4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Bella
I'm not going to look.
I'm not .
But oh God, it's impossible not to. Mason is huge . He's everywhere. Even sitting down, he takes up half the couch. His broad shoulders stretch his jacket and the flannel shirt beneath tight across his chest. His thighs are thick and muscled. Even his feet are big.
Okay, I'm also not thinking about what that might imply about other parts of his body.
He's easily 6'4”—a giant compared to my 5'2”. I felt so small tucked against his side as we hobbled back. Never scared though. His touch is gentle, not threatening. He makes me feel safe.
I really hope he's not just a super nice axe murderer.
A hot , axe murderer.
I thought the rescue guy, Bishop, was gorgeous. Mason is delicious . His cropped brown hair is the color of rich coffee, and his eyes are almost as deep, flecked with gold. He has a strong face, rough jaw, and firm lips that look as if they could kiss a woman until she melts beneath him. I press my thighs together as something tugs low and deep.
I've already been under him once and it was memorable enough to want a repeat. That moment he collapsed on top of me? I probably should have panicked, but I didn't. I felt surrounded by him. What would it be like if he weren't unconscious?
“Should we start with something easier?” he asks, hands going to the zipper of his coat.
That teasing smile—like it's reluctantly pulled to his lips—and the heat in his eyes are wrecking me. “S-sure.” I reach forward and ease it off his shoulders as he tugs the zipper free. This close, he smells like cedar and pine—clean and masculine, like the woods are clinging to his skin. I lay the sodden coat on the ground and reach for the top buttons on his blue flannel shirt. Our eyes lock. His gaze is intense as I slip the button free. He works the bottom buttons loose until we meet in the middle, never taking his eyes off me.
Since we met, he's looked at me like he's really seeing me.
What does he see? A mousy librarian who doesn't belong in the woods? Mason doesn't make me feel that way. It's not dismissive. For the first time, it's like someone really notices me. I thought it was what I wanted but... it scares me a little.
I slide my hands beneath the flannel, pushing it gently off his shoulders. He's wearing a thin white tank underneath. As I skin the flannel down his arms, I can barely breathe with the intimacy of the moment. He's a stranger and yet this feels more intimate than anything I've ever known.
“Ready?” he murmurs, hands dropping down to his belt.
No. No, I'm not. This isn't about me though. He's injured, and he needs my help. I swallow hard and nod. My fingers tremble as I unbuckle his belt. I pull it free as he slides the zipper down on his jeans. The sound is loud in the quiet of the room.
Mason lifts his hips with a low grunt of pain.
That wince on his face spurs me into motion. I hook my fingers in his waistband and ease the jeans off. Black boxer briefs cling to his strong thighs and—yep, he's huge.
Down girl.
The gash in his thigh is longer than my hand. Most of it isn't too deep—only enough to draw blood. “This part looks bad.” It's a gouge about an inch long. Definitely more than a Band-Aid can handle. “I think you need stitches.”
Mason looks out the window where rain is falling in heavy sheets. It looks like dusk outside, even though the sun isn't supposed to set for another couple hours. “Don't think we're going anywhere in this. It's supposed to get a lot worse before it gets better.”
Does that mean...?
“You might be stuck with me, sweetheart.”
Um... okay. It could be worse, right? I could still be lost in the woods. Instead, I’m in a cabin with a half-naked man who needs my help. A warm, solid, thickly muscled man.
Focus, Bella! Step one: Clean this wound. Step two: Figure out what to do next.
I reach for the antiseptic wipes in the first aid kit. “Sorry if it stings.” His thick thigh clenches under my hand as I wipe the blood away. He doesn't hiss or grunt, just silently watches me, eyes low and unreadable.
“I've never given myself stitches,” he says.
I pause mid-wipe. “Have you given anyone stitches?”
“A couple times. It's better to be on the sewing end than the receiving end.” His eyes crinkle but I sense an undercurrent to his tone. Like he's trying to laugh off something that hurts more than the gash. He must read the confused look on my face, because he adds, “In the military.”
I glance at the few pictures on the table by the door that I noticed when we came in. The cabin doesn't have much in the way of personal decor, so the photos seem significant. Mason stands with several groups of men in them, all in military uniforms of one kind or another.
I want to ask about the photos, but his expression has closed off. I swipe another antiseptic wipe on his thigh, getting the last bit clean. “I don't think I could keep my hand steady enough to put stitches in, knowing I'm causing someone more pain.”
A smile flickers over his mouth. “Use a couple of butterfly bandages,” he says. “I'll put some med-glue on it after I shower.”
“Will that be enough?”
“It has been before.”
Right. I'm starting to suspect he has far more medical training than a lowly library clerk with too much time on her hands. I put a few bandages on the wound and cover it with gauze. “There. Let me get some ice for your ankle. Then I should probably call someone. Let them know I'm not wandering lost in the woods, in case anyone realizes I didn't come back with the hiking group.”
Mason grabs my wrist before I can head to the kitchen. “What do you mean? Why wouldn't they notice you were missing?”
“Oh.” Shoot. Why did I say that? “I... didn't really know anyone in the group. I'm not much of a hiker, so I was in the back. Anyway, I accidentally got lost. That's when I heard Nitro barking and found you.”
“Bella.”
I reluctantly meet his gaze, afraid to see pity there. When I finally look, there's only concern.
Mason's jaw works, as if he's holding something back. “I don't know why you were up here alone or why you think you wouldn't be missed, but you saved me from some nasty exposure to the elements. Thank you.”
I give him a tiny smile and fetch him a bag filled with ice.
He takes it, then reaches for my hand. His thumb strokes over the tender skin of my wrist, sending a pulse of awareness through me.
“We're both muddy, and you're stuck here for the time being. I'll call mountain rescue to tell them you're safe. Why don't you get a shower and warm up. Grab some clean clothes from my dresser. I'll get the fire going, and we'll go from there.”
Mason is so big, so close. He's gorgeous, and tender... and it's overwhelming. I should help with the fire or wrap his ankle. Instead, I take the escape he's offering and retreat to his room. I'm shivering, muddy, and feel so gross. A hot shower would be heavenly. But first...
Digging my phone out of my pocket, I'm relieved to have a couple bars of signal. I dial Harmony, one of my closest friends. Thankfully, she answers on the second ring.
“Hey, girl. Did you go on that hike, or did it get cancelled because of the weather?”
“No. I got a little… off trail,” I say, voice wobbly. Honestly, this whole day is so unbelievable, I don't even know what to tell her. “I’m fine! I just wanted someone to know where I am.”
She goes quiet for a second, then says, “Bella, where are you?”
I glance at the closed bedroom door. “In a cabin, with a... a very large, wounded man.”
“Oh my God.” Harmony’s voice drops to a whisper. “Are you okay? Or blushing, flustered, might’ve seen abs, okay?”
I feel my cheeks heat all over again. “Option two.”
“Yes!” she whoops. Then drops back to a whisper. “I mean... who is he? Do you know him?”
“His name is Mason Walker. I think he might be one of the military men Caleb was talking about.” Harmony’s husband is former military also and has been working to help some of the men from his past units.
“Mason's not huge—he's a bear .”
I giggle “That's what I thought he was at first. You know him?”
“I met him a couple of months ago. He came to help Ezra and liked the area so much, he decided to stay. Caleb says he's a good man.”
Relief sweeps through me. If Caleb thinks he's honorable, then he's not an axe-murderer. That means I'm safe, for now.
“Wait, did you say you found him injured and you're at his cabin? Details, girl!”
The wind howls and the phone crackles. Something thumps outside. Like a branch hitting the porch? I jump, pulse hammering. It’s probably just the wind. The storm must really be intensifying.
“I'm not sure what—” The phone cuts out then, and she's gone. My stomach flips over. Looks like I might be spending the night with a mountain man.
A nervous flutter fills my belly at the thought. Mason is intense at times, yet my phone call with Harmony made me even more curious about him.
This cabin is simple. If he's only lived here for a couple of months, that explains the lack of personal decor. His bedroom has a king bed with a navy comforter, nightstands, and a dresser. The bathroom is clean, though a couple decades out of style. The kitchen is about the same, except the new-looking appliances. The only decor to tell me about Mason Walker are those few photos by the door—the ones he doesn't want to talk about.
The shower is decadently hot, and it's hard not to linger under the spray. I don't want Mason to have a cold shower though, so I hurry to wash up. I choose one of his flannels, which is long enough to be a dress. It's comical how I have to roll up the sleeves. I debate for just a moment, then put on a pair of his boxer briefs and complete the fashionable ensemble with socks that almost go up to my knees. I may look ridiculous, but for the first time in hours, I'm dry and warm.
When I return to the main living area, there's a fire burning in the fireplace, and some candles and a lantern sitting on the dining room table, ready for use. Nitro is snuggled on his plaid dog bed, and there's water running in the hall bathroom. Mason must have made his way to the shower, despite his injury.
The storm continues to rage outside, the howling wind whipping at the trees as darkness falls around us. Lightning streaks across the sky, followed by a loud boom that shakes the cabin.
The lights flicker once... twice...
Then the power goes out.
I hear a rough curse from the bathroom. The water shuts off, and a couple minutes later, Mason throws the door open.
Another flash of lightning illuminates the room for a split second, revealing a very large, wet man in only a towel.
My breath catches as the firelight flickers across his body, casting shadows across every inch of rippling muscle. Each slab, cut and carved as if by a sculptor, is seared into my memory. I want to touch him.
Mason's eyes meet mine.
“Guess it's just us and the storm now, sweetheart.”