Chapter 10
TEN
GAGE
I pace the narrow path behind the cabin, boots crunching over pine needles, fists shoved deep in my pockets. The late afternoon sun slices through the trees in golden slashes, but the tight coil in my chest hasn’t let up since we left the bar.
Since I fucked her in the bar last night.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it was. That guy grabbed her wrist.
And I nearly lost it.
I’m not the type to go charging into town to play white knight. But the second I saw that slick-haired asshole leaning too close—touching her without permission—every buried instinct I thought I’d buried came roaring back.
And she’d looked at me like…
Not like I was some grumpy mountain recluse. Not like I was broken or dangerous.
She looked at me like I mattered.
And hell if I hadn’t been able to stop myself from going back and making her mine. It didn’t stop there. I claimed her again as soon as we were back in the cabin.
But when I woke to her next to me in bed, I’d panicked. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. And even though I’ve long-since finished my morning chores, I haven’t managed to get myself back to the cabin.
I’m not hiding out. I’m just… thinking.
Thinking about what a fucking idiot I am.
I know we crossed a line we shouldn’t have. She’s just passing through. I’m not good for her. But… hell. Do I want her with every fiber of my being.
I stop at the edge of the clearing, drag a hand through my hair. My whole body hums with this restless, jittery tension. I don’t want to break something. I just want something to hold onto.
Then I hear her.
Boots on gravel. Steady, purposeful.
“I didn’t peg you for a guy who avoids things,” she says.
I turn.
Tessa stands just inside the trees, arms crossed, braid over one shoulder. There’s a flicker of challenge in her stance, but her eyes—those eyes are soft. Curious. Like she’s giving me room to speak or to run.
“I wasn’t,” I say. “I just… needed air.”
She steps forward, slow and easy. “You’ve needed air all day?”
That gets a reluctant smile out of me. “I’m still thinking about last night.”
“The guy at the bar?” She lifts a shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. I’m not.”
“I didn’t like the way he touched you.”
“Neither did I,” she says, voice quieter now. “But I had it under control.”
“I know.”
I glance away. “Just—seeing it. Him. You. It did something to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t stop worrying.”
She takes another step closer. “I didn’t need you to worry about me, Gage. But I was really glad you did.”
I meet her gaze, and everything else fades—the cabin, the woods, the trail behind me.
“You’re strong,” I say. “You don’t need saving.”
Her smile is slow. A little surprised. “Neither do you.”
That hits somewhere deep.
Even though I know it’s asking for more trouble, I slide an arm around her. “I was also thinking about what happened after I decided to play the part of bar bouncer.”
“Oh?” She arches an eyebrow. “I’ve been thinking about that too.”
She slides a hand up my chest, and my heart pounds. “Oh yeah?”
She nods. “And I’ve been thinking about what we might do for a repeat performance.”
Before I can say anything else, my work phone buzzes. With a groan, I pull it out. Margie, from the nearby visitor center.
I answer.
“Gage? Sorry to bug you—someone spotted a limping coyote near the north ridge. Might’ve gotten caught in wire. A couple hikers saw it snarl and bolt. It scared them, but they’re worried it’s hurt.”
“Got it,” I say. “I’ll head out now.”
I hang up, already turning toward the trail.
“What is it?” Tessa asks.
“Wounded coyote.”
“Do you need help?”
I pause.
Normally, I’d say no. I don’t take people with me. This is solo work. Quiet work. Controlled.
But when I look at her, all I see is how steady she was with Archie. How fast she moved. How sure.
“You sure?”
She nods. “I’ve got boots in the car and nothing better to do. Besides...” She grins. “I kind of want to see you in action.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t say no.
***
We drive as far as the truck can go, then hike the rest. The shadows are long now, bleeding violet and rust through the trees.
Tessa catches my eye and smiles. “I know you’re used to do things on your own. But isn’t this more fun when you have back-up?”
We follow the ridge until I spot matted fur on a low branch, a streak of blood disappearing into brush.
“There,” I say. “Stay behind me. Coyotes are smart—and fast, even hurt.”
We move slow. Careful. I spot it—gray blur, low growl.
“Got eyes on him,” I whisper.
I pull the catch pole and blanket from my bag and edge forward.
Tessa doesn’t say a word. Just watches. Her eyes are sharp and she’s ready to do act when I give the signal.
The coyote limps into view—snarling, tired, still dangerous.
“Easy, buddy,” I murmur, crouching low.
He lunges.
I loop the pole, control him just in time.
“Blanket,” I grunt.
She’s already moving. She helps me cover him, her hands steady even as her breath hitches.
We secure its leg. Gently. Slowly. When it’s done, I look up at her.
“You alright?”
She exhales. “Adrenaline rush. But yeah.”
I’m impressed.
“You didn’t panic.”
“I have a good teacher.”
I grin. “Nah. I think you’re a natural.”
We get him into the crate, then head back to the truck—slower this time. Quieter.
“You’re good at this,” she says softly.
“Been doing it a long time.”
“I meant with people.”
I raise a brow. “People?”
“You didn’t yell. Didn’t lose it. You just... Showed me what to do and not to be scared doing it.”
“Well… thanks.” Something about her praise makes me want to stand a little taller. “You didn’t do too bad yourself.”
We stop beside the tailgate, the sky turning dusky behind her.
“Thanks for letting me come,” she says.
I look at her for a long second.
“Tessa,” I say.
She lifts her chin. “Yeah?”
“You’re not just passing through, are you?”
The wind rustles the trees. Somewhere behind us, a hawk cries.
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t think I am.”
“Good.”
I kiss her.
Not out of impulse.
Out of certainty.
Her hands curl in my jacket. My fingers skim her back, warm beneath her coat. She kisses me like she means it—like she’s already halfway gone and still willing to stay.
We don’t say anything else.
We don’t need to.
We drive back in silence. The kind that says more than words ever could. After caring for the coyote, we drag ourselves back to the cabin.
But neither of us are tired.
The second the door clicks shut behind us, I turn to her.
“Tessa.”
She doesn’t let me finish.
Her mouth is on mine, hot and demanding.
I walk her backward toward the couch, hands under her jacket, her fingers in my hair, and everything else fades as I tug her leggings down her hips and settle myself between her legs.
As I bury my face between her thighs and she cries out my name, there’s nowhere on Earth I’d rather be.