Page 3 of Her Mountain Man Protector

"Work."

"What kind of work involves a knife, a pack that looks military, and a personality like a locked gate?"

"The kind that isn't yours."

"Rude. I got shot at with you. That makes it a little mine."

He stops so fast I bounce off his back. He lifts a hand. I freeze. Below us, two shapes move through the trees. Dark jackets. No hiking poles. No cameras. One of them speaks into a radio.

Colt's mouth barely moves. "Don't breathe loud."

"Fuck," I breathe out.

He places a finger over my lips, and I suck in a breath and hold it best I can.

The men pass twenty yards downslope. I catch a patch on one sleeve. A silver helix twisted through a V. I've seen that mark before, on a door I was told to forget.

My fingers tighten on Colt's sleeve. He feels it. His eyes cut to my face, then back to the men.

When they're gone, he pulls me the other way. "You recognized that?"

"I recognize trouble when it's embroidered."

"Answer the question."

"Later. Preferably somewhere without incoming fire."

He accepts that the way a man accepts a splinter. We keep moving.

The truck appears at the edge of an old logging road. Faded blue. Dented bumper. Mud up the doors. Colt unlocks it with a click and practically folds me into the passenger seat.

"Seatbelt."

"Wow. Manners."

"Seatbelt, Oakley."

I click it. Mainly I click it because it’s the first time he’s used my real name instead of sunshine. He throws his pack in back, climbs in, and the engine turns over on the first try. We bounce down the rutted road faster than the fog likes.

I look at him while he drives. Jaw tight. One hand on the wheel. The other near his hip like the mountain itself might pick a fight.

"So," I say. "Are we calling the sheriff, or is the sheriff part of the problem?"

"Woodbridge Falls has three deputies and a volunteer board that meets at the diner. You want them against people who shoot from cover?"

"I want someone to explain why my fog shoot turned into an action movie."

He takes a hard left onto a narrower track. "You walked into an active search. That's on you."

"I had a permit. Sort of."

"Sort of isn't a permit."

"It's a vibe."

He glances at me. "A vibe that almost got you killed."

"A vibe also got me a kidnapper, so the morning's mixed."