His Runaway Mountain Bride by Madison Faye

“Here, hold this to it.”

Rowan frowned as he handed a handful of snow wrapped in a dishtowel to the dark-haired guy he’d cold-cocked.

“Thanks, ya fookin’ prick,” the guy muttered in his thick cockney British accent.

“Knock next time, douchebag,” Rowan muttered.

I still had my arms around my brother, who I hadn’t seen in over a freaking year, and I gave him a big squeeze before finally letting him go. Shepherd grinned at me.

“Hey, Goose.”

I rolled my eyes at the childhood nickname as he stomped snow off his boots and kicked them off before hanging up his jacket. He checked his gun and put the safety on before he walked over and set it down on the little kitchen table.

“Nice place you guys got here,” Shepherd muttered dryly. “Really great little romantic getaway, Rowan. Glad my sister is in good hands.”

As if on cue, a corner of the roof started to drip into the bucket we’d set up under the spot.

“Thought you said she’d left his arse,” the British guy mumbled, pulling the snowpack away to rub the lump on the back of his head. He was a good-looking guy—tall, built, with dark hair, blue eyes, and this swarthy almost pirate look to him.

“If you’re looking for a matching bump to the front of your head, keep talking,” Rowan growled. He turned to Shep, and the two of them locked eyes.

“Been a while, man.”

“More than a while,” Rowan muttered back.

Slowly, Shepherd grinned and walked towards him. Rowan held a hand out, but Shep gave me a look and rolled his eyes before he suddenly grabbed Rowan into a big bear hug.

“Good to see you, buddy.”

Rowan smiled back. “Same, man. Where the hell have you been, anyways?”

“Where have you been?” I muttered. I’d only gotten a handful of emails and a few vague, quick phone calls from him over the last year. I had no idea when the last time he and Rowan had been in the same room together or talked, but I was guessing it was before I’d left.

“Places,” Shep answered giving nothing away.

“Places,” Rowan said dryly.

“Yeah, places. Doing stuff.”

I frowned. “Stuff like…?”

“Stuff like the kind of stuff I’m not going to openly discuss with the fucking FBI agent in the room.” He shrugged and glanced at Rowan. “No offense.”

Rowan just arched his brows and turned back to the mysterious Englishman.

“So who the fuck are you?”

The guy on the floor made a face and glanced past Rowan at Shepherd. “Is he always this much of an arse?”

“Only to dumb pricks who barge in on me when I’m carrying without knocking,” Rowan growled. “You know I could have shot you.”

“Quite happy that you didn’t.” The guy stood, wincing and rubbing his head again before he stuck his hand out. “Oliver.”

“Rowan,” he muttered in return, shaking Oliver’s hand.

“The sister-fucker, yeah, I know.”

I turned and shot a dirty look at Shepherd who grinned sheepishly.

“I mean, technically…”

“You’re a child,” I muttered back.

“And you two are back together, I see?”

“It’s complicated,” Rowan said quietly.

“Complicated like a romantic getaway to an off-the-grid mountain cabin?”

“We’re actually lying low, Shep,” I said, glancing at Rowan. “No one said anything about romantic.”

“No, but there’s one bed in this place and it does not look very un-used,” Shepherd grinned, nodding at the extremely messy bed where Rowan and I had spent the vast majority of the past few days fucking like rabbits.

“And are those… oh my virgin eyes.”

I followed Shepherd’s eye and physically cringed when I noticed the handcuffs still cuffed to the headboard, along with a pair of my panties hooked over the bed post.

Shepherd chuckled and glanced at Rowan. “We’re all adults so I’ll let that slide.”

“And also, she’s my wife.”

“That might be more of a technicality than a fact at this point, pal,” he shot back. “Unless you two really are rekindling the ole’ spark?”

Neither of us said anything, but when I glanced at Rowan, I couldn’t even remotely stop the grin that spread over my lips, or the blush that followed. Obviously, Shepherd spotted it instantly.

“Well well well,” he nodded, scratching jaw. “Well then, congrats, you kids.”

I was about to tell him to stop being a weirdo, when suddenly a thought that I’d had in my head since the second he walked in pushed its way to the foreground. But Shep opened his mouth first, cutting me off.

“And hold up, go back to the part where you’re lying low?”

“Hang on,” I frowned, interrupting him. “How the hell did you know I was here?”

Oliver chuckled and my brother shrugged. “The last time I saw you, I installed a tracker on your phone.”

My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Shep rolled his eyes. “You know what, Goose? My sister is a professional thief who works for all sorts of shitty, bad people. Fuck me for wanting a way to know where she is or if she’s okay once in a while.”

“You know you can just call, right?” I muttered.

“But then how would I sneak up on you hiding out in cabins?”

Rowan frowned. “Did you both honestly come all the way up here to the middle of fucking nowhere on a mountain top just to be funny?”

The smile faded from Shep’s face, and he and Oliver glanced at each other.

“Not exactly, no,” he said quietly as his mood shifted to something far more serious looking. “I happened to check in on your phone and saw you were here at Blackthorn Mountain, which is fucking weird because I was already on my way here.”

I frowned. “For what?”

Shep leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m looking for someone. Well, a few someones, but I got word that at least this one guy is up here too. Guy named Ryker?”

I swallowed, and Rowan and I glanced at each other.

“Wait, is he here?”

“Maybe,” Rowan said. “But all due respect, the people that come here tend to come here to not be found.”

“He’s gonna want to hear what we have to say, mate,” Oliver growled.

“And what do you have to say?” I asked quietly.

My brother’s jaw tightened. “I think we found a friend of his he thinks is dead.”