Page 2 of The Mountain Man's Hunted Bride

“You bitch,” Millard snaps. “You’ll be fucking sorry.”

“Really? You gonna set fire to my place like you did the animal shelter that took in your abused animals?

“You piece of shit. Everyone in this town knows what you are. And everyone here is filming you. So go ahead. The courts will have enough evidence of your threats this time to put all of you away.”

“Bitch. Come on, boys. The crap food and lousy service in this place isn’t worth it.”

As soon as they’re gone the young waitress breaks into tears. “I want to go home.”

“Honey, I need you to stay till the police officer comes. Then we’ll get you home. Come with me to my office.”

My team and several other guests offer to stay until the police arrive. Once we’re done, one of the guys offers to take the young waitress home and Beck hangs around to make sure Hannie gets home safely.

My ride to the mountain is filled with risk assessment and strategy. This isn’t over. I know how small-minded men like Stump can be. Hell, before I left for the military he got pissed because he didn’t win the harvest festival and set fire to the winners display.

The new police chief seems a little green to me. Someone’s gonna need to keep an eye on the restaurant. It’s in a nice neighborhood but too many entry points and....

SHUT IT DOWN.... Not your responsibility. You’re done being in command.

This is exactly why I do not go to town. Back at my cabin, I change into sweats and head outside to where my punching bag hangs in the moonlight. Thirty minutes later I’m dripping wet and the bag is listing to one side, but my mind is calm enough I may be able to sleep.

CHAPTER 2

Tawny Wilkins

Something is terribly wrong. I sense it the minute I hear them come in from their dinner out and bar hopping. They’re angry and yelling, then yelling at each other. I rushed my chores after they left and am already locked in my bedroom in the attic.

This last week the looks the three older boys have been giving me has chilled me to the bone. I know that feral look. I move the small dresser in front of the door. It’s not much but it would give me a few extra minutes of protection if they try to break the door down.

Eight years ago, Mom and I were on the run. Again. We arrived in Cogburn, Oregon, and the second week we were here she met Millard Stump.

My mom never had good sense when it came to men. She got pregnant with me when she was fifteen. Her parents kicked her out and she lived with friends until after I was born.

She met another guy and we moved into his bus that had been converted into a motor home and traveled the country for a few years. That lasted until he invited another woman to travelwith us. Six months later, at a rest stop, the two of them drove off while Mom and I were in the restroom.

Life continued that way for years. Mom would hook up with someone then we’d be left behind.

When I was ten, we made it to Cogburn. We were living in a shelter. Mom was working at a bar when she met Millard. He took us home and introduced us to his four boys. We never left.

My schooling had been sporadic. Here I finally got to go to school on a regular basis although I was behind other kids my age. I was excited to have a real home.

He hit Mom the first time six month later. It was an accident. The next time she ‘made him do it’. After that there were no excuses, just abuse. I begged her to leave, she said she was too tired and she’d had worse. That’s when she moved me to the attic and installed a slide bolt on the inside.

Four months ago, she fell down the stairs in the middle of the night. Millard said she was drunk, which I don’t doubt. Alcohol had become her pain relief for years. I heard them fighting. She was crying, then screaming unintelligibly, then thumping as she fell down the stairs.

I tried to say something to the police chief when he came, but three of the boys were supposedly witnesses and corroborated Millard’s story that she was drunk and fell.

Since I was still seventeen, the court appointed a social worker to visit me. Millard keeps telling the officials he adopted me, he’s just got to find the papers. I told the social worker it’s a lie. She’s tried to have me removed but the system is so slow, and he lies and the boys support his stories. I’m running out of time. I can feel it.

I turn eighteen in two weeks and there won’t be anything the social worker can do to help me. And I have nowhere to go.

When they leave, I have the run of the house, except they lock me in and the widows on the ground level are bolted shut on theoutside. I do my chores when they’re gone and lock myself back in the attic before they get home or as soon as I hear them pull in.

I’ve been collecting the loose change and dollars they leave laying around. I’ve almost got enough for a bus ticket. The issue is getting out of the house and two towns over to catch a bus.

Tonight, before they left, I heard them talking about how convenient it will be once the social worker quits coming.

I hear the stairs creak.