Ruby and the huntsman ha.., p.1
Ruby and the Huntsman (Happily Ever After Mountain Book 4), page 1
Ruby and the Huntsman
________________________
Happily Ever After Mountain
Cassi Hart
Published by: Cheeky Publishing LLC
First Edition
Copyright © 2023 Cassi Hart– All rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners. For any permission requests email cassi@cassihartromance.com
***
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Free Book for You
Be the first to know about new releases, join my list.
Dedicated to my love of the woods, nature, and the burly woodsmen that occupy them. You’ll forever have my heart. Thank you for your support, enjoy!
Contents:
Free Book for You
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Epilogue
Up Next…
Other Books by Cassi
Free Book
About the Author
Chapter 1
Ruby
The first crack of thunder makes me jump. What little I can see of the sky up above the dense trees is getting steadily darker. Thick, angry clouds roll past the treetops. It seems like whether I turn back now or not, those clouds are going to open up on me. Tugging my thermal hoodie closer around me, I hoist my heavy backpack full of my equipment, hunch down against the wind and keep going.
To say that money is tight these days is an understatement. My parents died in an accident when I was twelve, but they left me a small amount of money for my future. Last year, after I graduated high school, I had to make the choice between college or rolling the dice on opening my bakery.
There’s not much I love more than kneading fresh bread dough or carefully lacing strips of crust on top of a pie. Seeing someone’s face light up when they take their first bite of something I made makes me happier than anything else in the world. It’s no surprise that the bakery won.
The people in our tiny village rave about my goods and I have regular customers, but it’s winter now. No tourists pass through so there’s less business for all of us. So, when I learned that a prestigious culinary contest was coming to the next town over and that it had a pastry division, I jumped at the chance to enter. The entry fee was steep, but I can handle being broke for a few weeks. If I win, there’s a huge cash prize, not to mention all the media exposure this could bring.
A fresh gust of wind blasts down the trail, making me shiver against this unwanted kind of exposure. It was bad luck that my car crapped out this morning. Walking from my grandma’s house to the shop isn’t that far, but the next town is almost impossible because you have to go around miles of the vast forest that surrounds our village. I didn’t really have a choice, though, so now I’m here.
At the fork in the trail, I feel a twinge of fear and pause. Maybe it’s just nerves about the contest. Maybe it’s all the old local gossip about a psychopath living deep in these woods, way past the trail. Years ago, a woman who was passing through town went missing, never to be seen again. Everyone around here blames it on that mysterious woodsman. Even so, I’m more worried about the four-legged creatures right now, especially when I hear a distant, mournful howl.
If I don’t hurry, I won’t have enough time to set up and get my pie crust made and my fruit macerating. It has to chill overnight for all the flavors to come together. There’s a good chance I can win this contest and my bakery needs the publicity, not to mention that fat cash prize. If I turn back because my heart is racing over spooky old stories, I’ll never forgive myself.
Despite the rain that begins to reach me through the canopy of trees, I strike out in what I think is the right direction. My phone refuses to accept I’m really where I’m at, probably because I’m between towns. Cell signal can get dicey out here. The roiling clouds above are probably not helping.
Without lights to guide me, it’s slow going. I lost my footing several times, nearly toppling under my weighty backpack. A chill trickles down my spine. Do those howls seem closer? My grandma would kill me if she knew what I was up to—she fears these woods as much as any of our village old-timers. Hopefully the woods won’t steal her chance and beat her to it.
It’s dangerous to run through the tangled undergrowth but my fear and the cold rain make my feet move faster. I have to dodge low hanging branches, jump over roots, and soon, it’s so dark from the storm I can barely see five feet in front of me.
It’s time to admit I’m hopelessly lost.
Another crack of thunder sounds directly above me, and a flash of lighting almost blinds me. For a split second I see nothing but endless trees and then—movement several yards away. Close enough to pounce on me and gobble me up. My heart is about to climb out of my throat, and I tear aimlessly away from that rustle in the trees, hoping the snarls I hear are just my imagination.
At a sudden clearing, I stop dead, my shriek of terror drowned out by more thunder. The lightning illuminates three lanky wolves at the other side. I jump back out of the clearing but they’ve already seen me. I can hear their snapping jaws. Crouching down behind a fallen log, every muscle in my body stiffens, awaiting the tearing claws and teeth.
I’m sorry, Gran.
Another sound rips through the raging storm, sharper and louder than the thunder. Incredibly, the wolves whine anxiously. They’re leaving!
But the next bolt of lightning shows me something far worse than simple wolves. It was all true, everything they said.
The silhouette of a big, burly man lopes steadily towards me, the outline of his shotgun lit up by the lightning. I’m plunged into darkness again, unable to move. He looms over my head, reaching for me. I have no breath left, but I manage to fling myself away from him, crashing into a tree in my panic.
Everything goes black.
Chapter 2
Sawyer
Damn it. The storm seems to be picking up in intensity. I don’t mind a little drizzle when I’m checking my traps or nets in the river, or even when I’m harvesting from my small garden or checking my solar panels, but now I’m cursing myself for heading out so far from the cabin. The traps nearby turned up empty, so my hunger got the best of me. The ones further out are empty too. I’m going to be drenched as well as have a miserable supper.
Of course, there’s the restaurant in the village. A new bakery too. And a grocery store. But I’ve never been inside any of them. Mr. Jacobs, who runs the grocery store, always meets me outback with my monthly order of flour, rice, and other necessities I can’t grow myself in exchange for fresh game and whatever vegetables I can spare during the summer months. He’s a grouchy old codger, but he doesn’t ask any questions and I don’t think he talks about me.
Not that I care what anyone in that village says. I don’t need any of them. At least that’s what I tell myself. Lately I’ve been wondering if there isn’t something missing from my quiet, peaceful life. I never used to think so, but the past few months I’ve grown restless.
I hear the local wolves getting a bit too close and take a quick detour to scare them off, so my chickens aren’t squawking all night, fearing for their lives. One near miss with my shotgun scares them back to their own territory, but I see something—no, someone—cowering behind a tree trunk when the lightning brightens the clearing.
Who the hell is way out here at all, let alone in this weather? A damn fool, that’s who.
I move closer. They’re way off the trail. Wherever they think they’re going, they won’t find it. There’s nothing out this way except my cabin.
And I don’t get visitors.
But I can’t let them drown out here, either. I trudge through the small river surging along the path due to the downpour. All of a sudden, there’s a flurry of motion. Damn it. Between the wolves, the storm, and the gunshot, they must have gotten spooked as hell. There’s no other reason to take off in a panic like that. Right smack into a tree. I race forward to drag them out of the puddle they land in and freeze.
She’s fucking gorgeous. Pale and sodden with rain, but ethereal. My eyes travel down her lush body, glazing at the sight of her curves. A crack of thunder brings me to my senses. I pull her up into my arms and hurry back to my cabin to get us both out of the rain.
Her heavy backpack slows my steps, but soon we’re inside. I set her on the couch, pull off her soaked red sweatshirt, and wrap her up in the blanket from my bed. Her backpack clanks on the ground when I set it aside, as if it’s full of metal objects, but I don’t snoop. I’m more curious about her.
As her hair dries, the golden-brown strands begin to curl around her
delicate cheekbones. Full lips part as she murmurs in her sleep. Her voice is soft, like I imagine her skin to be. I long to push away the blanket to see more of that creamy skin. In fact, my hand is moving to do just that when her long lashes flutter and her eyes fly open. They’re deep and dark and endless, just like my forest.
Her mesmerizing brown eyes widen with fear. She’s clearly shocked. She must be from the village. She’ll have heard the rumors. Her fear increases my irritation that she got lost and could have gotten herself killed.
“Who are you? And what in the hell are you doing out here in weather like this?” I snap, before wincing. I wish I could take my angry tone back, because I still want to stroke that smooth skin of hers. I force a smile onto my face, creaky and out of practice. I’m sure it looks more like the wolves’ snarls. “If I hadn’t been passing by …”
She nods and swallows, licks her full lips. My whole body tightens.
“I’m Ruby. I got lost,” she says, her voice rough. “I think I took the wrong turn on the trail. My phone lost reception, and then the rain started.”
“And then the wolves,” I finish for her, getting up to make her some tea.
She shivers and pulls the blanket tight around her shoulders. “Um, who are you?”
She fears me more than the creatures who would be gnawing her bones clean by now. I shake my head and try not to feel bitter. I chose this life, the only one I know.
“Sawyer,” is all I say, still more gruffly than I should be. She unnerves me, makes me want things I can usually push to the side.
“I’ve never seen you in the village,” she says, sitting up.
“That’s because I don’t go into the village.”
I hand her the tea and she takes a sip, smiling for the first time. I’m nearly knocked on my ass at the sight of her dimple. Now it’s my only goal in life to keep making her smile.
She compliments the tea and I explain I dry my homegrown herbs and grind them to make it. She seems impressed at the simple thing and if it weren’t still pouring outside, I’d show her my garden. Wouldn’t it be nice to show off my accomplishments for once?
“Enough about me,” I say, shaking off the daydream. “Why were you so far out here in the first place?”
She suddenly seems to realize something and tries to jump up, before grabbing the bump on her head and sinking back down. I hurry to her side and help her sit once more.
“The contest!” she wails. “I just opened a bakery in town, and I really need to get there and sign in, start making the pie crust, prepping fruit … Oh my gosh, that prize is going to keep me from going broke this winter.”
“Is that what’s in your backpack?” I ask. “Baking supplies?”
She reaches out and touches my hand. Electricity shoots through my body. She must feel it too, because she quickly pulls away, casting her eyes down as her cheeks turn pink.
“You brought my pack here? Oh, thank you. It would have been so expensive to replace everything.” Once again, she tries to get off the couch, this time reaching for her sodden hoodie. “Can you just point me in the right direction? I really have to get to that contest.”
I reluctantly leave her side and pull open the curtain to reveal the darkness of night and an endless gush of rain. “You were out for a while,” I say. “There’s no way you can leave now. It’s too dark.”
Tears spring to her eyes and I want to console her, but then fear overtakes her disappointment. Horror that she must stay any longer with me. Doesn’t she remember the electricity that passed between us just a moment ago? I must erase that fear, because I want …
So much.
I must make her see I’m not the monster in the woods.
“Are you hungry?” I ask. “And Christ, you’re still soaked. Let me get you something to change into.”
I help her stand up and lead her to the bathroom. She’s timid, pulling away but leaning on me at the same time. The warmth of her body lights me up like a bonfire and my hands itch to pull her tight to me.
She scowls at her image in my cracked bathroom mirror, lightly touching the bump on her forehead.
“You’re beautiful,” I blurt. Then want to die.
But she smiles at me again, her eyes searching my face. What is she thinking?
“Thanks,” she says, cheeks pink again. “Um, you’re not so bad yourself.”
I gently touch her bruise, then trail my finger down her jaw. As soft as I imagined. And now that I know for sure I want to touch more of her. My cock twitches and I turn away to get her some dry clothes. I leave the room while she changes and begin our dinner. I want to impress her, but the traps have been empty for days now. I manage a salad and cut up squash to make soup when she comes out wearing my oversized, ancient flannel shirt and baggy sweatpants. The clothes devour her small body but do nothing to hide how sexy she is. Her face is mournful, and I remember the contest she’s missing. It seems life is hard even for the villagers who seem to have everything at their fingertips.
She offers to help, and I give her some carrots to chop. “Where do you get all these veggies if you don’t go into the village?”
I snort a laugh. “You know that vegetables don’t come from trucks, right? I grow them.”
She laughs along good-naturedly, and we begin a stilted conversation that soon becomes easy and even fun. It seems like I can speak to other people after all, not just grunt at Mr. Jacobs during our monthly bartering. And I like it? How is that possible?
It has to be because of Ruby, with her dimpled smiles and shining eyes.
As we sit down to eat our humble masterpiece, she reaches across the table to touch my hand. Another jolt passes through me, making my eyes hone in on her mouth, then drop to her pert tits, not at all hidden under my big shirt. I drag them back up again, not wanting to appear like a savage. But she sure makes me feel like one.
“I never thanked you for saving me,” she says, her lips moist. Kissable. Lickable. Like the rest of her. My cock swells under the table where she thankfully can’t see it.
“You don’t have to,” I reply.
“But I want to,” she whispers.
And she wants something else, too. The same thing I do. I nod, breaking from her gaze to dig into my soup before I lose control and reach across and pull her to me.
“Sounds like the rain is letting up,” she says after we eat in silence for a while.
A wolf howls in the distance. I’ve never been so happy to hear that sound. I shake my head. “Too dangerous to go out after dark, and the trail will be flooded anyway. Better to wait until morning.”
She nods, looking at her food, but there’s a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. The fact she’s not afraid of me anymore makes my heart soar, but a stabbing fear of my own soon follows. She’ll be gone in the morning, and I’ll never see her again. Why does that realization hurt so much? Is she that elusive thing that’s been missing from my life?
Chapter 3
Ruby
I never would have thought I could sleep here, alone with the man from the woods, but I do. Like a baby. When I wake, I smell the delicious herbal tea Sawyer gave me last night. I peek my head over the side of the couch, refusing to take his bed when he offered, and see him in the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl.
He can’t be the psychopath the villagers love talking about. He’s only my age, maybe a year or two older. The woman disappeared before I was even born. And he’s been nothing but kind to me. He rescued me from wolves!
His cabin is neat and tidy, and the fact he grows all his own food is highly impressive. I hear chickens squawking outside, which explains the eggs. He doesn’t notice me right away, so I keep staring at him for a minute.
Because he’s freaking gorgeous.
Tall and muscular—probably from chopping wood and all the other things he does to maintain this place by himself—with broad shoulders, pecs that can’t be contained under his flannel shirt, and his forearms ripple as he whisks the eggs. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and flops across a smooth brow, and his firm, full lips are set in adorable concentration. There’s nobody in the village who makes me have thoughts like Sawyer does. Or feelings. God, the feelings.
