JULES

“Are you okay?”

A searing pain in my ankle leaves me unable to answer whoever is up there. I can hear crying, and I know it’s coming from me, but I can’t seem to stop. I knew someone was watching me—tracking me through the trees. Babs was right—I shouldn’t have come out here. What was I thinking?

“I need you to calm down. I can’t think with you screaming like a banshee.” If I weren’t in blinding agony, I’d give this guy a piece of my mind. Taking a deep breath, I attempt to rein myself in and focus on the stranger looming high above. My sight is blurred—tunnel vision of a dark shadow moving toward me.

I’m not sure if it’s pain or fear as I lunge to my side emptying the contents of my stomach. And then it hits me—I was running from this person. His voice is low and soothing, but doesn’t every serial killer sound like that—the alluring tone of a tall, dark stranger? My pulse reflects the imminent danger, and my heart begins to hammer so hard against my ribcage, I’m left gasping for air.

He’s getting closer, his imposing frame obstructing the sky above me. The fresh scent of soap invades my senses, and an involuntary reaction takes over. It’s… sensual. My fight-or-flight kicks in the second after I think it, and I kick with my good leg. My foot connects with a rock-solid wall of man.

“What the fuck? I’m trying to help you.” I punch as hard as I can aiming for his crotch. There was an episode of Oprah I always remember—hit them in the balls and run as fast as you can—but just before my fist makes contact, he grabs my wrists.

“Let me go!” He restrains my hands, his face slowly coming into focus. His lips are close enough I can feel his breath on my cheek. Holy crap—it’s him. The guy from Cricket—the local recluse. His eyes are piercing, his breath shallow as we stare each other down.

“It’s you.” His words are slow and sultry, hanging in the air between us…

“Let go of me.”

“I’ll let go if you stop trying to rip my face off and kick my manhood into next week. Deal?” A smirk spreads across my face—it’s like a red rag to a bull. I go limp… and the moment his hands relinquish their grasp, I muster all my strength and knee him in the groin before scrambling to my feet. The cold is bone-deep, and my ankle is protesting with every step until it crumples beneath me—betraying my survival instinct.

My cries scare the birds from the trees as I crash to the ground in agony. My heart begins to race in terror as footprints crunch the frozen ground behind me.

“What the hell were you thinking? I’m not an ax-wielding murderer.”

“That’s what all murderers say before they chop you up and bury you in the woods.” The grin nestled under the heavy growth of his beard is endearing… and infuriating. A quiet chuckle escapes him, and I can’t help feeling foolish. “It’s not funny!”

“I beg to differ. It’s pretty amusing that you would antagonize a potential killer. You’re sassy for a city girl.”

“What makes you think I’m from the city?” His eyes zero in on me, his stare sincere.

“Trust me… I know an LA girl when I see one. Your accent is a dead giveaway.” His smile returns with a hint of mischief. “Should I not say dead? I wouldn’t want you to take it as a red flag of my imminent desire to club you to death.”

“Shut up! I’m a woman alone in the wilderness, and you are stranger danger 1-0-1.” He offers his hand to help me up.

“I’m Travis. Now you know me. Can I help you? You’re going to freeze your ass off out here. My place isn’t far. We can get you warm and then head down to town to get that ankle seen to.”

I know I should say no. Going to any man’s home twenty minutes after meeting is never a good idea! I learned that lesson freshman year at Brown.

“Yes.” I place my hand in his, and a surreal warmth spreads throughout my body—from my fingertips to my toes. As I attempt to stand, my ankle buckles under the strain.

Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around my back and my legs—cradling my weight with ease. Pulling me close to his chest, I can hear his strong, steady heartbeat.

“Don’t worry, ma’am, my intentions are honorable. I have some practice with basic strains and breaks… and I know this mountain better than anyone.”

“You’re the sasquatch!” Shit. Brain to mouth filter is on the fritz.

“Wow. I can see you’re going to be a delightful patient.”

“Sorry.” The rhythm of his footsteps and the warmth of his body lulls me into a relaxed, almost dream-like state. My synapses should be urging me to struggle loose—to attempt to break free, but for some reason… I trust him.

I must have passed out at some point.

Before I can force my eyes open, the smell of burning wood invades my senses. My body is warm, and the bite of ice on my back is gone. I’m aware of the pain radiating around my ankle, but it’s bandaged just tight enough to constrict movement.

As I open my eyes, I realize I’m alone. My woodsman in shining plaid is nowhere to be seen.

A log cabin surrounds me—warm and inviting—nothing like I would picture a shack in the woods. This place is rustic but lavish. There are toys in the corner and pictures of a little boy on the mantel. The furnishings are sparse but stylish. Snow is falling hard outside, and the windows perfectly frame an idyllic oasis on this harsh mountain. It’s only as I look around the room I realize I’m in bed… a bed that smells very much like the masculine soap of my rescuer.

I attempt to swing my legs out over the edge, but my ankle is killing me.

“Son of a…”

Footsteps pad down the hallway toward me, and my heart starts thundering in my chest. I pull the covers up to my chin making sure every inch of me is covered. The cabin goes silent, but I can see his shadow under the door. There’s a gentle knock. Tap… tap… tap.

“Are you okay, ma’am? Are you decent? Can I come in?” I check myself over as if searching for the answers to his questions. I’m dressed in an oversized thermal t-shirt, sweatpants that are way too big for me, and my underwear is nowhere to be found.

“You saw me naked? What kind of pervert are you?”

The door flies open, and in he strides—loose pajama pants, low-slung on his hips, and a fitted white t-shirt. He is… sculpted.

“I saved you from hypothermia in those wet clothes. Trust me, I’m as unhappy about this situation as you. Do you think I want you here? That I enjoyed staying up all night to make sure you were okay? Or that trying to sleep in my kid’s tiny bed was fun for me?”

I’m speechless… until I’m not.

“Don’t do me any favors, sasquatch. I’ll get out of your bushman beard right now.” I attempt to stand, but a shooting pain takes over my entire leg sending me back on my ass.

“You’re going nowhere.”

“You can’t keep me here against my will.” He rubs at his beard pondering what to say next.

“Listen, ma’am. While you were sleeping, the snow has been coming down hard, and it doesn’t look like it’ll be letting up any time soon. Even though I want to get you to town and out of my house, that’s not going to happen for at least four days.”

“What? I’m not staying with you for four days.”

“I’ve looked at the forecast. Two things are standing in your way right now. One, you’ll die out in that weather, and two, you can’t do it alone. You can’t stand on that ankle. You displaced one of the ligaments. I had to put it back in place. The only way you’re getting off this mountain is with me carrying you.”

I rub the frown lines taking up residence on my forehead. This can’t be happening.

“Is there cell reception up here?”

“Sure, but no one can get up here until this weather front passes. It’s too dangerous.”

“This is your territory. Surely, you’re in your element with this stuff?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually a sasquatch. And, I’m not an idiot. I’ll get you home as soon as it’s safe. Until then, we’ll just have to be civil. Can you manage that?”

I nod in agreement, my ego suffering from his clear distaste for me.

“I’m making breakfast. I dried your clothes by the fire overnight.” He grabs them and lays them at the foot of the bed. “Yell when you want me to carry you into the living room.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” My tone is unintentionally curt. “Breakfast sounds great, thank you.” With indifference, he disappears, leaving me to dress.

It takes me at least twenty minutes to get my leggings on. By this point, I’ve decided just to keep wearing his top. It’s warm, and it smells good—fresh. Whatever he’s cooking smells even better causing my stomach to growl. I don’t remember the last time I ate. It must have been at least twenty-four hours ago.

Determined not to ask for help, I slide down onto the floor and shuffle my way out the door. It hurts like a mother… but I won’t give him the satisfaction of me playing the damsel in distress. I pull myself along like Ivar the Boneless. I can only imagine how I look, but I’ll be damned if I give up my independence to some weirdo who lives in the middle of nowhere.

When I make it to the living room, he’s staring in disbelief from behind the kitchen counter.

“What the hell?”

“What?”

“Are you trying to kill yourself while in my care?” The undercurrent of machismo just grinds my gears.

“I’m not your responsibility. I can manage. I appreciate what you did yesterday. Contrary to my actions… I don’t have a death wish. But, I won’t let you wait on me hand and foot until I can get out of here.”

“If you put any weight on that ankle, you could displace the ligament again. Don’t be so bullheaded.” He strides over to where I’m sitting propped against the wall. “Wrap your arms around my neck.” I try to stare him down, but he’s not having it. “Do. It. Now.”

I acquiesce only because I’m in so much pain. He scoops me into his arms, the corded muscles of his forearms taut against my body. The tension between us is palpable, and yet he handles me with such care. The juxtaposition is unsettling. Once he gets me to the couch, he gently lifts my ankle and places a cushion underneath.

“Stay like this. I’ll bring your food over. You have to keep this elevated.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, ma’am. I may not answer… but you can ask.”

“How do you know so much about my injury? Are you a doctor or something?” He smiles as he brings two plates heaped with pancakes and bacon before returning to the kitchen to grab a coffee pot and two mugs.

“Technically that was two questions, but, no. I’m not smart enough for that line of work. Just had a lot of injuries over the years and know my way around the basic stuff.”

I dig in relishing the taste, smell, and sensation of eating my fill.

“Okay, maybe I was wrong about you. I’ve never seen an LA girl put away food like that.” I become self-conscious that I resemble a pig in the trough right now.

“Sorry. Hunger made me forget my manners. This bacon is ridiculous.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I do my best.”

“You don’t need to call me ma’am. I’m pretty sure we’re way past that already. I’m Juliet, but everyone calls me Jules.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jules. Like I said before, I’m Travis. Don’t know if you remember that. Yesterday was a rough day.”

“Sorry for being a bitch when you tried to help. Stranger danger and all that! Thank you for saving my life, Travis. I have no business being up in these mountains.” I’ve piqued his interest.

“Then why are you? And alone no less.”

“Crappy job. They sent me out here to write a fluff piece on why hiking is becoming so popular for us city folks.”

“You’re a journalist?” His friendly demeanor disappears as quickly as it came.

“If you can call it that. I’m having a career crisis at the moment. I didn’t think I was going to be writing travel columns and obituaries when I set out.”

“Yeah, well life doesn’t always turn out the way you think it will.” He clears the plates and busies himself at the sink.

“Where’s your little boy?” His eyes fly up, his gaze like a laser beam—focused and ready to destroy me.

“How do you know about him?”

“I saw the pictures of him in here, and earlier you said about sleeping in his bed last night. I didn’t mean to cause offense.” His shoulders visibly relax.

“He’s visiting his grandparents. We don’t need to discuss my personal life.” The uncomfortable tension is back and worse than ever. “Do you want to sit out here, or shall I lift you back to the bedroom?”

“I’m fine here. I can sleep here tonight. I don’t want to throw you out your own bed.”

“Whatever. There are some books under the table if you want to read. I don’t have a TV.”

He disappears down the hallway to his room. I can hear the shower running, and I can’t deny—I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall in there. Travis is an enigma, but he’s seriously ripped.

I grab a stack of books from under the coffee table intrigued to see what he’s reading. You can tell a lot from someone’s bookshelf—Being a Single Father, How to Homeschool Your Child, Football Legends, The Shining, and Twilight. Okay, now I’m more confused than ever.

I flick through each of the books and settle on scaring myself with some Stephen King. I’ve read every one of his books, but I’m a firm believer in the reread.

Travis appears thirty minutes later dressed for the outdoors.

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

“What? You’re leaving me here? I thought the weather was too bad?” A sly grin creeps at the corner of his lips.

“I’ll be fine. We need dinner.”

“Where are you going to get takeout up here?”

“Tell me you’re not serious?”

“What?”

“I was out hunting yesterday when I found you. Sort of scrapped the task at hand to save you. I need to hunt some meat for the next few days.”

“Oh my God.” A jolt of… something… just went straight to my lady parts. He grabs a knife from the table and heads for the door.

“Don’t worry. I’ll prepare it outside. I won’t offend your city-girl sensibilities.”

“Before you go… Twilight, really?”

“It’s my wife’s.” His words are clipped as he slams the door behind him.

I sit back in the warmth of the cabin—there are no signs that a woman lives here and no pictures of her anywhere. A weight settles in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why this man is getting under my skin, but I don’t like it. Not one bit.