Page 11 of Rescued By the Mountain Man Cowboy
Chapter Three
ANNA
The cabin is small, encased in wood panels and floors, with sparse furniture, and it’s in the middle of nowhere. If I didn’t trust my friend with my literal life, I’d hightail my ass out of here.
My mind’s stuck on the enigma currently hulking right outside, patiently waiting as I work on not freaking the fuck out. This man is not your quintessential cowboy. Elaborate tattoos run up his neck, down his chest, exposed by the lazy V-neck. He pulled the sleeves of the worn, green jacket he’s wearing high up on his forearms, exposing even more thick tattoos.
His stoic demeanor doesn’t bother me. I’m sure other people feel intimidated by him, but there’s almost something comforting about it. He reminds me of my dad. If Madison believes I’m safe here, I trust her.
I don’t really have another choice.
My feet are full of lead, not moving further into the cabin. I look over my shoulder at the closed front door, somehow sensing he’s on the other side of it. I exhale deeply, allowing myshoulders to loosen a fraction. As I slowly trek to the room he took my bag into, I take in little details on the way that most might miss.
An intricately designed throw blanket lies haphazardly at the edge of the brown leather couch, a small stack of thriller books is perfectly placed on the end table, and on the fireplace mantel, small trinkets that I know have deep significance. There’s a gorgeous wooden mosaic inlay box, a small canvas with a stunning painting of a desert, a deck of cards, and, strangely, a thriving plant.
Scanning the living area, I don’t see any others. Just this one plant. And it’s alive.
Huh. Interesting.
Is he taking care of it or someone else?
My feet hesitate at the doorway of the master bedroom. Simple. Clean. Bed, meticulously made. Stereotypical military traits.
Walking in, the rich, deep smell of pine, earth, and spice tickles my nose. A king-sized bed, wooden headboard, dark wood nightstands, no dresser. There is a bookshelf full of books, though.
Exhaling heavily, my body drops and sits at the edge of the bed facing the open door. Three days. I’ve been hiding out in Madison and her cowboy’s furnished basement, refusing to leave. The enclosed space felt safe. I’ve been in a constant state of numb, tempted to call my parents in Connecticut and make sure they’re okay.
Mom’s texts have been incessant. I’ve bypassed her calls with texts of,‘Super busy. Huge work project. Call you soon.’
My apartment’s office has called, leaving messages asking about my busted car in the parking garage. I sent an email that I was out of town, hoping to stave off suspicions if they come knocking. Madison feels confident that everything will be okay,but I can’t scrub from my mind the muffled sounds of those shots and then the clear thunk of the body hitting the ground before I dropped my damn food and had to run.
Did they get to my apartment next? There must be a ‘they’, right? Marcus made it sound like he answers to someone higher up than him.
“What the fuck are you involved in?” I hiss under my breath.
And why the hell was he carelessly using the office for that shit? How damn arrogant must you be to think no one would ever walk in?
A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat.
I guess I won’t be getting a promotion, after all. Hell. I’m sure I’m out of a job. No reference either.
The laughter becomes manic as I bend over, holding my stomach until a violent sob overtakes me.
“Oh, God,” I cry into my hands, rocking back and forth.
What the hell am I going to do?
I curl up onto the mattress, making myself as small as possible, pressing my mouth into the pillow, hoping Luke can’t hear my cries. All I seem to freaking do is cry myself to sleep or sit in a zombie state. Madison’s been so patient. She’s angry enough for the both of us, digging up information on Marcus, seeing if the company has any suspicious activity she can follow a trail and find answers or ammunition for.
I just want to rewind time to a week ago, when I was oblivious and naively working toward impressing my idiot manager, anticipating a sense of accomplishment with a promotion, and also to give my mother something to focus on other than her constant worry that I need an entirely different life path.
My sniffles echo in the already too quiet cabin out in the middle of nowhere. My eyes grow heavier as time slows. My body sinks into the firm mattress.
Opening my eyes, I’m weaving between the cubicles at the office.
But why are my feet so heavy?
It’s inky dark with faint computer lights glowing sporadically throughout. The hallway after the reception area, leading to Marcus’ office, is illuminated in an eerie red. Emergency lights?
