Chapter 1

I turned the snowmobile off the main highway onto the logging road that led to my cabin, relieved to have made the trip into town today. The storm was getting stronger and visibility was already down to just a few yards. The 2-hour trip would never have been possible if I'd waited until tomorrow.

The decision to live in such a remote location of the Great Smokey Mountains was my own. I was not always such a recluse. In fact I use to live in one of the larger cities of North Carolina and served as a law enforcement officer. After more than 20 years on the force, I busted the mayor's son for trafficking PCP. The mayor was able to pull some political strings, including having brass within the department falsify my reports. His son walked without a blemish on his record in less than a week. However his actions blemished my record within the department and the justice system.

Two weeks later, his son tried to bungee jump from the highest bridge in the city but forgot he didn't have a bungee cord. The autopsy report showed high levels of PCP.

His girlfriend finally came forward and admitted he had been dealing in PCP and other drugs for years. The mayor and the city decided they didn't want to battle me in court, so I took a substantial settlement and was offered an early retirement with full benefits. It didn't seem right working for a bunch of puppets that were so quick to turn their backs on one of their own.

I tried living in the city. Unfortunately, every time I went out I was bumping into some scum I'd arrested. A few of those times things almost got ugly. That prompted my move to a more secluded area.

As I pulled up to the gate and was about to unlock the chain, I noticed what looked like foot prints in the driveway. The snow filled tracks were hard to see and impossible to determine what would have made them. A dog, maybe, or even a mountain lion. I had seen a few in this area. After pulling the snowmobile and trailer through the gate I returned to lock the chain. I don't usually come through to the front of my property when going to town, preferring to use the trail I'd established over the past year and a half of living in this remote area, but with the driving snow and dim forecast I knew there would not be many vehicles on the country road.

The snowmobile gave a slight groan as I started up the mile of steeply inclined switchbacks leading to my cabin. I had built my place on a plateau about two-thirds up the side of the mountain. The plateau was approximately seven acres, with a mountain face to the back and a cliff to the front. The only way up or down was to use the switchbacks I'd carved out of the side of the mountain. There was a nice spring fed stream that provided plenty of water. The solar system and generator provided more than enough electricity when storms knocked the power out.

It was just around the third switchback that the small patch of pink caught my eye. There in the middle of the road was a mound, the snow already beginning to create a drift. If it hadn't been for the swath of pink I probably would have never noticed.

Thinking it was an old blanket discarded by hunters, or maybe something that had blown over the cliff of my plateau, I bent to pick it up and throw it into the trailer. However I noticed that it was around something bulky. As I gave it a tug, an arm pulled from under the snow. A small arm. I pulled again and noticed the small form roll. It was a kid. Scrawny, ashen, snow stuck to eyebrows and hair sticking out from a tightly cinched hoodie. I could see vapor of weak breaths, so I knew the kid was alive, barely, considering how stiff he was from the cold.

I scooped the child up in my arms, hardly a burden from his light weight. Making my way up to the plateau, I parked the snowmobile in the shed without worrying about the supplies. Once I entered the cabin I placed my burden on the sofa in front of the fireplace, poked around in the coals of last night's fire, and threw on several logs. Turning back to the lifeless body I began to remove his clothes. Why would anyone let a child so small go out into this type of weather, especially the way this one was dressed. I removed the wet sneakers, ankle socks coming with them as I removed the shoes. The hoodie was a problem because of the stiff arms, but I managed. When the hoodie was off I noticed a head full of mousy brown hair. Underneath was a tattered t-shirt which easily followed the hoodie. I noticed the pale skin, ribs prominently displayed, and a dip where the stomach and lower abdomen hollowed. The nipples were quite large for a boy, with puffy areolas. There was no belt in the loose jeans, so they came off easily with a snap and a zip. That was unusual. Panties. I was expecting to see tightie whites, or at least boxers with the latest popular cartoon character or super hero. But no, they were panties. Full white cotton with a tiny pink bow in the center of the waist band.

Regardless, they had to go. The clothes were soaked through and through. I slipped my fingers into the waistband at the hips and pulled down. They hesitated momentarily as they caught on the child's buttocks, and then snapped downward, down and off the feet. Grabbing a blanket from the back of the sofa, I opened it and was about to wrap the body when I was again shocked. No wonder the hoodie was pink. Now I understood the panties rather than boxers. He was a she. There before me was a pudendum, mounded with a very light scattering of brown pubic hair. The slit plainly visible, tightly closed with a hint of clitoral hood peeking through at the top.

I wrapped her in the blanket and lay her on the floor closer to the fire. The logs were starting to crackle and pop as they generated more heat, casting an orange glow of warmth into the room. I placed a throw pillow under her head and then felt for her pulse. Weak and thready. I knew I had to raise her body temperature or she wasn't going to make it.

I removed my snowmobile suit, shirt and long john top, then lay down close to her pulling her tight to my body. I could feel her light breath against my cheek. I didn't want to rub her to stimulate circulation. If she had frostbite the stimulation could damage the tissue causing more damage than good.

My mind was racing. Who was she? Was she lost? Had someone dropped her out like an unwanted puppy or kitten? How long had she been there ... unconscious? Is someone looking for her? Why would anyone let a child out in this weather, especially with the tattered clothes that she wore? Why, of all places, had she wandered up my driveway?

I must have dozed. A murmur brought me out of my slumber. She was stirring. I touched her cheek with the back of my hand. It was red and chapped from the cold and wind, but soft. A good sign that the tissue was not, or was no longer, frozen. For the first time I studied her face. Oval shaped with a thick mass of mousy brown hair, that was dirty and tangled. Her eyebrows were thick and I saw long lashes on her closed eyelids. Her nose was small and turned up slightly at the end. A button nose. High cheekbones and full, thick lips. There were dimples just out from each corner of her mouth, and her small chin had a slight cleft. I estimated her age to be about 10 or 11. She was actually quite pretty. If she would have been 10 years older I would have considered her beautiful.

I placed my hand inside the blanket and could feel it was warm inside. Untangling myself from around her small body, I slipped my snowmobile suit back on and went out to retrieve the supplies. After my third and final trip I opened a can of soup, chicken noodle, and began to heat it on the stove. Every few minutes I would look in front of the fireplace to check on the girl, each time finding she was still there, unmoved.

Once hot, I ladled some soup into a bowl and took it into the den. I lifted the girl enough to slide under her, propping her up against my leg. "Hey, wake up," I whispered, gently stroking her cheeks. "Wake up, little one."

Her eyes fluttered and then opened unfocused. "Welcome back to the land of the living," I said softly. "Think you can eat a little soup?"

She looked around as if trying to figure out where she was, and then gave me a slight nod. After feeding her several spoonfuls of broth she looked at me with deep brown eyes and asked, "How did I get here."

"I found you on the road," I answered. "Luckily I came along when I did. Otherwise you could have been buried there in the snow for weeks."

"I don't remember," she looked up at the ceiling as if trying to regain her thoughts. "I just remember being cold."

"No doubt," I said. "How do you feel now?"

"Warm. But my fingers and toes are tingling." I could see the blanket move as she apparently wiggled them to make sure they were still there.

"You most likely had a touch of frostbite," I said, feeding her some more soup. "They may be a little painful when all the feeling returns."

She was silent as I fed her the rest of the soup. "More?" I asked as I gave her the last spoonful.

"Uh huh," she said through sleepy brown eyes.

I worked my way from under her and placed the pillow back at her head. Rather than lying back, she propped herself up on her elbow and began to loosen the blanket wrapped around her. "I'm get'n hot," she said as the blanket opened. Noticing she was nude, she looked at me and exclaimed, "I'm naked."

"I had to take your clothes off," I told her. "They were wet and I had to get you warm as quickly as possible."

I ladled the rest of the soup into the bowl and brought it to her. "You want to feed yourself, or do you want me to do it," I asked.

She paused for a moment and then with a shy smile she softly said, "You." She had a pretty smile. Her face seemed to light up and her brown eyes sparkled when she smiled.

I slipped back under her and used a leg to prop her up again. She held the blanket closed as I fed her the remainder of the soup, but occasionally it would slip away from her body to show a glimpse of slim thigh or belly.

"What's your name," I asked.

"Jessica. But everyone calls me Jessie," she answered.

"Do you have a last name, Jessica?"

"Weston,"

I couldn't think of anyone in this area with that last name. "I'm Keith, Keith Bradford," I told her.

"I know," she said looking up at me. "You've come to my house."

"When," I asked, trying to figure if I'd ever seen her before.

"B'out every month or so. You'd come see my grandpa and bring him beer."

"Old man Gus," I asked with a questioning look on my face. "You're Gus' granddaughter?"

She just nodded in response.

I'd met the old man not long after moving here. He'd always be sitting in a rocking chair in front of his old shack when I'd drive by. I decided to stop one afternoon to be neighborly and introduced myself. He said he'd offer me a beer but he didn't have any. I'd just been to the store and reached into a bag in the back of the truck and pulled out a six pack. From then on I was his best friend. In fact I believe I was his only friend. I'd never seen anyone else stop to visit. I'd never seen Jessie there.

"How come I've never seen you then," I asked.

"Grandpa always made me go inside when you'd stop," she said. "Said you two were talk'in men talk and didn't want no young'in butt'n in every other sentence."

I could almost hear Gus making a comment like that. He was a rough of cob, always wearing a pair of bib overalls and brogan boots. He wore a wide brimmed hat over a mass of wiry gray hair that kept the sun out of his eyes, and had a thick mustache and beard that covered a leathery face.

To be so isolated, Gus knew a lot of the local history. He'd tell me stories of moonshiners or feuding families. How the tax men would come in and bust up the stills, and one family would accuse the other of tipping the tax men to its location. He had a knack for story telling and I enjoyed listening. I did remember Gus saying he had a daughter.

"So your mom is Gus' daughter," I asked.

"Uh huh," she said. "We use to live in Kentucky. One night she woke me up when it was still dark and said we had to go. She brought me to grandpa's house and left. Ain't heard from her since. Neither has grandpa. That was b'out a year ago."

"Why were you out in this storm?" I asked. I knew Gus was a tough old turd, but I also knew he wouldn't send this child out into this weather.

"I think grandpa's dead," she said as her eyes watered. "I woke up last night because it was so cold and was going to put another log in the woodstove. Grandpa wasn't in bed. When I climbed out of bed he was just sitt'n there in his chair. His eyes were look'in at the wall and they weren't mov'in. I shook his hand to get his attention but he didn't move or say anything. His hand was really cold and stiff."

Tears were starting to slide down her cheeks and drip onto the blanket. I imagined it was horrifying for the young child to find her grandfather in such a state. There were many times I thought I'd find him like that when I stopped to visit. In fact, that was one of the reasons I'd check on him about every month. He loved to talk and tell his stories, and being secluded myself, I found his company to be somewhat refreshing on occasions. However he was getting up there in age.

"I was gonna bury him," she continued, "So I went out and dug a hole. It was hard and took a long time cause the ground was frozen. When I tried to carry him out, he was too heavy. He was all bent up from the way he was sitt'in and he must have been frozen to the chair. Every time I tried to pull him out, the chair just scooted a little.

"Anyway, I was cold and hungry. We didn't have anything to eat in the house. He was goin' huntin' to get us a deer or couple rabbits for our supper."

"So that soup was the only thing you've eaten all day," I asked her.

She just nodded, then added, "Actually since three days ago. He was gonna go hunt'in yesterday but must have knowed someth'in was up. He kept tell'in me to come see you if someth'in happened. Said you'd take care of me." She looked up into my eyes. "Guess he was right, huh?"

"Naw," I said with a serious look as I tried to lighten the air. "I think I'll just throw you out in the cold for the wolves."

Her eyes widen in shock and I couldn't hold my seriousness. I broke into laughter at her expression, and when she realized I was joking she gave me a punch in the gut.

"That weren't nice," she said.

"Yeah, I know," I answered with a huge grin. "The wolves would be mad at me for giving them such a scrawny package of skin and bones," and broke into laughter again, only to be answered with another punch in the gut.

I scrambled out from under her and headed for the kitchen. "Well, milady. If you can survive an hour without starvation, I will prepare you a feast fit for a queen."

Wrapped in the blanket, she followed me to the kitchen and scooted herself into one of the stools at the counter.

My cabin had a large great room with an adjoining kitchen and dining area. On the opposite side of the great room was a hall with two bedrooms on the right and my master bedroom on the left. At the end of the hall was a bathroom. The master bedroom had an ensuite bathroom of its own. An exposed stairway along the bedroom side of the great room led up to what was originally designed to be two additional bedrooms. I'd selected one to be a library and the other for storage. I had set up one of the bedrooms on the lower floor as my office where I'd taken to writing detective novels, first as a hobby, and then as a profession.

A lady I'd dated a few times worked for a publisher. She'd read one of my novels and thought it was quite good. Without my knowledge she had passed it along to her boss, who immediately wanted me to sign a publishing contract. I was surprised that my writing had done quite well. I'd use experiences from my law enforcement career and tweak them with a little love and romance. I'd had eight books published so far and was about to complete my ninth. My first two books have now sold over a million copies each. During the past year I continued to have at least one of my books on the top ten list. I was also surprised at the income the books generated. What started as a simple hobby had turned out to be quite lucrative.

As I was finishing dinner, roasted pork loin with rice and gravy, green beans and salad, I noticed Jessica fanning the blanket. Seeing me look she said, "Hot in here."

With the fireplace cranked up, the temperature in the cabin was quite warm. "If you want, go into my bedroom down the hall on the left. Get one of my t-shirts from the second drawer in the dresser. You can wear it until I get those ra..." and stopped myself. I started to say rags but thought those could very well be the best, or only, clothes she owned. "You can wear it until your clothes have been washed and dried."

She jumped down from the bar stool leaving the blanket. I watched in amazement, dumbfounded even, as she trotted towards my bedroom, her rounded butt jiggling with each step. Damn, what a butt. A child wasn't supposed to have a butt like that. Two rounded globes twitching up and down with each step. That was a woman's butt. Hell, women would give anything to have a butt like that. I was still staring down the hall, jaw open, when she re-appeared pulling on one of my white t-shirts with a police badge stenciled over the left chest. She saw my expression and stopped.

"What," she asked questioningly, the bottom of the t-shirt settling to mid thigh.

"It's not every day I see a naked little nymph running through my cabin," I said, finally closing my mouth.

"What? Was I not suppose ta," she asked. "You was the one that told me to go get a t-shirt."

I sensed concern in her voice. She actually thought she had done something wrong. In her eyes she may not have done anything wrong.

"No, no. It's fine, really," I answered. "I guess you made me realize just how long it's been since a lady visited my cabin."

"Oh. You mean sex stuff," she grinned, easing back up into the bar stool. "Mama used to say a man's balls would turn blue if they didn't get regular sex. I know that ain't true, though. Grandpa never had any womenfolk around and his balls never turnt blue."

Chapter 2 »