Chapter 2
Dean
The last thing I need right now is a city girl with summer boots and a sunshine smile stumbling through my woods. But watching her trip through the snow ahead of me, all soft curves and determined chin, I can't make myself regret stopping.
"Here." I catch her elbow as she nearly face-plants into another drift. Her skin burns hot against my fingers, even through layers of fabric. "Walk in my footsteps."
She glances back, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion. "That would work better if your stride wasn't approximately twice the length of mine."
Christ. Even her complaints are adorable. I adjust my pace, trying not to notice how she fits perfectly under my shoulder, or how she smells like vanilla and coffee. The scent cuts through the crisp mountain air, making my head spin more than the altitude ever has.
"So," she says, breathing hard, "is mountain rescue your full-time job, or just a hobby?"
"I run the local sawmill." And hunt. And fish. And spend a lot of time alone in these mountains, which might explain why I'm hyperaware of every move she makes. "Though lately, it feels like professional wildlife relocator."
"Wildlife?"
"Bears getting into trash. Moose in gardens. City girls in snowbanks."
She laughs, the sound bright against the muffled quiet of the falling snow. "Are you categorizing me as wildlife, Mr. McKnight?"
Something hot and dangerous unfurls in my chest at the way she says my name. "Definitely unpredictable enough to qualify."
My truck's just ahead, and I guide her around to the passenger side, opening the door. She pauses before climbing in, snowflakes catching in her dark brown hair. "I appreciate this. Really. I know taking in strays wasn't in your plans today."
No, my plans involved checking the upper logging roads before the storm hit, then a quiet night with whiskey and paperwork. Instead, I'm taking home a woman who looks like a dream incarnate and talks to her truck.
I shouldn't want this disruption. Shouldn't notice how her jeans hug her curves as she climbs into my truck
But damn if I don't notice it all.
I circle around to the driver's side, using the moment to get my head straight. Tomorrow, she'll be in town, running her bookstore, living her life. And I'll be back in my routine, alone with my mountains and my responsibilities.
But when I slide behind the wheel, she's hugging herself for warmth, and before I can think better of it, I'm shrugging out of my coat.
"Here." I drape it over her. It swallows her whole, and something primitive in me stirs at the sight of her in my clothes.
"Won't you be cold?" She burrows into it anyway, and I crank the heat.
"I run hot."
Her eyes flick to me, then quickly away, color rising in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold. "I bet you do."
Christ .
I put the truck in gear, maybe a little harder than necessary. The snow's falling faster now, thick flakes making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. We should make it to my place before the worst hits, but it'll be close.
"The guest cabin's got a generator," I say, more to distract myself from her presence than anything else. "Basic supplies. You'll be fine until morning."
"Alone?" Her voice catches slightly on the word.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. "My house is about fifty yards away. Close enough if you need anything." Far enough that I won't spend all night thinking about her, soft and warm in that bed. "I'll check on you before I turn in."
"My hero." There's a teasing lilt to her voice, but something else too. Something that makes me want to prove just how unheroic I can be.
"Don't get too comfortable with the idea." I force my voice to stay gruff. "Soon as the road clears, you're on your way to town."
"Trying to get rid of me already?"
Yes. No. Maybe. "Town's better suited for someone like you."
"Someone like me?" There's an edge to her voice now. "And what am I like, exactly?"
I glance over. She's sitting straight, chin lifted, looking ready for a fight despite being wrapped in a coat three sizes too big. Everything about her is soft, delicate, civilized – and yet there's steel under that sunshine smile.
"You tell me," I say finally. "What brings a city girl to the middle of nowhere? In February? Alone?"
She's quiet for so long I think she won't answer. Then, softly: "Maybe nowhere is exactly where I need to be."
Something in her tone makes me want to turn this truck around, drive her back to wherever she came from, and handle whatever, or whoever, she's running from. It's a ridiculous impulse. I've known her less than an hour.
But as we climb higher into the gathering dark, I can't shake the feeling that whatever brought Harper James to my mountain isn't done with her yet.
And God help me, I'm already invested in how this story ends.
*****
The snow's almost white-out conditions by the time I turn onto my private road. Harper leans forward, peering through the windshield at the massive pines lining the drive.
"This is beautiful," she whispers, and something in my chest tightens at the wonder in her voice. City people usually see the isolation, the wildness, the danger. She sees the beauty.
My house appears first – a two-story log cabin I built myself five years ago. Then the guest cabin comes into view, smaller but just as sturdy. I park as close as I can to the covered porch.
"Wait." I catch her arm before she can open the door. "Wind's brutal. We'll go together."
She nods, already shivering despite my coat. I grab her bag from the back, then circle around to her side. The moment I open her door, the wind hits us full force, driving snow sideways.
"Ready?" I wrap an arm around her shoulders, telling myself it's just to keep her upright. Not because of how perfectly she fits against me, or how her hand curls into my shirt for balance.
We make it to the porch eventually. My hands shake slightly as I unlock the door. From the cold, I tell myself. Nothing to do with her pressed against my side, all soft curves and trust.
The cabin's dark and cold, but at least it's dry. I find the generator switch by memory, and lights flicker on. When I turn back, Harper's standing in the middle of the room, still wearing my coat, looking around with those big green eyes.
"This is your guest cabin?" She takes in the stone fireplace, the leather couch, the small but updated kitchen. "It's bigger than my apartment in Seattle."
"Built it last summer." For my sister, who never visits. For friends I rarely see. For... hell, maybe for this moment. "Bathroom's through there. Bedroom's upstairs in the loft."
She hugs herself, and I realize she's still shivering. Damn it.
"Sit," I order, heading for the fireplace. "I'll get a fire going."
"So bossy," she murmurs, but she sinks onto the couch, tucking her legs under her.
I focus on building the fire, conscious of her watching me. Every move feels scrutinized, like she's cataloging each detail.
That thought shouldn't heat my blood the way it does.
The fire catches quickly, one thing I'm good at, and soon the cabin fills with warmth and flickering light. When I stand and turn, Harper's got her head tipped back against the couch, eyes closed, looking so damn comfortable it hurts.
"I should check the generator's fuel," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "Then get you some supplies from the main house."
Her eyes flutter open. "You're going back out in that?"
"It's not far."
"But it's horrible out there." She sits up straighter, worrying her bottom lip. The gesture shouldn't be so distracting. "Shouldn’t you stay? Just until the storm dies down a little?"
Jesus . Every instinct I have screams to say yes. To sink onto that couch beside her. To...
I move to the door before I can do something stupid. Like admit that every second I spend in this cabin, watching her curled up in my coat, is chipping away at the wall I built around myself.
"I'll be back in twenty minutes," I say, hand on the doorknob. "Lock the door behind me. Don't answer it for anyone else."
"Anyone else?" One eyebrow arches. "Are you expecting a lot of visitors in this blizzard?"
"No. But you're not from here. You don't know our ways."
"Our ways?" She laughs. "What is this, a horror movie? Should I be worried about ancient mountain curses? Werewolves? Axe-wielding—"
"Harper."
"Right. Sorry. Lock the door. No strangers. Got it." She stands, and my coat slips off one shoulder, revealing that yellow sweater that makes her look like bottled sunshine. "But you'll come back?"
Something in her voice, a hint of uncertainty, of old hurt, makes me stupid. Makes me cross the room in three strides. Makes me reach out and tug my coat back onto her shoulder, fingers brushing her collarbone.
Her breath catches.
"I'll come back," I say, low and rough. "Twenty minutes."
I'm out the door before I can do something even stupider, like kiss her. The cold hits me like a slap, but it's nothing compared to the heat burning in my chest. What the hell is wrong with me? I just met this girl.
Twenty minutes. In and out. Supplies, fuel check, then back to my place where I can't smell her vanilla scent or see her curled up in my clothes or hear that laugh that makes me want to...
The door locks behind me with a click.
Twenty minutes. I can do this.