The sun filtered through the high cabin windows, warm and quiet. A slow breeze crept through the open screen door, fluttering the edges of a flannel shirt draped over a chair. Jack stood shirtless by the stove, frying bacon in a cast iron pan, steam from coffee rising beside him. The cabin was still and peaceful, but there was no mistaking the tension that lingered like smoke from the night before.
Vivienne DeLaney sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in one of Jack’s oversized shirts—too long on her, the sleeves rolled up, the collar open. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, no longer styled and controlled, but soft, wild, real.
She watched Jack cook with quiet intensity, fingers curled around a chipped mug, her lips slightly parted.
“You always make breakfast after breaking a woman in?” she finally asked.
Jack didn’t look up. “Only when she needs something warm to face the morning.”
She let that hang in the air. Because he was right. Her body ached—in the best way—but it wasn’t just the soreness between her thighs or the lingering heat in her chest. Something in her had been unlocked last night. Something untamed.
She hadn’t expected that.
She hadn’t expected him.
“You ever ask people why they come here?” she asked softly, watching the bacon crisp.
Jack flipped the strips and looked over his shoulder at her.
“Nope. If they’re running, it ain’t my business. If they’re lost, they’ll find their own way.”
She nodded. Looked down at her mug. “What if they don’t want to be found?”
Jack poured the bacon onto a paper towel, wiped his hands, and stepped over to the table. He leaned down, his hands braced on either side of her chair, voice low.
“Then they don’t get to hide from me.”
Vivienne met his gaze. Her expression flickered—something behind the confidence, the smirk, the lipstick. A crack. A hesitation.
And then she looked away.
“Good,” Jack murmured, brushing his knuckles along her jaw. “Because I wasn’t finished with you.”
Later That Day – In Town
Word had already spread.
Vivienne DeLaney had stayed the night at Jack’s cabin. The entire night. And she didn’t leave by breakfast like the others. She’d walked into town around noon—sunglasses on, lips painted wine red, hips swaying under a perfectly tailored dress. Not hurried. Not ashamed.
But watched.
Every woman in town took notice. Some with curiosity. Some with envy. A few with concern. Vivienne didn’t belong to the hills and valleys like they did. She didn’t smell like firewood and fresh rain. She smelled like power and money and secrets.
She stopped at the corner café. Ordered a double espresso. Sat near the window, thumbing through her phone.
People noticed what she didn’t do.
She didn’t call anyone.
She didn’t check into a hotel.
She didn’t tell the barista her name.
The Festival Approaches
It was the week leading up to the Fourth of July Festival week—the biggest celebration the town saw all year. It wasn’t just fireworks and pie contests and floating the lake. It was a gathering. A return. Old families came back. Outsiders passed through. Lines blurred between summer flings and rekindled history.
Vivienne claimed she’d “just stumbled through town on vacation.” But when a woman like her drives a custom Range Rover into a no-name mountain town just before the festival—and ends up in Jack Johnson’s bed the same night—people start to wonder.
The mayor’s wife whispered she looked familiar. “From somewhere. A gala maybe? A fundraiser downstate?”
The sheriff’s deputy mentioned the name DeLaney had popped up in an investigation last year—corporate fraud, embezzlement, big money. Nothing stuck. But the files were sealed.
Jack had already picked up on it.
She moved like a woman who’d lived under surveillance. She looked over her shoulder just slightly too often. She carried a gun in her designer purse—he noticed the shape through the leather when she laid it on his counter. And her eyes, though sultry, were trained. Like a woman who’d had to watch for shadows.
Back at the Cabin
Jack confronted her the night before the fireworks show.
She was sitting on his porch, wrapped in a blanket, sipping whiskey from the bottle, her bare feet up on the railing. The stars above were endless. The trees below whispered ancient truths.
“You gonna tell me what you’re running from?” Jack asked, stepping out behind her.
Vivienne didn’t flinch.
“Tired of running,” she said softly. “But I didn’t know where else to go.”
Jack leaned against the beam, folding his arms. “What happened?”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then:
“My husband—” Her lips twisted. “Ex-husband now. Big money. Political connections. Thought he could own everything. Even me.”
Jack stayed silent.
“I tried to leave clean. Tried to disappear. Took enough to start fresh. I was supposed to land in Colorado. Instead I drove. I didn’t stop until I found something that felt… solid.” She looked up at him. “And you feel solid, Jack Johnson.”
Jack studied her.
She wasn’t lying. But there was more.
“There’s someone looking for you,” he said. Not a question.
She nodded. “Probably.”
He stepped forward. Crouched in front of her, hands on her knees. “They show up here, they’ll wish they hadn’t.”
Vivienne stared down at him. “Why?”
Jack’s voice was low. Calm. Dangerous.
“Because this is my mountain. My cabin. My woman, if I say so.”
Vivienne inhaled sharply.
“And do you say so?” she whispered.
Jack rose, pulling her up with him.
“I say what I want. And I want you here. But you follow my rules.”
Vivienne’s lips parted.
“Yes, Jack.”
He kissed her then—slower than before. Not rough. But possessive.
Claiming her again, this time not just with cock and hands—but with something deeper.
Something real.
The Festival – A New Chapter
The next day, Jack and Vivienne walked into the festival together. She wore jeans—real jeans—and a tied-up flannel that showed off just enough of her cleavage to drive the men crazy and the women curious. Her heels were gone, replaced by boots. She looked like she belonged—except she was still Vivienne DeLaney, and everyone could feel it.
The whispers began again.
“She’s still here?”
“She came back with Jack?”
“She looks… different.”
They were right.
Vivienne wasn’t just staying. She was transforming.
And the town could feel it—like the slow crackle of fireworks before the explosion.
Jack’s Page