Exposed - My Mountain Man Protector Read online

  By the time I was done with the sandwich, I felt sick. The wind laughed at me, tossing my foil wrapper onto the ground. As I leaned over to grab it, a big tan boot stomped on its edge.

  An equally tanned hand picked it up and handed it to me.

  “Here,” the fully-bearded man said.

  “Thanks.”

  My gaze flicked to his backpack, which was the size of a small child. He must have been camping or planning to.

  “Where’s the nearest trail?” I asked.

  He turned until his body was perpendicular to mine, then said, “Shadow Mountain.” He took a closer look at me. “Though not sure that’s what you’re looking for. It’s a pretty difficult trail. Not many people on it. Real rocky; can be dangerous if you’re not careful.”

  I thanked him and set off in the direction he’d pointed. Hiking was just what I needed, and the fewer people the better. Hiking had always helped me think.

  Only recently had I gotten into it more, going for long walks in the glen five minutes away from Angelo’s and my house. There were only so many days you could spend alone in front of the TV while your husband slept away whatever he’d done the previous night before you started to go a bit crazy.

  Even with this walk now, just getting out, stretching my legs, glancing in the interesting store windows downtown, already I feel better. With every step, new solutions and promising considerations occurred to me.

  After all, Mom and Dad had always hated Angelo. They’d never approved of him in the first place. They wouldn’t let him close enough to kill them. Same went for Lila. Every other time we hung out, she would make some veiled comment about how he was basically the equivalent of Satan.

  I nodded at my exhausted-looking reflection in the mirror of a homewares store window. My family and friends would be fine. Now I had to worry about myself.

  When I reached the trail, I paused. The pounding in my head was gone. Did I really need this hike? The quickening of my heartbeat and the new deluge of worried thoughts (Where will I go now? What will I do next?) all made for a resounding yes. Besides, the forest looked so inviting. So, I started making my way up the already rocky terrain.

  This time when I inhaled, a wonderful clearness filled my head. Ah, yes, the nice Aspen air.

  I took one glance back at the diminishing downtown and inhaled deeply again. This time, the slightest rich aroma of coffee came with the Alpine clarity.

  Maybe I didn’t have to go anywhere, do anything really. Maybe I could just stay here, in Aspen, get a barista job, find a nice little one-bedroom in town. Who knew?

  As I walked on, time passed as an amusing consideration, not a reality. My feet reveled in the feel of the unpredictable rocks, lumps of dirt, and tree roots on the path. My lungs couldn’t get enough of the nature-infused air. And my eyes, well, this time they were filled with tears of a different type.

  Every step I took brought me to a different picture-perfect sight: one shot of endless birches, one shot of little beige swells of mushrooms, another shot of wooly clumps of licorice root.

  As I continued on, my sense of wonder only grew. There were so many pine trees and so much undisturbed nature everywhere that it was like man had never existed, had never set foot a hundred miles from here. Even the shrubs and bushes were a lush, surreal-looking green. As I walked along, nature serenaded me. The chipmunks chattered, the birds warbled, the trees whispered in the wind.

  The only silent one was the bear.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When I first saw the big black fur-covered thing standing a few feet away, I froze.

  The huge black bear seemed to turn around in slow motion, but it didn’t matter. I was frozen in place. All I could think was: Oh God. Oh God, no.

  I tried not to move as it lifted itself even taller on its hind legs, tilting its head, probably deciding whether it should kill me and then eat me or just eat me as it went along. I took a step back, right into something hard. A hand clamped over my mouth.

  “Be quiet. Follow me,” a deep male voice said.

  Slowly, I let the owner of the voice lead me away while the black bear tilted its head at us, perhaps thinking the whole thing was a big joke. Gradually, as we moved away, the bulk of the beast diminished into a black speck in the distance. Then it disappeared altogether.

  “Thank you,” I said, finally turning around to get a good look at the man.

  He was a broad-chested, burly bear of a man himself, but his blond beard was well-kept and his blue eyes were kind. In response to my thanks, however, he only nodded and glanced away.

  I was about to ask him where exactly he was taking me when I saw it, the reason why this man had just happened to be there by the bear, by me, at the perfect time.

  Just visible through the trees, parked at the bottom of a hill, was the car. The sunshine-yellow car.

  I twisted to face him and took a step back.

  “He hired you, didn’t he?” I asked, my voice hoarse with horror.

  The man stopped and tilted his head at me, as if, like the bear, he was trying to figure out how to best dispose of me. I grasped at the plaid of one hulking arm. “Please, whatever he’s paying you—I’ll give you all I have; just don’t kill me.”

  The man extricated his sleeve with one quick jerk sideways. Then, shooting me a puzzled look, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He pointed to a log cabin we were nearing and asked, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  I stopped and stared into his face; his dark blond beard was thick, his eyes were a bright, clear blue, and his shoulders were nearly as broad as the bear’s. He could kill me now. Hell, he could’ve killed me then, left the bear to complete the hit.

  This man couldn’t have been hired by Angelo.

  “Okay,” I said.

  He nodded and walked ahead.

  I took a good look at where we were headed. Tucked into a forest of emerald trees was the rough-hewn little structure, which was made entirely of deep brown wood.

  “Are you coming?”

  It was the man. He was visible against the black rectangle of the open door, and he was tilting his head at me again.

  I approached the house. Stopping in the doorway, I asked, “Did you make this yourself?”

  “It was my grandfather’s,” he replied.

  He hit a switch and the room lit up, showing a bed with a thin mattress, a wooden table with one chair, a fridge, an antique oven, and a counter. While I took in the cabin’s interior, the man strode over to the kitchen area and began opening and closing cupboards and getting out jars that were presumably filled with tea.

  Noticing me still standing and looking around in interest, the man gestured to the chair.

  “It’s all yours.”

  I sat down, staring at his back as I did. His words sounded strange, as if he were foreign or not used to speaking.

  “I’m Claire,” I said.

  “Blake,” the man said.

  He plugged in a rusty collection of metal that must have been a kettle.

  “You’re out a long way,” he said.

  He turned to face me and leaned on the counter.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I was just going for a walk. After the tea, I’ll just be on my way.”

  His blue searchlight eyes scanned my face skeptically. I glanced away. I didn’t care if my story had as many holes as swiss cheese; there was no way I was telling a virtual stranger what was going on.

  He shrugged, and I asked, “What about you? Have you always lived here?”

  He shook his head.

  “I came here to get away.”

  He turned his attention to the kettle, which was pouring out steam already.

  I opened and then closed my mouth. It would be pretty hypocritical of me to fault him for being close-lipped when I was doing the exact same thing.

  “Here’s your tea,” he said, plopping a cup in front of me.

  I lifted it, sipped it, and closed my eyes in pleasure. />
  “Mmmm, peppermint. My favorite.”

  I opened my eyes to see his face looking how my own must have.

  “Mine too,” he said. “Nice and calming.”

  And then we sat there, me and Blake, both of us with our secrets, sipping away our stress. We didn’t talk and we didn’t have to. This tea, this quiet, this now—it was enough.

  Once I was finished, I rose.

  “I should get going, back to my walk.”

  He nodded and put his cup down.

  “One minute.”

  Anxiety flowed through me as he searched the cupboards.

  What could he be getting? What if his lucky appearance really was too good to be true?

  When he placed a can with a bear on it in front of me, I almost laughed out loud in relief.

  “It’s bear repellent pepper spray,” he said, eyeing me curiously, “for the next time I’m not there to save you.”

  “Thank you, for everything.”

  He nodded and gestured to the door. “Good luck.”

  With one foot out the door, I stopped.

  There was a man walking toward the cabin. He was wearing a blue uniform. A police officer. A few steps from the door, he saw me and stopped.

  “Are you Claire Bell?” he asked.

  “Yes. What’s this about?”

  He flashed a police badge. “I’ll have to ask you to follow me to my cruiser for further questioning.”

  Fear coiled within me. Why did I have a bad feeling about this so-called police officer? The man’s mouth was set in a firm line, and behind me, Blake was watching without expression. They both expected me to go with him. I had no choice.

  The policeman started walking, and I followed him. I threw one last look at Blake and gave a timid little wave, trying to make myself as sure as he looked.

  “Hey, hang on a sec,” he called.

  I stopped.

  Blake strode over to the officer.

  “Can’t remember the police ever coming out this far into the woods.”

  The man didn’t respond.

  “Can I see your badge?” Blake asked.

  “Of course,” the policeman said, handing it over.

  After a minute of staring at the convincing-looking gold thing, Blake returned it.

  He was still scrutinizing the police officer as he asked, “What is Claire wanted for?”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, the man said, “Information about a murder and the whereabouts of her husband, Angelo Monti.”

  “And what squad are you from?” Blake fired back.

  “Aspen Unit 4. I was called by my guy back in Denver—said someone matching her description was seen headed this way.”

  Blake nodded and shrugged. “Okay.”

  I gave a small smile of thanks as the man turned away.

  Next thing I knew, Blake had his arms locked around the man and was taking a gun out of his waistband.

  “Hey!” the man yelled, grabbing for it.

  Blake shoved him back, inspected the short black thing, and said, seemingly to himself, “Hi-Point 9mm.” He looked up at the man. “Cops don’t use Hi-Points.”

  “How do you know?” the man returned.

  Ignoring him, Blake turned to me.

  “What’s going on here? Who is this guy—ah!”

  Blake fell to his knees, a knife jutting out of his back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I ran from the man.

  Pulling the knife out of his back and whirling around, Blake sucker punched the man in the gut.

  “Stay back,” Blake cautioned me as the man went down with an “ouf!”

  As he scrambled up, Blake kicked him in the chest, and the man collapsed onto the ground. Blake grabbed his shirt by the collar and lifted him, his feet kicking, into the air.

  He growled, “Who sent you?”

  “M-my boss,” the man gasped, his feet still flailing under him.

  Blake dropped him. The man collapsed in a puddle of limbs and dirt and then scrambled up and away.

  Blake lunged after him.

  “I promise I won’t come back—no matter how much he pays me!” the man cried.

  Just as Blake was about to sprint after him, I put my hand on his back. “Blake, you can’t. Your shoulder.”

  Even as I spoke, the patch of red on the back of his shirt grew.

  He shrugged. “I guess you’re right, though I don’t really feel it much.” He took off his shirt and turned his head to me. “How does it look?”

  I tore my attention away from his broad shoulders and muscled back and directed it to the small wound that was dribbling out blood by his right shoulder.

  “It’s not very deep, but it’ll need to be bandaged.”

  “Second cupboard to the left,” Blake said.

  I hurried inside obediently, and opened the second cupboard to the left, retrieved some gauze and tape, then hurried back.

  As I held the gauze in place and taped it down, I glanced at Blake. “You saved me. Thank you.”

  His gaze was locked on the horizon, where the dot of the fleeing man was still visible. “And you’re bandaging me up. Still, no matter what that man said, I doubt that’s the end of it.”

  I nodded, keeping my gaze where his was, where I’d have to be going soon. Back to the city. Back to Aspen, where now I knew Angelo was hunting for me.

  “I know,” I said softly.

  Without another word, Blake strode away into the house.

  After a minute, his head popped out the door. “You coming?”

  “Uhhh” was all I could manage as I followed him inside.

  There was a big duffel bag in the middle of the floor, and Blake was tossing things in—clothes, food, supplies—and talking as he went.

  “Whoever hired that guy is going to be sending others here. You’re not safe, and neither am I. Our best bet is to go farther into the mountains for a bit, stay in an old ranger’s station I know until this dies down and we can sneak you off somewhere. I can protect you as long as you listen to me.”

  “Do you need help packing?” I asked.

  “No. Just—hand me that,” he ordered, gesturing to a tartan mound on the bed that turned out to be a sleeping bag.

  I obeyed with a frown. Clearly Blake was not well-acquainted with the word please.

  As he packed, I checked my purse to find that, while lost in my memories, I had somehow left all my IDs at the Molly Gibson Lodge.

  “Can we go back to town?” I asked Blake.

  “No,” he said.

  “It’s important. My IDs are there.”

  He shrugged and paused in his haphazard throwing of things into the duffel bag to say, “Won’t need your IDs if you’re dead.”

  And that settled it.

  Once the duffel bag was fit to burst, we zipped it up, me sitting on it while Blake pulled the zipper with all his might. Afterward, wheezing, we surveyed our lump of supplies.

  “Probably won’t need all of it, but it’s better to be safe,” he said.

  He swung the bag onto his non-injured shoulder, closed and locked the door behind us, and we were off.

  As we walked, it soon became clear that Blake preferred the company of the trees and squirrels over mine.

  “How far is it to the station?” was my first question.

  “A few hours” was his answer.

  Then: “How long have you been here?” Met with: “A few months.”

  Finally, my last attempt at conversation—“It’s beautiful here”—was met with the grand total of “yes.”

  So, I gave up.

  I pretended he was not there, that a man sent by my husband hadn’t just tried to kill me, that I was here, alone, walking up this mountain because I wanted to. It wasn’t hard to pretend. After all, I was surrounded by beauty. It was in the little hanging droops of bluebells scattered in the field, in the bright-yellow flocks of sunflowers swaying alongside them. It was in the mighty mass of the mountain looming above us.