In The Mountains (Tennessee and Paxton)

Meeting Tennessee

* Meeting Tennessee. *

"Help me," Paxton muttered to the huge boots near his head. He didn't know what else to do, and his brain wasn't offering other suggestions. His begging might've just been a death sentence for the stranger, but the words came out anyway. Some part of him whispered that he would never escape this alley

"I can work with that," came the stranger's thick Southern accent.

"Get out of here before you regret it," Mike snarled at the newcomer and reached for his gun. "This doesn't concern you."

Before the words were even out of his mouth, the stranger swung his shotgun like he was about to set the weapon on his broad shoulders. The barrel of the gun slammed upside Mike's head. Paxton felt the weight of Mike slip off his thighs.

As Paxton rolled onto his back, he was just in time to see the stranger use the wooden butt of his gun to nail his would-be-murder in the head again. Mike clutched his handgun, but he didn't move fast enough.

"Welp now, I reckon he's out." The stranger had a thick southern accent like delicious warm honey pouring from his lips. He moved with purpose and was on Paxton in a heartbeat. Paxton tried to recoil from the huge man, but with his beefy hands, he lifted Paxton like he weighed nothing. Once the stranger got Paxton to his feet, he freed his hands from the belt.

Dizziness swamped Paxton as soon as he was fully upright. He staggered toward the side of the limo. Paxton fell toward the car as he tried to pull up his pants and put pressure on the bleeding wound near his temple.

The stranger surprised him by helping him get his pants closed and holding him steady. If Paxton didn't have to vomit, he would have laughed. This might be the first time in his life that a man had ever helped him zip his pants closed.

"Yer bleedin' mighty hard." The stranger tugged Paxton into his muscled arms and kept him from stumbling or falling back down to the pavement. Their eyes met, and Paxton stared into beautiful gray orbs fringed with thick black eyelashes. "We need to get ya to a doc."

"No." Paxton looked to the limo and then down the now empty alley. Mr. Bentley took the dead driver, and there were probably no keys. What was he going to do now? If he went to a hospital, Keyon would find him, and then what would Paxton say to his employer? What if the client lied about what happened here? They could put all this on Paxton's shoulders like he was trying to escape. Keyon was as scary as Mr. Bentley. That old man might find Paxton in the hospital and finish him off.

"What's yer name, cowboy?" The stranger's question pulled Paxton out of his frantic thoughts.

"It's..." Paxton's eyes flipped to the man still holding him upright. His worn blue shirt had oil splattered on one side. The fabric hugged his massive chest. A loose tattered flannel was open like the shirt was missing buttons, and his camouflaged cargo shorts looked long past their prime. His huge hands were covered in black grime, and they left marks where they gripped Paxton's expensive suit. This guy was probably a homeless person and simply passing by, and Paxton didn't want this man's good deed punished. This stranger needed to get as far away from him as possible.

"I'm no one." Paxton tried to tug away from the hands gripping him firmly. The other man let him go, but when Paxton stumbled, the stranger was right back to holding him again.

"Yer scared of me? Ain't need to be. Honest."

Paxton raised his eyes to meet that of the curious stranger. The tall southerner was actually really sexy looking. Streaks of dirt marred his clear tan skin, but other than that, he was hot as hell. The man had a strong jaw and high cheekbones. Paxton stared into bright gray eyes surrounded by thick black eyelashes that any woman would envy. The man couldn't be more than twenty-five, and Paxton pictured all the horrible ways Keyon would cut his young life short. Keyon was the type who would enjoy cutting up a pretty face like this one.