Chapter 2

SILAS

“Come on, Scout!” I called to my dog, shutting the barn door after feeding the goats. I wiped my hands down my pants, then used the back of my hand to swipe the sweat from my brow.

I glanced toward the house. Time to check on that damn dog—if it was still alive, that is.

I thought about how close I’d come to running the poor thing over last night. Rain had been coming down in sheets, and I’d barely been able to see the road, just getting back from town with some supplies.

As I pushed the door open, Scout bolted in ahead of me. But he stopped abruptly, tail tucked, a low growl rumbling from his chest. My senses went on high alert.

Following his gaze, my eyes landed on the smears of blood. But there weren’t paw prints—no, these were human bloodprints.

My hand found the bat by the wall, and I gripped it tight, creeping forward, following the trail. The marks led straight to the bathroom. With a quick breath and my hands wrapped tightly around the bat, I lifted my foot and slammed the door open.

My eyes went wide. Inside was a man—a very naked, bleeding man covered in dried blood and cuts, rifling through my cabinet with a bandage in his hand.

“Who are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my house?” I snarled, stepping closer, the bat raised. The stranger pressed his back against the sink, looking cornered.

"I—shit!" he spat, and before I could react, he lunged forward, knocking the air from my lungs as I hit the floor hard, my head cracking against the wood.

The man was on top of me, pinning me down, his gray eyes wide and wild. I gritted my teeth, fighting to break free, but he was surprisingly strong.

"Get the hell off me!" I growled, slamming my knee up into his side, aiming for where he was clearly hurt.

He let out a strangled cry, crumpling back, and I scrambled to my feet, snatching up the bat that had rolled out of reach. Without thinking, I swung it, knocking him out cold—or worse, maybe even dead.

I leaned against the wall, chest heaving, staring down at the sprawled figure on my floor. Christ, that was intense.

I glanced down at Scout, who was sitting beside me, head tilted as he watched the stranger sprawled out on the floor. His nose twitched, a quiet growl slipping from his throat, like he was just as wary of the guy as I was.

“You think he’s dead, Scout?” I muttered, eyeing the unmoving body.

Scout turned his gaze to me and let out a loud, confirming bark. “Yeah, me too,” I breathed, running a hand over my jaw, feeling the grit of the early morning dirt and this morning’s mess. But curiosity pulled me closer, and I took a cautious step toward the guy on the floor, my stomach in knots. I gritted my teeth, debating for a second, then huffed, turned around, and headed for the bedroom.

Grabbing a blanket off the bed, I brought it back, trying to ignore how exposed he was—only because it was damn distracting. I draped the blanket over his hips, giving him at least a little dignity and me less to look at. I knelt down beside him, my fingers reaching out to grab his chin, tilting his head toward me, just to check for any signs of life. His pulse drummed under my fingertips, slow but steady.

“Self-defense,” I muttered to myself, reassuring myself that the crack I’d dealt him was justified. My gaze drifted over his face, which was younger than I’d expected. Strong jawline, lashes too long for a guy, and something hauntingly familiar, like he wasn’t just some stranger who’d wandered onto my land.

My pulse kicked up, and I forced myself to pull my hand away from his face, running my fingers through my hair with a sigh. I sure as hell wasn’t looking for trouble, but trouble had sure as hell found me.

The sensible thing to do? Call the cops, report the intruder, let them deal with whatever mess this guy had gotten himself into. But that would mean driving four hours to town, and with the power out from last night’s storm, the landline was dead. Middle of nowhere problems. Thanks, past me, for choosing isolation over convenience.

With a frustrated breath, my gaze fell to the blood slowly seeping through the wound on his side. Damn it. Leaving him like this wasn’t an option. I couldn’t just watch him bleed out on my floor. With a resigned sigh, I grabbed his wrists and started dragging him toward the bed. Scout’s head cocked as he watched, eyes following us as I struggled, grumbling curses under my breath.

“You think he’ll make it, Scout?” I asked, glancing at my dog, who was now eyeing me like I’d lost it. Scout responded with a noncommittal bark as always, and I shook my head.

“Yeah, me neither, but we can’t let him die on the floor.” Finally, with a grunt, I heaved the stranger up onto the bed. His weight was dead, limp, and I was already breathing hard by the time I laid him out flat. My hands hovered over him for a second before I pulled back, debating what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

Walking back to the bathroom, I grabbed the first aid kit, rummaging through the mess of gauze and alcohol wipes. Settling myself beside him, I carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage he’d applied, only to reveal a nasty gash on his side, still oozing. It looked like he’d tried to stitch himself up but hadn’t gotten very far. Biting back a grimace, I went to work, cleaning out the wound as best as I could.

“This is the last time I’m playing doctor to a random stranger,” I muttered, ripping open a package of sterile gauze. The guy didn’t stir, didn’t flinch, just kept breathing steadily as I fumbled my way through a sloppy stitch job. When I was done, I wrapped the wound up tight, pressing a hand over the bandage to make sure it held.

Once I’d patched him up, I took a step back, hands on my hips, eyeing my handiwork with mild satisfaction—and a whole lot of dread. God only knew what kind of shitstorm this guy was bringing to my doorstep. But at least he was still breathing, even if I was stuck wondering if I’d regret keeping him alive.

To be safe, I made sure to add a little “insurance” by tying his neck in Scout’s old chain and tying it to the fireplace, just in case he woke up with any wild ideas about taking another swing at me. Last thing I needed was a repeat of that little welcome he’d given me.

With that handled, I grabbed a towel, wiping the blood off my hands, then headed to the kitchen. The fridge was humming softly, but everything inside was losing its chill with the power out. I grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and took a long swing, staring out the window at the woods. I glanced at the man one last time and all I could think was…

What the hell had I gotten myself into?