Page 2 of Her Mountain Man Protector (Crave County: Mountain Men Love Curves #7)

HOLDEN

I straighten my back, groaning as it clicks.

I’ve been hunched over Isabelle’s truck for hours, replacing the dead battery, corroded terminals, and alternator belt.

She bought it secondhand when she moved out here last month, and the damn thing stopped working almost instantly.

Now it’s good as new, and I feel a flicker of satisfaction as I wipe my oily hands with a rag, slam the hood of the truck shut and start the engine to double-check it works.

When I hear the telltale growl, I text my daughter.

Hey Izz. Truck’s fixed.

It feels good to be useful again, putting my skills as a mechanic to work.

Ever since I sold my auto shop in Denver and moved back to Cherry Hollow, I’ve been rattling around like a damn ghost, unsure of what to do with myself.

I recently made an offer on a property in town—an old warehouse I want to convert into a garage.

But I haven’t heard back yet. It feels like I’m stuck in limbo, and working on my daughter’s truck is the first thing that’s given me purpose in weeks.

I start to tidy my tools when my phone buzzes with a reply from Isabelle.

Awesome! Thanks so much Dad, you’re the best :) I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.

I reply with a thumbs-up emoji, feeling a rush of affection for her as I pocket my phone.

Moving back to my hometown was a big decision, but it was worth it to be close to my daughter.

I adopted Isabelle in my early twenties and moved us both to Denver, never expecting to return to Cherry Hollow.

It feels weird being back—like hearing an old song I only remember half the words to—comforting and unsettling at the same time.

But moving back here isn’t the only big change that’s happened lately.

Isabelle and Wyatt.

I still can’t wrap my head around it.

It all started when Ralph Kramer died. He was an old buddy of mine, and he left his log cabin jointly to me and my childhood best friend, Wyatt Baxter.

When I came out here to settle the inheritance with him, I made the mistake of bringing my daughter.

They fell hard and fast—too damn fast if you ask me—and now they’re living together in Wyatt’s cabin, about twenty minutes from here.

They’re happy, and I know that’s all that matters.

But fuck, it’s still taking me a while to adjust.

Too many damn changes.

With a sigh, I put the last of my tools away.

The sun is setting as I make my way back toward the cabin, streaks of bruised purple sky showing through the canopies overhead.

At least the forest still feels like home.

I spent my childhood in these woods, roaming the mountain with Wyatt by my side.

I know these trees better than I ever knew the streets of Denver.

Just wish I felt the same about Ralph’s cabin.

My cabin, I remind myself for the millionth time. Mine.

Although Ralph left this place jointly to me and Wyatt, I bought out his share a few weeks back.

This place is now officially one-hundred percent mine…

but it still doesn’t feel like home. On the surface, it’s perfect—a big, rustic log cabin out in the forest. But I can’t stop thinking of it as Ralph’s, not mine.

The place is full of boxes I can’t bring myself to unpack, even though I’ve been here nearly a month.

I’ll start tomorrow, I tell myself. Can’t keep feeling like a stranger here forever.

Closing the front door behind me, I head for the bathroom to wash my hands, watching the water run black.

My phone buzzes in my pocket once more, and I feel a quick jolt of anticipation as I reach for it with still-wet fingers, wondering if it’s the owner of the warehouse finally getting back to me.

But it’s just a dumb notification from a local news app I don’t remember installing.

brEAKING: KINGSLEY HEIR JILTED AT ALTAR

I glance at the headline before swiping the notification off my screen and uninstalling the app. Like I care about some random rich dude getting stood up.

Dumb phone.

I leave the bathroom, stepping over a couple of boxes to reach the kitchen.

The clock on the wall says it’s after eight, and the sky outside is more black than purple now.

It gets dark fast in the mountains—another little fact of life out here I’d forgotten.

The trees outside are swaying, the wind picking up as night draws in, and when the knock on the door comes a little while later, I assume it’s just branches batting against the porch.

But then the noise comes again, louder this time.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

I frown, looking up from my book. Setting it down, I head for the door, wondering who the hell it could be at this hour.

Maybe Isabelle, coming to get her truck early?

I open the door and my stomach drops when I see two cops standing there, a man and a woman.

“Good evening, Sir,” the man says.

My thoughts immediately flash to Isabelle. Some kind of accident in the woods. A mountain lion. A cliff. My blood runs cold, but the other cop notices my expression, quickly reassuring me, “Nothing to worry about, sir. We’re just here to ask a few questions about a missing person.”

“Missing person?” I frown. “Who?”

“Her name is Mila Van Alstyne. She ran away from Highcrest Castle this afternoon. Twenty-four, dark hair, average height. Last seen heading into the woods wearing a white wedding dress.”

I raise an eyebrow. This Mila girl sounds pretty damn hard to miss.

“Sorry, haven’t seen her,” I tell them.

They both nod, unsurprised.

“I notice you have a shed back there,” the woman says. “Do you think we could take a look inside? We think she might be hiding. Just want to make sure she’s safe.”

I shrug. “Sure.”

The cops follow me outside, to the back of the cabin. I haven’t gotten around to dealing with the shed yet. It’s a big wooden outbuilding full of Ralph’s old junk—broken furniture, old tools, scrap metal. The door doesn’t have a lock, and it slides open easily.

“Sorry,” I say. “Light doesn’t work.”

The cops pull out their flashlights, shining the beams into the jumble of crap. It’s like a scrapyard in here, the room bulging with everything from stacks of old tires to a sagging couch in the far corner. Whenever something broke beyond repair, it looks like Ralph just dumped it in here.

“Mind if we get a closer look?”

“No problem, officers.”

I duck my head and step into the shed with the cops in tow.

Despite the clutter, it’s a big place—almost basement-sized.

I wade through the junk as the cops shine their flashlights around, and as I reach the corner of the room, I catch an unfamiliar scent.

Something sweet and floral. Totally unlike the rest of the shed’s damp and musty smell.

I follow my nose until I reach the old couch. Peering behind it, I catch sight of a glint of white in the shadows. It’s almost impossible to see what it is, so I pull my phone from my pocket and turn on the flashlight, shining it behind the couch.

Holy shit.

My heart leaps to my throat, and I let out a grunt of surprise.

A young woman is crouching behind the couch, her white dress spilling around her in a puddle of silk.

She’s beautiful…and terrified as hell. I’ve never seen anyone look so damn scared.

She holds my gaze and raises a trembling finger to her lips.

Don’t tell, I can almost hear her begging me.

Please don’t tell.

Then my flashlight dies. Low battery.

“Found something?” asks one of the cops from across the room. She must have noticed the way I’ve stopped moving, frozen as I stare into the darkness where I know the girl is hiding. I step away from the couch, forcing my expression into something more natural as I meet the cop’s eye.

“No,” I say. “Nothing here.”