Page 7 of Her Mountain Man Giant (Crave County: Mountain Men Love Curves #5)

VIOLET

The first peals of thunder rumble in the distance as we head for Tanner’s cabin a couple of hours later. Trees quiver around us, branches rocked by the burgeoning wind as it picks up speed. The air is charged, thick with humidity.

“Almost there,” Tanner says, carrying my duffel bag for me. “Stay close.”

His voice sounds just like the grumbling thunder, and I do as I’m told, following him through the woods.

In the end, he found tons of things to fix around my cabin—not just the faucet and the floorboard, but a squeaky cupboard, a tiny hole in the drywall, and the flickering porch light.

When I tried to thank him, he just shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to help me out.

This man is really something special.

I feel so safe with him as he guides me through the forest, his giant hand reaching out to grab mine as he helps to pull me across a narrow creek.

My skin tingles at his touch, still warm long after he lets go.

It’s impossible to act normal around Tanner.

My brain short circuits every time he looks at me, and I don’t know how much longer I can hide it.

“This is it,” he says eventually as the forest opens out to reveal an enormous log cabin.

It’s beautiful—at least ten times the size of my modest home, nestled in the trees and circled by a carpet of colorful wildflowers.

The door is giant-sized, so Tanner doesn’t have to duck his head as he opens it for us.

It’s just as beautiful on the inside, with high ceilings and gigantic windows overlooking the forest. Every surface is made of honey-colored wood, giving the place a cozy and rustic feel.

All the furniture looks like it was designed with Tanner in mind—everything is huge and sturdy-looking, built to accommodate a giant.

I can’t help smiling as I take it all in.

This is exactly the kind of place I imagined Tanner would live.

“This place is incredible,” I tell him, looking eagerly around the living room.

“Glad you like it.” He gestures to the huge leather couch in front of the empty fireplace. “Make yourself at home, okay? I need to go close all the storm shutters.”

He begins with the windows in here, turning a crank that rolls the shutters down over them, blocking the view of the flailing trees outside. Then he heads through a door to the right, leaving me alone in the living room. As soon as he’s gone, I circle the room, my curiosity taking hold.

I never could resist a little snooping.

There doesn’t seem to be much to find: the room is tidy and clutter-free, nothing like my living room.

Aside from the couch, there’s a table and chairs, a large coffee table, three squashy armchairs, and a liquor cabinet, all neatly arranged on top of a plush Persian rug that spans most of the room.

In the corner, set apart from everything else, is a wooden sideboard with a couple of drawers.

I head toward it, casting a quick look over my shoulder to make sure Tanner isn’t there.

I slide open the drawer on the left, wincing when it squeaks. It’s empty but for a single photograph, face down. Gingerly, I turn it over, careful not to smear it with my fingerprints. My heart stutters with familiarity as I look at the picture, and I grin to myself.

Wow.

It’s Tanner—back when he was even younger than I am now.

He’s beardless, with far fewer tattoos, but I recognize him instantly.

His arm is wrapped around the shoulder of a guy who looks almost as tall as him, both of them wearing shorts and basketball jerseys.

The other guy grins broadly at the camera, showing all his teeth, while Tanner’s lips are barely quirked, his thick brows already furrowed into the permanent scowl he wears now.

I study the photo, intrigued. It’s not surprising that a guy Tanner’s size used to play basketball, but it’s still hard to imagine him shooting hoops instead of chopping trees.

The forest seems like his natural habitat, almost like he’s part of the wilderness itself, and it’s hard to pair the young basketball player in the picture with the rugged mountain man he is today.

“Violet?”

I jump, hurriedly replacing the photo and shutting the drawer. My cheeks flame as I turn around to see Tanner watching me from the doorway, his eyebrow raised.

“You looking for something?”

“I…no. Sorry, I was just being nosy.”

He makes a noise deep in his throat. “Guess you saw the photo?”

“Yes.” I smile weakly, still embarrassed to be caught. “I didn’t know you played basketball.”

Tanner says nothing and the silence drags on between us. Guilt rises in my chest. He’s mad at me—I’m sure of it. His jaw is tight, eyes blank as he eyes the drawer I just closed.

“I’m sorry, Tanner,” I mumble. “You have every right to be mad. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

He shakes his head, cutting me off. “Don’t apologize. I’m not mad. Hell, I can’t blame you for being curious. I know I’m not exactly an open book.”

He looks away from the drawer, focusing his gaze on me.

I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but he looks pensive, like there’s some kind of internal debate going on in his mind.

Eventually, he lets out a deep sigh and joins me by the sideboard.

Then he takes the photo from the drawer and beckons me toward the couch.

We sit side by side, close enough for our thighs to touch as Tanner holds out the photo, pointing at the guy beside him.

“That’s Jason,” he says. “My younger brother.”

“Oh!” I peer closer at the smiling man’s face. “I see it now. You have the same eyes.”

Tanner grunts in agreement. “This is the year we were both drafted for the NBA.”

I blink at him. “The NBA?”

“Yes.”

“You mean… the NBA?”

“Yes.”

“As in…the National Basketball Association? The NBA NBA?”

For a moment, his seriousness breaks and he lets out a deep chuckle. “Do you know of any other NBAs?”

“Wow.” I gawk at him, struggling to wrap my head around it. “That’s crazy!”

“It was a long time ago. I didn’t last long.”

“Why?” I ask, my heart sinking at the look on his face. “What happened?”

He doesn’t respond right away. The only sound is the howling wind, louder than before, like there’s a screaming crowd of people right outside the cabin.

“I got in a car accident,” he says eventually. “A bad one. Broke a few ribs, dislocated my jaw. But it was the shattered knee that ended my career. Couldn’t move the same after that.”

“Oh, Tanner.” Sympathy wells up inside me as I think back to earlier—the way he rubbed his knee like it pained him. “That must have been so hard.”

“The hard part was losing my brother.” He swallows hard, eyes fixed on the photograph. “He was in the passenger seat. Didn’t survive the crash.”

My stomach drops, a cold weight settling on my chest. I don’t know what to say. Instead, I rest my hand on top of his, squeezing tight.

“I’m so sorry.”

Tanner nods, clearing his throat like he’s trying to dislodge his emotions.

“Eighteen years, and it still feels like yesterday. And that was just the beginning.” A growl of thunder rips through the air before he continues.

“Jason was born to play basketball. He was so damn talented—way better than me. Everyone said he was gonna be a star, so his death was big news. There were a lot of rumors.”

I have a horrible feeling I know what’s coming, but I don’t interrupt him. I keep my hand on his and listen.

“People had a lot of theories about the crash. That I was drunk or on drugs. That I crashed on purpose because I was jealous of Jason and wanted him dead. The theories kept on getting crazier. Jason faked his death because he couldn’t handle the pressure.

Jason was going to expose a doping scandal and so the NBA staged the accident to silence him.

Hell, some people said he was a fucking ritual sacrifice—some Illuminati bullshit. ”

Jesus Christ.

My heart aches at the anger, the misery in his voice. I can’t even imagine what he had to go through. Losing his brother must have been hard enough without suffering through all these crazy accusations.

“Journalists hounded me for months,” he says bitterly.

“They weren’t satisfied with my story—a boring old car crash wasn’t interesting enough for their shitty papers.

I was receiving hundreds of letters every day, hate mail, accusing me of killing my brother.

That’s why I moved out here. I wanted to disappear.

Eventually, the world moved on and most people forgot about Jason and me.

But there are still a few conspiracy theorists out there, people who talk about his death on forums or blog posts.

I used to read them all the time. Pissed me off, but I couldn’t help it.

Felt like I needed to know what they were saying about him. Stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid,” I tell him. “Not at all. I would feel the same.”

Tanner nods, sighing deeply. “Sad truth is, it was just a normal crash. It was January and the roads were bad. I hit a patch of ice. The car spun out of control and a truck coming the other way plowed straight into the passenger side. I wasn’t drunk.

Wasn’t on drugs. It was just bad fucking luck, and I’d do anything to change it.

Hell, I’d have taken Jason’s place in a heartbeat. ”

The guilt in his eyes breaks my heart, and I rest a hand on his back, rubbing it gently as we both look down at the picture.

Everything makes sense now—why Tanner thought I was a journalist, the pain in his knee, the way he shut down when I asked what brought him to Cherry Mountain.

I finally understand. I just wish the answers weren’t so tragic. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“It wasn’t your fault, Tanner,” I say gently. “None of it was your fault. It was an accident, and there’s nothing you could have done.”

He looks at me, his eyes softening. My hand is still resting on top of his, and he envelops it in his giant palm, squeezing it tight.

“Thank you, Violet.”

He says it like he’s never meant anything more.