Master of Solitude (Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 8) by Cherise Sinclair
“Break-ins are up. Muggings. Even worse, they’re dealing—and recruiting—at the school.”
Mallory stared at him.
Obviously overhearing as he walked past, Roger Simmons stopped. “By God, those bastards the prison brought in are taking over our town.” His face darkened as he told Mallory, “They robbed my gas station.”
“I heard,” Mallory said.
“Jimmied the door right open. The motel called me when they started shooting up the place. When I got there, they ran like the chickenshits they are.” Roger’s jaw tightened as he noticed three gang members swaggering down the boardwalk.
“I heard some were caught?” Mallory asked hurriedly.
Virgil nodded. “Two were injured and unable to run.”
“One ran right in front of my truck—saw him good. Masterson threw his ass in jail.” Roger’s face turned almost purple. “Would you believe the bastard threatened me? Told me I’d pay if I testified against him?”
Virgil said, “Roger, look, this—”
Roger thumped his burly chest. “I told him, bring it on.” He turned and motioned to the gang members, his voice rising to a shout. “Yeah, bring it on!”
Although the Hammers jeered at him, Mallory could see their auras darken with threat.
She put her hand on Roger’s arm. “I’m so sorry this happened.”
He deflated. “Yeah. It’s costing me money. Insurance went up, and I’m gonna have to get bars on the windows and doors, and new locks. A security system. When the prison shut down, I’d hoped all this would go away.”
“We think it will.” Virgil’s voice was even. “But it takes time.”
“Wouldn’t take near as long if we ran them all out,” Roger muttered. He glared across the street.
Mallory realized his stare was directed at Sawyer.
Roger spat on the boardwalk. “You know I saw him that night, too. Driving away. He’s one of the bastards.”
“No, he’s not,” Mallory said firmly. “He’d never steal or break into your place.”
“You’re blind, girl.” Roger glared at her, his voice rising to a shout again. “You dally with the bastard, and your customers’ll find a new contractor.”
Virgil folded his arms over his big chest. “Enough.”
“More than enough.” Fury made her want to wallop the narrow-minded idiot upside the head. “You’re wrong about Sawyer—and you’re going to end up eating your words.”
She turned on her heel and walked across the street directly to her man.
He was watching her, his stance casual, but his face was tight, and the clear red of his aura had filled with shadows.
At his unreadable expression, she remembered he hadn’t been in her bed last night. Hadn’t called her today. Her heart sank.
Good going, Mallory. See what getting angry with Roger has led you into?
Nonetheless, she forced a smile as she stepped onto the boardwalk. “Hey. I could use a hug right now.” Without waiting, she started to wrap her arms around him.
He stepped back hurriedly.
His action struck deep, a sharp slice right across her heart. She pulled in a breath and winced when she heard the small shudder of her inhalation.
Don’t cry. No, no, no.
Another breath, and another, and she managed to push the pain and frustration away. A girl didn’t get to be a construction worker—or a contractor—if she couldn’t control her emotions. “Sawyer.”
“Mallory, listen. I—” Like the snap of a rubber band, his entire body suddenly went taut—and he took another step away from her.
“What?” She looked up at him.
“Nothing.” His gaze was fixed on something behind her.
She looked over her shoulder and saw the three Aryan Hammers. One of them—a huge skinhead with a forehead tattoo—had such an evil gray aura, it turned her stomach.
When the massive Hammer’s gaze met hers, he leered, making kissy noises.
Mother of cats, what a disgusting person. Turning back to Sawyer, she kept her tone light. “So, what’re you doing in town?”
“Nothing important.” His voice sounded raspy. “Just lookin’ for a good time.”
His dismissive tone scraped painfully over her already frayed emotions. She forced a smile and tried again. “Would you like to come over this evening? Gin gave me a recipe for southern fried chicken.”
“Nah, thanks, babe. Got things to do.” His cocky grin didn’t reach his eyes. His aura was dark with unhappiness and anger and so much else that she couldn’t understand what was going on with him at all.
“I see.” She pulled in a breath. No, this wasn’t right. Emotions shouldn’t be covered up like Aslan covered his messes in the litterbox. “Actually, no, I don’t see. Sawyer, what’s—”
“I think our fun’s run its course, pet. I need more excitement in my life and…” He shrugged, as if he didn’t realize the effectiveness of the words he’d used on her.
Or didn’t care.
Defeat swirled like a dark fog around her. Hadn’t she worried that she wasn’t the kind of woman he needed? That he’d eventually want someone more stunning, more exciting, more vivacious—not a quiet bookworm who meditated and liked to work with her hands.
“You take care, girl.” Indifferently, he turned away, swatting her ass as he walked past as if to say: Done here, moving on.
She spun to yell at him, but he was off the boardwalk and in the street.
As she watched, he crossed to talk to Candy, a slender, platinum-blonde beautician from the local salon.
The woman stepped right up to Sawyer, flattened her hand on his chest, and gave him a flirtatious look through her very black false eyelashes.
Laughing, Sawyer yanked her into his arms—and kissed her, hard and long.
By the time he finished, Candy was draped all over him.
No, he’s mine! Only he wasn’t, was he? Mallory turned her head away, trying to wipe the sight of the two together from her mind.
Well, that was…that. Slowly, Mallory unclenched her hands and walked away from the store where she was supposed to buy groceries.
Why hadn’t she seen this coming and prepared herself?
All too often in the Sierras, an avalanche would break loose, crushing everything in its path. Ripped up by the roots, trunks broken, the tall, strong trees would be buried beneath massive boulders.
Did trees cry when they were broken?
Sawyer tried to bury the memory of the pain in Mallory’s eyes. Tried to tell himself it’d been necessary to hurt her. Fuck knew, she’d stay far, far away from him now, which meant she’d be safe. Nothing else was as important.
Animal had seen Mallory start to hug him.
Sawyer couldn’t rewrite history. However, he could make it clear Mallory wasn’t anyone important.
In fact, he needed to show no female was particularly important to him. Not Mallory. Not this one, either. Smiling coldly, he hid his irritation at how the blonde was running her hands over his chest and arms.
Act like a murderer, Ware. Be what this one wants. “Gimme your name.”
Her pupils dilated, and she rubbed her breasts against his arm. “Candy.”
Right, she’d told him her name a couple of times last summer. He fisted her hair, yanked her head back, and watched her pant with excitement. “See you around, Candy.”
Releasing her, he sauntered down the boardwalk. He didn’t want the Hammers targeting any female…so he needed to appear as if he’d pick up anyone.
Three of the few remaining tourists saw him. When he grinned at them, the women flocked to him to conduct a light flirtation.
He felt the stares of the Aryan Hammers. By the time he left the women, he’d ensured the gangbangers would believe he was single and looking to score.
What a dumb fuck he’d been. He should have told Mallory that Roger Simmons’s loud mouth had painted a target on his chest, and she needed to avoid Sawyer in public.
T
Now Mallory was hurting because of his actions…when all he’d wanted to do was love her. Because he did. Yeah, with all his heart. It had taken all his willpower not to join her last night.
At least now the Hammers would figure he was just a dawg, enjoying any woman he could get, and no one woman was special.
And he’d hurt the nymph badly enough she wouldn’t speak to him again. She’d write him off and leave him alone. The stabbing pain of her loss almost took him to his knees. But this was the right thing to do.
He’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‡
On Thursday evening, Mallory filled the bird feeders outside the sunroom. It was the season when the feathered ones would have trouble finding food…and by staying on this side of her house, she’d not be tempted to look toward Sawyer’s place.
Maybe she should have taken Kallie and Jake up on their invitation to supper. Unfortunately, she hadn’t wanted conversation, especially about what had happened last Sunday. At least her all-guy construction crew didn’t demand discussions of relationships or feelings.
On the other hand, she was a woman, not a man.
Frowning, she paused in pouring sunflower seeds into one feeder. She’d been avoiding her friends rather than letting them comfort her, which wasn’t wise. Had Sawyer’s tendency to retreat when unhappy rubbed off on her?
She huffed a sad laugh. No, she’d always done the same thing.
They were a lot alike, really. She hung up the feeder with a grumpy sound. Maybe it was best they weren’t together. They’d probably stay home all the time, content with each other’s companionship.
Sometimes it was better if an introvert teamed up with an extrovert.
But…she’d liked staying home with Sawyer, even if they did nothing more than watch TV or read. They’d discuss—or argue about—the news or history or even silly things like the best desserts. His view of the world was oriented to life being fair. He wanted to pay favors back and keep things balanced. In contrast, she walked the overly generous path. Their take on things made for some good discussions.
She missed him.
Stop thinking about him, all right? The directive was impossible to follow when his absence was an unending ache under her sternum. Even Aslan was sulking, pining for the entertaining puppy and the extra attention from Sawyer.
Aslan’s insistence that a seated human meant an available lap always amused Sawyer. Then again, not much disturbed Sawyer’s equilibrium.
Again, stop.
Mallory hung the last feeder before checking her garden. Her cover crop had sprouted nicely in the empty beds. She should cut the asparagus down and mulch the ground…and keep herself busy for a while. After retrieving her snips, gloves, and weed tote, she cut off the long feathery stalks and trimmed them for the compost heap.
As she worked, her phone rang. She pulled it out, checked the display, and sighed. Sawyer isn’t going to call, she told her heart. Stop hoping. “Hey, Becca. What’s up?”
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget the End of Season party on Friday. Tomorrow night. You will show up, right?”
She had forgotten. Would still prefer to forget. The last thing she wanted right now was a party.
Feeling a pat on her knee, she looked down into Aslan’s green-gold eyes and took in the cat’s chiding expression. Cats were perfectly content with solitude; however, humans were designed to live in a tribe. It was time to stop moping and go see her friends.
“I’ll be there.” She smiled at Aslan ruefully and gave him a scritch behind his ear. Thanks, King. “Thank you for caring, Becca.”
“That’s what friends do.” Becca sighed. “Actually, I’d have been on your doorstep last night, except Ansel has an ear infection and is running high temps. Since yesterday, he’s been glued to my lap, and we’ve watched a thousand episodes of Baby Einstein. My brain might explode.”
Envisioning it, Mallory laughed. “Is he getting better?”
“The antibiotic is kicking in. Finally. He’ll be back to his usual hundred-miles-an-hour speed tomorrow.”
“Poor Ansel—and poor mama. Is Logan helping?”
“We were taking turns until one of our lodge guests got mugged outside of the ClaimJumper last night. Logan went to town with him today to fill out the police report.”
“Mugged? Seriously?”
“I don’t know what’s going on this week—it’s like there’s a crime wave. The principal told me the Aryan Hammers are giving the kids free drugs and inviting them over to their house.”
“No.” Mallory’s growl had Aslan staring at her. “Just no.”
She remembered her first day in the Bear Flat School. After attending San Francisco schools, she’d fallen in love with how safe the little high school had felt. “We’re going to fix this, Becca. Now.”
*
A hard hammering on the front door startled Sawyer and made Achilles yip in surprise. The pup scrambled to greet whoever might be there. Less enthusiastically, Sawyer shoved out of his big armchair and stalked to the door. Hell of thing when a man couldn’t sulk in peace.
Morgan Masterson waited on the tiny porch.
He handed Sawyer a brown grocery sack and a six-pack of beer, then bent to pet Achilles. “Who’s growing fast, huh? You’re gonna be a great guard dog, aren’t you?”
Up on his hind legs, Achilles waggled his whole body in agreement…and Sawyer found his first smile of the day. Then his crappy mood returned. “Is this a celebration?” Because he’d never felt less like celebrating anything.
“Nope. It’s Thursday, and the Broncos are playing the Jets.” Morgan walked into the house without waiting for an invitation.
Stymied, Sawyer shoved the door shut and leaned against it. “Are you this pushy with your brothers?”
“Yep.” Morgan tugged a beer from the six-pack Sawyer was holding. After opening it and taking a drink, he reclaimed the sack. “Given an opportunity, Wyatt could argue a grizzly to death. I learned not to give him the opening.”
Wyatt must be the direct opposite of Morgan. “Your brother sounds interesting.”
“You’d probably like him”—Morgan’s mouth flattened—“if he ever gets his ass back here.” From the sack, he pulled a massive bag of chips and a large container of dip. Everything went onto the coffee table before he dropped onto the couch.
Happily, Achilles joined him.
Sawyer was treated to two pairs of expectant eyes.
Jesus. Resigned, he took himself a beer, put the rest in the fridge, and settled into his chair. “You pissed at your brother?”
“Yeah. Some.” Brow furrowed, Morgan drank some beer. “He just up and left. Right in the middle of the season.”
“You two have a fight or something?”
“No, we didn’t fight.” Morgan tugged on Achilles’s ears. “You know, Wyatt and I were there when your brother rescued Gin and the other social worker from the convicts.”
“I heard—and I know Wyatt killed one of the bastards. Considering the way Aryan Hammers have targeted Att, I’m glad your brother is out of reach.”
Morgan froze, his hand on the pup’s head. “I never thought about reprisals. Hell. I’ve just been pissed off about him leaving.”
“Understandable. You’ve run your ass off keeping up with your business. Wyatt left because…?”
“He’d never killed anyone before; it fucked with his head.”
“Ah.” Sawyer took a sip of his beer and glanced at the label. Coors Original. Not bad, but it wasn’t Bud. “Takes some men that way.”
“Not you?”
At Sawyer’s silence, Morgan glanced over. “I doubt SEALs escape battle, Ware. You’ve killed before.”
“Yeah. It was rough at first.” He’d puked his guts out after his first action. “It’s easier when there’s a distance.” Knife work was the worst. Feeling the punch of the
He thought of the way Morgan had phrased the comment about Wyatt. Never killed anyone before. “You killed a man, Masterson?”
Morgan rolled the can between his palms. “Couple times.” His jaw tightened. “The first when I was sixteen and helping Pa with a fishing trip. Man found out his wife’d fucked his buddy who was also on the trip. He went berserk. Pa tried to talk him down and got shot. And…I put a bullet into the bastard’s head. Then, three years ago, Virgil busted up a bar fight, and a logger went for him with a knife. I punched the logger…too hard.”
Morgan looked down at his hands—powerful, working-man’s hands—as if he still couldn’t believe he’d killed someone in such a brutal way. “But I didn’t lose too much sleep over it.”
“You saved lives. The lives of the good guys.” Sawyer shook his head. “Your brother will see he did, too. Hopefully before you’re worked into the ground.”
“The Hunts helped out with some trips—but it’s a relief tourist season is over.” Relaxing, Morgan smiled. “And I got the interesting trails Wyatt might’ve grabbed, so it wasn’t all been bad.”
Sawyer looked at him. Wyatt might be the bigger brother, but it was doubtful his little brother caved in on anything essential. Morgan reminded Sawyer of…of himself. Back before he’d been deployed. Easy-going on the outside. Also reserved, careful, and competent.
Morgan picked up the remote and turned to the game. “Don’t forget, I’m available if you need help out there, Ware.”
“I won’t forget.” After watching him shoot on the gun range, Sawyer figured this quiet Masterson was probably the most deadly of the three.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‡
Vehicles filled the Serenity Lodge parking lot, the sides of the driveway, and overflowed down the road. Bear Flat’s End of Season party had never been this well attended, even when they’d held it in town. Bemused, Morgan crossed the wide porch and walked into the massive two-story log building.