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I put my sneakers on, shove a few essentials into my purse—clean underwear, a toothbrush, my phone, and my wallet—and hurry toward the elevators. I punch the buttons like a madwoman, hoping Joshua won’t come looking for me. The doors slide open, and I step inside, willing the elevator to go faster. It zooms down and opens in the lobby with a ping.
I step out and spot my family, all dressed to the nines. My mother smiles politely at the hotel’s staff, and my sisters talk excitedly about who knows what. All they care about are nails, status, and politics. Growing up, I always felt like the odd one out and often wondered if I was adopted or accidentally swapped in the hospital.
Panic takes a hold of me. They can’t see me like this. I’m not ready to talk to anyone and be coerced into something I don’t want. Knowing my parents, they’d force me to marry Joshua despite his infidelity issues because they wouldn’t want their perfect reputation to get stained. A pit forms in my stomach. Is that why they pushed Joshua to propose so soon after meeting me?
I shake my head. These thoughts are useless now. I sprint out of the elevator and crouch behind a huge planter box. I wait to make my move until they’ve stepped into the elevator. I’ll have to be fast. As soon as they realize I’m missing, they’ll send out a search party for me.
The second the elevator doors close, I sprint through the lobby, heading straight to the doors leading outside. I ignore the hotel staff’s questions about me being okay and keep running without looking back.
I knew training for that marathon next month was a good idea, even though my mother kept complaining about my love of running. She claims it’s a poor person’s way to exercise, which doesn’t make any sense. People were made to walk and run. It’s only natural that I love doing it.
I run for several miles until I come across a small town called Bearclaw Ridge. I’ve driven through here often but never visited. I pass a cozy-looking diner called Hiker’s Haven and wonder what it must be like to live without being judged by your family all the time. To go out and have a burger, wear oversized hoodies instead of long dresses, and disappear into the woods for a camping trip.
I stop to catch my breath. An old lady walks over to me with a concerned look. “Are you okay, honey? My name is Julie Jenkins, and I live right here in town. Let me get you a warm meal, and you can tell me what happened.”
I give her a genuine smile. “That’s super nice, but I’ll keep going for now.”
“Do you need me to call the cops?” she asks. “A runaway bride like you is probably in trouble, right?”
I shake my head. “I’m not in any danger. But thank you, Mrs. Jenkins.”
With a small wave goodbye, I start running again. I need to find a place to lay low for a while. Somewhere my family won’t immediately find me. When I spot a dirt road, I don’t think twice. I take it, hoping it’ll lead me to the perfect spot to catch my breath—and gather my thoughts.
Chapter Two
Falcon
“Thanks for letting me borrow your sleeping bag, Austin,” I tell my best friend as I throw the gear into my truck. “I didn’t count on Titan running off with mine without asking. I’ve told my brother a million times not to touch my stuff without permission, but he’s stubborn as hell.”
“That’s okay. I’m not going camping anytime soon now that Casey and I have a baby on the way. Keep it as long as you want.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I look up at the sky and see that the sun is already past its highest point of the day. “I’d better get going. I want to get a decent amount of miles in before the sun sets. Say hi to Casey for me, okay?”
“Will do. Have a safe hike, buddy.”
I slam the door of my truck closed and make my way to the supply shed of RidgeRoam Adventure Tours, the company I co-own with my brothers Titan, Blaze, and Skyler. Our shed, which started small, has grown into a full-sized supply barn over time. Today, it houses everything from kayaks and lifejackets to tents and other gear for our multi-day hikes. It has all the supplies we need, except for stuff like sleeping bags. We always ask our customers to bring their own for hygiene reasons.
This weekend, I’m scouting out a section of the mountain to transform it into a beginner-friendly wilderness multi-day hiking trail. I’ll be camping at various spots overnight to determine the best route for hikers who have never done this before, as well as examining the terrain, accessibility, and safety.
I absolutely love my job. The variety is sublime. One day, I’m leading people up the mountain to enjoy an easy hike, and the next day, I’m fighting with white water rapids on Bison’s Belly—the local river. And the day after that, I could be coaching a group of hikers who want to train for trails like The Pacific Crest Trail or the Appalachian Trail. Starting RidgeRoam Adventure Tours was one of the best ideas my brothers and I ever had.
I park my truck at the shed and grab the big lock that keeps our gear safe when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Something fluffy and white is hiding behind the stack of kayaks we store under a shelter outside.
I let go of the lock and approach the shelter when the white creature moves again. Only this time, I realize it’s not an animal but a person.
“Stop right there,” I shout while I get my phone out of my pocket. “Don’t try to run. I’m calling the cops.”
I have Sheriff McLeary on speed dial, so all it takes to get a patrol car over here is pushing one button.
“Wait,” the person, clearly a woman, says.
She appears from behind the kayaks. My eyebrows shoot up when I see she’s wearing a wedding dress. It’s stained, and the fabric is torn in certain places, but I can tell it’s expensive. And fuck. Despite her disheveled appearance, she’s breathtaking.
“Please don’t call the police. I swear I can explain,” she says in a shaky voice.
I lower the phone and cross my arms over my chest. “Explain me this. You didn’t see the private property sign out there? You didn’t think the gate was there for a reason? How did you get in here, anyway?”
Her bottom lip trembles, and the sight punches me in the gut. I might’ve been too hard on her. The woman is clearly not doing great.
