Page 1 of Comforted By The Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #1)

SIERRA

I grab it before the second ring, my finger hovering over the decline button.

Unknown number. My first instinct is to let it go to voicemail, but something stops me.

Maybe it's the way my chest tightens with that familiar dread, or maybe it's the fact that I've been waiting for the call saying I’m on my own again for my son’s entire life.

"Hello?" My voice comes out as a whisper, barely audible over the sound of my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Sierra Martinez?" The voice is female, smooth, with a slight accent I can't place. Not someone I recognize, but she knows my name. In the clubhouse, that's never a good sign.

"Who is this?"

"Listen carefully because I'm only going to say this once. Oscar's dead."

The words lash to my throat like a vice, and I have to grip the edge of the mattress to keep from falling. Dead. Oscar is dead. The father of my child, the man who's kept me trapped in this nightmare for four years, is gone.

"I don't understand," I manage to choke out, though part of me does understand. Part of me has been waiting for this call since the day I met him.

"He got caught stealing from the MC. They found out about the skimming he's been doing from the books, the money he's been moving around.

They killed him three hours ago." Her voice is matter-of-fact, like she's reading a grocery list instead of delivering news that's about to shatter my world into pieces.

My free hand flies to my mouth, stifling the sob that threatens to escape. Oscar wasn't a good man. He wasn't even decent. But he was all that stood between me and the wolves, and now he's gone.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whisper.

"Because they know about you. They know you helped with the books, and they're coming for you tonight. You have maybe two hours, probably less."

The room spins around me, and I have to close my eyes to keep from being sick. This is it. This is the moment I've been preparing for without realizing it, storing away every detail about escape routes and emergency plans in the back of my mind.

"What am I supposed to do?" The question comes out broken, desperate.

"There's a safety deposit box at First National Bank on Elm Street. Box 347. The code is 081819. Oscar set it up for you last year when things started getting hot. Said if anything happened to him, you'd know what to do with what's inside."

August 18th, 2019. Ryder's birthday. Even in death, Oscar's using our son.

"I don't have a key."

"You won't need one. Just the code and your ID. Oscar put your name on the box six months ago." There's a pause, and I can hear voices in the background, male voices that make my skin crawl. "I have to go. They're asking questions about Oscar's woman and kid. Get to that box, Sierra. Tonight."

The line goes dead, and I'm left staring at the phone in my hand like it might explode.

Two hours. Maybe less. I look over at Ryder's sleeping form in the bed next to mine, his dark curls spread across the pillow, one small hand still clutching his Hulk action figure.

Four years old and already living in a world where his father gets murdered and his mother has to run in the middle of the night.

I won't let him grow up like this. I won't let him become what these men are.

Moving on autopilot, I start throwing our things into the two duffel bags I keep ready under the bed.

Not much. A few changes of clothes, some of Ryder's toys, and the small amount of cash I've been hoarding for months.

Everything we own fits into two bags, and the reality of that hits me harder than it should.

"Mama?" Ryder's voice is thick with sleep, and when I turn around, he's sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "What's going on?"

"We're going on a trip, baby." I force my voice to stay calm, steady. He doesn't need to see me fall apart. Not now. "Remember how we talked about adventures? Well, we're going on one right now."

"In the middle of the night?"

"Sometimes the best adventures happen when everyone else is sleeping." I move to his side of the bed, smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "But we need to be very quiet, okay? Like ninjas."

His eyes light up at the mention of ninjas, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders. He's so innocent, so trusting. He has no idea that his entire world is about to change.

It takes us twenty minutes to get ready, and every second feels like an eternity.

I keep expecting to hear footsteps in the hallway, voices outside the door, the sound of men coming to drag us away.

But the clubhouse is quiet except for the usual sounds of late-night activities I've learned to ignore.

We slip out the back door, the one that leads to the alley behind the building. I've planned this route a hundred times in my head, every step mapped out for maximum speed and minimum visibility. Ryder holds my hand without complaint, his Hulk toy tucked under his other arm.

The bank is six blocks away, but it might as well be on the moon. Every shadow looks like a threat, and every sound makes me want to run. We stick to the side streets, avoiding the main drag where the MC guys might be hanging out.

We're three blocks away when I hear the shouting.

"There! That's her!"

My blood freezes, and I don't even think. I scoop Ryder up in my arms and run, his small body pressed against my chest as I sprint down the sidewalk. Heavy footsteps pound behind us, getting closer with each passing second.

"Mama, you're scaring me," Ryder whimpers against my neck, and I hate myself for putting him through this. But I hate the men chasing us more.

I duck into an alley, pressing my back against the brick wall, trying to control my breathing. Ryder is silent in my arms, his small body trembling. The footsteps pass by the alley entrance, and I count to thirty before moving again.

The bank is just ahead, a massive brick building that looks like a fortress in the darkness. But it's closed, and I need to get to the safety deposit boxes. There's a side entrance for after-hours access, and I pray the code still works.

It does. The door clicks open, and I slip inside with Ryder, my hands shaking as I punch in the access code for the safety deposit box area. The fluorescent lights flicker on, casting harsh shadows across the small room lined with metal boxes.

Box 347. I find it quickly, my fingers fumbling with the keypad. 081819. The box clicks open, and I hold my breath as I peer inside.

A set of car keys. A thick manila envelope. And a small velvet pouch that feels like it might contain jewelry.

I grab everything, shoving it all into my purse before slamming the box shut. Whatever's in that envelope, whatever Oscar left for us, it's our only hope now.

Back outside, I can hear voices in the distance. They're still looking for us, still hunting. I need to get us out of here, and I need to do it now.

The note attached to the car keys instruct to head three blocks east to the 24-hour diner. The parking lot in the back by the dumpsters, I’ll see an old, dark blue Ford pickup truck.

Approaching the looming neon sign, my head is on a swivel until I find the dumpsters behind the diner. Terrified I’d arrive and not find the truck, seeing it waiting sends a wave of relief. It's seen better days, but it starts on the first try. Small miracle.

I don't open the envelope until we're on the highway, Ryder asleep in the passenger seat with his seatbelt on and his Hulk toy in his lap. The dome light casts just enough glow for me to read the papers inside.

A land deed. For a cabin in Eden Ridge, Oregon. There's an address, a map, and a note in Oscar's handwriting: "For Ryder's future. You'll know what to do."

Eden Ridge. I've never heard of it, but according to the map, it's a fourteen-hour drive from here. Fourteen hours with a four-year-old, running on fumes and fear, with less than three hundred dollars in cash to our name.

The breakdown hits me somewhere around hour eight, when Ryder is asleep again and the highway stretches endlessly ahead of us.

I pull over at a rest stop and cry until there are no tears left, my shoulders shaking with the force of it all.

Oscar is dead. We're running from people who want to hurt us and I have no idea what we're going to find when we get to the address on the map.

But we're free. For the first time in four years, we're free.

I wipe my eyes and get back on the road.

Eden Ridge turns out to be a small mountain town that looks like something out of a postcard.

Pretty houses with white picket fences, tree-lined streets, and mountains rising in the distance.

It's the kind of place I used to dream about when I was a little girl, before I learned that dreams were just another way to get your heart broken.

The cabin is on the outskirts of town, down a winding dirt road that makes the truck's engine whine with the effort of climbing. When I finally see it, my heart sinks.

It's not a cabin. It's a disaster.

The roof is sagging, the porch steps are rotting, and there are boards missing from the siding. Windows are cracked, and the whole structure looks like it might collapse if someone sneezed too hard. This is what Oscar left us? This is our fresh start?

But it's ours. According to the deed, it's ours free and clear, and right now, that's all that matters.

I carry Ryder inside, his small body limp with exhaustion.

The interior is better than the exterior, but not by much.

There's a small living room with a stone fireplace, a tiny kitchen, and two bedrooms. The furniture is old but solid, and someone has left basic supplies.

Sheets, towels, canned goods. Maybe Oscar arranged this, or maybe it's just small-town kindness.

I get Ryder settled in the smaller bedroom, tucking him into the bed with his Hulk toy. He doesn't even stir, completely worn out from our escape. I watch him sleep for a few minutes, this beautiful little boy who deserves so much more than the hand he's been dealt.

The bathroom is down the hall, and I desperately need a shower. The hot water will help wash away the fear and the grime of the road, maybe help me think clearly about what comes next.

I strip off my clothes and step into the small shower stall, reaching for the faucet handle. Nothing happens when I turn it. I try again, twisting harder. Still nothing.

Frustration builds in my chest, all the stress and exhaustion and fear of the last eighteen hours coming to a head. I grab the handle and pull hard, and something gives way with a loud crack.

Water explodes from the wall, but it's not clean water. It's brown and murky, and it hits me with the force of a fire hose, knocking me backward against the shower wall. The pipe has completely broken, and dirty water is flooding the bathroom at an alarming rate.

I scramble out of the shower, slipping on the wet floor and banging my knee against the toilet. The water keeps coming, and I have no idea how to stop it. I'm naked, soaking wet, covered in filthy water, and standing in what’s meant to be our new bathroom.

This is rock bottom. This is the moment where I'm supposed to give up, to curl up in a ball and let the world swallow me whole.

Instead, I start laughing. It's not funny, not really, but I can't stop. Here I am, in a broken-down cabin in the middle of nowhere, with a flooded bathroom and a sleeping four-year-old, and I'm laughing like a crazy person.

Maybe I am crazy. Maybe this whole thing is just a fever dream, and I'll wake up back in the clubhouse with Oscar shaking me awake, telling me to get him a beer.

But I don't wake up. The water keeps flowing, and I keep laughing, and somewhere in the distance, a male voice shouts something the rushing water doesn’t let me decipher.

Shit. Is someone coming?