Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(5)

I stomped into the forest, heading onto a half-overgrown path. The clear night stars shone overhead, complemented by a huge summer moon. A walk would clear my head, take the edge off his stupid comments. I'd return in an hour or two and go from there, depending on how I felt.

I knew Becky would be screwing around with Tim Yates for a few more hours. I expected to stumble across her in some corner of the forest, rolling in the dirt with her latest dirty talking pump and dump crush.

They never lasted long. I could say the same, and the old Meg would've just shut up and went along with Crawford for the night, if only he were a better kisser.

I hated getting older. Thinking about my career, my family, finding my future husband just brought more anxiety. But nothing made me more anxious than thinking about the party lifestyle forever.

I couldn't creep toward thirty still acting like I was twenty-one. No f*cking way.

When I came into a cool, dark clearing, I stopped to admire the view. The moonlight came down through the break in the trees. I walked over to the smoothest mountain boulder and sat, feeling the dew veil against my legs.

God, what a beautiful night. So, why was it becoming so ugly?

Soft, transparent mist swirled low on the ground. They didn't call them the Smoky Mountains for nothing.

I was busy focusing on the beauty when I heard something snap nearby. I spun and saw a figure coming through the darkness. Figuring it was Crawford, I bolted up, folding my arms, ready to hear his pathetic apologies.

“Look, before you start, I'm not in the mood for excuses.”

“Excuses? My, my, girl. I'd say you're right out of a dream, standing here in the dark up in these mountains, but you're too angry to be a fantasy.” His voice was older, too arrogant and gravely to be Craw's.

I whipped around and faced a tall, rugged looking man with a cap pulled tight over his eyes. He wore tight jeans and an open shirt. He looked like he'd just wandered out of a lumber mill or something.

Great. Running into weirdos up here in the boonies was exactly what I needed.

“Sorry. I...I thought you were somebody else.” I looked him up and down, sizing him up. “What're you doing out here?”

He smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same thing. Seems you've gone a long way from the party happening down by the springs.”

Crap. How did he know? We must've been really noisy, or else he just knew his turf that well.

Better than me, if I had to run.

Shuffling my feet uncomfortably, I tried not to think about how f*cked I really was. I didn't know this man, nor his intentions.

Nobody except Crawford knew I'd run off – and knowing how much of a bitter wimp he was, he wouldn't be coming to my rescue. I could only hold my ground, and hope to God this was just some eccentric mountain man wanting to make friendly conversation.

“Too noisy for me,” I lied. “I wanted to get away and enjoy the forest beauty while I'm up here. I don't get out to the Smokies as often as I'd like.”

His thin smile widened, and he took a step closer. I was about to bolt when he flopped down on the boulder next to me, spreading his arms wide, staring up at the sky.

“It's a gorgeous f*cking night, ain't it? My name's Richard, by the way.” He tilted his head up and shot me a wink. He reached into his pocket.

I couldn't help but smile and feel a little more ease creep in when he drew out a small silver flask.

“Care for a swig? It's our very own moonshine. My grandpa's recipe.”

I shook my head. Okay, maybe he wasn't the danger I'd feared at first.

Just a big, drunken mountain goof. I hoped. I'd seen his type before out hiking, and they never did any harm.

Friendly or not, there was no way I'd share a flask with a stranger.

“Suit yourself, princess.” He popped the cap and took a long pull, then emptied the rest on the ground. “I was bullshitting you about the moonshine. It's just plain ol' Jack.”

“Decent choice. Do you come here often, or maybe live nearby?” I decided to make small talk, taking my place several rocks away, fixing my eyes on the same distant stares filling his eyes.

“I'm a hiker. Nothing builds a man up like a bull better than taking these mountains one step at a time. It's always an adventure up here. You ever see the abandoned ghost towns tucked back in these mountains? People worked and lived and died in these parts for generations before they flew the coop, leaving their homes and a few old tractors behind. There's something charming about that. It takes you back, away from all this shit in our lives, you know? Simpler times. I like 'em.”

I nodded glumly. Redneck or not, he was nice, and eerily in touch with my own feelings tonight.

Just then, I'd have given anything to get away from all my frustrations. Sure, I could hop a flight to Europe or the Caribbean next week, like I'd done on my summers off from college, but those getaways never lasted forever.

“Tell me more about your adventures again. Sometimes I think I could use some of that.”

He tucked the flask back in his pocket, then sat up and smiled. “I do a lot of trucking when I'm away from home. It's hell half the time, honestly, driving down the Florida panhandle or all the way out to Cali-f*cking-fornia with some boss riding my ass. But there's always a new experience every route, and that's what keeps me working more than just the money. New faces, new things, new thrills. You haven't been living 'til you've been through Wyoming in the winter and almost felt the wind blow your rig over.”