Sneak Peek Outlaw Daddy
Wyatt
The snow’s coming down harder than the forecast said it would.
I adjust my pack and keep moving along the old logging trail, boots crunching through the fresh powder.
This route’s been on my list for weeks. The main road into Timber Creek is too exposed, too easy for anyone watching to spot movement.
If we’re going to keep expanding our supply runs without drawing attention, we need alternatives.
Quiet ones. Ones that only someone who knows these mountains like I do would think to use.
I’ve been out here since before dawn. The cold doesn’t bother me much anymore.
Years of special ops taught me how to ignore discomfort.
What matters is staying alert. Watching the tree line.
Listening for anything that doesn’t belong.
The wind moves through the pines with a low whistle, carrying the sharp scent of snow and sap.
It’s peaceful out here. The kind of quiet that lets a man think. Or forget. Depending on the day.
I spot the first anomaly about two miles in.
Fresh boot tracks. Not animal. Human. Small.
The prints are uneven, like the person was limping or struggling.
A few feet later I see the blood. Dark drops against the white snow, already starting to freeze at the edges.
My hand moves automatically to the pistol at my hip.
I scan the area, rifle slung over my shoulder but ready. No movement. No sounds except the wind.
I follow the tracks. They veer off the trail, heading deeper into the thicker trees where the snow is deeper.
Whoever this is, they’re not moving smart.
Panic tracks. Desperate ones. I pick up the pace, keeping my steps quiet.
The blood drops become more frequent. Then I hear it. A soft, pained sound. Almost a whimper.
I crest a small rise and see her.
A woman is stumbling through the snow about thirty yards ahead.
She’s small, bundled in a thin coat that is not nearly enough for this weather.
Her dark hair is matted with snow and blood.
She’s limping badly, one leg dragging. Every few steps she looks over her shoulder like she expects something to come out of the trees behind her.
She trips on a hidden root and goes down hard, catching herself on her hands. A sharp cry escapes her.
I move before I think about it. I’m down the slope and beside her in seconds. She jerks back when she sees me, eyes wide with terror. Big brown eyes. Scared. But there’s fire in them too. Stubbornness.
“Easy,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She tries to scramble away, but her injured leg gives out. She falls back into the snow, breathing hard. “Stay away from me.”
I crouch down, hands visible, rifle still slung but ready if I need it. “I’m not the one chasing you. I saw the tracks. The blood. You’re hurt. Let me help.”
She stares at me for a long moment, chest heaving. Her lips are turning blue from the cold. “Who are you?”
“Wyatt. I live up the mountain. Haven 7. You’re safe with me.”
She laughs, but it’s a broken, bitter sound. “Safe. Right. No one is safe.”
I don’t argue. Instead I shrug off my pack and pull out the emergency blanket. I wrap it around her shoulders. She flinches at first but doesn’t pull away. Her hands are shaking so badly she can barely hold the edges together.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Junie,” she whispers. “Junie Bellis.”
“Junie. Can you walk?”
She tries to stand and nearly collapses. I catch her before she hits the ground. She’s lighter than she should be. Too light. I scoop her up without asking, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She stiffens but doesn’t fight me.
“I can walk,” she protests weakly.
“You can’t. And we’re losing daylight. Haven 7’s not far from here. I’ll get you warm and look at that leg.”
She’s quiet for a long moment as I start carrying her back the way I came. Her head rests against my shoulder. She’s exhausted. Running on fumes. I can feel it in the way her body relaxes against me despite the fear I know is still there.
“Why are you helping me?” she asks after a while, voice small.
“Because you need it.”
She doesn’t reply. I keep moving, scanning the trees as I go. Whoever was after her might still be out here. I don’t like the idea of bringing trouble back to Haven 7, but I like the idea of leaving her out here even less.
The walk back takes longer than I want. The snow is deeper in places, and I have to be careful with her leg. She winces every time I jostle her, but she doesn’t complain. Tough. I like that.
When we finally reach my cabin, the sun is starting to set.
I kick the door open and carry her inside.
The fire’s still going from this morning.
I set her on the couch and kneel in front of her to look at her leg.
Her pants are torn and bloody. The wound is deep but not life-threatening.
I grab the first aid kit and start cleaning it.
She watches me the whole time, eyes wary but curious. “You live here alone?”
“For now.”
I wrap her leg carefully, then help her out of her wet coat. She is shivering. I pull a thick blanket from the chest and wrap it around her.
“Stay here,” I say. “I will make some soup. You need to eat and get warm. I’ll call Eli to look at your leg in a bit.”
She nods, pulling the blanket tighter. I move to the kitchen and start heating broth. While it warms, I watch her. She’s looking around the cabin, taking in the simple furniture, the books on the shelf, the rifle rack by the door. Her eyes keep coming back to me.
“Thank you,” she says quietly when I bring her the soup. “For not leaving me out there.”
I sit across from her. “You’re welcome.”
She eats slowly, like her body is still deciding whether it is safe to trust food.
Between bites she asks questions. Small ones.
Where exactly are we? How many people live here?
What do they do? I answer what I can without giving too much away.
She’s still a stranger. A stranger with trouble on her heels.
After she finishes eating, she leans back against the couch, eyes heavy. “I’m looking for my brother. He went missing two weeks ago. I think the same people who are after me have him.”
I nod. “We can talk about that tomorrow. You need rest right now.”
She doesn’t argue. I help her to the bedroom. There’s only one bed. I’ll take the couch. She climbs in slowly, wincing. I pull the covers up around her and turn to leave.
“Wait,” she says softly.
I pause in the doorway. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. Really.”
I nod once. “Sleep, Junie. You’re safe here.”
I close the door behind me and settle on the couch. The fire pops softly. Outside, the wind moves through the trees. I stare at the ceiling, mind running through everything I saw today. The tracks. The blood. The fear in her eyes.
Trouble found me again.
But this time it came in the form of a stubborn, injured woman with big eyes and a story I’m not sure I’m ready to hear.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easy. I keep thinking about her in my bed. About the way she looked at me when I carried her. About the way my chest tightened when she said thank you.
This is going to be complicated.
I already know it.
And I’m not sure I mind.