Page 41 of Rescued By the Mountain Man

I looked back to where Warrick had latched Goose in. Goose was laying on a blanket, tongue lolling out, looking as happy as a pig in a mud puddle. Hesitant, I reached over and rubbed his ears, and he licked my hand.

“He likes you,” Warrick mentioned.

“I like him too,” I replied.

He took an unmarked crossroad, and this time, the truck…down-sloped? It wasn’t a huge tilt, but I certainly knew we were going down.

When Warrick pulled off the road, killed the engine, and parked near a brick and wood cabin—its redwood so rich it nearly blended into the forest around it—I could see why he wanted to be there so badly.

I hadn’t stepped inside, but I could already feel it was peaceful inside.

“Here it is,” he nodded. “My great-grandfather built it with his own hands after leaving school at thirteen to work. It was the Great Depression, so times were hard.”

My jaw dropped. “He made this? It’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, but his eyes were on me.

I didn’t want to blush, but it came out anyway. I stepped outside, and when Warrick did, he let Goose out too—the dog took off down a path, and after shooting a look at him, he nodded to me.

We both followed Goose, but at one point on the muddy path, I slipped, and Warrick grabbed me, both arms wrapping around my middle.

This was the first time I felt pressed tight to him, and I felt nothing but muscle. His forearms were toned and tan with a sprinkle of dark hair, and the veins of his arm stood out starkly near his wrist.

“Steady?”

I nodded numbly as I fixed my feet and headed down, but I still kept my grip on him. He held my hand firm as we walked down to the small boardwalk jutting into a lake.

The beautiful, glistening water of a small lake hidden in the trees was shimmering and blue, with no bottom to be found. Goose was splashing and shaking and dog paddling, smiling like an Olympic swimmer out there.

I had to stop and take a moment to appreciate this part of the country, and the hills arching green in the east. “Look at that magnificent view.”

“It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

I glanced over at him and then looked out at the rolling hills. A stiff breeze toyed with strands of hair that had wrestled themselves out of a tied ponytail. I took a deep breath of the freshest air I had ever smelled and exhaled.

“This place is beautiful. Your great-grandpa had a good eye for choosing a spot.”

“One of my favorites.” He pointed toward a smattering of trees. “Me and my brother used to play Marco Polo over there when the tide was low.”

“What?” I spun and nearly tipped into the lake, but he grabbed me. “You have a brother?”

“Dallas,” he said, his eyes dimming. “But he left the ranch at sixteen while I was ten, and we barely heard from him. He does send a Christmas card here and there to let us know he is alive. The cards come from California, so I suppose that is where he lives with some corporate job.”

I felt like a parrot. “What?”

“He snuck out in the middle of the night before Thanksgiving,” he said, pulling me into him by my waist. “Needless to say, that holiday was more of a nightmare.”

“I can only imagine.”

He closed the remaining distance between us and cupped my face in both hands. Warrick’s touch was soft as he slanted his mouth over mine and claimed my mouth in a tender kiss.

I could see the train wreck coming a mile away. I felt powerless to stop him. Taking his time, he worked magic with his mouth, and I fixed my body to his.

My ego soared to the sky. I hungrily returned his kiss with my heart pitter-pattering and my body throbbing for more. How can a man make me feel this good? I shuddered in his arms.

“Are you cold?"

“A little bit,” I replied. “The wind coming off the water is very chilly.”

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