Page 3 of Her Mountain Man Protector (Crave County: Mountain Men Love Curves #7)

MILA

This shed was the first building I found after running away from Highcrest Castle.

It’s dark and damp, but at least nobody can see me tucked away in the corner.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, leaning against the back of this moldy old couch.

It must have been hours. I know I can’t hide forever, but I don’t know what else to do.

I can’t go back.

I can’t face them.

Running away was never the plan, and I hate myself for being such a coward.

I’ve let Grace down. My phone is back at the castle, so I can’t even message her to tell her I’m sorry.

Now night is drawing in, and the tiny window on the other side of the shed shows nothing but a patch of pitch black.

The temperature is dropping fast, and I can hear the wind rushing outside, making the shed creak in a way that convinces me it might collapse on top of me any second.

Crap.

I have nowhere to go. No money. Nothing but the wedding dress I’m wearing. It’s ragged and muddy after my escape through the woods, but my jewelry is still intact. Maybe I can pawn my necklace and earrings, get some cash for?—

A sound interrupts my thoughts. My spine straightens, and a second later, the shed door squeaks open, sending a bolt of ice through my chest. Someone is here.

I shrink against the couch, hardly daring to breathe as I see the beam of a flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating the piles of junk around me.

“Sorry,” a deep voice grunts from the doorway. “Light doesn’t work.”

For a crazy moment, I think the man is talking to me, but then I hear another voice answer, “Mind if we take a look?”

“No problem, officers.”

My eyes go wide. Officers. Cops. They must be here to look for me—to force me back to the castle.

I can’t let them find me. I stay quiet, hardly daring to breathe as their flashlight beams bounce around the room.

Heavy footsteps sound a few feet away, moving closer.

Then a figure looms over the couch, looking straight at me.

Oh God…

Light blinds me. My heart lurches, legs trembling as I squint up at the man.

He’s a giant, towering above me, his head almost brushing the shed roof.

It’s hard to make out his features in the glare of his flashlight, but I don’t think he’s a cop.

He’s wearing a flannel shirt, not a uniform, and I feel a flicker of hope as I lift a finger to my lips, gesturing for him to stay quiet.

Please, I beg him silently. Pretend I’m not here.

“Found something?” asks one of the cops.

I hold my breath, waiting for the blow to come. He’s going to tell them. It’s over…they’ve found me.

“No,” the giant says, turning his back on my hiding spot. “Nothing here.”

“Shame. Well, thanks for your cooperation, sir. We’d better get going.”

I can hardly believe my luck. The footsteps are retreating, the flashlight beams extinguished, and then the shed door closes and I’m alone once more.

I can just make out the mumbled sound of voices bleeding through the shed door, the wind distorting the noise.

Then I hear the unmistakable sound of a car driving away.

The cops are gone.

But that man—the giant in the flannel shirt—he knows I’m here. It sounds like this is his shed. He may not have ratted me out to the cops, but that doesn’t mean I can trust him, and I’m debating making a run for it when I hear the shed door open again.

“Hello?” the familiar deep voice calls. “They’re gone now.”

There’s something comforting about his tone. It’s assertive and self-assured—the kind of voice that takes charge and makes people listen. But I still don’t move. I’m scared. Way more scared than I want to admit.

“Hello?” the man says again. He’s closer now, heading for the couch. It’s too dark to see him properly now the flashlights are gone, but I make out an enormous shadow leaning toward me, the smell of pine hanging in the air mixed with something like engine oil.

“Can’t see a damn thing,” he mutters. “Are you still in here?” A pause, then he adds, “It’s freezing. You’re coming inside with me before you get hypothermia.”

It’s an order, not a question, but I know he’s right. The temperature has been steadily dropping in here since I arrived, and now my arms are covered in goosebumps, the frigid air making my teeth chatter.

“Okay…” I say into the dark, my voice barely a whisper. “Th-thank you.”

Slowly, I emerge from my hiding spot, struggling to untangle myself from the silk folds of my dress.

I feel a firm hand gripping my arm, sending a shudder through me as the man helps me out from behind the couch.

Despite his calloused palm, his touch is surprisingly gentle as he guides me through the minefield of clutter and out into the chilly September night.

I follow him blindly through the dark as we circle the cabin near the shed, reaching a large wooden porch.

An automatic light flickers on as we approach, and I finally get a proper glimpse of my giant rescuer.

He must be in his forties and at least six and a half feet tall.

I have to tilt my head to look at him properly, taking in his thick black beard and straight nose, his lined brow and deep blue eyes.

There’s an intensity about him—a seriousness—and something tells me he’s not the kind of guy who smiles much.

My gaze drops to his burly chest, his red flannel shirt stretching over his wide shoulders.

Tattoos poke out beneath his sleeves, and I look away before he can catch me staring.

He looks grumpy as heck…and intimidatingly attractive.

It’s not the time to be noticing things like that, but it’s pretty impossible to ignore that the man leading me into his cabin right now is the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He’s big, rugged, and rough around the edges. Nothing like Julian Kingsley or any of the other rich guys back in New York.

“I’m Holden, by the way,” he says as he opens the door to the cabin, ushering me inside.

“I’m Mila.”

The cabin is huge and beautifully built—every surface made of dark wood.

But aside from a few pieces of furniture, the place is bare.

There are no paintings on the walls or family photographs dotted around.

Instead, there are boxes piled along the edge of the living room. Holden sees me looking at them.

“Just moved in,” he explains. “Still got some unpacking to do.”

I nod, unsure of what to say. All I can do is stand awkwardly in my wedding dress, avoiding Holden’s gaze. Nothing about this situation is normal. There’s no guidebook for what to say when a hot mountain man invites you into his cabin a few hours after you bolted from the altar.

“So…” Holden says after a few beats of silence, frowning at me. “Bad day?”

The question catches me off guard and I laugh—an ugly, snorting belly laugh. I can’t remember the last time I laughed. It feels good.

“Yeah,” I say eventually. “You could say that.”

Holden nods, considering me for a moment longer before gesturing to an overstuffed armchair by the fireplace. I sit down, watching as he rekindles the fire until flames are roaring in the hearth. Delicious warmth washes over me, and I sigh contentedly.

“Thank you, Holden,” I say as he takes a seat in the armchair opposite me. “For not telling the cops.”

“Don’t mention it.” He cocks his head. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“There isn’t much to tell. I was meant to get married today, but I couldn’t go through with it. So I ran away.” I decide not to elaborate on the details. This handsome stranger doesn’t need to hear about my family drama.

“They must be worried about you…the people at the wedding.”

Guilt sticks in my throat at his words. My parents will be furious, not worried.

My groom couldn’t care less where I am. But Grace…

she’ll be worried. Really worried. I wish I had some way of contacting her, but even if Holden lets me borrow his phone, I don’t know her number off by heart.

Neither of us is on social media—our parents insist it’s tacky.

There’s nothing I can do to let her know I’m safe.

I’ve already let her down by not marrying Julian, and now I’m making her worry about me.

Tears bubble up before I can stop them, and a sob escapes my throat. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was laughing a minute ago, and now all I want to do is curl up and cry.

“Hey,” Holden says, reaching out to rest a hand on my arm. “It’s okay. You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

I nod, stuttering through my tears. “I’m s-sorry. You don’t even know me, and I b-broke into your shed, and now I’m c-crying in your living room.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He lets out a deep sigh, running a hand over his beard as he looks at me. “I’m glad you ended up in my shed, Mila. You could have died out in the woods, wandering around at night in the cold in nothing but that dress.”

He’s right. Ending up in Holden’s shed was a stroke of luck, the silver lining in an ugly gray cloud of a day. I suck in a breath and pull myself together, smiling at Holden through my drying tears. “Thank you. I’m so lucky it was you who found me.”

He shrugs off the praise. “Look, why don’t I fix you something to eat? You can take a shower, get out of that dress…” The suggestion hangs in the air between us before he adds, “I can find you something else to wear. A t-shirt.”

I get the sudden urge to leap out of my armchair and wrap Holden in a tight hug.

I want to melt against his giant frame, warm and protected.

It’s a crazy thought. He’s a total stranger—twice my age and not exactly the cuddly type.

But being with him makes me feel safe. Like nothing can touch me as long as this giant mountain man is here.

I’m so used to living my life on edge, trying to please my parents and do everything right.

But here in Holden’s living room, curled up by the fire, my parents feel so far away.

“That would be incredible,” I tell him warmly. “Thank you so much.”

He doesn’t waste a second. He gets up and returns a minute later with an enormous t-shirt. I’m a big girl with thick curves, but even on me it would probably reach past my knees.

“Not exactly a wedding dress,” he says as he hands it to me, “but I hope it will do.”

“It’s perfect.” I hug the t-shirt to my chest, resisting the urge to bury my face in it and breathe in Holden’s masculine scent. “Trust me, this is way better than any wedding dress right now.”

He shows me to the bathroom, but just as he’s about to leave, I realize something.

“Could you unzip the back for me?” I ask, heat rising to my cheeks. “I won’t be able to get it off otherwise.”

He makes a noise of assent deep in his throat, moving to stand behind me.

He’s so close I can feel his body heat warming my back.

His fingers reach for the zipper, brushing against my bare skin in a way that makes me shudder as he slowly unzips the dress down to my lower back.

I can feel his eyes burning into me, and my breath catches.

For a second, we don’t move, frozen in place.

“Thanks,” I say softly.

“You’re welcome.” Then the moment falters and I feel Holden step back from me. “Better go get started on the food. You want anything in particular?”

“A sandwich would be great. Any kind. I’m easy.”

“On it,” Holden grunts. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

I thank him again. Then, once he’s gone, I close the bathroom door behind me and peel off my wedding dress with a sigh of relief.

It’s been weighing me down all day, suffocating me in silk and lace, and I feel my whole body relax as I step into the shower, letting the hot water rush over me.

I use Holden’s shampoo, lathering it in my hair, savoring the scent.

It smells like him—fresh and masculine—and I inhale deeply.

God, what is wrong with me?

I should be thinking about what I’m going to do, figuring out my next move.

Heck, I just ditched a man at the altar; my focus should be on that and nothing else.

But I can’t help it. My mind keeps drifting back to Holden’s hulking body, his tattoos, his deep blue eyes—the color of the sky when the sun begins to set.

No, Mila! Stop thinking poetic thoughts about his eyes.

I try to tell myself it’s just the exhaustion and weirdness of today getting to me, making me crazy. But deep down, I know it’s more than that. Holden is already under my skin, stirring something I’ve never felt before.

Something that feels a lot like longing.