Page 5 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
"I think we need to start over." He pours a finger of amber liquid into each glass and slides one toward me. "I'm Mason Walsh. I help people work through trauma for a living. And I think you need somewhere safe to stay a hell of a lot more than I need to be alone this Christmas."
Relief floods through me so intensely that tears spring to my eyes. I blink them back quickly.
"Destiny Brooks," I reply, raising my glass in a small toast. "Elementary school teacher. Currently between jobs. And yes, I could really use somewhere safe."
We drink, the whiskey burning a warm path down my throat.
"So what's the plan now?" I ask.
"First, we figure out who's been circling my property." His voice has a dangerous edge that sends a shiver down my spine. Not from fear, quite the opposite. There's something incredibly appealing about this man's quiet protectiveness.
"Then what?"
Mason meets my eyes, and for the first time, I see a hint of a smile. "Then we convince everyone in town that we're madly in love and planning to get married. Should keep your ex guessing long enough for us to figure out a more permanent solution."
"You'd do that? For a complete stranger?"
His expression softens. "You're not exactly a stranger anymore, Destiny. You cleaned my kitchen and made me soup. In my family, that practically makes us engaged already."
I laugh, genuinely laugh, for what feels like the first time in months.
"So we're really doing this?" I ask, hardly daring to hope. "Pretending this match worked and we got engaged?"
"Unless you have a better plan?" Mason raises an eyebrow.
I shake my head, a strange mix of relief and anticipation bubbling in my chest. "Pretending to be engaged to a handsome mountain man therapist? I can think of worse fates."
Mason's cheeks color slightly at "handsome," and I file that reaction away for future reference. So the stoic therapist can be flustered. Interesting.
"One condition," he says, suddenly serious again. "No more lies between us. If we're going to pull this off, I need to know exactly what we're dealing with."
I take a deep breath. "Deal. But it's not a pretty story."
"Few worth telling are." He refills our glasses. "Take your time."
As the winter night settles around the cabin, I tell Mason everything, about Greg, about the escalating abuse, about my desperate flight across three states. He listens without interruption, his face growing harder with each revelation, but his eyes remain soft when they meet mine.
When I finally finish, Mason doesn't offer empty platitudes or unwanted advice. He simply reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand.
"You're safe here," he says, and somehow, I believe him. "I promise."
Something warm unfurls in my chest, something I thought Greg had killed forever. Hope, maybe. Or the beginning of trust.
Either way, as I look into Mason's steady blue eyes, I know I've found exactly where I need to be this Christmas, even if it's not for the reasons I expected.
CHAPTER THREE
MASON
Morning sunlight filters through the frost-covered windows, casting golden patterns across my kitchen floor. I haven't slept well. My mind kept replaying Destiny's story, imagining what she endured at the hands of a man who was supposed to protect her.
The quiet padding of feet on hardwood announces her before she appears in the doorway. Her blonde curls are sleep-tousled, her face makeup-free. The bruise around her eye has darkened overnight, the swelling slightly worse.
"Morning," she says with a cautious smile. "Please tell me that's coffee I smell."
I pour her a cup and slide it across the counter. "Sleep okay?"
"Best night's sleep in weeks." She wraps her hands around the mug, inhaling the steam. "Turns out not fearing for your safety does wonders for insomnia."
