Page 24 of Christmas With The Broken Mountain Man
"Because your name isn't on any property here, but mine is." Mason runs a hand through his hair. "He's trying to confirm if you're staying with me."
Cold fear trickles down my spine. "Did they tell him anything?"
"No. Property records are public, but Tom warned the clerk not to give out personal information." Mason takes my hand across the table. "But it means he's getting desperate, which makes him dangerous."
I pull my hand away, standing abruptly. "This is exactly what I was afraid of. He won't stop, Mason. And now he's focusing on you."
"Let him." Mason's voice is hard with conviction. "I'm not afraid of him."
"You should be." My voice rises with panic. "You don't know what he's like when he doesn't get his way. The things he'll do."
"Then tell me." Mason stands too, coming around the table to grasp my shoulders gently. "Help me understand what we're dealing with."
I take a shuddering breath, fighting the instinct to run, to protect myself through isolation as I've done for months. Mason deserves the whole truth if he's going to put himself at risk for me.
"It's not just the physical abuse," I begin, the words coming haltingly. "Greg is... methodical. When we first started dating, he was charming, attentive. The perfect boyfriend. But looking back, I can see he was cataloging everything about me, my friends, my routines, my weaknesses."
Mason leads me to the couch, sitting close enough that I feel his warmth but not crowding me.
"The isolation happened so gradually I barely noticed," I continue. "First it was innocent comments about my friends. 'Don't you think she's using you?' 'He seems to have a crush on you.' Then suddenly, I had no one left except him."
My hands tremble as memories surface. Mason covers them with his own, anchoring me to the present.
"The first time he hit me, I was so shocked I couldn't even cry. It was over something trivial, I was ten minutes late coming home from work. He apologized immediately, crying, promising it would never happen again. And I believed him because I wanted to."
"It's not your fault," Mason says softly. "Abusers are experts at manipulation."
"I know that now." I meet his eyes, needing him to understand the next part. "But it's what happened after that really scares me. When I finally tried to leave, after the broken wrist, he... changed. Became eerily calm. Said if he couldn't have me, no one would."
Mason's hand tightens on mine.
"He has this network of people who owe him favors, cops, private investigators, former students who worship him. He uses them to track down anyone who crosses him. There was another teacher before me, Eliza. She filed harassment charges against him and suddenly found herself under investigation for inappropriate conduct with a student. She lost her job, her reputation. Had to move across the country."
"That's why you're so afraid to go to the police," Mason realizes.
I nod. "His brother is a detective. His college roommate is the superintendent. And that's just in San Diego. For all I know, he has connections here too."
"Not in Whisper Vale," Mason says firmly. "Tom's been sheriff here for twenty years. He'd spot an outsider trying to exert influence a mile away."
"But—”
"Listen to me." Mason cups my face in his hands. "I'm not dismissing your concerns. What you're telling me is serious, and we'll take every precaution. But I need you to believe me when I say you're not alone in this fight anymore."
Tears well in my eyes. "I'm so tired of being afraid, Mason."
"I know, baby." He pulls me into his arms, and I go willingly, burying my face against his shoulder. "We'll figure this out, I promise."
As he holds me, stroking my hair, I allow myself to hope for the first time in months. Maybe, just maybe, with Mason by my side, I can stop running. Maybe I can start living again.
The rest of the day passes in tense vigilance. Mason makes calls, arranging for additional security measures, motion sensors, upgraded locks, a direct alarm to the sheriff's office. I bake obsessively, working through my anxiety with flour and sugar.
By evening, the cabin smells like cookies and fresh bread, and Mason has transformed it into a miniature fortress.
"You realize we have enough baked goods to feed the entire town," he comments, stealing a still-warm chocolate chip cookie from the cooling rack.
"Sorry. It's how I cope with stress." I brush flour from my cheek. "My grandmother always said idle hands make room for worry."
"Smart woman." Mason comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. "But maybe take a break? You've been on your feet all day."
