Chapter 4
Dean
She fits against me too damn well.
The morning sun's been up for twenty minutes, turning her hair to honey gold where it spills across my chest. I should've woken her hours ago. Should've carried her up to the guest room instead of letting her curl into me like she belongs there.
Should've done a lot of things.
"Harper." Her name comes out rougher than intended. "Wake up."
She makes a small sound and burrows closer. Christ. "No. Five more minutes."
I fight back a laugh. She's lethal like this. Soft, warm, trusting. "Sun's up. Storm's passed."
That gets her moving. She jerks upright, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. Everything in me wants to pull her back down.
"I'm so sorry," she stammers, trying to tame her sleep-mussed hair. "I didn't mean to—"
"Don't." I stand before I can do something stupid like touch her. "Coffee?"
She nods, and I escape to the kitchen, needing distance. Last night changed something. Her confession about the ex-fiancé, about waiting for marriage, about running to find something real – it woke up every protective instinct I've got.
Some bastard threw away her trust, and now she's here, in my cabin, looking at my world with those wide green eyes.
"Oh wow."
I turn to find her staring out the window at the ice-covered landscape. Morning light catches her profile, and for a moment I forget how to breathe.
"Chester’s not going anywhere today, is he?"
I set her coffee down, black like she asked for last night. "No. Need to get you into town though. People will be wondering about the new bookstore owner."
Something flickers across her face – uncertainty, maybe fear. She grips her coffee mug like armor. "I could walk?"
"It's eight miles."
"Okay, maybe not walk." She bites her lip, and I force myself to look away. "But you don't have to—"
"Get dressed." I pull on my shirt, feeling her eyes on me. "I'll drive you."
"But—"
"Harper." I meet her gaze, letting her see what I can't say. That I need to do this. Need to know she's safe. "Let me help."
Something passes between us in the silence. Understanding, maybe. Or danger.
"Okay," she whispers.
I nod, already heading for the door before I can do something reckless like kiss her. "Twenty minutes. Wear boots."
Outside, the cold air clears my head. What the hell am I doing? She's running from a man who betrayed her, and here I am, wanting to keep her. Wanting to be the one who shows her what real feels like. To not be alone.
And that's the problem, isn't it? Because Harper James isn't meant to be alone. Not when everything in me is screaming to protect her. To show her that not every man will break her trust.
To be her first. Her last. Her everything.
I press my forehead against the frozen truck door and curse. I'm in so much trouble.
*****
The truck cab feels smaller with her in it. Harper fidgets with her seatbelt, worrying her bottom lip again, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. Only fifteen miles. I can handle fifteen miles of her vanilla scent and nervous energy.
"So," she breaks the silence as we pass Miller's Creek, "what should I expect?"
"Stares. Questions." I glance at her. "Small towns run on gossip. By noon, everyone will know you spent the night."
She pales. "But nothing happened—"
"Doesn't matter."
"Great." She slumps in her seat. "My first day as a business owner and I'm already the scandal."
I shouldn't find her pout charming. "Could be worse."
"How?"
"Could've been Jake Morgan who found you." My friend has a reputation with newcomers. Usually leaves them with broken hearts and rental agreements. "He owns half the commercial properties in town. Emma, his sister, runs the coffee shop next door to your place."
Harper perks up. "Really? What's she like?"
The question makes me smirk. Emma Morgan could give a hurricane lessons in causing chaos. "You'll see."
We hit Main Street, and right on cue, Mrs. Peterson stops dead in the middle of sweeping her shop's sidewalk. Her jaw drops at the sight of my truck – or more likely, my passenger.
"It's starting," Harper mutters.
By the time I park in front of the bookstore, we've collected enough stares to fuel a month of gossip. Harper's cheeks are pink, but she holds her head high as she steps down from the truck.
"Well, well." The voice carries clearly from the coffee shop door. "When Jake said Dean McKnight was driving into town with a woman, I thought he was drunk again."
Emma Morgan saunters over, all curly hair and knowing smiles. She's wearing one of her signature vintage dresses, this one dark green with tiny flowers, and the kind of boots that mean business.
"Harper James," Harper extends her hand, professional despite her borrowed sweater and jeans. "I just bought the bookstore."
"Honey, after that entrance, you could be buying the whole damn town and no one would care." Emma's grin turns wicked as she glances between us. "They'll be too busy wondering how you managed to defrost the mountain man."
"Emma." My warning growl just makes her laugh.
"Fine, fine. Keep your secrets." She loops her arm through Harper's. "Come on, new neighbor. Let me show you around."
Harper throws me a panicked look as Emma drags her away. I should rescue her. Should remember that Emma Morgan eats secrets for breakfast.
Instead, I watch them disappear into the coffee shop, already deep in conversation. Harper's laugh drifts back, clear and bright, and something in my chest tightens.
"You are so screwed, McKnight."
Jake appears beside me, looking too amused for nine in the morning. "When were you going to mention you found our new bookstore owner?"
"Truck broke down. Helped her out."
"All night?" He waggles his eyebrows.
I turn toward the coffee shop, wondering if Emma's matchmaking tendencies are genetic. "Caffeine, Morgan. Now."
His laughter follows me inside.