Lumberjacked (A Holiday Lumberjack Mountain Man Romance) - K.C. Crowne Page 0,15

was locked in the bathroom, towelling off my hair, I tried to dial out. I needed to speak to my mom, or someone who could let her know I was okay. And someone needed to know where I was.

The call didn’t go through. The no-signal tone was loud in my ear. I sighed and lowered the phone. I typed a text and sent it, hoping if there was some kind of signal at any point, the message would go through.

Viktor

She wanted to go into town, but I couldn’t let her leave. No way in fucking hell. Not only was it dangerous out there as the earth continuing to rearrange itself every couple of days, but I didn’t know who she might tell about me.

When a woman met a mysterious man in the mountains, she would tell her girlfriends about it, if no one else. There were too many pieces to pick up. The missing truck. Insurance claims. Hospital visits if it turned out she wasn’t okay for whatever reasons.

And the moment anyone got wind of the tattooed Russian who lived in the mountain, it was my ass on the line. Maksim kept a finger on the pulse. He would be looking for me, and he wasn’t an idiot. He knew I wasn’t in Russia anymore. He might have looked for me there, threatened the right people, bribed a few more. He would have found out where I’d crossed the border.

If Maksim was anything, he was resourceful.

I couldn’t let Angela out of my sight, and as long as I could use the mountainside disaster as a reason, she wouldn’t give me too much trouble about it. She was feisty as fuck, and unless I told her the truth about why I needed her to keep quiet about it, she would do as she damn well pleased.

She just didn’t understand why that would be the worst thing she could ever do to me. And I wasn’t going to tell her.

The last thing I wanted was for her to find out what a monster I was. When she looked at me, there wasn’t hatred in her eyes. In fact, it was more akin to affection. Although that was just my fucked-up mind twisting shit to make it work for me. Because if someone like Angela could like me, I couldn’t be that bad, could I?

I was that bad, though.

“What are we going to do about food when it’s raining like this?” Angela asked, coming from the bathroom where she’d changed. She wore my t-shirt again. It was so big on her it looked like a dress. A fucking sexy dress that I wanted to tear off with my teeth.

“I have a few things,” I said and walked to the pantry. In it, I had dried fruit, jerky, and more canned beans and sweet corn that I’d bought at the store. I didn’t go into town all that often, but sometimes I went to Snowmass Village, a small town close to Grizzly Falls, for provisions. “And there’s plenty of bird left over.”

“You have chips?” Angela asked, incredulous.

“And chocolate, if you like.”

She laughed. The sound shot right to my core, and I had to talk down another erection or look like an asshole with a bulge in my pants because she was laughing about food.

“And yesterday, you killed a turk—”

“Pheasant.”

“Pheasant. I thought there were no luxuries around here.”

I shrugged. “Who says pheasant isn’t a luxury?”

Her eyes twinkled at my little joke, and I loved her response. Everything about her made me smile. It was a strange sensation; one I was unused to.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Chips, to be honest,” Angela said. “But I shouldn’t.”

“I have dried fruit.”

She pulled a face. “I guess that would be better for my waistline.”

I frowned and looked at her body. Her fucking perfect body. Her edible body. Her fuckable body. “What’s wrong with your waistline?”

She blushed lightly. Her rosy cheeks were beautiful. “I could lose a few pounds, if I’m honest.”

“No, Angel.” She didn’t correct me, tell me to call her Angela. “You are perfect.”

She blushed bright red. I fucking loved it. I turned and reached for the chips in the pantry. When I did, a sharp pain shot into my shoulder. I felt the scab pull open and blood seep out. When I touched the back of my shirt, it was drenched in red.

“You can’t just leave that, you know,” Angela commented dryly.

Fuck, she’d seen me wince. “What’s the alternative? I can’t reach back there to stitch it