Page 10 of The Mountain Man’s Untamed Bride (Mountain Man Sanctuary #4)

“Dangerous Directions”

Bodhi

The night air cut through my shirt as I moved silently across the property, rifle ready.

The frantic barking from Mack's hunting hounds had stopped abruptly, leaving an unnatural quiet that raised the hair on my neck.

Those dogs rarely came this far up the mountain, and I'd never heard them sound that alarmed before tonight.

Something—or someone—had disturbed them.

The mountain breeze carried the usual forest odors, but mixed with something jarring—the unmistakable trace of designer cologne that had no business this far from civilization. I moved away from the cabin, sticking to the shadows where the moonlight couldn't reach.

Eight minutes of careful searching revealed nothing beyond ordinary forest movement and the occasional startled rabbit. Still, that warning feeling in my gut wouldn't quiet down—the same feeling that had saved my life more times than I cared to count.

I widened my search, moving further from the cabin in larger circles. The half-moon gave just enough light to see without needing a flashlight that would have announced my position to anyone watching.

Near where my property met the old logging trail, something glinted in the moonlight—something that didn't belong. I approached carefully, rifle ready, until I could make out the object half-buried in pine needles.

A watch.

Not the kind you'd wear fishing or hunting. This was pure luxury—gold case, fancy face, expensive. The kind of watch men wore to silently brag about their bank accounts.

I studied it without touching. Clean, unscratched, and still ticking. It hadn't been here long.

This wasn't coincidence—not with Scarlett checking her phone every five minutes and that black Mercedes I'd spotted in town, the driver in dark sunglasses photographing Main Street as we'd passed. The way she'd tensed when I mentioned seeing an unfamiliar car.

Someone had found her—someone with deep pockets.

I used my bandana to pick up the watch without leaving fingerprints. Some training never leaves you, no matter how far from the battlefield you get. The thing felt heavy in my hand, probably solid gold.

For another twenty minutes, I searched the property, finding nothing else out of place. Whoever left the watch had disappeared without bothering to retrieve such a valuable item—another red flag.

I'd been gone about thirty-five minutes—way longer than the ten-minute deadline I'd given Scarlett. As I approached the cabin, I spotted Colonel through the window, standing sentry on the back of the couch. So much for my emergency protocol.

I paused at the door, listening. The cabin was quiet except for the usual creaks of old timber. I entered carefully, rifle ready, sweeping the familiar shadows cast by the oil lamp's glow.

Then I saw Scarlett, and nearly forgot why I'd gone outside in the first place.

She stood in her bedroom doorway, but not as I'd left her.

The shorts and tank top were gone, replaced by something that barely qualified as clothing.

Black lace arranged in strategic strips covered just enough to avoid complete indecency, but not much more.

The kind of outfit with exactly one purpose in mind.

"You're back," she said, relief mixing with something practiced in her voice. "I tried letting Colonel out like you said, but he just stared at me like I was crazy. Refused to budge from his spot."

I placed the rifle back in its cabinet, buying time to collect myself. "Figures. Only follows orders when it suits him."

"Find anything out there?" she asked, sashaying into the room with the strut of a model on a catwalk.

I held up the piece of men’s jewelry, letting the lamplight catch it. "This was near the property line."

She went pale as winter frost, the practiced confidence vanishing in an instant. Her shoulders stiffened, and genuine fear flashed across her features before she tried to hide it.

"Where exactly?" Her voice had gone tight.

"By the logging trail." I forced my gaze to stay locked on her eyes, though it took more willpower than staying perfectly still while a bear investigates your campsite. "You know whose it is."

"I—" She shook her head quickly. "Lots of people wear expensive watches. Could be from anyone."

"Scarlett." Just her name, but loaded with disbelief.

Instead of answering, she stepped closer, switching tactics. "We can deal with that tomorrow," she said, her voice dropping lower. "Let's focus on more... immediate concerns."

"Like what?"

She touched her finger to her tongue, then drew a damp line down my shirt front.

"Like getting you out of these wet clothes," she said with an exaggerated wink.

I couldn't help a short laugh. "That's what you're going with?"

"Not working?" She pressed against me, the heat from her skin radiating through my shirt.

"It's ridiculous," I said, though I betrayed my own better judgment by settling my hands at her waist.

"Don't you want what you signed up for?" she asked, looking up at me through those fake lashes I'd helped her apply earlier. "Your mail-order bride, delivery confirmed?"

"I didn't sign up for anything," I reminded her, my voice rougher than I intended. "And you're not a package deal."

"Yet here I am," she countered, resting her palms against my chest. "Aren't you going to at least see what you got?"

"That outfit doesn't leave much to the imagination," I said, glancing at her deliberate costume.

"Sometimes the smallest packages contain the best surprises," she replied, close enough now that the cabin suddenly felt too small, too warm, too confining for what was building between us.

I should have stepped back. Should have maintained distance. But I'd been alone too long, and despite all the reasons this was a terrible idea, I couldn't deny how much I wanted her.

I dipped my head toward hers, hesitating just a breath away, giving her one last chance to back away.

She met my challenge head-on instead.

When our mouths met, it felt like the moment before a summer storm breaks—all that built-up tension finally finding release.

She tasted like the wild mountain berries that grow on my property—sweet with an unexpected bite.

I pulled her closer, the feel of her curves against me sending heat racing through my body.

She made a sound low in her throat that hit me harder than any physical blow I'd taken.

I gripped her hair, steadying her the way I would brace myself before felling a difficult tree.

Backing her against the wall, I felt her body align perfectly with mine.

She wrapped her leg around my hip, pulling me tighter, making it damn near impossible to remember why I'd been keeping my distance.

Her hands slipped under my shirt, exploring with obvious appreciation. I traced the edges where lace met skin, memorizing the contrast between delicate fabric and warm flesh.

"Bedroom," she breathed against my lips, the word half-demand, half-question.

Her body against mine felt right in a way I hadn't experienced in years. But even as desire clouded my thoughts, something sharper cut through—suspicion. The watch. The Mercedes. Her fear.

For a second, my resolve cracked like ice in spring thaw. But this wasn't about me. I was just convenient shelter from whatever storm was chasing her.

I stepped back, breaking contact. She blinked up at me, confusion replacing desire in her expression.

"What's wrong?" She reached for me again.

I moved further away, needing distance to think clearly. "This. The whole performance. You're not here for me."

She stared like I'd suddenly started speaking another language. "Are you blind? I'm half-naked and practically begging you to take me to bed."

"That's exactly my point." I pushed my hair back from my face. "This isn't about wanting me. It's about using me to solve some other problem."

Her eyes narrowed. "I want you," she said simply, her eyes briefly dropping before meeting mine again with surprising directness. "And clearly, you want me too."

I held up the watch instead of responding to that. "Who does this belong to? What are you running from?"

The seduction act she'd been putting on wavered, then disappeared completely. With a deep sigh that seemed to deflate her whole body, she moved to the couch, carefully moving aside the banana peel and vibrator from her earlier attempts.

"It's Langley's," she admitted, sinking onto the cushions. "My fiancé."

I sat beside her, leaving enough space between us that I could think straight.

"Fiancé?" I stared at her, pieces suddenly clicking into place—her desperation to get away, the seduction attempts, everything. "You're running from your own wedding?"

She nodded, staring at her hands. "Langley Richardson," she confirmed. "Harvard Law. Son of my father's biggest church donor. Complete nightmare behind closed doors. My father arranged the whole thing."

"He followed you here."

"Somehow." A humorless laugh escaped her. "I was so careful—paid cash, avoided highways, told no one where I was going."

"Yet he found you."

"Yet he found me." She glanced toward the door, a small shiver running through her. "Do you think he's still out there?"

"Not right now. But he'll be back." I noticed how different she looked without the flirtation and sharp edges—smaller, younger, genuinely afraid. "Tell me everything, Scarlett."

She took a deep breath and began explaining.

Her father, a televangelist with political connections, had essentially sold her to the Richardson family, arranging the marriage to benefit his ministry.

She'd emptied a secret account and fled, finding Mountain Mates during a desperate search for somewhere to hide.

"So you didn't pick me because you wanted a mountain man," I said when she finished. "You picked me because I was the opposite of what your father wanted."

"Not entirely," she countered, straightening her spine. "I had options. You were my first choice though. You were guaranteed to make my father's blood pressure spike." A hint of her usual spirit returned to her eyes. "I figured if I had to hide out, might as well be with someone easy on the eyes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Bodhi. Playing dumb doesn't suit you," she said with unexpected directness. "The alternative was a guy with a Santa beard who stuffed dead animals for fun. I had my reasons."

I couldn't help a slight smile despite everything. "Quite the endorsement."

We sat quietly for a moment, the watch resting on the coffee table between us like evidence from a crime scene.

"What happens now?" she finally asked.

"We keep you safe," I said simply. "This place is sturdier than it looks. Good locks, solid construction, rifle within reach. I've dealt with threats before. We'll handle this one too."

"I can stay?" The vulnerability in her question caught me off guard.

"You can stay," I confirmed. "But we're not sleeping together just to check a box on your escape plan."

Disappointment flashed across her face like a shadow. "I thought—"

"That losing your virginity would somehow free you from this engagement?

" I said, finally understanding her earlier attempts at seduction.

"Men like him don't really care about that.

They care about ownership. Running away without ending things officially just makes you property that's gone missing. "

She didn't argue, telling me I'd hit the mark.

"If anything happens between us," I said, surprising myself, "it should be because you want me, not because I'm convenient cover."

She studied me like I was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out. "Most guys wouldn't turn this down," she said, gesturing to herself.

"I'm not most guys." I shrugged. "Out here, you learn the difference between what you want and what you need."

She nodded slowly, then stood, adjusting her outfit. "I should probably change into something less desperate."

I watched her walk toward her bedroom, appreciating her honesty more than her attempts at seduction.

"Bodhi?" She paused at her door.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." Simple words, but genuine. "For believing me."

I nodded, not trusting what might come out if I spoke.

After she disappeared into her room, I examined the watch one more time before locking it in the old strongbox under my floorboards.

Initials carved into the back—LR—confirmed her story.

This Langley Richardson had resources, connections, and the kind of entitlement that wouldn't accept losing what he considered his.

Strange how quickly priorities can shift. Two days ago, my biggest concern was that stubborn deck post. Now I was planning defensive strategies against some nepo baby who thought he owned the woman sleeping under my roof.

The sound of the bathroom door opening pulled me from my thoughts. Scarlett emerged wearing an oversized t-shirt and loose-fitting shorts—the most modest outfit I'd seen on her yet, and somehow more appealing than the lingerie. She gave me a small, uncertain smile before disappearing into her room.

That smile hit me harder than it should have. It wasn't calculated or practiced—just a moment of genuine gratitude from a woman who hadn't expected kindness.

I settled into my chair facing the door, gun within reach. Whatever came next, she wouldn't face it alone.