Burly and Rugged (The Men of Silver Pine Ridge #3)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

LINDY

T hat’s not good.”

The tone of Cody’s voice is low, filled with a warning that puts me on instant alert. Tension rolls off his body as he scans the horizon.

I follow his gaze and instantly see what he’s looking at – thick, charcoal-black clouds are rolling in fast over the ridge, swallowing the late afternoon sun. As the light around us falls into shadows, a cold wind comes out of nowhere and slices through every layer of my clothing.

“Is that as serious as I think it is?” I ask, my teeth already chattering from the cold.

“Yes, it is. Weather’s turning, and we don’t have any time to lose. We need dry shelter,” he says, eyes never leaving the horizon. “Fast.”

The wind shifts abruptly, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of rain. The temperature plummets and goosebumps race across my skin, even as I try rubbing my arms through the layers I’m wearing. Then—BOOM—thunder crashes above us, so close it shakes the ground beneath my feet. I flinch involuntarily, my hand flying to my chest.

Cody adjusts his pack as he scans where we’re at. “We need to move. Now.”

Lightning splits the sky in the distance, brilliant white against the bruised clouds, illuminating the jagged peaks ahead like a photographer’s flash. My stomach tightens into a knot of fear. What if we get stuck outside? Does Cody have a tent?

“How bad is this going to be?” I ask, raising my voice over the wind that’s now whipping my hair into my eyes.

Cody doesn’t slow his pace but keeps leading me along the trail. “Mountain storms are unpredictable. Could blow over in an hour, could be a three-day deluge. Either way,” he glances back at me, his eyes intense, “we don’t want to be out in it when it hits full force.”

As if Mother Nature is listening, the first icy drops of rain slap against my face. Within seconds, it’s a downpour, sheets of rain slashing through the trees. My lightweight jacket, sufficient for the cool weather that was forecast for the week, becomes useless as the rain soaks me straight to my skin.

“Damn it,” Cody curses under his breath, barely audible over the roaring wind. He pivots sharply, then points ahead to a rocky outcropping. “There’s a cave near here. Follow me. We have to move faster.”

I don’t hesitate. The urgency of his command lets me know this is as serious as I think it is. If I’m already soaked to the bone, what would… I stop myself. I don’t want to know what will happen if we don’t find shelter. It’s the only thing that’s important right now, and I have to trust Cody with my life because right now, my life does depend on him.

“Stay close,” he shouts over the wind. “The ground is going to get treacherous. Avoid stepping in running water.”

The wind roars as we push forward, the storm intense as we move toward the cave. My boots slip on the muddy ground, sending me lurching forward. Cody’s hand shoots out, steadying me with a firm grip on my elbow. His touch, even through layers of wet clothing, burns like a brand.

“I’ve got you,” he says, eyes meeting mine for a moment. “We’re almost there.”

My lungs are burning with exertion, but I force myself to match Cody’s fast pace. Rain lashes at my face and blurs my vision, but I keep my eyes locked on Cody. I trust him to lead me out of this storm.

“There!” Cody points.

I follow the direction of where he’s pointing, but I don’t see it. Then the wind picks up, and a break in the rocks becomes visible.

We rush to the cave, and Cody ducks inside first, scanning the interior with the small flashlight from his belt. “Clear,” he calls, then waves me in. “No signs of animal activity.”

The moment I step through the entrance, the storm dulls to a muted roar. The abrupt shift from chaos to relative quiet is disorienting. My whole body sags with relief, and my heaving breath echoes in the cave.

I brace my hands on my knees, catching my breath, rainwater dripping from my clothes and hair, pooling onto the stone floor beneath me. My fingers are numb with cold, and I’m shivering violently.

Cody moves quickly, shrugging off his pack and using his flashlight to inspect the space more closely. It’s small but deeper than I thought it would be. But most importantly, it’s dry, and the shrubs outside block out most of the rain.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice gentler now that we’re out of immediate danger. His eyes roam over me, checking for injuries.

I nod. My teeth chatter embarrassingly.

“Hey,” he says, moving closer. “We’re going to be fine. You did great out there. Now, the first rule of survival in wet conditions,” he says, his voice echoing slightly in the stone chamber. “Get dry as fast as possible. So, you need to strip and get into dry clothes.”

Without ceremony, Cody shrugs off his soaked jacket and tugs his wet shirt over his head, tossing it onto a jutting rock to dry. What he’s doing is practical—but nothing about the way my eyes lock onto his bare torso is practical.

I catch a glimpse of his defined chest, the ridges of his abs, the strong slope of his shoulders. Droplets of water trace slow paths down his skin, following the contours of his muscles. His body is all raw power, and suddenly, I don’t feel the cold anymore.

“The human body loses heat twenty-five times faster through wet clothing,” he explains, oblivious to my staring. “It’s why—” He stops mid-sentence, catching my gaze.

I quickly avert my eyes, heat rushing to my cheeks. My heart hammers in my chest, and I curse myself for being so obvious.

“Are you listening to me?” he asks, annoyance creeping into his voice. “You need to change. You’ll lose too much heat in those.”

It takes me a second to process what he’s saying because my brain is still fried from the sight of his muscles.

“Oh. Right. Hypothermia,” I mumble, blinking. Get it together, Lindy. This is survival training...don’t forget to, y’know, survive .

“The temperature’s dropping fast,” he adds, pulling out supplies. Cody tosses me an emergency blanket, the silver material catching the firelight. “I’ll turn around.”

I nod, swallowing thickly, watching as he turns his back to me. It’s stupid, how relieved I feel that he’s giving me privacy—and how disappointed I feel, too. The conflicting emotions tangle in my chest.

“Is this what you meant by ‘serious shelter’?” I ask to fill the silence as I peel off my soaked jacket, my fingers clumsy with cold.

“Not ideal,” he answers, keeping his back turned. “But it’s dry, defensible against wildlife, and the narrow entrance blocks most of the elements. This storm wasn’t in the forecast, but this time of year, it shouldn’t last too long.”

I struggle to get out of my hoodie, which clings to my skin like it’s determined to become a permanent part of me. “You seem pretty prepared for this.”

“Part of the job.” There’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Expectation versus reality is the first lesson in wilderness survival.”

My damp leggings are next, and I nearly lose my balance removing them. “What do you mean?”

“Nature doesn’t care about your plans,” he says. “The people who survive are the ones who adapt.”

I pull on the dry thermal shirt and leggings from my pack. The fabric is soft against my skin, and the relief is immediate and intense. I exhale as my shivering fades slightly, and a tiny bit of warmth comes back to my arms and legs.

By the time I turn back around, Cody has changed, too. His fresh shirt clings to his muscles, and his pants hang low on his hips. Somehow, this half-dressed version of him is even more distracting than the shirtless one.

“Better?” he asks, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.

I clear my throat. “Better.”

Cody nods, his gaze flicking over me briefly as he pulls two MREs from his pack and holds them up. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” I admit. While I’m definitely hungry for food, I’m also hungry to know what it’d be like to be in his arms, to feel his deliciously muscled body against mine.

Outside, lightning flashes, briefly illuminating the cave entrance. Thunder follows almost immediately, rumbling through the stone beneath us.

“Perfect timing,” Cody says with a half-smile that does impossible things to my pulse. “We’ll wait out the storm, get some food in us, and reassess.”

After he builds a fire and we finish eating, my body is warmer, but I’m still shivering. I try to hide it, tucking my hands under my arms, but Cody notices.

“You’re still cold,” he says, brows drawing together in concern. The firelight deepens the lines around his eyes, shadows playing across his face.

I shrug, trying to appear casual. “It’s not—” But my teeth chatter before I can finish the sentence, betraying me completely.

“Your core temperature is still recovering,” he says, his voice taking on an instructional tone. “Even with dry clothes, it can take hours to fully warm up after exposure like that.”

Cody exhales through his nose, then shifts through his pack again, methodically searching for something. “Here. I have something for you.”

“Another survival trick?” I ask, watching as he digs through his pack.

He glances up, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that.”

He moves to the fire, filling a small pot with water from his canteen.

“What are you doing?” I ask, hugging myself tighter.

His lips twitch slightly, but he doesn’t look up from his task. “Surprise.”

“Today has had a lot of surprises,” I murmur, remembering how suddenly the storm started and how Cody knew exactly where to find this cave when we needed it most. Don’t be silly. Obviously he would know about this cave. This mountain is where he lives, and this is where he teaches this course.

“Part of being prepared,” he replies, stirring something into the steaming water. “And sometimes...”

“Sometimes what?”

He hesitates, then says, “Sometimes it’s good to remind yourself that survival isn’t just about enduring. It’s about finding moments worth enjoying, too.”

I watch, curious now, as he carefully pours the steaming liquid from the pot into one of the battered, lightweight mugs we use in the morning for coffee.

I blink, taking it carefully, the warmth seeping into my palms and traveling up my arms like a direct infusion of comfort. The second I bring it to my lips, the scent hits me—sweet, rich, familiar. Childhood winters and snow days and comfort.

Hot chocolate.

My eyes fly up to meet his. “No way.” The disbelief in my voice echoes slightly in the cave.

Cody smiles, but it’s softer this time. Almost shy. There’s something vulnerable in his expression I haven’t seen before. “I keep a couple of packets with me. For emergencies. Or treats.” He nods toward the storm outside, where rain still lashes against the rocks. “I figured this qualified.”

A ridiculous, unexpected warmth fills my chest. This man who can survive in the wilderness, who seems gruff and distant…he carries hot chocolate packets in his survival gear.

I take another sip, letting the rich, creamy taste melt on my tongue, and swear it’s the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. “This is perfect,” I say, looking up into Cody’s dark eyes. “Thank you.”

Cody’s eyes hold mine across the fire, and neither of us looks away.

“You’re welcome.” Cody coughs and glances toward the opening of the cave. “Okay. It’s going to get colder tonight. We can’t risk keeping the fire going while we sleep. So,” he pauses, “We need to sleep together. Share body heat.”

My stomach tightens, a flutter of anticipation that spreads outward, tingling through my limbs.

Oh. Oh .

“It’s basic survival,” he adds, but something in his tone suggests this is more than just a survival technique. “Most effective way to prevent hypothermia in these conditions.”

I know he’s right. The logical part of my brain understands the science, the necessity.

And... I don’t want to say no. The thought of his arms around me, his body pressed against mine—it’s everything I’ve been fantasizing about. I suppose I should be thanking Mother Nature about now because this is definitely a wish I never expected to come true.

“Okay,” I say, trying to sound composed, even though my pulse is racing beneath my skin. “Makes sense.”

He nods once, spreading out the sleeping mat and emergency blankets to create a makeshift bed against the cave wall furthest from the entrance. Then he takes our sleeping bags and zips them together into a large blanket. After lighting a small lamp, he puts out the fire and gets into our makeshift bed.

He shifts, stretching out on the sleeping mat, lifting the blanket in silent invitation. The light from the lantern casts shadows along the planes of his face, catching the slight tension in his jaw.

I move slowly, carefully, sliding in beside him. The second his arms wrap around me, I have to remind myself to breathe.

His strong body radiates heat, pressing against me and setting off a string of new fantasies in my mind. Every point of contact sends sparks across my skin and stokes the fire burning in my core—his chest against my back, his thighs pressed against mine, his breath warm against my neck. His scent—woodsmoke, fresh air, something purely him—surrounds me, stealing every logical thought from my mind.

I should focus on warmth. On survival. But all I can focus on is the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back, the weight of his arm curled around me and holding my body close to his, the awareness of every inch of his body curved around mine. My skin is hypersensitive, and each small movement—the slight adjustment of his arm, the brush of his fingers as he tucks the blanket around us—sends ripples of lusty need through me.

“Better?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough against my ear. The single word vibrates through me, and I suppress a shiver.

“Yes,” I whisper, barely trusting my voice. I instinctively nestle back against him, seeking more contact, more warmth, more of him.

I shift slightly, trying to find a comfortable position, and my hips brush against his. His grip tightens reflexively, his arm tensing around my waist. Each small movement sends more heat into my core.

“Try to sleep,” he says, but there’s a tightness in his voice that wasn’t there before.

Outside, the storm rages on, but inside this cave, wrapped in Cody’s arms, I’ve never felt safer—or more turned on.