Page 17 of Wild River

“Nope.” Lots to think about.

Like the fact that I ran away from my own wedding today. Like the fact that my family is probably hunting me through these mountains; the fact that I need to start a whole new life under a new name, starting over from scratch, and that would be hard enough even if my brain could focus on anything except this mountain man.

Was I not good at… that stuff?

Does he regret touching me altogether?

If I’d been better, more experienced or whatever, would he have wanted to keep going? Would I be on Jake’s lap right now, cradled against his strong chest?

My stomach twists miserably.

“Okay.” Jake puts a piece of radio down with a quiet thunk. “Something’s wrong. We’re gonna talk about this, sweetheart.”

Um, no thank you. I’d rather stuff one of these sofa cushions in my mouth and chew my way through the whole thing.

“Talk about what?” I say brightly.

Jake gives me a flat look, his hands braced on his knees. He’s still in sweatpants, and god, the way his strong thighs press against the fabric… it’s very distracting. So unfair.

“Becca,” he says, faint warning in his tone. A delighted shiver runs up my spine, but I shift on the sofa and ignore it. That’s not for me. I won’t ever get to explore this man’s deliciously stern side.

He doesn’t want me like that.

Sigh.

“So, a radio, huh?” I nod at the parts spread over the coffee table. The rest of the cabin is lit by lamplight, while stars glitter through a skylight above. The other curtains are drawn, closing us in together away from the world. “That’s old school.”

Jake scrubs a hand down his face, closing his eyes for a long moment.

“Becca.”

“Could you put any of your gadgets back together?”

“Becca, listen—”

A sharp knock on the door cuts through the quiet.

I go rigid on the sofa, arms locked around my knees. Fear spreads like ice through my veins, and my gut hollows out with dread.

It’s them. Surely it’s them.

My family has found me.

By the coffee table, Jake launches to his feet and jerks his chin at the bedroom door. His eyes are wide, his movements jerky, like this is his worst nightmare too.

“Go,” Jake hisses under his breath, and finally, my brain thunks back into gear. My limbs are stiff as they unfold, and pins and needles shoot up my legs as I stumble to my feet. I wince as I hurry across the cabin to the bedroom, because even when I try my best to be quiet, my steps seem so loud in the silent cabin. Can whoever is out there hear me?

Jake’s bedroom is dark and cool, and it smells like wood and fresh basil. The curtains are open, with stars glittering out there, but there are no dark shapes by the glass, thank god.

I shut myself away in the bedroom, then squat down where someone at the window couldn’t see me past the bed. Heart thumping, I press my ear to the crack in the door frame.

Jake’s low voice rumbles through the cabin, and at first my brain is too slow to follow what he’s saying. Then another man speaks, and even though we only met a couple times, Iknowthat voice. The air empties out of my chest.

Tristan Peters.

My would-be groom.

He’s speaking in a low voice too, but I catch my own name. A description of what I look like.Red hair, green eyes, wearing a white dress. Somewhat pretty.

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