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CHAPTERONE
Weston
There’s something in my house. An occurrence that doesn’t happen often but is to be expected when you live in the middle of the woods.Especiallywhen winter comes—and it’s coming here soon. Furry four-legged creatures of all kinds look for warmth during the colder months. The Montana mountain air can be unforgiving, even to its long-term residents.
My house is built particularly solid, reinforced with thick wood and proper insulation, making it more difficult for anything to sneak inside. That doesn’t account for the occasional rogue squirrel or desperate animal breaking its way in. It’s an inconvenience, but I’ll take potential animal break-ins over life in town any day. Seclusion is a comfort, no one truly understands until they experience it for themselves.
Signing, I drop my rifle on the dining room table, making my way inside. The fresh deer I have slung up in my garage can wait until I’ve checked out the low suspicious sounds coming from the direction of my bedroom. I’d take the weapon in case the animal is big enough to be a threat, but I doubt it will be. Nothing is out of place or destroyed, but it definitely would be if I go shooting off rounds inside a small enclosed space. Besides, the knife I have clipped to my belt is protection enough.
From being raised on a hunting farm to working as a park ranger to moving into the deep mountain forests of this state, I have a firm confidence in my ability to keep myself safe from a variety of possible threats. I know how to protect myself, and I’m always prepared to do so.
Walking down the hallway, I’m expecting to find a little mess from my intruder, I’m genuinely surprised that I don’t.Maybe it’s injured—too injured to rough up my stuff.
Five more steps and that’s when I see it. It’s not a forest animal of any sort. It’s a person.
A man to be exact.
Blue eyes so dark they’re nearly black, decorated with smudged eyeliner along the bottom lids. His messy hair, the shade of a clear night sky, stark against his pale complexion. There’s a silver metal ring in the center of his bottom lip and what looks to be old bruises healing along his jaw.
I’m hit with a feeling I haven’t felt in… years. Attraction.
He’s lovely. Scared, in the wrong place, hiding, and about to burst into tears, but lovely nonetheless.
Given the circumstances, the attraction I feel is overshadowed by concern. Alarm, even.Why is there a stranger in my home, and why does he look like he could die from fear?His eyes, once blurry, begin to weep. The sight makes my throat thick with unease.
“Who are—” my question is immediately cut off.
“I’m sorry!” he blurts out, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I didn’t know where else to hide! Please, don’t kill me!”
Kill him?I screw up my face in confusion.Why would he think…I grimace, looking down and realizing my hands are stained with spots of blood.
“It’s deer,” I respond gruffly, watching him continue to shiver and cry. His eyeliner is already practically gone from under his eyes, washed away by the constant watering. “The blood is from a deer. I don’t kill people.”Not even ones who’ve broken into my house, apparently.
Though, it’s not like he’s broken into my house and threatened me. We’d be having a completely different and entirely more violent conversation if that were the case. But he’s hardly a threat, all terrified and practically cowering in the corner.
The sound of an engine and wheels crunching on gravel echoes, reverberating close to the house. The noise causes him to flinch so hard that he bumps his head against the wall.
His plea from a moment ago rings loudly inside my head.I didn’t know where else to hide!“People looking for you?” I guess.
“Bad people,” he nods, his voice cracking with the reply.
“What’s your name?”
He immediately becomes guarded, shoulders slumping, eyes dimming with sadness. He doesn’t want to tell me. Maybe he thinks if he does, I’ll use it to turn him over to whoever is looking for him, but I won’t. I’ve already decided that much.
“Trust me,” I implore. “I just want to know your name.”
For a moment, I think he may refuse to answer me, until he whispers, “Beck.”
Beck.I’m not sure the name fits him, but then again, I’ve only just met him. Who am I to decide what name works for him? Only just meeting him or not, I’m about to cover for him.
I should ask him a hundred questions before I go to that door and lie for him. Mainly,are you an escaped criminalor something to that tune. But I don’t.
This is my house, and I don’t take kindly to strangers showing up on my porch. I don’t give a fuck if they’re looking for someone, they’d seen the private property signs. It’s impossible to miss them while driving in. Beck likely didn’t see them. Given the state of his ripped hoodie, along with the dirt smudges on his skin and jeans, I imagine he’s been running through the woods for quite some time. There are signs in the woods as well, warning off other hunters that may stumble by, but I don’t particularly care if he ran by them.
I wouldn’t care if he had ignored every posted warning I put up, because he’d been running from someone, not hunting a person down. I don’t much like others thinking they can hunt here. Only I do that.
“Okay, Beck, I’m Weston,” I introduce myself, hoping it’ll help calm him.
