Chapter 1

1

MATTHEW

"... A ll the residents in the area … advised to stay indoors. Do not leave your homes or head outside unless absolutely necessary. Winds may reach … per hour, with possible flash floods … low-lying areas and the … Stay tuned for more…"

I smack the radio one more time, only to hear nothing else but static. Well, shit. There goes my plans for the weekend. I guess the coffee table I promised Mrs. Smith will have to wait until next week. There's no way I'm leaving the comforts of this cabin. Not in this weather.

Besides, the thunderstorm doesn't worry me. Weather like this isn't common in Sweetheart Falls but not totally unheard-of either. Which is why, when I made this cabin, I took extra steps and shelled out extra money to ensure it could withstand the harshest, most unforgiving weather conditions. Being out here in the mountains, I couldn't take any chances, and the last thing I wanted was to keep packing my bags and moving somewhere else just because of a storm.

I'd rather stay at home and wait it out. Thank you very much.

I may be far away from the town center, but this place is well-stocked. I have enough provisions to last me a year, no joke. Am I a doomsday prepper? Absolutely not. Do I prefer being alone and hate going into town for small talk while I buy cans of beans and a few bottles of beer? Hell yes. I do my groceries maybe once every four months, and I don't enjoy every single minute of it.

People call me Mountain Matthew, and I don't mind. Not one damn bit.

Standing on the terrace with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and my golden retriever, Goldie, at my feet, I look at the rolling clouds, the darkness swirling like ink spreading in water. The clear blue sky from yesterday is gone and replaced by a shade of charcoal.

Yep, I have no choice but to stay indoors until this clears up. I've been living in the woods for more than ten years now, and I always make sure to never go against Mother Nature. I learned that lesson the hard way.

Goldie whines softly, her ears perking up, her gaze fixed on a point beyond the trees.

"What is it, Gold? You hear something?"

A cool breeze sweeps through the trees, rustling the leaves and making me shiver. Time to go back inside and start the fire.

I'm about to turn around when I notice a flash of something bright. What the hell is that? Blinking hard and frowning, I grab the binoculars from the seat beside me, focusing on Goldie's line of sight because her whole body tenses.

Jesus Christ. It's someone wearing a neon green windbreaker and carrying a hiking backpack. Just then, the first distant rumble of thunder rolls through the valley, and a flash of lightning briefly illuminates the clouds.

Who the fuck is stupid enough to go camping in this weather? And alone, too? What are they thinking?

Cursing under my breath because I know—Goldie knows, the entire fucking Sweetheart Falls knows—that I'm about to sacrifice my warmth, comfort, and dryness to run after a total stranger, I sprint back inside and grab my own windbreaker.

I'm halfway through lacing my boots when Goldie bolts from the terrace and into the woods.

Fuck. I don't have time to think as I grab my rifle, sling it over my shoulder, and follow my dog, who doesn't even turn to me as I repeatedly call her name.

The cool wind bites at the exposed skin on my neck, and I know it won't be long before the skies open up and soak me, Goldie, and whoever that other person is.

The rain isn't as heavy yet, but I don't dare risk it by dawdling. I want to get back to my coffee as soon as possible.

The branches scratch my clothes and face as I push through the underbrush. I finally catch up with Goldie, who looks at me like she's not impressed with my speed.

"How about we just let the person die, huh? And go back to our nice, warm, cozy home?" Goldie barks at me and sprints to the right. "I was just kidding, Golds. Damn it."

Lightning flashes again, and I catch sight of familiar landmarks—the massive fallen log covered in moss, the old oak with twisted branches, and my old knife's X marks on the tree trunks.

Whoever that camper is, he or she is headed to the river. Hiking and camping alone are seriously dangerous, but staying by the river? It's the mother of all bad ideas.

I didn't have a high opinion of this person, to begin with, but I'm wondering if I should worry instead of their state of mind because no one—not even amateurs—would take this much of a risk.

Either way, I'm probably gonna end up offering them a room in the cabin. I can't say I'm looking forward to that and having unexpected company, but I don't have enough callousness in me to turn them away.

Goddammit. The park ranger should really do a better job at making stricter rules for wanna-be hikers, campers, and adventurers who know nothing about basic safety. Checking the weather and knowing when to postpone or cancel is as basic as it gets. It's common sense.

A faint bark echoes, and yes, it's by the river. I go in that direction when a different sound cuts through the rain and thunder.

"Help! Help me!"

My blood runs cold, and adrenaline rushes through me. With senses on high alert, I rush over, cursing when I slip and trip.

"Please."

The voice is closer, and something niggles at the back of my mind. I ignore it, though, and run faster, feeling the sharp sting of a branch cut the skin on my cheek.

My boots squelch in the mud as I stumble into the clearing by the river. My eyes find the source of the voice, and the moment I see them, I don't know whether to laugh, be furious, or both.

Instead of someone being mauled or who looks like they will need serious medical help, I find a slim figure lying on the small pebbles. She kicks in the air while covering her face with her hands. Goldie is on top, licking those said hands.

She must have realized Goldie's no threat because she stops writhing and slumps on the ground with a groan. "Shit, I thought you were a bear."

"Bears don't lick your face. They'll make it their next meal. Besides, chances of you being alive after that first scream would have been zero," I say, feeling something close to odd familiarity.

The woman—or young girl, I'm not sure—stiffens when she hears me, and I realize my mistake. She's alone in the woods with a man. I know how that seems to her, so I step back and hold up both hands. The last thing I want is for her to feel unsafe in my presence and terrified enough to run away from me and further into the woods, which spells disaster for both of us.

"Sorry, Miss. That's my dog. We saw you from my cabin and wanted to warn you that it might not be safe?—"

The next words die on my tongue because she sits up, pats Goldie's head, and raises those familiar eyes that always remind me of emeralds, with bits of gold around like spokes on a wheel.

My heart drums hard enough to hurt, and I see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing but her. She's still sitting on the ground, her hand on Goldie, her eyes locked with mine. She looks almost the same as she did when we were eighteen. The smooth, golden skin, freckles across her nose and cheeks, brown wavy hair piled on top of her head, the full cheeks, and pouty lips that…

Fuck. Fuck this shit and fuck everything.

My initial shock at finding her here of all places and seeing her after more than a decade morphs into something else—the pure head-fogging lust and yearning I know so well.

Danika Ortega at eighteen was a vision to behold. Her beauty was unreal. It demanded attention. But Danika as a full-grown woman? She's something else entirely. Just standing a few feet from her, I feel my world shift. My chest expands, and something long buried comes back to life in a blinding flash.

I don't know how long we stay in that suspended animation, but I eventually come to my senses and shake my head, trying to control my rioting emotions.

Swallowing past the strange flicker in my chest and the roaring in my ears, I finally say, "Danika?"

She juts out her chin and gives me a soft smile. "Hello, Matthew. It's been a while."