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  Runaway

  Katie Cross

  RUNAWAY

  Contemporary Romance

  Fiction

  Text copyright 2021 by Katie Cross

  Any names, characters, places, events, incidents, similarities or resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or places, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author. For information regarding permission, send a query to the author at [email protected].

  * * *

  Visit www.katiecrossromance.com for more information about the author, updates, or new books.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  FIGHTER

  Do you want more great books?

  Also by Katie Cross

  About the Author

  To Ryker.

  For all your love, safety, and loyalty.

  * * *

  1

  Stella Marie

  Drizzling rain pattered my windshield as I stared at a two-story cabin built of wooden logs stacked on top of each other. Faded white lines lay between each log, making it look ancient. Rain stained the wood a darker shade of brown, and a little wisp of smoke rose above the chimney despite the moisture.

  Charming, if I wasn't so terrified the owner would kick me out as soon as he saw me.

  The longer I sat out here in my beater car that didn't even have a real license plate yet, the weirder this whole situation became.

  And it was already pretty weird.

  Still, there was one man that could help me, and that man both resented my existence and desperately needed it. He also proudly lived the life of a hermit in the mountains—I mean, who bragged about that?—and hated all details.

  Mark Bailey.

  That alone seemed pretty ridiculous, but so was this entire situation.

  A few more moments passed while I rallied my courage. In fact, I prepared myself like this every time I had to talk to Mark. I'd clutch the phone for a few minutes, think through every sentence that I had to say, and then hope that he didn't wander off on a list of ideas. Eventually, he would wander. That much was inevitable. He'd talk things out, and I'd have to pull him back to reality with the main points he'd called for anyway.

  Lately, he'd called a lot more often than usual.

  Today would be very different, however, because we'd be face-to-face for the first time. I stalled this inevitable confrontation while trying to picture what he looked like. Mark and I had always spoken on the phone. He called me out of the blue one day, declared his need for an accountant, and proceeded to tell me about every business venture he'd ever started. For a man that hated details, he had a mind like a steel trap.

  Plus, I'd seen his tax returns too many times. He was overly generous on charitable contributions to the point he sabotaged profit from his company. A bit of a bleeding heart, really.

  Blonde, I'd guess. He sounded nice enough on the phone, so probably straight-laced, with short hair like a businessman and crisp clothes. He was single, at least his tax returns weren't filed jointly, and had no other income besides his own. Slight of frame, maybe. Like Ryan Gosling?

  With a jolt, I shook my head. No, I had to stop assigning actors to everyone I met. It just . . . made people easier to approach.

  With a shove, I forced myself out of my little car and into the pounding rain. It slammed into my shoulders while I shut the car door, then skirted the edges of a dirt path filled with water. Mud squished under my shoes as I scuttled under an eave and forced myself to knock. The only thing that kept me moving was momentum. If I thought too hard about this, I'd just leave.

  Ten seconds after I knocked, the door flew open. Out of sheer nerves, my heart fell all the way to the pit of my stomach.

  Then I burst out laughing.

  A tall, broad-shouldered, bear of a man glowered at me. He had brown hair, almost black, that stuck up in odd angles from the back of his head. It was at odds with his hazel eyes in a lovely way. His beard hadn't been trimmed in days. He wore no shirt and gray sweatpants with a pair of flip-flops on his feet. My glance was quick, but he certainly wasn't slight or business-like in any sense of the word.

  A hibernating bear came to mind first. Hardly Ryan Gosling. Hardly what I always pictured on the other end of the phone. Somehow, though, this was better. First, who would mess with me if that scowl came to the door? Not Joshua. At least, I'd hoped not. For years I thought I knew Joshua, but the last few weeks had been revealing.

  Second, I could fit Mark's voice with this guy.

  This was a wild Mark Bailey.

  Quickly, I drown my amusement in the face of his dark annoyance. Now that I thought about it, this may not even be Mark. He spoke about a twin brother, JJ, often enough. Behind him was a warm-appearing cabin, with a snapping fire that let out heat. A trickle of rain ran down my back, and I shivered.

  “Are you lost?” he asked.

  “No, I . . . I'm looking for Mark Bailey.”

  His eyebrows lifted. When he said nothing more, I realized that was the only response I could expect.

  “Are you Mark?”

  He nodded. I rolled my lips to school my laugh. No, I couldn't laugh at him again. He'd hear the wild hysteria. The tinge of desperation and fear and uncertainty that belied everything in my life now. Then he'd turn me away.

  “I . . . I'm . . .”

  My name hovered on the end of my tongue. Stella Marie. Did I dare say Marie? I'd always run my accounting business through my middle name because I didn't want the world to know my first name. It felt too much like an invasion. The two names together may not clue him into my identity.

  But maybe the sound of my voice and the name Marie would get him thinking.

  In a perfect world, I'd get through this confrontation without him knowing me. Mark tried to hide it, but he ended every call frustrated. Didn't like when I curbed his wild ideas with sound financial sense. If there was one thing Mark felt like he didn't have, it was time. He was in a hurry for everything even though he was what, thirty-one? Two years older than me.

  Money didn't always run at the same speed as Mark, and that galled him to no end.

  “My name is Stella Marie,” I finally said.

  You are Stella Marie, grandma Marie always insisted. Not just Stella. Be proud of your heritage.

  His gaze tapered further.

  I swallowed a squeak of fear and the desire to ask if I could come inside. No, of course I shouldn't ask that. I wouldn't let me inside if I were him. He hadn't let go of the door, giving me unparalleled access to his abs. By sheer willpower, I kept my gaze on his face.

  “What are you doing here, Stella Marie?”

  “I need some help. I heard you might have a cabin to rent.”
>
  Confusion clouded his annoyance. “Who told you that?”

  No one, I thought. Just the hope deep in my heart and what I know of your world.

  “Oh, just driving through town.” I waved an airy hand in the vague direction that I thought Pineville would be. “I need a place to stay and I'm willing to pay cash. Maybe just for a month or so?”

  His brow furrowed.

  Please, I thought. Please don't care about these details. You never have before . . .

  “Who in town told you to come here?”

  Dagnabbit. Of course he had to ask questions now of all times. The conversation we'd had a few days ago when he said he wanted to start a ride-a-horse operation ran through my mind. He hadn't asked how much it cost to keep a horse alive or pay vet bills or bring hay into his canyon or any of that.

  No, he just found a horse he thought was handsome and wanted to try it out.

  Thankfully, I'd backed him out of the idea. He hadn't been happy at the time. Now he had to know who sent money his way? Mark needed money as desperately as I needed to disappear. Why didn't he take the offer?

  Perhaps he'd be deterred away from how I came to know him and focus on the dollars.

  “$500 a month for a small cabin? I can pay in advance if you want the cash now.”

  The money burned a hole in the back pocket of my jeans, but I didn't reach for it yet. He leaned against the doorframe instead, unbothered by the misty fall air that flowed past him into the cabin. No one else had stirred inside, and I caught a vague peek of furniture and a can of something pried open with a spoon sticking out of it.

  Bachelor, for sure.

  “Why do you need a place to stay?” he asked.

  “Does that matter?”

  His brow lifted. “It does now.”

  My nostrils flared. I wasn't good at this. Lying, deceptions, sneakiness. I just wanted to find a place where I could hole up and not see anyone for a while. Maybe I'd been naive to think this would be easy. To show up on his doorstep and ask if I could live with him? The man lived in the middle of a mountain canyon. No one drove out here unless they had to, which was why I wanted to stay. Why I'd driven all the way across the country on a desperate prayer and a crappy car not yet registered to my name.

  My breath was shaky when I let it out. “I just . . . I need someplace to disappear for a while, and I've heard that you have cabins to rent and no one comes out here.”

  He snorted. “You're hiding.”

  Yes, I thought.

  I didn't answer him, just studied his face. Beneath all that beard and wild hair, I sensed a general kindness about his eyes. The same kindness that I heard in his voice on the phone when he wasn't rattling off plans. His gaze had an edge to it, however.

  He straightened up. “Look, I'd love to help. I really would. Being the nice guy used to be my favorite thing, but I'm kind of over it now. My brother just got married and moved out and I initiated this plan to go full mountain man this winter. The last thing I need here is a renter.”

  I blinked. Full mountain man? What did that mean? The words rushed out of me before I could stop them.

  “But why?”

  He shrugged. “I don't know! Seems like a good idea. We'll see how it pans out. I'm full of ideas, and sometimes the ones that seem the most stupid are actually the greatest in the end. Regardless, I'm not harboring a sketchy fugitive from the law that's lying about someone in town telling her I'd rent a cabin for $500 a month on my property. Sorry. No one in town would have sent you here to rent.”

  My heart raced as he reached for his door and began to close it.

  “I go by Marie sometimes!”

  Two inches before it shut, the door stopped. His fingers tightened around the edges, but I couldn't see his face now. A lump filled my throat and I swallowed it. My voice rang out clear despite my worry. I shivered but wasn't entirely sure it was from the cold.

  “If you listen hard, you might recognize my voice. My full name is Stella Marie Lee, but I do business under Marie Lee. Mark, I know you're always annoyed with me because I stifle your ideas and I honestly have no idea why you still pay me to do your books, but I . . . I need some help.”

  Slowly, the door opened back up.

  2

  Mark

  A shiver passed through me before I pulled the door open again.

  Marie Lee, the most frustrating, safest-playing accountant on this planet. The woman who probably rolled her eyes every time she saw me call, but spoke such calm sense I couldn't help but listen. Even if she never said what I wanted to hear.

  Now she stood on my doorstep.

  She clutched her arms under a wet, red parka. Hints of light blonde hair peeked out from behind her ears. Her eyes were wide, uncertain, and a gentle brown. She was younger than I expected. I'd always pictured her in her late fifties. No, if I had been given a lineup, the last person I would have chosen as Marie was this girl.

  Plus, it changed everything about her sketchy request. I mentally berated myself for letting her stand on the rainy porch. JJ may have left me, but I didn't have to be a jerk.

  “Come inside.” I opened the door wider. “It's freezing out there.”

  With a grateful half-smile, she stepped onto a towel I'd thrown on the floor as a rug. Lizbeth and JJ married six weeks ago in an outdoor wedding near his favorite local climbing rock. It had taken all of seven days for this place to devolve back to the chaos it had been before her arrival.

  I missed it.

  Marie—no, Stella—skirted out of my way as I closed the door behind her. She didn't bring anything inside with her. Then again, she probably didn't know what to expect from me, so why bring her bags? I gestured toward the fire with a tilt of my head.

  “Have a seat. I'll warm up some crappy hot chocolate, unless you want coffee this late?”

  “Hot chocolate sounds great.”

  While her parka rustled as she peeled it off, I grabbed a half-gallon of milk from a tiny refrigerator and reached for the crappy hot chocolate packets that were, frankly, insulting to my taste buds after JJ's real-deal homemade stuff.

  I shoved that cranky thought away. Lizbeth and JJ were perfect together. I was happy for them. Jealous, but happy.

  The cabin remained quiet while Stella peeled out of a pair of fuzzy white boots and padded over to the fire, shivering. Without her parka, she looked as normal as anyone. Blonde hair with darker streaks in a bob around her jawline. Soft eyes. Wiry body. A runner, maybe. It occurred to me that, as my accountant, she knew almost everything about my business. Enough to find it on a cold fall night. But I knew nothing about her.

  Talk about unfair advantages.

  The microwave dinged, so I pulled the mug out, grimaced when I realized I'd forgotten to wash the old coffee stains out of it, and grabbed a clean one. I'd take the dirty one.

  “So.” I leaned back against the sink while the microwave hummed away, then realized I still didn't have a shirt on. No wonder she wouldn't look away from the fire. As casually as possible, I grabbed a shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it on. “You must be in pretty bad shape if you're coming here.”

  Did I imagine that grimace? Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her profile silhouetted against the bright flames. Outside, the rain began to ease.

  “Yeah.”

  I waited for more, but she didn't elaborate. Once the milk finished warming, I dumped the chocolate powder inside, grabbed two spoons, and headed her way. She turned, giving me another tentative smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

  A veritable damsel-in-distress?

  Well, maybe I didn't mind being the good guy so much.

  “Thanks.” She accepted the mug from me. I sat on the couch a few feet away to give her some space. She sat on a recliner across from me, glanced at me over the top of her cup, then looked away. The spoon clinked against the side of the mug as she stirred.

  Oh, she seemed docile, but I'd been on the phone enough with her to know that something else lived u
nder all that uncertainty.

  Wildcat.

  “Of course I'll give you a place to stay,” I said, just to dissipate the tension in the air. No bruises colored her skin, and she didn't jump at unexpected sounds so far. Didn't seem like she'd been in an abusive situation. No, why would she run to a single male in the middle of nowhere?

  But something was surely up.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Of course.” I ran a hand over my beard and held back my own grimace. At least I'd showered, but not much else had happened for grooming the last two weeks. No wonder she burst out laughing.

  “Thank you.”

  There it was. A hint of that confidence again.

  I shrugged.

  “What would you like me to pay you?” She reached for her back pocket. “Like I said, I have—”

  I waved that off. “We'll figure it out later.

  She stifled a smile. “I insist.”

  “You will. We just don't need to deal with details tonight.”

  My phone buzzed against my thigh and I ignored it. An incoming text message from the Hearts on Fire dating app, no doubt. Stupid thing wouldn't stop buzzing, feeding an endless stream of girls that, once I started messaging, lost interest too quickly. Easier to message them back from the computer, anyway.

  “So.” I leaned forward, scrubbing hot chocolate off my mustache, which definitely needed a trim. “There's a small cabin behind this one that you can take. Lizbeth lived there until she married my brother and moved out. I haven't stocked it with firewood yet, but I can do that pretty quick.” I lifted an eyebrow. “I assume you have clothes?”