My Mountain Man Recluse: A Grumpy Sunshine Age Gap Romance

3. Jagger

There’s a fucking woman standing in my yard. Not just any woman. Fucking Isobel Laker. Landon’s daughter. All five foot five, blonde hair, and curvy body.

How she got all the way to my backyard without Minty alerting me, I don’t know. I guess the storm has thrown her off. It’s had her skittish all morning, which is why I chained her up while I chop the wood. Now the damned dog and the damned woman have thrown me enough to cut my damned arm open.

Izzie races toward me with her eyes wide and her mouth in a determined line. She snatches up my discarded flannel as she jogs over.

“Wrap it in this to stop the bleeding.”

She takes my arm, and the shock of her touch sends heat up my arm and numbs the pain of the gash. Holy fuck, she should be prescribed for pain relief. One touch, and I’m healed.

I snatch the shirt off her before she can touch me again.

“I’ll do it,” I say through gritted teeth.

Minty strains at her leash barking, as confused as to why this woman is in my yard as I am. Thick raindrops fall on the both of us, but Izzie doesn’t seem to notice.

“My First Aid kit’s in the car.”

She takes off at a jog, and I watch her backside jiggle in her tight jeans. The sight sends another hit of endorphins to my brain and takes my mind off the blood seeping from my torn arm.

I use the flannel shirt to mop up the blood, and now that I can see the cut, it’s not as bad as I first thought. I sliced downwards, not through. There’s a piece of skin hanging off, but it doesn’t look like any tendons were cut. I’ll have to get it cleaned up and take a proper look.

Izzie comes around the side of the cabin at a jog. This time it’s her breasts I can’t take my eyes off of. They dance up and down as she crosses the yard, the rain causing her t-shirt to stick to her skin.

My dick twitches and I look away, busying myself with the shirt and ignoring the way my body heats as she gets closer.

Izzie crouches down and lifts the shirt from where I’m pressing it to the wound. A frown creases her forehead as she inspects my arm, and I take the opportunity to study her face.

Her skin’s got the sheen of youth, smooth and unblemished. Her cheeks are round and rosy, her lips full and tinged pink.

Her touch is gentle but sure as she peers under the flannel shirt at the injury below.

“It’s a surface wound,” she says. “We need to wash it out, and I’ll stitch it up for you.”

Her tone is matter-of-fact, already appropriate for the nurse she’s training to be, and I can’t help but be impressed. The little girl I once knew is all grown up. Which is a problem.

I’m getting the perfect view of her cleavage, and the rain has us both soaked through. Her white t-shirt clings to her skin, showing the outline of a lacy white bra and the pale skin of her soft breasts.

Her hair sticks to her cheeks, and rivulets of water drip from her nose. And the sexiest thing about it is that she hasn’t even fucking noticed.

She’s out here getting soaked, but all she’s thinking about is sewing up my arm.

Thunder rolls over the mountains and Minty barks, straining at her leash. The wood’s soaked, and I’ll have to hope the load I took in this morning is enough to see me through the storm.

The big fucking storm that was supposed to roll in tonight but has caught everyone off guard by arriving early.

Which is why Izzie needs to get gone.

“You need to go.”

She gives a quick shake of her head. “I need to get this washed out and stitched up.”

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a graze.”

She wraps her fingers around my wrist, and they’re warm despite the rain glancing off them.

“It’s not, Jagger. You need to either get down to the medical center or let me stitch that up for you.”

Her tone is professional, and it sends a new wave of tremors though my body. My little girl grew up, and she’s now a defiant woman. But I just need her to do what I tell her and get the hell off the mountain before this rain gets any heavier.

“You need to get home, Izzie. Go back to your dad.”

I stand up and turn away, pressing my lips together at the sting of pain. The shirt’s wrapped around the cut, and with the other hand I untie Minty.

She runs whimpering inside like the brave guard dog she is. Probably headed to get the best spot in front of the fireplace.

With my good hand, I manage to snag two hunks of wood and carry them to the shed by the house.

The chickens squawk as I push open the door, and Gertie my nanny goat gives a startled bleat. They don’t like being inside during the day, but with meteorologists predicting a once in a generation storm, I’m not taking any chances.

I chuck the wood at the base of the pile by the door. If the storm lasts more than a few days, it’ll give them time to dry off if I need them.

There’s the thump of wood hitting dirt, and a log rolls between my legs and stops by my feet. I turn around, and Izzie’s behind me dusting off her hands with the determined smile of someone who doesn’t give up.

“I’ll grab the rest after I’ve seen to your arm.”

She’s persistent. I’ll give her that.

“I don’t need you to see to my arm.”

It’s not my arm that’s aching for her, and I turn to the house before she can see the battle that’s going on in my pants.

She follows me out and I secure the shed, taking my time as rain slices against us. But Izzie just stands there, stoic in the rain with her medical bag slung over her shoulder and patches of my blood on her rain-soaked shirt.

I stride the few steps to the door, half open where Minty nudged it open to get inside. At least someone’s sensible about getting out of this weather.

I reach for the door handle, forgetting about my injured arm for a moment. The door bumps against the shirt that’s tied awkwardly around it and caked in blood. A sharp pain shoots up my arm, making me wince. I suck in a breath between my teeth and wince at the pain.

Izzie clasps the side of the door and pulls it wide open, fixing me with a look that tells me she isn’t going anywhere.

She’s got all the professional manner of a nurse who’s used to dealing with difficult patients. And I’m a difficult as they get.

I don’t want her here, but she won’t leave.

I built this cabin to get away from Isobel Laker. And as she sashays her big, beautiful, wet ass into my cabin, I swallow hard. This is going to be a difficult few hours.