Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
I hated to admit it. My a*s was lost.
The fog was coming in thick, and it looked like I’d be sleeping outside until it cleared and could find my way back to the road.
I should’ve known better than to go hiking out here without a compass.
What was I thinking?
When I started out a couple of hours ago, the thick mist crept over the top of the mountains, like any other day.
Then the sea smoke rolled in.
Now here I was scaling one of many steep mountain slopes of this deserted heart of the Lost Coast, hardly knowing which side was up.
The forest duff smell rose from beneath my hiking boots: fungus, fir needles, moisture. As if to remind me, out here, humans were of little consequence. Moisture had become so dense in the air that droplets fell like rain from the leaves every time they were rustled by a slight breeze. Great, now I was getting wet, which meant being cold on top of lost. My glutes were aching from the steep climb. One good thing about hiking in the winter, less brush and stinging nettles to contend with.
Who was I kidding? Stinging nettles didn’t stand a chance against Captain Hook, my artificial arm.
When I first had it blown off I figured people would look at me, and only see my disfigurement. There low points when it was hard to convince myself the life I wanted wasn’t over.
I lifted the beauty up to admire. No use in gussying her up to look like a fake hand with a silicone sleeve.
She had nothing to hide.
My hook was made of titanium, which sounded cool.
Suddenly, an unmistakable odor shocked me dead still in my tracks, and I had to gulp it in through my nostrils to prove to myself it was true.
Wood smoke.
Now the question was, would the fire maker be friend or foe?
There were few smells in life so evocative as a wood fire. Like the smell of bacon to a hungry man, the promise of the fire’s warmth teasingly appealed to my chilly extremities. I could think of only one thing more enticing—a woman’s smile. But on a cold evening like this, with darkness soon descending, the creature comfort promised by a fire beat out feminine charm by a mile.
Truth be told, out here I was more likely to run into a redneck with a firearm pointed at my head than the fairer s*x. And heck, I’d even find that enticing if it meant finding a place to stay for the night.
My background gave me the skills to talk my way out of a dangerous scenario, but hypothermia was another story. Not to mention the mountain lions or other predators that hunted at night. My mind was working overtime about finding shelter from this chill.
They called it “socked in” for a reason; I may as well have worn a giant sock over my head, the visibility was so bad. I was following a smoke-scented trail while nearly blinded by the cloud cover. The spongy crunch of dead fir needles and twigs underfoot was the only sound as I moved forward. That smell could save me from having to spend a deadly night outdoors, waiting for the fog to disperse. There was no way I could make it back to my truck.
It was time to bite the bullet and find the source of the smoke.
The first thing I nearly ran into, was a beautifully carved handrail—where it led wasn’t clear in the fog, but I took my chances. From the top of the walkway, I could see a two-story house in the trees with huge windows all around the upper and lower floors, glowing amber color on the inside. Arriving at the top, I stood on a wrap-around deck, which hugged the hide away home in the trees. As I made my way closer to the home, the sight before me ceased all thoughts about fog.
For a long moment, I felt as if I were floating, and then the sensation was pounded away by the thudding of my heart. Suddenly, I was pure animal, reminded of the ever-present need to f**k.
