Page 5 of Montana Memory

I stumbled. My foot caught on a root, and suddenly, I was falling—except I wasn’t.

Hunter yanked me upright as if I weighed nothing. His arm, solid and warm, locked around my waist for a split second before he set me back on my feet.

“Keep moving,” he murmured.

I pushed forward, breathless. My legs burned, my body begging for rest, but my mind wouldn’t let me stop. Not when danger was still too close. Not when I didn’t even know what—or who—I was running from.

I swallowed hard. “Do you know anything about me?”

Hunter didn’t slow. Didn’t even glance at me.

“Not much.” His voice was rough, unreadable. “I’m just trying to keep you breathing.”

I wanted to push for more, but now wasn’t the time.

Ahead, the trees thinned, opening up to a narrow stretch of road. My steps faltered as I caught sight of a diner in the distance, its neon sign blinking in the dark.

I turned to Hunter. “Are we going in?”

He shook his head and strode to a parked older sedan, getting in the driver’s side. He reached down, and a few seconds later, the engine roared to life.

I stared at him.

He reached over and opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

I hesitated.

He sighed, low and impatient. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jada. If I were going to, I would’ve done it already. But we can’t sit out here exposed like this.”

I didn’t know if that was true. But I knew one thing—he felt like my only chance at surviving. I slid into the seat, and he pulled out of the diner parking lot and into the night.

I had no idea how long we drove. Each second felt like an eternity. Finally, we started passing signs for Denver, Colorado.

We pulled up at a motel. The fluorescent vacancy sign buzzed in the dark, flickering like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to stay lit. The motel itself was run-down—cracked pavement, faded paint, a vending machine that looked like it hadn’t worked since the nineties. But right now, it might as well have been a five-star resort.

Hunter killed the engine and shoved open his door. I hesitated, my fingers curling around the seat belt like it was some kind of lifeline.

“It’s safe,” he said, reading me too easily. “For now.”

Safe. I didn’t even know what that meant anymore.

I forced myself to follow him inside. The lobby smelled like stale coffee and cheap air freshener. A glass partition separated us from the night clerk—a bored-looking guy who barely glanced up as Hunter slid some cash across the counter. The clerk handed over two keys without asking for any sort of identification, obviously something that happened all the time.

Two keys.

Something in my chest loosened. At least I wasn’t going to have to spend the night with a complete stranger, even one who hadn’t done me any harm thus far.

We walked back outside, and Hunter stopped in front of a door, pressing one of the keys into my palm.

“Get inside. Take a shower, clean up. Try to get some rest.” His voice was calm but edged with something unreadable. “I’ll be back.”

I stared at him. “Where are you going?”

“There are things I need to handle.”

That wasn’t an answer, but I didn’t have the energy to push.

Once I shut and locked the door behind me, the silence pressed in.

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