “Look at you. Should’ve known a woman with legs like that would have aim.”

Dropping my weapon, I rolled my eyes. “Why would those two things be related?”

He grinned. “Good balance.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “You’d better back up before I test that balance again.”

When he laughed, it was too loud and too fake. “I could take you out hunting—teach you to track. We could camp and spend time together in the dark.”

He really couldn’t fathom that a woman wouldn't appreciate his advances. “That’s about the creepiest thing a man has said to me before noon.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but a deep chuckle came from behind us. It was Gunner. Although my brother worked in the city, he had taken a long weekend off and planned to meet me at the range.

Gunner walked up with that half-smile of his, the one that always looked part proud and part sorry.

He stood taller than most men and was broader across the shoulders, his beard catching the sunlight in streaks of brown and copper.

Gunner never tried to look good, but it happened anyway.

He had Daddy’s build and Mama’s eyes, both of which made people trust him more than they should.

“Are you all fighting or flirting?” he asked, his voice warm with amusement. He knew how much T-Bone riled me up, but they’d been friends since high school.

“Fighting,” I said flatly.

“Mostly flirting,” T-Bone added at the same time.

Gunner shook his head. “You'd better quit hitting on my sister, man. She’s liable to feed you to a bear.”

“She’d rather I was the one doing the eating,” T-Bone said, waggling his eyebrows before firing another round downrange and missing so wide the target didn’t even flinch—it was probably offended he’d aimed at it at all.

I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I gave him a look that would make a crow drop dead mid-flight. To my relief, he finally wandered off to bother somebody else.

Stepping up beside me, Gunner bumped my shoulder. “You’re shooting well.”

“Thank you. I’m shooting better than him.”

He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

The pride in his voice caught me off guard. He’d taught me to throw rocks, ride bikes, and fix flat tires, and somehow, I still wanted his approval. Funny how that sticks, even at nearly thirty.

We fired a few more rounds together. The echo rolled across the ridge until it faded into the hum of cicadas. Brass casings littered the gravel, glinting in the sun. When the smell of powder finally thinned, Gunner leaned on the partition beside me, arms crossed, his grin lazy.

“Have you ever thought about coming out with us sometime?” he asked.

“Out where?”

“Up Hollow Ridge. The team is doing a big overnight trip this weekend. I want you to come.”

I lifted my earmuffs and gave him a look. “You mean your Sasquatch club?”

He straightened, feigning offense. “My research team.”

Huffing, I shook my head. “Research team? You’re just four rednecks screaming at trees.”

He laughed, completely unbothered. “We’re serious this time. We’ve got motion sensors, night vision, bait traps—the whole operation.”

“That sounds like a complete waste of time.”

“It’s my birthday,” he said, flashing that smile again.

I groaned. “You’re pulling the birthday card already?”

“Only one I’ve got.”

His smile widened. Gunner always had a way of looking at people, as if he believed every wild idea might just work out if he pushed hard enough. I’d seen that look since we were kids, usually right before he broke something, and I had to fix it.

“Please, Liv,” he said. “Come see for yourself. Just one night.”

He nudged my elbow. “What, you scared you’ll embarrass yourself in front of a bunch of dudes?”

I sighed. “Sometimes I think you only invite me to make fun of me.”

“That’s not true.” He lifted his hand to his chin, pretending to think about it. “Maybe a little true.”

I tried not to smile, but it slipped out anyway. “Fine. I’ll think about it. But if T-Bone’s there, I’m carrying my gun loaded.”

“Fair enough.”

Seeming satisfied with my answer, he clapped my shoulder, the gesture rough but affectionate. “You’ll have fun, you’ll see.”

“I’ll probably get eaten by mosquitoes.”

“That too.”

The shooting range emptied out one shooter at a time.

Dust lifted in soft spirals across the gravel, and the smell of burnt powder lingered in the warm air.

For a while, I just stood there, listening to the quiet return.

Gunner’s truck engine rumbled to life in the distance, gradually fading as he drove away down the hill.

I told myself it was just one night, that I was going for his sake, not mine.

But deep down, beneath the sarcasm and sense, something restless stirred.

Maybe it was curiosity. Either way, I already knew I’d go.

And maybe—though I wouldn’t admit it out loud—I wanted to see if there really was something out there that folks weren’t supposed to see.

By the time I got home, the sun had dropped behind the ridge, and the sky had already begun to bruise from gold to blue. The porch boards groaned tiredly beneath my boots as I climbed the steps and set my gun on the table next to a chipped coffee cup filled with old paintbrushes.

Boone and June Bug bounded toward me, tails wagging as if I had been gone a week instead of half a day. Boone’s deep bark rattled the porch rail while June Bug danced circles around my boots, nails clicking against the wood.

“Hey, y’all,” I said, crouching down to scratch their ears. “No bears today—just T-Bone, which is worse.”

After hanging up my jacket, I kicked off my boots and poured sweet tea over ice. The glass sweated in my palm while the frogs began their evening chorus beyond the porch.

Peace always came like that here—quiet, steady, and undeserved.

This house had enough silence to hear yourself think, if you wanted to.

I usually didn’t. Thinking only raised questions I didn’t care to answer: why I was still here when I could have left like Gunner did, why the mountains felt more like home than any place beyond them, and why I kept pretending that wasn’t true.

Out on the porch, the swing waited as it always did.

I carried my tea outside and eased down onto it, the chains creaking softly as I rocked.

Fireflies blinked across the yard, small sparks floating through the thick dusk.

Beyond the fence, mist gathered between the trees until the whole world turned to shadow.

The buzz of my phone against the armrest broke the stillness. It was Gunner.

“Gunner: You still thinking about it?”

“What?” I replied.

“Don’t play dumb. Hollow Ridge. We’re heading up tomorrow.”

“I’m pretty sure I said I’d think about it.”

“You owe me. Birthday clause.”

A smile crept in before I could stop it. “You’re impossible,” I typed back.

Headlights appeared on the dirt road less than a minute later, bouncing over the ruts. So much for texting. I set my glass aside and braced myself for the impending storm.

The truck engine hadn’t even quieted when my brother jumped out, arms full of papers, maps, and a cardboard container that smelled unmistakably like fried chicken. “You eat yet?” he called.

“I was fixing to.”

“Good, because I brought supper.” He stomped up the steps, spreading his maps across the porch table as if we were planning an invasion. “Look at this. Mason found a site right off the Appalachian Trail—mile marker twenty-two. Multiple sightings. Even some hair samples.”

“Hair samples?” I repeated, leaning over his chaotic spread. “Gunner, that looks like Google Maps.”

“Maybe, but still—look at the map.”

“I don’t want to look at the map. I want to eat my chicken.”

“Eat and look,” he insisted, shoving the container toward me.

The smell hit first—grease, pepper, home. I sighed, took a leg, and said, “Why can’t your birthday involve something normal? Bowling, maybe. A party.”

“Because Sasquatch doesn’t hang out at the bowling alley.” He spoke around a mouthful of chicken. “This’ll be fun. Mason’s got a drone. We’ll have eyes in the sky.”

“That’s what every woman wants on a Saturday night,” I said. “Drones and bug bites.”

He ignored my jab, tracing a finger along the paper. “We’ll camp at the base of the ridge, set trail cams, and try a few calls. You don’t even have to believe—just come keep me company.”

I leaned back in the swing, which creaked under my weight. “You really think there’s something out there?”

“I think there are a lot of things out there.” His voice dropped to a soft, almost reverent tone. “You’d be surprised at what the woods hide.”

That quiet note of wonder often caught me off guard. He’d slip it between all the nonsense and make it harder for me to dismiss him.

The porch light illuminated the tired lines around his eyes when he looked up.

Gunner had aged in ways that weren’t immediately apparent—still broad-shouldered, still boyish when he grinned, but worn around the edges.

He worked too hard chasing dreams that didn’t pay, and I figured I could give him one night to chase another.

“Fine,” I finally said. “I’ll go. But I’m not eating bugs, I’m not using leaves for toilet paper, and T-Bone better not try anything.”

The grin that split his beard was pure triumph. “Deal.”

The maps disappeared into a folder, and he started humming the theme from *The X-Files* while packing up. I watched him go, shaking my head but smiling anyway.

When his taillights vanished down the dirt road, the quiet settled back around me like a blanket. Frogs sang, and the wind stirred the leaves.

Leaning against the porch rail, I sipped what was left of my tea. An owl called once from the woods, the sound spookier than it should have been. Or at least, I believed it was an owl. Still, my gaze lingered on the tree line where the shadows thickened.

For a moment, the air felt too still. Something heavy shifted through the brush, cracking twigs underfoot. Gunner was getting to me—I wasn’t usually the type to spook at night sounds.

It stopped right before I could decide whether I’d imagined it. Forcing my fears from my mind, I went inside and locked the door, telling myself it was nothing.