Chapter 3
Greyson
She can pay?
Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with that?
I stand there in the middle of my own damn road, rain and mud soaking into my clothes, flashlight beam cutting a shaky tunnel through the storm, and she’s blinking up at me like I’m customer service.
Like I’m a problem she can solve with a credit card.
Her teeth chatter hard enough I can hear it over the wind.
Mascara—maybe?—has smudged at the corners of her eyes, and her hair is plastered to her cheek in wet, dark strands.
She’s shivering so violently it makes my own shoulders tighten in reflex.
And still she tries to bargain.
“I can pay,” she says again, voice wobbly but stubborn. “I have cash—well, not cash cash. I mean, who carries cash anymore? But I can Venmo. Zelle. Whatever you—”
I stare at her.
I’m not sure what annoys me more—the assumption that I’m for hire, or the fact that even half-frozen on a mountain road, she’s still trying to control the situation like she’s at a marketplace.
I drag in a breath, cold air burning my lungs.
“Lady,” I say, because I’m not giving her my name, “I don’t need your money.”
Her eyes flash.
Big and dark and way too expressive for someone who’s supposedly built for the city.
“Well, I don’t need your attitude,” she snaps back, then immediately winces like she just realized she’s arguing with the only person standing between her and hypothermia.
Thunder rolls overhead, deep and angry, making the trees shudder like they’re flinching.
She glances up at the sky and the bravado slips for half a second.
That half-second is enough for me to see it.
Fear.
Real fear, tucked beneath the gloss and the sharp tongue.
She takes a shaky breath.
“Look, my car died,” she says, softer now. “It’s… it’s out of battery. I can’t get a signal. I—” Her throat bobs. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t do rescue missions.
I don’t do strangers.
I don’t do anything that brings chaos up my mountain.
And she is chaos in an expensive coat.
My gaze drops, because my brain is stupid and I can’t not notice details when they’re shoved in my face.
Designer heels.
On a mud-soaked mountain road.
In a thunderstorm.
I blink once, slow.
“Are those… heels?”
She looks down like she forgot she put them on. Like her feet are a separate problem she hasn’t processed yet.
“They were a choice I made for work this morning,” she mutters.
Of course they were.
I rub my thumb across my jaw, trying to figure out how the hell a woman like this ends up out here.
The mountain doesn’t lure people in by accident.
The road is half-washed out, unmarked, and mean on a good day.
The storm has turned it into a trap.
She’s either lost. Or she’s looking for something.
And that thought crawls up my spine, prickly and unwelcome.
Because lately people have been looking. For me.
And I really don’t want to be found.
I start to ask the question—Who are you and what do you want?—but nature makes up its mind for me.
A low huff carries through the wind.
Not thunder.
Not the trees.
Something close. Heavy. Alive.
My shoulders go rigid.
The beam of my flashlight swings instinctively toward the tree line—and there he is.
Scar.
The old battered-up grizzly who wanders these woods like he owns them—because he absolutely fucking does.
He’s big even for a Maine bear.
One ear torn. One eye milky.
A jagged scar down his flank that makes him look meaner than he usually is.
He’s older than he should be, slower than he used to be, and he’s mostly harmless if you don’t act like prey.
But she doesn’t know that.
And he’s still wild.
Better safe than sorry.
My pulse kicks up. Not fear—awareness. Calculation.
I lift a hand toward her without looking away from Scar.
“Look,” I say, voice low and sharp, “don’t panic—”
“What?” she snaps, turning her head to follow my gaze.
And fuck, I’m too late.
Lightning flashes, turning the world white for a split second, and Scar’s silhouette becomes a massive, unmistakable shape just yards off the road.
Her whole body goes stiff.
She inhales like she’s about to scream.
“Don’t—”
“BEAR!” she shrieks, and the sound rips through the storm like a siren. “THAT’S A BEAR!”
“Yes,” I bite out. “I noticed.”
“Oh my God!”
She backs up fast—too fast—heels sliding in the mud, arms flailing like she’s trying to balance on a tightrope instead of a death wish.
Her perfume hits the air in a punchy cloud—expensive, floral, completely wrong out here—and Scar huffs again, ears angling forward.
Agitated.
Curious.
Not charging, but not leaving either.
“Scar, you old bastard!” I bark, stepping forward and throwing my free arm wide, making myself big. “Get out of here!”
He doesn’t.
He stomps once—just once—and the vibration travels up through the ground into my boots.
The woman makes a noise that’s half sob, half curse.
“I’m going to die on a mountain,” she gasps. “In heels.”
“This is not the time for commentary,” I growl.
I keep my eyes on Scar, keep my stance steady. I know this bear.
He’s been around for years. He doesn’t like surprises, and he really doesn’t like shrieking surprises that smell like a department store.
“Go on,” I command, lower now. “Get.”
Scar swings his head like he’s deciding whether I’m worth listening to.
Then City Slicker—because I’ve already decided that’s her name in my head, because I don’t know her real name though I’m sure it’s just as fancy and ridiculous as she is, something like Delilah—screams again.
Not on purpose.
It’s a startled sound because her heels sink, the mud sucks, and she loses her balance completely.
She tries to move forward, but the road grabs her like it’s hungry.
And then she grabs me.
Her hand clamps onto my forearm with surprising strength, panic giving her grip teeth, and she yanks.
“Wait,” I growl, but again I’m too late.
So, of course, I go down with her.
Hard.
We hit the mud with a wet slap that I’m going to feel in my spine tomorrow.
For a second, my brain short-circuits.
Because she’s beneath me—warm despite the cold, soft where I’m hard, curves pressed up against my chest and thighs—and it’s been too damn long since I’ve felt a woman’s body that close.
The shock of it is visceral.
A jolt straight through my system.
Want.
Memory.
Instinct.
Desire.
I shove it down so fast it leaves a bruise.
“Goddamn it,” I snarl, more at myself than her.
She’s blinking up at me, eyes wide, breath coming out in little gasps, lips parted like she’s about to apologize and insult me in the same sentence.
Mud streaks her cheek.
It should make her look ridiculous.
Somehow it doesn’t.
Somehow she’s still gorgeous.
Which is inconvenient as hell.
I push up off her, planting my hands in the muck, ignoring the cold seeping into my palms. The storm spits sleet into my face like it’s laughing.
“Stay. Still,” I order.
“B-but my shoe—” she starts, voice cracking.
“I said, stay still.”
I look for Scar.
The bear stands there for one more tense beat, watching, head cocked.
Then he snorts—loud, offended—and turns, lumbering back into the trees like we’re not worth his time.
The second he disappears, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Clara lets out a sobbing laugh.
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Welcome to Woodhaven.”
She tries to sit up.
Her heels are stuck so deep in the mud it’s like the earth has claimed them as a sacrifice.
She makes a frustrated sound and yanks—doesn’t budge.
“I’m stuck,” she says, accusing the ground like it’s personally slighted her.
“You’re wearing heels,” I shoot back.
“I’m aware!”
Another crack of thunder rolls overhead, closer now. The wind cuts harder.
She’s shivering again, violent enough I can see it in her shoulders.
She’s not going to last out here.
Not like this.
Not with her car dead and the temperature dropping and Scar prowling around like a grumpy landlord.
I glance down the road, toward where I know her vehicle is sitting like a useless brick.
There’s no way I can haul that thing up to my place tonight. Not in this weather.
Which leaves one option.
The one I don’t want.
I swear under my breath and crouch, grabbing her under the arms.
“What are you doing?” she yelps.
“Saving your life,” I growl.
“I didn’t agree—”
“Lady, you don’t get to negotiate with hypothermia.”
I bend down and pluck her feet out of her stuck heels. Then, lift her in one motion, because her legs aren’t helping and her shoes sure as hell aren’t.
“I don’t care if they’re made of gold,” I snap, and then I bend, grab her ankles, and yank.
The mud makes a disgusting sucking sound as the shoes release with a violent pop. They stay behind like anchors.
Clara stumbles barefoot into the mud, squealing.
“Cold!” she cries, hopping once.
“No kidding.”
I scoop her up again before she can face-plant, because she’s already unsteady, and the storm is getting worse by the second.
She stiffens in my arms.
Her breath hits my throat in warm puffs—fuck, it feels good.
She lets out a startled sound and clutches at my coat, fingers digging in like she’s afraid I’ll drop her.
Her body is lighter than it looks, though she feels solid, heavy—real.
Warm where it counts.
Shaking all over.
And too damn close.
She stares down at her stuck heels, horrified.
“My shoes—”
I flex my arm around her waist before she can even think about bending to try to fight the mud again.
“Forget the shoes.”
“They’re—”
“They’re done.”
She huffs.
“Where are you taking me?” she demands, trying for angry but landing on shaky.
I look down at her—mud on her cheek, eyelashes wet, eyes fierce even when she’s scared—and every instinct I have says leave her.
Every human part of me says you can’t.
“I’m taking you somewhere you won’t get eaten by a bear,” I tell her.
“And where is that?”
I start walking, boots stomping through mud and water, flashlight beam bouncing with each step.
“My cabin,” I say tightly. “And you’re going to keep your damn voice down before that damn bear changes his mind and comes back.”
Her eyes widen.
“Your—your cabin? With you?”
“Unless you’d like to try your luck sleeping in the mud with Scar on the prowl,” I answer, not slowing.
She lets out a breath that’s half laugh, half helpless sound.
So I keep moving, because the storm is winning, and I’m not leaving a gorgeous, infuriating city slicker to fend for herself on my mountain.
Not with a bear watching from the trees.
And not when she’s making my pulse race like it hasn’t in years.