Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Flynn
“Do you think we’ll see Bella and her baby today?” Tabby, my eight-going-on-sixteen-year-old daughter asks as we head to the lodge. She’s been obsessed with moose since they studied about them in school a couple of weeks ago. She knows more facts about the creatures than I do at this point.
“Maybe. It’s a good day for moose sightings.”
“It’s not raining,” she points out.
Meaning Bella won’t likely be hiding out in the trees, just out of sight, trying to stay dry.
It increases the odds, even if only slightly, of the cow and her yearling being visible.
I don’t have to tell Tabby that moose are lone creatures who rarely—if ever—travel in herds like elk, which makes spotting them all that much harder.
“You’re right,” I say. “But that could change.”
“Because the mountains have their own weather patterns?” she asks, remembering a conversation we had two weeks ago when I last took her along for a wildlife tour.
She absolutely loves being an honorary tour guide with her dad.
I hope she never outgrows this phase. The one where she’s convinced she’s going to grow up to be a park ranger.
“That’s right.”
“How many do we have today?” There’s that too-grown-up voice again that would be more adorable if it didn’t remind me time’s going by way too fast. Before I know it, she’ll be going off to college.
I shake away the intrusive thought and do my best to stay grounded in the present moment.
“Four or five,” I reply.
“That’s a good group.” She sounds both serious and excited.
Tabby loves talking to tourists, and they love talking to her.
She’s a great icebreaker when I’m in a grumpy mood, as I am today.
I’m not sure there’s enough coffee in the world to fix it, either.
Serves me right for thinking another tourist might actually be interested in dating me and not just fucking me like I’m some kind of vacation trophy.
We pull up to the lodge, and I park my truck next to the passenger van we’ll be taking on the tour.
“Why don’t you go inside and get the official itinerary from Winnie?” I suggest, knowing full well that my daughter is antsy to get a cookie or whatever sweet treat the elderly woman has picked up from Ivy’s bakery for her.
“Okay!” She takes off in a burst toward the lodge entrance while I prepare the van for another tour.
Some days, it’s odd to think that this is my life. Though my father and grandfather before me were both park rangers, I had a different dream to be career Navy. But the universe apparently had other plans—namely one who wears green ribbons in her pigtails and calls me daddy.
Tabby was the blessing I never knew I needed.
It was never going to work with her mom, and I’m not bitter about that. It all worked out for the best. And though there are some days I wonder what I’d be doing if I was still enlisted, that curiosity pales in comparison to the life I get to live now.
Cinnamon Creek is my home.
I have everything I need.
Now, I just want someone to share it with. Someone who wants to do more than fuck me because I remind her of something called a mountain man.
“There’s just one, Daddy,” Tabby announces, running up to the van with a half-eaten cookie in her hand. Snickerdoodle if I had to guess.
“I know you didn’t run while you were eating that,” I say.
She shakes her head, causing the crumbs at the corners of her mouth to fall.
“Is this my ride?” a female voice asks.
I look up as a woman rounds the van, expecting to see a flock of tourists behind her. Winnie’s very effective in getting guests to show up on time to their booked events. Which is why I’m surprised to see only one now.
One who steals my fucking breath in those tight emerald green leggings that match her eyes.
She’s wearing a loose flannel shirt I suspect she bought at the lodge’s gift shop, and it takes incredible effort to force my gaze away from the generous amount of cleavage the tight tank top beneath that flannel shirt is poorly hiding.
“Where’s everyone else?” I finally manage to choke out the question after several seconds of gawking.
“Everyone else who?” the woman repeats, drawing my attention to her lips. Lips that remind me I haven’t kissed a woman in far longer than I care to admit. The minute I realize they just want to use me for sex, I end the date.
Last night was a new record.
The woman didn’t even let me get through my first beer before she propositioned me.
I force myself to look away, confused where the hell that thought of kissing this woman came from. She’s gorgeous, sure. Reddish-auburn hair, long legs, and curves for days. But that doesn’t mean I should be thinking about kissing her.
Or fucking her.
Did I learn nothing last night?
Judging by the flip-flops she thought it would be appropriate to wear on this crisp fall morning in Montana, she’s just another tourist with zero plans to stick around long. Hooking up with her would only leave me frustrated in the end.
“Winnie says it’s only one today, Daddy,” Tabby announces.
“Only one?”
“Is that a problem?” the woman asks.
Our gazes lock for a few beats that seem to stretch. It occurs to me that I could spend hours looking into those emerald eyes and never regret a minute of it. Spending the day with her is going to test my fucking resolve. Thank God Tabby’s here to keep me from doing anything stupid.
“No problem,” I say, nearly choking on the words because an image of those eyes staring up at me as I thrust my cock into her sopping wet channel in my bed has tackled me in a blind spot.
“You okay?” she asks.
I reach inside the van, to the coffee I’ve left in the cup holder.
After a solid gulp of the caramelly goodness—and forced thoughts of baseball, muddy trenches, and the mile-long to-do list I have to complete at the cabin to prepare for winter—I finally feel my throat clear up enough to return to normal conversation without a tent pitched in my fucking pants.
“You ready to go…?” I glance at the clipboard, realizing Tabby still possesses the printed itinerary somewhere on the other side of the van. No telling what little creature caught her attention. Probably a chipmunk preparing for winter.
“Devin,” she says, holding out a hand to shake. “Devin Rollins.”
“Flynn Conners.”
When our hands slide together, I feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. The zing travels up my arm and spreads.
Fuck.
What is that?
Devin yanks her hand free first, turning away.
Did she feel it too? Or is she creeped out by the strange man who looked at her like he wanted to devour her and wouldn’t let go of her hand?
Probably the second one.
I think.
“I’m Tabitha Conners,” Tabby announces proudly, rounding the back of the van to rejoin us just in time to break up the awkwardness. “Assistant tour guide.”
“Assistant Tour Guide Tabitha Conners, it’s very nice to meet you.”
“You can call me Tabby. Everyone else does.”
“Tabby, do you think we’ll see a moose today? It’s on my bucket list.”
“What’s a bucket list?”
“It’s a list of really amazing things you want to do see or do before you kick the bucket.”
“Kick the bucket?”
“She means before you’re gone from this world,” I quickly interject.
Tabby is no stranger to death having lost both her grandparents on her mom’s side in the past couple of years.
But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about dying today.
My sweet little girl loves to fixate, and I’d rather that obsession be about Bella.
“There’s a decent chance we’ll see a moose today,” I add, hoping to redirect the conversation back to wildlife.
“Not only is this the best time of day,” Tabby says, picking up the conversation without missing a beat. I breathe a sigh of relief, hoping the death talk is done for today. “But it’s also rutting season.”
“What’s rutting season?” Devin asks.
“My daddy says rutting season is like this big, busy party where boy moose—they’re called bulls—try to impress girl moose—they’re called cows.”
“Cows?”
“I don’t like it either,” Tabby agrees, her voice so serious I’m struggling to hide my smile. “Do you want to sit in the front seat?”
“Isn’t that your spot?” Devin asks her.
“Yeah, but I see animals all the time. You should sit up front in case we see Bella.”
I’m a mixture of both proud and conflicted. Proud that my little girl is such a considerate young lady. Conflicted because having Devin sitting beside me is only going to exacerbate the wildly inappropriate thoughts I’m already struggling to tame.
There’s something about this woman that has me sucked in.
It makes no fucking sense.
“Bella?” Devin repeats to my daughter.
“She’s my favorite moose. She has a baby this year, too.”
“Eddie or Edwina?” Devin asks.
“Who?”
“You’re probably too young for Twilight,” she mumbles. “What’s the baby’s name?”
“We’re still figuring out a name,” Tabby says. “It has to be perfect, so we can’t rush it. That’s what Daddy says.”
“Is that right, Daddy?” Devin asks, flashing me a flirty glance.
Fuck. Me.
“A name’s an important thing,” I say, forcing my eyes front and pretending I didn’t enjoy the way she just called me Daddy. Maybe I’d believe it was silly and innocent if the electrical current sparking between us wasn’t already dialed up to fucking twenty-two on a scale of one to ten.
It makes no sense, considering we met all of a few minutes ago.
The only thing that is clear: If I’m not careful, I’ll be totally fucked when it comes to Devin Rollins.