Chapter Three
“So, your plan is to grow peppers, build knives, and stay hot in the forest?”
Skye
Sunlight stabbed through my eyelids like a laser pointer aimed directly at my brain. I groaned and rolled over, burying my face in something that smelled like cedar musk. Not my pillow. Definitely not my bed.
Memory flooded back in a rush. Lost in woods. Rain. Mud puddles. Fabio suddenly appearing with an axe. Wait.
I bolted upright, sending the blanket flying. The events of yesterday assembled themselves in my head like a PowerPoint presentation titled "Bad Decisions That Could Have Been Worse." Slide one: getting lost. Slide two: meeting Leif. Slide three: sleeping in his cabin wearing nothing but his flannel shirt and my underwear.
Speaking of which...
I glanced down at myself. The oversized flannel was twisted around my torso, revealing more thigh than I was comfortable with in the harsh morning light. My bra was still hanging in the bathroom along with my mud-caked clothes. Fantastic.
The cabin was quiet except for the rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk coming from outside. I rose from the couch, legs stiff from yesterday's adventure, and padded to the window.
Oh. Oh my.
Leif stood in a patch of sunlight, bare-chested and glistening with sweat as he swung an axe in a perfect arc. Muscles rippled across his back and shoulders with each swing. His jeans hung low on his hips, revealing a strip of tanned skin and the dimples at the base of his spine. Thunk . The axe bit into a log. He yanked it free, positioned another piece of wood. Thunk .
It was like watching a nature documentary on the mating habits of absurdly attractive mountain men. I should have looked away. I didn't.
"You're staring."
I jumped, heat rushing to my face. Leif hadn't even turned around. He just knew , somehow, which was worse.
"I—I wasn't—" I stammered, then stopped. "Okay, I was. But in my defense, there's an entire calendar industry built around what you're doing right now."
He turned then, axe resting on his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Sweat trickled down his chest, following the lines of muscle that seemed specifically designed to make my mouth go dry. It wasn't fair. No one should look that good while basically doing chores.
"Calendar industry?"
"You know. Hot Lumberjacks of Montana. Rugged Mountain Men and Their Wood . That whole thing." I waved a hand vaguely, pretending I wasn't still staring at his torso. "You could definitely get December. Maybe even the cover. Just sayin’, like if you needed to make a buck or two."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. It transformed his face, softening the harsh lines and making him look slightly less menacing.
"Coffee's ready," he said, nodding toward the small kitchen area. "Pot on the stove."
Right. Coffee. Focus on the coffee, not his biceps or pecs or…
"Thanks," I managed, dragging my gaze away from the window. "For the coffee. And shelter. And for not being an axe murderer."
"Day's still young."
I blinked, then realized he was joking. Leif Brannick had made a joke. The apocalypse was clearly upon us.
The coffee, when I poured it, looked like liquid tar and smelled like it could strip paint. I took a tentative sip and nearly choked. It was instant and apparently brewed with the "one scoop per drop" method. Perfect for removing rust or possibly dissolving bodies.
"This is... strong," I said diplomatically, adding more water from the kettle.
"Gets the job done."
The cabin door opened, and Leif entered, bringing with him the scent of fresh-cut wood. Up close, he was even more impressive—all hard planes and sharp angles, like he'd been carved from the mountain itself. He moved to the sink, splashing water on his face and neck, seemingly oblivious to my presence.
Or maybe just used to ignoring women who gawked at him like he was the last piece of chocolate in the box.
I sipped my diluted coffee and tried to remember what normal people talked about. Weather? Sports? The existential dread of finding yourself attracted to a near-stranger who lived in the woods?
"How long have you been making knives?" I asked instead, nodding toward the forge.
He grabbed a towel, wiped his face, and poured his own mug of coffee sludge. "Four years. Started with basic tools, worked my way up."
"And that's... your job now?"
"Part of it."
"The strong, silent thing really works for you, doesn't it?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He looked up, those pale green eyes meeting mine. "You've got the talking covered for both of us."
I couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. Maybe both. "Fair point. My students say I can talk through a fire drill, earthquake, and alien invasion simultaneously."
"Wouldn't surprise me."
He moved to the small refrigerator and pulled out eggs, a chunk of cheese, and what looked like homemade salsa.
"Hope you like scrambled," he said, cracking eggs into a bowl with efficient movements.
"I eat anything that doesn't eat me first," I assured him, watching as he worked. His hands were large but surprisingly deft as he seasoned the eggs. "So, your plan is to grow peppers, build knives, and stay hot in the forest? That's the master plan?"
He shot me a look that I couldn't quite decipher. "Not how I'd put it."
"How would you put it?"
"Living. Just living."
"Away from people."
"Yes."
"Because..."
"Because people are complicated."
I snorted. "That's one word for it."
"You disagree?"
"No, it's just—" I gestured at the cabin, the forest beyond, him. "Most people solve that by getting a therapist and a Netflix subscription, not by going full caveman."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Not everyone wants the same things."
"Obviously," I said, eyeing his bare torso again before I could catch myself. "I mean, I can barely handle a flat tire. You're out here building cabins and forging weapons like some Viking time traveler."
"And you think that's weird."
"I didn't say weird. More like... impressive. And maybe a little intimidating."
He paused in his cooking to look at me directly. "You're not intimidated."
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. "No, I guess I'm not. Curious, maybe. Slightly envious that you know exactly what you want."
Something shifted in his eyes then, a darkening that made my pulse quicken. "Do I?"
The air between us suddenly felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. I became acutely aware of several things simultaneously: the thin flannel barely covering my thighs, his proximity, the fact that we were completely alone in this cabin, and the way his gaze had dropped to my mouth.
I cleared my throat. "The, um, eggs are burning."
He cursed and turned back to the stove, scraping the slightly blackened eggs onto two plates. Crisis averted. Sort of.
We ate in silence that wasn't quite comfortable but wasn't entirely awkward either. I tried not to watch how his muscles flexed with every movement or how his throat worked when he swallowed. I failed spectacularly.
"You always this fascinated by people eating, or am I special?" he asked, not looking up from his plate.
I choked on my coffee. "I—I wasn't—"
"You were."
"Fine. Maybe I was. But in my defense, this whole situation is straight out of a Lifetime movie. ‘Single Young Female Lost in Woods, Rescued by Brooding Recluse with Abs of Steel.' You can't blame me for staring."
That almost-smile again. "Steel, huh?"
"Oh my god." I buried my face in my hands, mortification warring with inappropriate laughter. "Can we please pretend I didn't just say that?"
"If you want."
"I want." I dropped my hands, trying to regain some dignity. "So, the plan for today? My car, the camp, all that?"
"Roads should be clear enough now. We'll head out after breakfast, see what we're dealing with."
"Thank you. Seriously. Mandy—my friend—will kill me if I don't show."
"And you agreed to this... when?"
"Yesterday afternoon," I admitted. "Last-minute substitute. Their regular instructor got food poisoning."
He shook his head. "That's reckless."
"Excuse me?"
"Heading into unfamiliar terrain, no preparation, wrong equipment, no backup plan." He gestured at me with his fork. "That's how people die out here."
"I wasn't planning to get lost," I defended. "And I had backup equipment in the car."
"Let me guess. Telescope, sleeping bag, and enough sugar to put a grizzly in a diabetic coma."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. "That's... disturbingly accurate."
"No first aid kit? Compass? Topographical map?"
"I had the GPS on my phone!"
"Which works great until it doesn't."
I bristled. "Not all of us grew up knowing how to track deer and make fire with our bare hands, Mountain Man. Some of us have other skills."
"Like getting lost in yoga pants?"
"Like teaching kids about space and science and wonder," I shot back. "Like making learning fun." I broke off, realizing I was getting genuinely angry, which was ridiculous given that he had, in fact, rescued me from my own poor planning.
I reached for my water glass, but it slipped from my fingers, toppling toward the floor. Leif's hand shot out, catching it with reflexes that would make a cat jealous, water barely sloshing over the rim.
Our fingers brushed as he handed it back to me, callused skin against my softer palm. A jolt of awareness shot up my arm, and our eyes met over the glass. Time seemed to stretch, the air between us going thick and heavy. I gulped.
He pulled away first, clearing his throat. "We should get going."
"Right. Yes. Going." I stood too quickly, almost knocking over the chair. "I should, um, check if my clothes are dry."
They were—mostly. My yoga pants still had stubborn mud stains at the knees, and my tank top was wrinkled beyond salvation, but they were wearable. I changed in the bathroom, reluctantly swapping Leif's comfortable flannel for my own rumpled clothes. My reflection in the small mirror was horrifying—hair a wild tangle, mascara smudged under my eyes despite my best attempts to wash it off last night.
"You look like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket," I muttered to my reflection. "Very attractive. A+ survival chic."
When I emerged, Leif had put on a shirt—a faded henley that clung to his torso in ways that were frankly unfair—and was packing a small duffel bag.
"Ready?" he asked, not looking up.
"As I'll ever be."
The morning air outside was already thick with humidity, the aftermath of the storm evident in puddles and debris scattered across the clearing. Leif led me to an ancient Jeep Cherokee parked beneath a lean-to at the edge of the property.
"This thing actually runs?" I asked, eyeing its mud-caked exterior skeptically.
"Better than your car at the moment."
Fair point.
The drive back to where I'd left my Kia took about twenty minutes of jostling down trails I would never have recognized. Leif navigated with the confidence of someone who knew every tree personally, barely glancing at the crude map he'd sketched for reference.
When my powder-blue car came into view, its cheerful color a stark contrast to the serious forest around it, something in my chest constricted. It looked so small and vulnerable, half-buried under fallen pine needles, the flat tire giving it a dejected, lopsided appearance.
"Oh no," I whispered.
"What?"
"It's just..." I swallowed hard, unexpected emotion welling up. "I was supposed to be responsible. I was supposed to show those kids the stars and make them love science as much as I do. And instead, I got lost like an idiot and ended up imposing on a complete stranger and—"
My voice broke, embarrassingly. I pressed my fingers to my eyes, willing the tears not to fall. I was not going to cry over a flat tire. Or disappointed tweens. Or my own incompetence.
"Hey." Leif's voice was softer than I'd heard it before. "Look at me."
I did, reluctantly. His expression had lost some of its edge.
"Getting lost happens to everyone. Even people who know these woods."
"Even you?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Once. Long time ago."
"What happened?"
"Found my way back. Same as you will." He nodded toward the car. "Let's see what we're dealing with."
To my surprise, he was methodical as he assessed the damage to my tire. He had a patch kit and portable air compressor in his Jeep, and within thirty minutes, he had my tire holding air again.
"It's not perfect," he warned, wiping his hands on a rag. "But it'll get you to the camp. Just don't try driving back to Missoula on it."
"I wasn't planning to," I said, leaning against the car. "But the kids were planning a fun overnight adventure. We're supposed to do stargazing tonight, s'mores, the works."
"Good news is, weather's clearing. Should be perfect for stars."
I smiled at that. "Small mercies."
He hesitated, looking from the Jeep to my patched tire. "I'll follow you up. Make sure you get there."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know."
Our eyes met, and I saw something shift in his—a decision being made.
"I can help with the supplies, too," he added, glancing at my overstuffed trunk. "Looks like you've got enough in there to feed a small army."
"Twelve tweens plus chaperones. So, basically, locusts with smartphones."
That earned me a genuine chuckle, a low, rusty sound that suggested it didn't get much use. "Let's get you on the road, then."
We transferred some of the heavier items from my car to his Jeep—the telescopes, my duffel, and boxes of stargazing equipment. As we loaded the last bag, our shoulders bumped. I looked up, suddenly aware of how close we were standing.
"I owe you," I said softly. "For all of this."
His eyes darkened, gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
"Yeah. You do," he replied, voice low and rough as gravel.
He held my gaze just a second too long, and my lady parts practically stood up and applauded. Heat pooled low in my belly, and for one wild moment, I wondered what would happen if I just grabbed that henley and pulled him down to my level.
Thunder had nothing on the electricity crackling between us in that moment.