Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
While Linnea sips her hot cocoa, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, I drive through the tiny hamlet of Gibbs. Then I turn up the forest road I used yesterday, praying that we’ll be able to see what I want to show her.
The road winds up the side of Kettle Mountain, through forest until we reach a gravel pullout and one of my favorite views of the Bitterroots.
I turn off the truck and hand her the binoculars.
She sets down her cocoa and shoots me an adorable look of curiosity.
It’s such a sweet contrast to the tense scowl she wore when I picked her up that the nervous edge I’ve been feeling since our phone call Sunday softens a little.
“What am I looking for?” she asks.
I cock an eyebrow. “And ruin the surprise?”
“I thought the hot cocoa was the surprise.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. She’s so fucking cute right now, with a little bit of melted marshmallow clinging to her upper lip and her pretty blue eyes bright. “Have a look.”
She peers through the lenses. While she adjusts the focusing knob and sweeps the valley below us, I start unpacking our lunch. A cutting board, some fancy cheddar and a wedge of Gouda, an apple, crackers, a sleeve of venison sausage, brownies, and my buck knife.
Still staring through the binoculars, Linnea gasps. “You found them!”
I grin. The Snow Creek elk herd is more elusive and smaller than Lost River’s.
Rowdy had been worried that disease had wiped them out.
Or that our long winter had been too hard on them thanks to their tendency to stay in higher elevations.
This herd hasn’t reaped the benefits of a volunteer effort like the Winter Range Project to clear out old livestock fencing, so his worries were justified.
When she passes me the binoculars, her gaze drops to the spread. She’s quiet, but her delighted expression ignites a bright, steady warmth inside me. “You made us a picnic?”
I take a peek through the lenses. The brown fuzzy shapes against the snow get my heart skipping even before I can sharpen the focus. Dozens of cows are clustered in groups, their coats a rich caramel brown that contrasts with their dark legs and faces.
“You said you miss the field, so…”
She releases a soft sigh. “So you brought the field to me.”
Yesterday, when her text reply arrived with the picture of a wide streambed framed by sparse trees and a patchy blue sky, I wanted to pump my fist in victory. Not just because she was in the field for the day, but because she thought to share it with me.
“Something like that,” I say, setting the binoculars on the dash. “Plus we have a debate to get into, Linnea Jaymes. Can’t think of a better setting.”
She cocks her head, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “Linnea Jaymes?”
I peel open the package of cheddar. “You said you don’t have a middle name, right? You can take mine.”
“You got a problem with my name, cowboy?” I think her sassy tone is a cover because her cheeks are flushing pink again. Call it a hunch, but her siblings getting a piece of their mom when Linnea got a big fat nothing had an effect on her. How could it not?
“Nope. But it sounds better with mine.”
She rolls her eyes but I’m not fooled. I’m also keenly aware of how tight my pants feel. Because the idea of her taking my name satisfies a powerful craving inside me to make her mine.
“Pilot Boy crackers?” she asks with a smile as I unwrap the sleeve and add a stack of the big, round hardtack to the cutting board. “We ate those in Alaska all the time.”
“A field grunt’s staple.” I score the sausage wrapper and peel it back. “I think Shackleton’s crew aboard the Endurance survived on them too.”
Her eyes warm. “I loved that story. Dad read it to me when I was a kid.”
I swallow a sudden lump in my throat with a sip of water. “Mine did too. Polar exploration and survival all rolled into one classic adventure saga.”
Her eyes fill with compassion. “Does talking about him bring up hard memories?”
“They’re not hard.” I try to smile but there’s an ache tapping inside my chest. “Just bittersweet maybe.”
She nods. “What were they like?”
I exhale past the tight knot in my chest. It’s not that I don’t like talking about them. I rarely have an opportunity. “My mom ran a flower shop and my dad taught creative writing at a community college. They both loved the outdoors. And they really loved each other.”
“Did your dad write those words?” She nods at my hand.
“Yeah.” It comes out gruff, so I try to smile. “He loved writing short stories, and he dabbled in poetry.”
She caresses over the back of my hand, arcing over my rough rose with her thumb. “It reminds you of them.”
I smile, and though it feels a little awkward and sad, giving it to her feels the opposite. It feels freeing. I bring her hand to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “Roses were her favorite.”
With a soft sigh, she cocks her head at the cutting board, where I’ve started slicing up the sausage. “That looks homemade.”
“Yep. Last fall with Bear.”
“You’re sharing your special stash? You must like me.”
“I’ve liked you from the minute I laid eyes on you.” I lean over and kiss her. It’s quick and playful, but my heartbeat wallops down, down, straight to my dick.
“I like you too.” It comes out a little breathy, and she licks her lips.
I offer her a slice of sausage, but instead, she hooks me around my neck and draws me close for another kiss. It’s lusty and sensual and gives me a little taste of the marshmallowy cocoa I brought for her.
I set down the knife and return the kiss. She releases a soft, satisfied hum that makes me forget how hungry I am for lunch. Maybe we should have started with kisses and satisfied a different kind of appetite instead.
She leans away, laughing a little. “I guess I’m saying that if you’re trying to impress me, it’s working.”
“Then I’ll be sure to keep doing it.” I lean in for another kiss that takes me far too long to pull away from. I thought maybe we’d get cold in the truck so I made sure to throw in my extra gear, but the windows are already starting to fog up at the corners.
Her face lights up. “You made brownies?”
“My grandma did. She’s been sending me care packages.”
“That’s so sweet.” She glances back through the binoculars, and I watch her profile for a moment longer. Memorize the gentle pursing of her lips. The way her silky hair falls in long waves over her shoulders.
“She says baking keeps her out of trouble,” I reply.
“Sounds like my kind of gal.”
The thought of bringing Linnea to meet the two most important people in my life soothes that knot in my throat. Grams would instantly bond with Linnea’s bold spirit and the way she’s so open and genuine. Grandpa wouldn’t talk much but he’d be as spellbound as I am.
Linnea picks up the apple. “Okay if we share this?”
I was going to cut it into slices, but her plan is better. “Sure.”
While gazing through the binoculars again with one hand, she takes a bite of the apple with the other, the juice dribbling past her lips. “Where do your grandparents live now?”
“One of those retirement type places.” I shrug. “It was a tough transition, but they’re settled now.”
Her caring gaze finds mine, and she sets the binoculars in her lap. “That must have been hard, leaving them.” She takes another bite and wipes the corner of her mouth with the edge of her wrist.
While she chews I take the apple and bite off a chunk. “I’ll move them up here if I end up staying.”
She frowns. “If?”
I swallow my bite. “I don’t have my assigned district yet.”
“But you’re here mentoring with Dad.” The deep furrow wrinkling her brow makes me want to reach up and smooth it with my thumb. Or maybe I just want an excuse to touch her. “I thought—”
“It’s not permanent. They could move me if they want.” I lick the apple juice from my mustache. “If your dad doesn’t recommend me for it, who knows where they’ll put me.”
“I see.” She takes the apple back and swivels it for a fresh spot. I’ve noticed she likes bites that have a layer of skin and clean flesh beneath, not the ones closer to the core, where it’s more tart.
“Would you have taken a state biologist job if it was in a different district?” I slice up some of the cheese and layer it with a round of venison on a cracker and hand it to her.
When she trades me the apple for it, our fingertips brush, and our eyes lock for one quick, magnetic moment I feel in my toes.
“I don’t know.” She brings the cracker to her lips, cupping beneath her chin with her other hand to catch the crumbs. Her hum of appreciation brings a pleasant, weighted warmth to my thighs. “There was a federal job I applied for, but I could have ended up in Florida.”
“What’s so bad about Florida?” I nibble the last of the apple, savoring the tart, firm flesh that hugs the core.
“For starters, alligators and snakes.” She takes another bite, her plush lips hugging the edges of the cracker.
I pause my nibbling to grin at her. “Did you know that alligators’ eyes glow in the dark? Or that the mothers care for their babies, unlike most reptiles?”
She cocks her head, amusement shining in her eyes. “I did not know that.” She pops the last of her bite in her mouth, then licks up the cracker crumbs from her palm with the tip of her tongue.
I force my gaze away from her mouth. “Then l bet you didn’t know that the Florida pine snake is one of the few that can actually hiss. They’re totally harmless too. In fact, only six of the forty-six native species of snake in Florida are venomous.”
“Interesting,” she says with a laugh. “But I would probably still die of heat stroke in the first week. And if those things didn’t get me, homesickness would.”
“I’m glad you’re not in Florida.” I load up another cracker and hand it to her, then make one for myself. The fancy cheddar with the salty venison and the crunchy cracker is a supreme combo.
“Have you ever wondered if maybe you’re in the wrong place?” Her voice has turned soft.