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Double Dirty Mountain Men

By:Parker Grey

Chapter One

Rose




I lean forward, into the steering wheel, trying to see out the windshield. The wipers on this piece of junk do more harm than good, and since it's snowing more heavily by the second I can barely see where I'm going.

I have to be almost to the main road, I think, even as panic sizzles through my veins. This shortcut isn't that long, right?

As if in response, there's a huge bang and the enormous old pickup truck swerves dangerously, the wheel jerked out of my hands. I seize it again and slam on the brakes, skidding to a stop within inches of a tree.

My hands are shaking, and it's not just from the cold. Tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I make myself breathe deeply, get control of my emotions, and look in the rearview mirror.

There's a rock. It was just a huge rock that I couldn't see in the road. Nothing exploded.

"You're fine," I whisper out loud to myself. "It's gonna be fine, you're almost there."

I take another deep breath, shift the truck back into first, and move it forward slowly. This shortcut over the mountain is barely a road — it's more of a dirt track — and the snow is making it slippery and slick, not to mention the potholes and the rocks.

It was a stupid idea, and I know it. But I had to work a double at my waitressing job in town, and I wanted to get home before the "snowstorm of the century," as all the news is calling it, struck.

Not that anyone's waiting for me, but where else could I go?

I drive around a huge rock and under some low-hanging branches, trying to tell myself that this all seems familiar from the time my dad and I took this shortcut years and years ago, but it doesn't. Not at all. One part of Blanton National Forest looks like every other part.

It's fine, I tell myself, trying not to panic too much. This road has to go somewhere, and the main road is soon. Once you get there, it's free sailing home.

I relax just a little, still peering through the windshield.

And then there's another bang.

I slam on the brakes, gripping the steering wheel as hard as I can, but this time it doesn't jerk out of my grasp. The truck just rolls slowly to a stop, even though my foot isn't on the brake.

No, I think. No, no, no...

A thin tendril of smoke leaks from underneath the hood, barely visible in the snowy twilight.

"No!" I shout out loud, tears in my eyes.

I jerk the parking brake on, get out of the truck, and lift the hood. It's hot and I burn my fingers a little, but the moment I get it up thick, black smoke starts pouring from the engine.

I have to let it slam shut, coughing, my eyes and nose streaming. Frantically, I get back into the truck and try turning it off and on, giving it gas, messing with the clutch, but it's all completely useless. And I know a little about cars, but only enough to change the oil — not enough to fix whatever's gone wrong.

I start crying. I can't believe I was dumb enough to do this, and now I'm going to have to spend the night in the truck with nothing more than the ratty old blankets my dad keeps in here.

But when I reach my hand behind the front seats, there's nothing there. Just rough automotive carpet, so I look down. Sure enough, even the crappy old blankets that were behind the seats are missing.

That means all I've got is the clothes I'm wearing and my winter coat, which is so old parts of it are threadbare. I can't spend the night in it. I'll freeze to death for sure.

Now I'm sobbing. I check every nook and cranny in the truck, just in a case a blanket can magically fit into one of them, but it's useless, and getting darker with every second I waste. After ten minutes I'm freezing, sobbing, and can't feel my hands.

That's when I know: I don't have a choice. If I stay here, with this broken-down truck, I'll probably die.

But if I walk for the main road, I might not. They're both bad options, but I have to do something.

I grab my purse, keys, and take everything that might be even slightly useful from the truck — a flashlight with dead batteries, a wrench, an old map, and a handful of napkins — and I set off down the dirt track. I walk as fast as I can in my old sneakers and jeans, trying to warm myself up.

It's not really working. The snow is coming down harder than ever, and it's melting on my jeans and sneakers, soaking them through. These shoes are totally inappropriate for the terrain or the cold, and they're slippery and my feet are freezing.

Just keep going, I think. It can't be much further. It can't.

I walk on, mind going numbly blank. I don't really think about anything other than putting one cold foot in front of the other, again and again.

After a while I can't feel my feet any more, and I can barely feel my legs, but that hardly even registers with my brain. I think I'm stumbling more than I'm walking, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except I have to keep going, because it's almost dark.

As I round a bend in the road, I bang one foot on a rock I didn't see, and I go down, one knee on the ground, my hands both in the snow.

It's not even cold any more, and I take a deep breath, summoning all my willpower to get back up.

Just as I do, I hear a noise. There's a rustle in the dark forest to my right. Then a branch snaps.

It's a bear, I think, and I know that the thought should panic me but it doesn't.

I look over, wondering if I should run or something. There's a low growl, almost a muttering sound, and slowly, I stand again, all my limbs numb, and face the forest and my fate.

Two huge men, both tall and wide, with eyes that sparkle in the cold like jewels, step out of the forest.





Chapter Two





Logan




It's not a deer.

It's a girl.

We're both so surprised that for a moment, we just stare. Because not only is it a girl way out here, miles from any semblance of civilization, but she's gorgeous. Even though she looks like hell and she's wearing a winter coat, her curves are mesmerizing — not to mention she might be the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on.

"Who are you?" she calls, her voice delicate and breathless.

It snaps me out of my reverie and I practically run toward her, followed by Knox. She's obviously cold, lost, and in serious danger right now, and we need to do something fast.

I get to her first, though.

"We're with the forest service," I say, taking her shoulders in my hands. "Where did you come from?"

The girl just shakes her head vaguely.

"How much further is the main road?" she asks, her voice still faraway.

Next to me, Knox frowns, his dark brows knitting together.

"This trail doesn't connect," he says, his voice rumbling. "It's a dead end."

She just blinks.

"What?"

"You're in danger right now," I say, trying to get her to focus. "Do you have a vehicle that we can take you to?"

She shakes her head, finally looking me in the eyes.

"It broke," she says, her voice nearly a whisper. "I thought this was a shortcut."

Knox and I exchange glances. She's out here alone, no vehicle in sight, snow coming down hard, her eyes blurry and unfocused.

"We've gotta get her to the cabin," I say.

Knox just nods once, gruffly. From him, that's enthusiastic agreement.

"What's your name?" I ask the girl, as gently as I can.

"Rose?" she whispers, like it's a question.

"Rose, we're going to take you to our cabin," I say.

She nods, swaying slightly back and forth, and I realize there's no way she can get herself back to our four-wheel-drive truck, let alone to our cabin.

"Rose, I'm going to—"

"Watch out!" Knox growls as Rose suddenly starts falling.

I catch her reflexively. She's soft and light in my arms, and makes the softest noise, her full lips parting just slightly.

Instantly, despite the circumstances, I think about those lips wrapped around my cock, her huge blue eyes looking up at me. I shake my head to get the image out of it, but it doesn't work. I'm already half-erect, just watching this girl fall over.

"We need to get her to the truck," Knox mutters.

I shift Rose in my arms. She doesn't fight me at all, though I can feel her shaking.

"Let's go," I say.

Knox looks at Rose, then at me, something I can't decipher on his face.

We set out, back through the woods.



Rose hardly moves the entire trip, barely more than a light weight in my arms. Knox and I are moving as fast as we can, nearly running to where the Forest Service four-wheel-drive truck is parked in a clearing.

I feel like there's a fish hook lodged deep in my chest, and it tugs at me every time I look down at Rose. I don't know why. This isn't the first time that I've rescued someone in the woods, but I've never felt this deep well of concern before.

But then again, no one else has been mind-blowingly gorgeous, either. Every time Rose's eyelids flutter and she looks at me, something in me wakes up and roars, like she's silently begging me to keep her, protect her — and take her.

Like he can read my mind, Knox looks back at me, glowering.

When we finally get to our truck, Rose is barely responsive. Knox opens the back door and I put Rose in gently, then climb in behind her.

As I close the door, Knox and I exchange another look. Like he wanted to be the one sitting in the back instead of the one driving, but I got here first. He gets into the driver's seat, turns it on, and cranks the heat. Cold air blasts from the vents as he turns the vehicle around, going as fast as he dares over the rough, bumpy, snow-covered track back to the cabin.

Rose tries, weakly, to clear her throat. I'm already pulling my thick down coat off along with two layers of sweater and a fleece, and the instant I'm down to just my undershirt, I start unbuttoning her coat.

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