The Place I Belong Read online

  She whirled. “Why? You can’t. You’re brainwashed. You have no idea what these mountains are worth. They can’t be bought. They don’t belong to the state or to Webb Hawkins or anyone else. They belong to everyone. You don’t see beauty, you see dollar signs.”

  Old Deke Hawkins had once claimed Jonah could make the trip to hell sound so appealing the damned would fight for a window seat. He drew on that talent now and sent her his best “I dare you” smile. “So make me see it. Give me the weekend.”

  She crossed her arms, the motion lifting those pert boobs a tick higher, and he had to force his eyes to remain locked on her face. “Can’t. I’m off and already booked myself into a cabin out near Blazer Peak.”

  Blazer Peak sat at the edge of the one hundred acres the Department of Tourism had retained for Black Cherry Falls State Park. She’d feel in control and on her own turf but his turf lay only a few hundred yards away. It was perfect.

  He shrugged. “I’ll join you.”

  “It’s a one-room cabin.”

  “I own a sleeping bag.”

  Amusement twitched along her lips as she flicked the shoulder of his suit jacket. “There’s no cappuccino maker or fine dining available. No internet access, no Netflix, no cell service. It’s just you and the mountains. Sure you can handle that?”

  An ironic snort burst out before he could catch it. “You have no idea what I’m capable of handling.”

  “Just don’t think you can handle me, Slick.” Her chin raised a notch.

  “I wouldn’t dare try. You’d hand me my ass on a platter.”

  “You’ve got that right.” Indecision flitted across her face. “It’s Friday night. Don’t you have a date or something?”

  Actually, he did, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember the woman’s name right now. “Nothing important.”

  “I don’t want to be your friend.”

  “I don’t want to be your enemy.”

  A tense minute passed. She scrutinized him, looking for something on his face. Either she found whatever she’d been looking for or she gave up, but she gave a terse nod. “Fine. But I’m not refriending you on Facebook, and nothing is going to change my mind.”

  “Challenge accepted.” God, fighting with her was fun. He took a step back and tucked his hands into his pants pockets. “You never know, maybe we’ll both survive the weekend.”

  Zury shook her head, laughing at him. “Tú no sabes en lo que te estás metiendo. Meet me at the main lodge at seven. I’m driving. Bring your gear, your supplies and your ego. I’m in the mood to crush things.”

  He gave her a jaunty salute then headed back to his SUV. He’d made more than one business conquest on working retreats, and this was just more of the same. Plus, the cabin on Blazer Peak was isolated. That would come in handy if he needed a place to bury her body.

  He looked back over his shoulder as she climbed in the jeep. And damn, what a body it was.

  Chapter Two

  State Parks and State Forests are two different things. State Parks preserve natural features and areas of exceptional beauty or historical interest. State Forests were established to provide a continuous supply of timber for the use and necessities of all citizens.

  Jonah Alcott was sexier than sin-dipped chocolate but Zury didn’t trust him as far as she could spit. She’d met Webb Hawkins but barely remembered what he looked like. It was Jonah’s chiseled face she thought of when it came to the lumber company that had bought her precious mountains. He might be un muñeco but a pretty face didn’t mean squat.

  “Tough life.” Jonah snorted. “This is really roughing it.”

  Zury narrowed her eyes. She never claimed to be camping in a tent. The cabin had one main room, not large but comfortable enough. The kitchen side held a stove, a mini-fridge, and a small table for two. The other side boasted a double bed and nightstand. Between them sat a coffee table and a couch that was closer to a loveseat. A minuscule bathroom jutted off to the left.

  Jonah dropped his pack on the couch with a frown. It was at least a foot shorter than he was.

  A smile ached on her face as she turned and snapped clean sheets on the bed. It’d serve him right to end up with a sore back and a crick in his neck. This was her weekend he’d wormed his way into. He could spout any facts and statistics he wanted—she’d never change her mind. Some things money couldn’t buy, and the breathtaking view from Black Cherry Falls was one of them.

  A loud sigh turned her head and her mouth clamped shut. Jonah was bent over, pulling something from his pack, and faded denim stretched tight across his ass. ¡Ay Dios mío! She’d never seen him dressed down, in anything other than a snazzy suit and tie, but those worn Levis molded to his skin like plastic wrap. The T-shirt he wore left his forearms and biceps exposed, hard ropey muscles flexing with each move. How in the hell did a PR guy get muscles like that?

  She grabbed her bag and wrapped her fingers around the cold butt of her 9mm.

  “Hey.” She held the gun up, taking satisfaction when his eyes went wide and he stepped back. “Just to let you know, I don’t deal well with sleepwalkers.”

  “Jesus Christ, Zury, put that thing away. I’m not planning on raping you.”

  She shrugged. “I’m a single woman alone in a remote cabin with a guy I barely know. I’m not an idiot. The safety’s on but it stays under my pillow.”

  “Noted. Do you even know how to shoot that thing?”

  “Of course I do. Haven’t you ever heard the saying that West Virginia girls don’t retreat, they reload? The Falls offers a handgun course as well as a hunter safety one every September.”

  “Wonderful.” He hefted his cooler and shoved it onto the small kitchenette counter. A forced grin created a dimple alongside his mouth. “Nice to know if the zombie apocalypse happens you can protect us.”

  “What us? If the undead show up, you’re on your own, Slick.”

  He unloaded his groceries into the fridge. “You’re a cruel woman, Zury Castellano.”

  She let a very unfeminine scoff rip then turned back to her bedding. She wasn’t cruel. If anything, she was too caring. She’d been a child when the mountains had whispered to her, lured her into the valleys and summits with a call stronger than any she’d ever heard. They’d given her peace and beauty when she’d never known any. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to protect them.

  It took only a few minutes to get settled into the cabin, each moving in a strange dance that kept their paths from crossing, but the cabin was small. They couldn’t avoid each other.

  She grabbed her own cooler and headed toward the kitchen. Her knees locked at the sight of a folded blue air mattress and air pump. “That’s cheating.”

  Shoving the coffee table aside, he smirked. “Admit it, you wanted to see me crippled from a night on that couch, didn’t you?”

  “No comment,” she muttered.

  “Score one for the tall guy.” Jonah motioned to a small cold fireplace. “There’s a stack of firewood outside. Shame it’s too warm for that. It’d be nice for ambience.”

  Zury ignored him and concentrated on tucking her supplies in the kitchen cabinets. It would be too nice, create a romantic glow that had no place in the room when he was here. She pulled out the ingredients for her dinner and started cooking. It had been a long week and his presence only made the tension in her neck tighter.

  Behind her, she heard the bathroom door close and let loose a deep exhale. Why couldn’t he be some ugly little toad of a man? Every time they’d met, she’d started out irritated and angry then ended up picturing him strapped into various torture devices. Which inevitably ended with him naked and smeared with honey. Those twisted fantasies were the main cause of her Tylenol habit.

  Jonah exited the bathroom and strolled outside, leaving the cabin door open. Tr
ying not to wonder what he was doing, she focused on her dinner. Ten minutes later, his silence had raised her curiosity to the boiling point. She tiptoed to the door and looked out.

  The sun was setting, painting a brilliant orange across the western sky, shading the mountains a dusky purple. Jonah sat on the porch stoop, elbows on his knees, hands hanging limp between them, with his face tilted into the breeze. It ruffled his hair away from his forehead. Dashing was an old-fashioned word but the one that described him best. He always looked as if he’d stepped from the pages of a men’s fashion magazine.

  His hair was just long enough to be modern and razor cut into style, but not so flamboyant that it distracted from his professionalism. The suits he usually wore fit too well not to have been tailored and he paired them with upscale shoes and boldly colored shirts, including an electric blue one that did amazing things for his eyes.

  But sitting there so quiet, so restful, he looked less the playboy and more like a man content with life.

  Zury fisted her hands, spun around, and stomped back to the stove. She finished fixing her dinner, cursing him under her breath. While the plantain and eggs fried, she popped two Tylenol in her mouth. It was going to be a long weekend.

  The screen door creaked open as she dished up her rice and sat at the small table. He stopped and inhaled. “What’d you cook?”

  “Arroz con huevo frito y platano maduro frito, white rice with fried egg and plantains.” Shaking the ketchup bottle, she refused to look at him. “It’s the Cuban version of comfort food.”

  He made no sound crossing the room and she peeked from beneath her lashes. His boots were old, scuffed and well-worn. The cuffs of his jeans were frayed. Her eyes traveled up. The denim faded to almost white at the knees and pulled tight across his thighs, the pockets showing wear. Apparently in his downtime, he traded the suits for more comfortable clothes and wore them with ease.

  He picked up a piece of plantain from the plate by the stove. She bristled. “Hey, that’s mine. Make your own dinner.”

  He didn’t bother biting back his exasperated sigh, but dropped the plantain and opened the ancient fridge. It only took a few minutes for him to heat a couple hot dogs, drown them in mustard, and rip open a bag of barbeque chips. He leaned against the sink and glowered as he ate. Tension hung heavy in the silence, unbroken except for the scrape of her fork and the crunch of his chips.

  “This is never going to work,” he muttered, putting his plate in the sink.

  Zury used her fork to point. “There’s the door.”

  “Stop. We need to get past this constant griping at each other.” Jaw wedged forward in determination, he turned the second chair around and straddled it. Pale blue eyes lasered into hers with a burn. “Truce?”

  She raked her fork through the ketchup oozing into her rice. She didn’t want to make nice with the frustratingly handsome man who was going to tear apart her life. Grudgingly, she admitted it wasn’t him personally but still, he was the face of the enemy. An enemy she’d have dealings with for however long she remained at Black Cherry Falls, and she had no intention of ever leaving there.

  “Truce.” Her words were soft but he sent her a dazzling grin.

  “For the rest of the night, let’s pretend we just met. There’s no timber contracts, no protesters, no Black Cherry Canyon.” He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jonah Alcott.”

  She gripped his offered palm. “Zureyden Castellano, but my friends call me Zury.”

  “Zureyden. That’s unusual. What’s it mean?”

  “Absolutely nothing. My mother made it up. She claimed a special child needed a special name.”

  He chuckled. “Special’s one word for you.”

  A smile tickled her mouth. She wondered how many women he’d charmed with that sultry voice. It washed over her like cool satin on a hot night, made her want to stretch and open more skin to the glide. But she wasn’t about to be drawn under his spell.

  Shoving away from the table, she stacked her dishes on top of his in the sink. “What about you? Jonah’s a biblical name, isn’t it?”

  “It means dove and no wisecracks about it.” Something sad crept across his eyes and stole the humor from his face. His gaze dropped to the table then rose again, shielded and distant. He stood with a thoroughly charming and completely fake smile. “You wash, I’ll dry?”

  He seemed eager to end the conversation and she let him, handing him the dish liquid and sponge. “Nice try. You wash.”

  He rolled his eyes but took the sponge and turned the faucet to high. To give him credit, he scrubbed a mean skillet. There was something intensely attractive about a man of his size doing domestic work. Despite his height, he was lean like a racehorse, all compact muscle and controlled energy. The breadth of his shoulders seemed to fill the tiny kitchen space to overflowing although he never moved closer to her than the dishwashing required.

  Conversation was light—books, movies, TV series. It surprised her that he was somewhat of a sci-fi nerd and completely comfortable being called a Trekkie and Whovian. She preferred crime-based shows, and a good-natured discussion on which CSI was best sparked more tangents.

  For all his vanity, he never wore cologne. The crisp clean scent of him wafted over her and she caught herself sucking in a greedy breath. Forcing down that urge, she put more effort into drying the flatware. She wished he were wearing a suit. That double-breasted or pinstriped armor reminded her he wasn’t a friend. This denim and cotton-clad man spouting Star Trek quotes was too easy to like.

  Once he washed the last dish, he powered up the pump and started filling his air mattress. Zury watched the long line of his back move as he snapped a striped sheet open. There was something too intimate and unsettling watching him prepare his bed. She headed for the porch, seeking a break from the strangeness of not fighting with him.

  Outside, the night was alive with woodland noises. An owl called in the distance, insects clicked, and something large ran through the bramble. Under the canopy of trees, little green lights flickered.

  An old memory surfaced. She’d been nine the first time she saw tiny lights blinking in the grass. Kenny told her they were fairies dancing to a magic tune that, if she was quiet, she could hear when everything was still. She’d stayed in the backyard, not daring to move a muscle, and strained to hear the song. She’d fallen asleep under a blanket of moon and stars and awoken covered in dew that sparkled in the predawn light. She’d thought it was fairy tears.

  Zury leaned her head back and let the cool breeze skate along her skin. Kenny had laughed at her but her host-mother Lorena had smacked him on the back of the head and told him to stop teasing. Zury’d had no idea that lightning bugs actually lit up. She could navigate the streets of the Bronx by age seven and knew which street corners to avoid after dark but had no idea that some bugs had lights in their butt. That short two-week time had expanded her world and captivated her imagination. It had shaped her existence

  Tension leached away and she simply soaked in the restful calm. These mountains were more than stone to her. They were life, her life, and the thought of them suffering churned anger and fear deep under her ribs. Other people might take the lush green peaks for granted but she never would. She knew all too well what a world of nothing but cold brick and concrete felt like.

  “Full moon tonight.” Jonah’s voice was a baritone accompaniment to the melody of summer. She didn’t bother opening her eyes but knew when he joined her on the low step. The wash-softened denim of his jeans skimmed along her thigh and warmth from his arm brushed hers. “I love the mountains at night. The stars are always brighter away from the city.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “Where are you from originally?”

  “Southern part of the state.” He leaned back, elbows on the stoop, and craned his head up to study the universe. “What do you normally do out here?”


  “This is it.” She shrugged. “Just breathe. Get away from all the noise of life. Recharge.”

  He cocked his head, one brow dipping low. “How in the hell did a Cuban-American girl from the Bronx end up in West Virginia?”

  The hair on her arms stood up and twitched. “You Googled me.”

  “Best to know who you’re facing in a battle.”

  “Is that where we are? In a battle?”

  “Feels like it.” Hair black as the night brushed his shirt as he tilted his head back. His eyes closed with this sigh. “I don’t want to fight with you, Zury. I know my company isn’t the bad guy. We own the land and are going to log it. That’s a fact and can’t be changed. But it doesn’t mean we want to ruin the park. Far from it.”

  Her fist tightened in her lap. “The Falls are known for their spectacular views and pristine waters. How in the hell can we survive once you chop down all the trees as far as the eye can see, pollute the river and tear up the mountains with logging roads? Hell, I might as well sell hotel rooms in a landfill.”

  “Forests grow. After the initial cut, you’ll never even know it was harvested.”

  “And until then, what? Just tell my guests ‘ignore the ugly machinery and mud’? ‘Book your honeymoon with us and get a lovely view of sawdust piles and filthy rivers’? ‘Hold your conventions here and experience the destructive force of capitalistic greed’?”

  His mouth went thin and tight. “There are major regulations on water pollution we have to adhere to and we do. And that capitalistic greed employs hundreds of people, feeds their children and supplies the American people with everything from medicine to paper to building material.”

  “At the expense of an untouched forest that has grown without interference for hundreds of years.” She threw up her hands. “What do I tell my grandchildren when they ask what a two-hundred-year-old sycamore tree looks like? How do I explain to the next generation that there used to be places where nature ruled and man bowed down? How many animals have to lose their homes and die out before you people stop?”