Hero (Alpha Mountain 1)

I’d already grabbed my knapsack from the counter and was shoving my bare feet into my muddy boots by the back door. I hated that he followed me and stood there like he had something he wanted to say.

“Thanks for the hot chocolate,” I said in a rush, finishing the second lace. “Let’s not do it again soon.”

“Bye, Blue.”

I stumbled at his use of the childhood nickname he’d given me. His deep rumble echoed after me as I took off at a jog, not caring that I was out hiking in a pair of boxer shorts and Ford’s oversized t-shirt or that my car was still a couple of miles away. Or that my panties and bra were in his dryer.

I’d left his place half-dressed before. I’d fled once. It seemed I was doing it again.

Chapter

Four

FORD

* * *

I hefted my ax and swung down to crack another log. With the sun beating down, I’d ditched my shirt a while ago. Splitting wood was my go-to when I needed to blow off steam, and fuck, in the past three days, I’d prepped firewood for the entire winter. In fact, I had enough to stack in the bed of my truck to take to Buck’s parents.

The frustration I was burning through wasn’t because I was constantly wracked with guilt over the way I’d handled Buck’s death. It also didn’t have anything to do with Indi’s surprise visit. And I definitely wasn’t nursing a set of blue balls after seeing her nearly naked. Again.

Fuck me.

I just had a lot on my mind pulling together my team and figuring out our next moves.

Right.

That’s what I told myself, anyway.

Roscoe came over and dropped a stick at my feet. I grabbed the slobber-covered piece of wood and lobbed it across the field. He sprinted after it.

With my back muscles starting to strain, I finished the last log and left the ax embedded in the stump. I’d be back out here soon enough. Using my discarded t-shirt to wipe my brow, I strode across the field to the back door. Roscoe caught up with me, stick in his mouth.

I was still getting used to thinking of the place as mine. I came to live with my grandparents after my dad’s death when I was in middle school. He and my mom had been split for years, and my mom had been one of those who’d thought a kid was a burden. I’d felt it hardcore, and our relationship had been shit. My grandparents had wanted me, and hell, I’d wanted them too. Looking back, I’d been desperate for something settled, something safe, and they’d given it to me. I’d come to Montana and made this mountain my proving ground.

Gramps had died two years ago while I’d been overseas. Fell asleep in his recliner one night and never woke up. Gram had been alone here since then, except for Roscoe, who she said she’d gotten to replace Gramps.

After almost fifteen years in the service, I had never put down roots, never even rented an apartment since I’d been deployed, never needed more than base housing. Hell, I had no real home. Except for here. So when I was rather suddenly dishonorably discharged, I’d tucked tail and come back to be here with Gram. Turned out that it was the perfect spot to start up my new private security firm. Gram had been thrilled to have me back and the idea of having a bunch of my buddies here too. She was far from the typical grandmother. While she baked cookies for all of us, she’d also handed over her sewing room to be used as a temporary command center until the new building was finished.

It was one thing to live on the property to keep an eye on Gram, it was another to sleep in my old bedroom down the hall from her. So now that it was finished, I was in the bunkhouse with Kennedy and the others. For now. The contractors were also working on a cabin for me down by the creek where we’d had all the parties.

I banged the screen door open and stepped in, heading straight for the fridge. Roscoe went to his water dish, dropped the stick in his food bowl, then began to lap up his own drink. The scent of pot roast assaulted me. I glanced at the counter, at the olive green crockpot. Kennedy was just as much a cook as Gram, and he used that slow cooker all the time. I wasn’t sure who’d started tonight’s dinner, but it made my mouth water.

“Fucker,” Kennedy grumbled, catching me drinking milk straight from the jug. “You don’t live alone, asshole. If Mrs. L sees you doing that—” He didn’t say more, just shook his head.

I kept gulping it down and ignoring him, the cold air from the fridge on my ass.