Page 3 of Comforted By The Mountain Man (Eden Ridge: Hunter Brothers #1)

SIERRA

“ M ira como tiembla,” cackles Viper about my trembling body, standing in the center of their clubhouse common room.

I frantically look between the vile, sweaty men whose pores ooze sour liquor, trying to find my little boy.

“Oscar, where’s Ryder?” I cry out, but I can’t see Oscar either.

“Bitch has had it coming. No one to protect her now,” Sulfer’s yellow-stained teeth proudly display as he approaches.

He’s the MC club member I’ve done everything in my power to avoid all these years. Too many have tried something—anything—when Oscar wasn’t looking, but even what they call, Club Whores, have stepped in to shield me, tempting the MC members into a corner with their mouths.

“Ryder!” I dart under Sulfer, the Club’s VP, but he grabs my arm, yanking me into his beer belly. “Oscar!” A blood curdling cry rips from my throat.

The other men mock me, also crying out Oscar’s name in their attempted female impersonation.

“When I’m done with that clean pussy,” Sulfer’s rancid breath suffocates me as he bends down, making me suck in the same air. “Your boy is next,” he smiles.

I scream.

“Mama?”

The most beautiful sound pulls me from another nightmare. My body jerks, eyes open, and I battle distorted images fading into the face of an angel bent over me.

“Hey, baby,” I croak.

His big, boyish smile lights that innocent face. That missing bottom incisor tooth came out three weeks ago. He’s so proud of losing his first baby tooth.

“You okay, Mama?” Ryder tilts his head. “Here.” His Hulk plushy, which he never lets go of these days, lands on my chest. “Hulk hugs make everything better.”

The dregs of the nightmare fade, and I smile at my baby boy, who is growing up too damn fast. I give Hulk a big squeeze.

“You’re right. All better.” And that just made Ryder’s day.

He jumps up onto his feet, bouncing on what’s now my new queen-sized bed. Thankfully, the springs seem sturdy enough, but the musty smell tells me I’ll need to thrift shop for a new mattress. One day. When I find more money.

Everything hits me like a train. The last twenty-four hours. Glancing at the bedroom floor, it looks dry. The mess that the stupid broken pipe caused just added to my pile of problems that I have no idea how to solve.

Not wanting Ryder to discern my despair, I fake a smile, looking up at my oblivious son and ask, “You hungry?”

His eyes widen. “Yes!” His arms shoot in the air before giving me an almost heart attack, watching him leap off the bed.

“Ryder Antonio, be careful.” I sit up on instinct, ready to catch him. “Don’t leave the room without me,” I tell him firmly. “There’s a lot of water, and you could slip and hurt yourself.”

“Why is water everywhere?”

I sigh. “Long story, baby.” I take his hand and venture out to the damp wooden floor that I’m ignoring because I’m pretty sure this is how mold and wood rot happen.

“Floor feels funny.” Ryder digs his bare toes into the wood.

“Yup,” is all my brain can summon this early in the morning without coffee.

As it is, I think my neighbor—my shirtless, barrel-chested neighbor who saw and held my naked body—didn’t leave until two in the morning, insisting on helping me find any material capable of absorbing water to clean up the indoor monsoon that spewed from that freaking shower pipe.

Rubbing my temple, I reach the small kitchen where Ryder climbs on one of two bar stools at the kitchenette breakfast counter. That’s when I remember our breakfast options.

I check the canned goods left in the small closet in the corner. Hands on hips, I eye instant oatmeal packets that thankfully are at least maple flavored, and canned peaches. There’s Spam too, but I think I’ll leave that for lunch.

Ryder chatters on about the adventures of Hulk he dreamed about last night. My boy can have an entire one-way conversation, which suits my barely awake brain just fine. I nod and make noises of acknowledgment.

I turn the faucet and remember: No water.

Luckily, we stopped at a gas station right before Eden Ridge and got two cheap gallons of filtered water. But, that won’t last us long if I use that for everything from cooking, washing dishes, and bathing Ryder.

“One problem at a time,” I mumble to myself, finding a small pot and getting the oatmeal cooked because also, no microwave.

“Mama,” Ryder’s voice takes on a tone of wonder. “Who’s the big man?”

My insides turn to solid ice. This kitchen has no windows. Whoever Ryder sees must be at the front door. A decorative window takes up the top half.

Spinning, I’m out of sight from the front door. “Ryder, come here,” I demand.

His expression puckers between his brows. “Why?”

“Miss Martinez?” I hear.

My eyes close on an exhale. My neighbor. From last night. The one I’m still not convinced isn’t a threat. But, I don’t have any other options.

Ryder’s fixated on him as I inch to peek around the corner, just in case.

Yup. That’s the hulking mountain man who barged through my door at night, and I smacked with the only thing I could find as a weapon.

Oh, and yeah. Again. I was naked. And wet. Not the good kind.

Picking Ryder up from the barstool, I walk over and ignore the flutter in my chest that wants to appreciate how well this man fills out a basic white tee.

Nope. We’re closed for business. You hear, Miss Va-Jay Jay?

Good-looking mountain men are even worse! Their looks trick you into ignoring all the red flags. And clearly, all I know how to do is walk into them. It’s a terrible thing to be twenty-four and lose trust in your own judgment.

I stand at the door, frozen with indecision. He can see us, even through the mosaic glass. Ryder tucks his head into my shoulder but waves with the arm holding his Hulk plushy.

The man’s face is granite. His heavy, dark brows furrow over deep green eyes that last night I noticed had gold flecks in them. His short, dark hair is messy as if he woke that way and didn’t bother to style it.

I can’t explain it, but my hesitation feels bigger than the fear of danger.

Opening this door is the beginning of something.

Someone officially knowing I inhabit a place in this small town.

A witness. But also, a deep desire to have someone to run to for safety.

Which is the kind of dangerous thinking that got me here in the first place.

Patiently, this man, Asher, waits for me to make a decision, even though the door doesn’t latch closed anymore, so technically, he can just push his way in. The chair I wedged under the doorknob is barely a deterrent.

I remove the chair and pull open the front door.

Cautiously, I say, “Morning.”

“Good morning.” His gruff voice is barely audible.

“You’re big,” Ryder exclaims from my shoulder.

“Ryder,” I reprimand. “Manners. Say good morning to Mr. Hunter.”

“Asher,” my neighbor insists, studying my son.

“Do you like Hulk?” Ryder sticks his plushy out into Asher’s face.

“Sorry,” I say, stepping back. “Please, come in.”

Ryder gets wiggly, and truth be told, he’s getting too big to hold anymore. I set him down and run to the stove, forgetting I left the oatmeal cooking.

“Shit.” I rush the burning pot off to another cool burner.

“Bad word, Mama!” I hear behind me.

“Sorry, baby,” I call out, distracted and pissed that I just let precious food go to waste.

“ Me cago en na ,” I curse.

Second nature bad habit I picked up from my Puerto Rican father. Aggressively, I drop the burned pot into the sink. The sink without running water, which I forgot, again, after trying to fill up said pot before everything sticks.

The same overwhelming defeat from last night rushes up my body, threatening another breakdown, which I can not afford. For more reasons than one. Leaning at the sink, I take deep breaths, controlling the heat flooding my eyes.

“I brought egg sandwiches, if that’s okay,” his deep voice says, too close. “I figured, with the water off, you guys were limited on options this morning.”

Now, I’m actually about to cry. I can’t trust this stranger’s kindness. But my son needs to eat.

Facing the room, Ryder looks up at my neighbor, already with hero worship, which is so bad.

Asher’s brawny frame stands, ever watchful, too watchful.

And somehow, he exudes calm. I berate myself for wanting to run into his arms and just melt.

I want that calm to invade every dark corner that’s been my constant companion, other than the sparks of light my baby boy gives me, keeping me from drowning most days.

“What’s in them?” My voice, barely above a whisper.

Asher watches me for a moment, then nods, walking to the counter by the sink but still keeping a respectable distance. He unwraps them and even opens them to list the ingredients.

“If food allergies aren’t a factor, I kept them simple: eggs, American cheese—from the block, not the overly processed stuff—freshly baked sourdough I toasted with butter on the pan, and that’s it.”

My stomach chooses that moment to grumble loudly, because damn, that sounds, smells, and looks so good.

Ryder’s giggle fills the kitchen. “Mommy, your tummy made a noise.”

Leave it to him to break through the fog and infuse his light. A small smile tips my lips. Asher’s eyes track it, then quickly goes back to the sandwiches which he closes up.

“You hungry, baby?” I ask my boy.

His excited nod wasn’t necessary. I already knew the answer. Asher hands me one sandwich, which is still warm. I cut it up into pieces, setting it on a plate in front of Ryder with a few of the canned peaches on the side.

“What do we say?” I ask.

Already, mouth full of gooey cheese and eggs, he mumbles around it, “Thank you,” to Asher.

The stoic man actually cracks the smallest grin before handing me the other sandwich.

I hesitate. I can save that in the fridge, and Ryder can have it for dinner tonight.