To Claim the Mountain Man

Chapter 33

ISLA

We pulled into the Mountain Lake complex fifteen minutes later, all thoughts of the little steak restaurant and our first date forgotten with a single phone call. I didn't care.

Almost as soon as he hung up with his mother, promising to be there for her soon, Heath slammed the phone on the center console, cursed under his breath, and started pulling out of the parking space. Only then did he glance in my direction and offer a cursory explanation.

"Her boyfriend just left. Took half of her shit. She's panicking."

I hadn't known what to say, so I simply nodded as he sped off.

Now, as his truck skidded to a halt in front of a worn-down mobile home with a faded-white exterior, my stomach twisted at the prospect of what we might find inside. Garrett had told me stories about Heath's mother. I knew she had a substance abuse problem and mental illnesses that exacerbated them, but it wasn't something I'd ever truly encountered before. Maybe this made me a bad person, but I was nervous.

For the first time since I'd started riding in Heath's truck, he didn't round the cab to open my door for me. The truck shook when he climbed out, shut the door, and stormed up the small porch.

I took a deep, shaky breath and fumbled with my seatbelt to follow him, but Heath had already pushed into the trailer. Slowly, I lowered onto the dirt path that served as the trailer's driveway, too aware of the voices rising from the trailer in front of me.

I recognized Heath's deep, rough tenor, overshadowed by a hysterical woman's shouting. I couldn't tell if she sounded angry or despondent. Maybe both.

Oh hell.

With hesitant steps, I climbed up the front stairs and hovered near the wide-open front door.

"—fucker took my flatscreen and cash. M-my wine and-and..." There was a loud sob, followed by the slam of a cabinet door.

"Jesus, Ma," Heath pleaded. "Take a deep breath. We're gonna get your shit back."

I peeked inside. Heath's hulking body filled a kitchen that looked like it'd been ransacked, cabinets wide open and food spilled across the counters. A few feet in front of him, a woman kneeled on the floor, opening and closing doors with desperate fervor.

"Where is it? Where the fuck is it?" Heath's mom rasped, her voice hoarse from however long she'd been crying. "I can't. I c-c-can't find it."

"Find what, Ma?" Heath murmured, softer this time. He bent over to grasp her trembling arms, picking her up from the dirty floor. "Let me help you."

She spun on her heel and shoved at his chest. "My wine, dammit!"

Heath took a small step backward, his lips pinched in a tight line, but he allowed her to continue her furious search. Pity swamped my chest, but I stayed in the doorway.

"You don't need any more wine," Heath sighed the words. "You've had enough. You need water."

If Heath's mother—I thought Garrett called her Shannon-- heard him, she didn't make any sign of it. She opened a cabinet over the stove and released a slew of curses when she found no wine inside. Her hands fisted in her mousy brown hair, tugging at the roots near her temples, a frown twisting her bony features.

"I need..." Shannon gasped, shaking her head and shriveling in on herself. "I just need a glass."

Heath wrapped his arms around his mom's shaking shoulders, pulling her into his chest in a protective, comforting embrace. She collapsed against him like a child.