CHAPTER ONE
EMILY
The paper bag rattled on the passage seat as I drove up the narrow dirt road that disappeared into the pines. My car idled rough, protesting the altitude, and I was seriously reconsidering every life choice that had led me to this moment.
Delivering medication to shut-ins was supposed to be the easy part of the job. Sweet elderly ladies who offered tea. Farmers with bad knees who told stories about the old days. Not... this.
Not… him.
Tucker Barrett.
Even before I’d taken the job at the Lone Mountain Medical Clinic, I’d heard the whispers. The recluse in the cabin. The war hero who had come back scared and broken. The man who growled if you looked too long. Who didn’t come to town. Period.
So that left me to deliver the refills on his medication.
“You’re the only one I trust to do it,” Dr. Parker had said this morning, his voice mild but his eyes serious behind those wire-rimmed glasses. “The others would drive halfway up and leave the bag on a tree stump.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I’d replied.
Then he’d given me that look—the one that said he knew exactly how broke I was, how much I needed this job, how little room I had to argue. “He needs these, Emily. He’s ex-militaryand gets migraines from his injuries. If he doesn’t take the medicine, he could end up in real trouble.”
Mandy, the receptionist and holder of all small-town secrets, had been less diplomatic. “Consider it a rite of passage. Everyone gets sacrificed to Tucker Barrett sooner or later. Guess it’s your turn.”
I tore myself away from the unhelpful thoughts. “This is absolutely not in my job description,” I muttered, gripping the steering wheel hard in order not to be bounced out of my seat.
I wasn’t fresh out of high school like some new nurses. I’d been the girl working double shifts at the local diner while squeezing in night classes because my mom couldn’t raise my little brother alone after our father had walked out. I was the one who stayed home when everyone else went off to college parties. By the time I had finally got into nursing school full-time, I was older than most of my classmates. I’d graduated with honors last year, but sometimes I still felt like the impostor in scrubs.
I needed this job.
Which meant I needed to drive up this mountain and knock on that door.
Funny, how I could handle screaming patients in an ER rotation but the thought of knocking on one cranky veteran’s door made me sweat through my sweater I’d worn over my scrubs. I told myself it was because everyone in town acted like he was Bigfoot. But deep down, I knew it was more.
Men had never been easy for me. Not that I didn’t like them—I liked them too much. Or maybe I liked theideaof them. Romance novels, daydreams, kisses in the dark that never happened in real life. Real men saw me as sweet Emily with the curves that wouldn’t quit. At best, I was cute. At worst, I was a punchline. No one ever looked at me like I was the fantasy I secretly wanted to be.
The road got worse the higher I climbed. Ruts deep enough to swallow my tire. Branches scraping both sides of my hatchback like skeletal fingers. The trees pressed close and dark, blocking out the afternoon sun until the whole world felt like twilight.
My car whined in protest on a particularly steep incline, and I patted the dashboard. “Come on, baby. Don’t die on me now. We’re almost there.”
I hoped.
The cabin appeared suddenly. Solid logs. Stone chimney with a thin curl of smoke. A porch stacked with enough firewood to last a nuclear winter. And absolutely no sign of welcome. The whole place radiated a single message—go away.
I killed the engine and sat there, heart hammering.
“This is ridiculous,” I whispered. “You’re a grown woman. Just knock on the door, hand him the bag, and leave.”
Simple.
Except my hands were shaking when I grabbed the medication bag.
Except my stomach was doing backflips as I climbed the porch steps.
I knocked anyway. Three sharp raps.
Nothing.
I waited, counting to thirty in my head. Tried again, louder this time.
