Page 1 of Bunker Down, Baby

Chapter One

Maple

If my daddy taught me anything, it was to be prepared for the worst.Shit’s always gonna go sideways, baby girl, he’d say.So you gotta be ready.

Raising me was one thing he wasn’t ready for.

Never saw Mama leaving coming.

Won’t make that mistake again,he’d said.

So together, we learned. How to handle anything. How to plan for everything.

He bought land, big land, way the hell out in the country, where no one could tell us what we could or couldn’t do. Out here, there’s no HOA bitching about roosters crowing too early or the color of your damn fence. Not that my fence is tacky. I may be able to field-dress a deer and build a solar array from scratch, but I’ve still got taste.

I think Daddy would be proud of what I’ve built.

Of how I’ve upgraded.

More generators. More wells. Solar. Wind backup. Shelves stocked with enough food to last years, every can and bag carefully rotated.

Because the world is about to go to hell. You can feel it. Like the way Daddy used to predict storms from the ache in his joints.

I’m almost ready.

I’ve spent years prepping for this, planning, refining, making sure every detail is perfect. And I’ve finally found the last thing I need.

People.

The right people.

It wasn’t easy vetting them. There were so many dead ends, so many disappointments, but I kept at it. Because the right ones are worth the effort. The ones who won’t crack under pressure. The ones who bring something useful to the table.

And if they just so happen to be easy on the eyes, well.

That’s a bonus.

Now, all that’s left is to collect them.

I’ve been studying these men for almost a year now. Tracking them, watching their habits, learning their weaknesses. It’s necessary.

And Evan, Doctor Evan Wolfe, is going to be the first.

The easiest, on the surface. The most logical choice. Also, let’s be honest, if shit hits the fan before I have them all, the first thing people scream for is a doctor. And Evan? Oh, Evan isn’t just any doctor.

He’s not some cushy family physician handing out antibiotics for ear infections, and he’s definitely not one of those overpaid specialists who work three days a week and golf the rest. No, Evan is an ER doctor. A trauma doctor. A life-saving, adrenaline-junkie, stitches-you-up-with-blood-on-his-hands kind of doctor.

I’ve watched him work twenty-four-hour shifts, running on nothing but caffeine and sheer willpower. I’ve seen him bring a guy back from the dead in the fucking hallway when the ER was so slammed there weren’t even beds left.

The man is brilliant.

And beautiful.

Not in the way most people are. It’s almost accidental. Like he has no clue that a woman would literally throw herself down a flight of stairs just to get his attention.

And for someone so hyper-focused at work? He’s shockingly careless at home.

Doesn’t check his surroundings when he walks to his mailbox. Never once glances at the dark spaces between parked cars. I could be anywhere, watching, waiting.

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