Page 1 of Braving the Storm

Chapter 1

Fucking snow.

Living in this part of the mountains is pretty goddamn awesome if you hate people, but it means putting up with being entombed in a grave of white powder and ice for what feels like half the year.

Tires crunch. Gravel sprays. Heavy metal pulses through the speakers. My truck rounds the final bend, and the A-frame peak of my roof comes into view.

How long has it been since I was last here? With one hand on the wheel, my other reaches up to rub the back of my neck as I try to think.

A little too long.

Although, that transient shit has been my entire life before settling in this place. Plus, I don’t mind helping a guy like Colton Wilder out.

He’s about the only person in Crimson Ridge who doesn’t listen to gossip or rumor.

But fuck me, after weeks of taking care of his ranch for him while he’s been away and helping his son out as he prepares for his next rodeo event… I am more than ready to collapse in my own bed.

Pulling up outside the cabin, conifers stand like proud, ominous sentinels around this place. Keeping watch over the only location I’ve ever felt like I can truly rest. Even if there’s no guarantee that will always be the case for a guy like me.

The sky above is mostly clouded over, only partially allowing a faint glow of stars and moonlight to peer down on Crimson Ridge tonight. Drifts of snow are clumped around here and there, glowing an eerie shade of white even through the darkness, and I already know I’ll need to do a thorough check around the property after not being here to see to things throughout the depths of winter.

All of that can wait for the morning.

Right now, I just want a hot fucking shower and a stiff drink.

Grabbing my duffel from the passenger end of the bench seat, I sling it over one shoulder and heave myself out of my truck. It’s only a few strides to cross the gravel and make it up the couple of steps to my front porch. As I shove the key in the lock and step inside, the warm scent of cedarwood floats up to greet me.

Fuck. Can I even be bothered with lighting the fire? Suppose I should, before I throw myself in the shower, at least. The old girl needs time to get some heat into her bones, and right now, it’s as frigid as a nun’s cunt in here.

When I go to kick each boot off, my hearing catches on a noise. The hairs on the back of my neck raise, and my skin prickles. Something moves deep inside the house, and I’m immediately on edge.

Not something…someone.

The distinct sound of shuffling, moving, is human. Not an animal who managed to find its way inside, seeking shelter from the tail end of winter.

Setting my bag down softly, so as not to make a sound, I know exactly where my hunting knife is, but that’s back in the glove compartment of my truck. I also know where my rifle is stashed in my bedroom, but that’s down the hall in the direction of the noise.

Not that I need either of those things to defend myself againstsome fucking idiot thinking they can break into my place. People don’t scare me. I’ve got a body built off the back of willingly tangling with nearly two thousand pound, angry as fuck creatures. When you’ve sat on the back of a bull that wants nothing more than to toss you and stomp your ribs into the dirt, that shit fundamentally changes your perspective on life.

With a shrug to get rid of my jacket and free up my arms, I roll my shoulders inside my shirt and flex my knuckles. Tattoos and the flash of silver from my rings peer back at me in the gloom. Fitting really, whoever this is can wear a face full of my ink and take an imprint in the shape of my metal bands as a gift when they run their sorry asses back down the mountain.

It’ll be some hillbilly dipshit who married their cousin creeping up here. Fancying that they can poke around my property and find the stacks of gold they all think I’m sitting on after a pro career. Acting like I’m rich or some shit. It won’t be anyone who lives out in these parts. While I might not be friendly with every single person who lives on this mountain, no one from the Peak is dumb enough to pull a stunt like this.

The short hall leading down to the bedroom is almost pitch black, but I see where whoever this is straight away. Soft light and shadows move on the other side of the open bathroom door, and I slow my progress when I realize there’s music softly drifting from within.

Music?

That makes me pause. I’ve crept this far on silent steps, and now my mind is turning the situation over, trying to make sense of whatever is going on.

I hear a feminine sound, a hum, and my eyes squeeze shut. Dragging a hand through my hair, I tilt my head back.

Goddamn, it wouldn’t be the first time a fucking buckle bunny has let themselves in up here.

Even though I’m mildly hacked off that whoever this is has turned up unannounced and uninvited, my dick stirs. The thought of a quick fuck, before I kick them out and send thempacking back down to Crimson Ridge sounds pretty damn appealing.

Being stuck up at the ranch and buried in the snow on top of Devil’s Peak for the winter has had my balls on ice. Literally.

The blackened, twisted part of me wants to make this a game. This cunt thinks they can slip into my house and make themselves at home? Well, this is my arena, my rules.