Page 4 of Rugged Hero

I meet Waylon’s steady gaze, seeing the sincerity there. Huffing out a breath, I force my shoulders to relax. I close my eyes as I take a deep breath.

The silence stretches uncomfortably before Lucas clears his throat. “Hey, man, we’re sorry. Seriously. That was a dick move on our part.”

“Yeah, we were just giving you a hard time, but we shouldn’t have pushed it like that,” Dane adds, genuine remorse in his voice.

I nod brusquely, not trusting myself to speak without snapping again. They don’t know the extent of the scarring that mars my body, the physical reminders of the worst day of my life. They can’t understand how self-conscious I am about the prospect of anyone, let alone a woman, seeing the ruins of my flesh. As if losing my team wasn’t a heavy enough burden, the knowledge that my scarring would put off women is depressing.

It galls me that I’ve lost the easy confidence I once had. That cocky Army Ranger who could charm a girl out of her panties with a wink and a grin is long gone, leaving me a shadow of the man I once was. I want a woman in my life, but what woman will accept my scarring?

The meeting wraps up not long after, the earlier camaraderie muted. Fuck. I hate that they’re walking on eggshells. Maybe moving up here wasn’t the best idea.

As the others file out, Waylon catches my eye and tilts his head toward the back room.

I follow him, already knowing what he’s going to say but not sure I want to hear it.

“You’re doing the right thing, brother,” Waylon says once we’re alone, his hand a steady weight on my shoulder. “Don’t let the guys get to you. They mean well, but sometimes they go too far.”

A reluctant chuckle escapes me. “Guess I’m still not used to all the ball-busting. I suppose I spend too much time alone in my head.”

“Well, you’re welcome to swap duties if you need more people time. I know Daryl wouldn’t mind swapping duties with the cabin rentals.” Waylon pauses. “Though Ana might have something to say about that. Still, if you want to give the fire watch duties a pass this year, I can make it happen. You’re part of the team now, which means we look after you. Maybe try not to rip anyone’s head off next time, yeah?”

“No promises.” I nod, but Waylon can see my anger has dissipated.

We say goodbye, and I head out into the gathering dusk. The evening air is cool as I stride toward my truck.

As I drive the bumpy dirt road up the mountain, my thoughts drift back to the yoga instructor. I can’t get Bridget out of my mind. The way her body moved with such grace and strength, her gentle voice guiding us through the poses, the sparkle in her eye when she caught me staring...

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the images. A woman like that wouldn’t look twice at a scarred-up mess like me.

But even as I tell myself it’s nothing but a fantasy, I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run my hands over her curves, to feel her soft skin against my roughened palms. To have her look at me with desire.

Fuck. I adjust myself, my jeans suddenly too tight. This is ridiculous. I’m acting like a horny teenager, not a grown-ass man.

The lookout tower comes into view, and I let out a sigh of relief. Solitude. Just what I need to clear my head of these impossible fantasies.

As I climb the tower stairs, my mind whirls with confusion. I want Bridget badly. But I also know I’m in no state for any kind of relationship. I’m too fucked up. She deserves better than what I can give her.

I reach the top and slump into my chair, rubbing a hand over my face.

Bridget is a gorgeous young woman who could have any man she wanted.

Why would she want a scarred man like me?

CHAPTER 3

BRIDGET

Bridget, he’d be perfect for you!” Maya gushes, her eyes sparkling with excitement over our usual Tuesday lunch at Main Street Café. “Jackson just started working with my dad’s company and he’s such a hunk—tall, muscular, handsome. Recently divorced, too.”

I sigh, smoothing my flowy tunic over my ample curves self-consciously. “I don’t know, Maya... Guys take one look at my body and assume I’m lazy or unmotivated. They don’t stick around long enough to see there’s more to me than my size.” I don’t add that I’m not sure I want to date someone recently divorced.

Maya waves her hand dismissively. “Please, you’re a total catch. Any guy would be lucky to have you. Give Jackson a chance. He’s totally your type.”

I appreciate Maya’s unfailing support, even if sometimes I wonder if she truly gets it. Sure, Maya has some curves, too, but she’s killing it career-wise at her family’s real estate firm, whereas I’m scraping by teaching yoga classes. Most guys aren’t clamoring to date the overweight yoga instructor.

“Maybe,” I say noncommittally, spearing a forkful of kale salad.

Maya talks animatedly about Jackson’s “dreamy hazel eyes” and “sexy stubble.” I nod along, but my mind wanders to my afternoon private session. With Moses.

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