Page 184 of Mountain Men Heroes

“Why?”

“Didn’t like the feel of them yesterday. Your landlord should have taken care of repairing these a while ago.”

A small snort escaped me. “You’ve got to be kidding me. If I asked my landlord to check the steps, he’d use it as an excuse to jack my rent up another hundred dollars a month. And believe me, this place isn’t worth what I already pay for it.”

His brows drew together. “Is this the place you’ve been living since you moved out from the house with your mother?”

My mother moved out of the house before I did, but I didn’t take the time to correct him. I just nodded.

His gaze shot over my shoulder into the apartment. “So your landlord keeps the interior maintained, but you don’t want to ask him to take care of this?”

I shook my head. “My landlord doesn’t take care of the interior.”

“It’s freshly painted.”

“Yep. By me. I painted it about nine months ago.” I’d fought with myself over the expense, but the place had needed it. Besides, one of the ways I cheered myself up when I was feeling overworked and like I’d never have enough money saved for school was to change the color of my apartment’s walls. “It needed freshening up.”

“You’ve been keeping up the inside.” His words were a statement, not a question.

I shrugged. “I guess. I like it homey and it’s a great location. I have a view of the Sugarbush Ski Slopes and I can walk to work.”

That little apartment was my haven. The one place where I could hide from the world when I needed to just be by myself.

He grinned at me and his eyes, already warm, got even warmer. I stood there basking in his gaze for several long moments before I came to my senses and realized I was sporting a goofy grin of my own.

Good. Lord. I needed to get out of this town fast or I was going to be in major trouble.

The thought brought a weight crashing down on me. So relentless was the feeling, I didn’t know how I stayed on my feet. Suddenly the thought of the one thing I’d been planning and working toward for years made my stomach churn. And not in an excited, butterfly fluttering kind of way.

“You okay?”

I nodded absently and pulled in a shaky breath. To hide my confusion, I questioned him again. “So really, what made you decide to fix the steps for a rental unit? You’re spending your time and effort fixing up someone else’s house. And believe me, my landlord won’t be appreciative. If anything, he'll figure out a way to charge me for it.”

Sawyer’s eyes flashed and I fought the urge to take a step back at his expression. “Might be someone else’s place. But it’s my woman using these steps. I’m going to make sure it’s taken care of.” His eyes narrowed. “And if your landlord gives you any trouble, you let me know. I’ll take care of that, too.”

Whoa. Okay. Talk about a loaded statement. There was so much there I didn’t even know where to start. He’d take care of things? And I was his woman?

No, no, no. I needed about seven more cups of super-charged caffeine before I turned that one over.

Spotting his empty coffee cup on the railing, I snatched it up. “I’ll get you a refill.”

I scurried inside, grateful for the excuse to hide inside for a few minutes. I tucked away the thought of “my woman” and what those words might mean for another time.

I completely ignored the surge of longing that prickled under my skin at the thought of being Sawyer Becker’s woman.

After I brought Sawyer his refill, showered and drank another cup myself, I stared forlornly into the refrigerator. What did I expect? That the food fairies had stocked up while I slept last night?

I wish. I shut the door with a bang and sighed.

A chuckle came from behind me and I whirled around, a hand to my chest. Sawyer leaned against the breakfast bar that separated the little kitchenette from the rest of the apartment.

“You scared me.” Nothing like stating the obvious. My gaze traveled over him. Nobody wearing yesterday’s clothes who had spent his morning engaged in manual labor should look that good. No fair.

He offered me a knowing grin as he stepped past me to rinse his mug in the sink. He turned it upside down and left it in the dish drain when he was done.

I think I was having an out-of-body experience. That’s the only way I could explain the fact that Sawyer Becker stood in my tiny little kitchen doing domestic tasks and drying his hands on my cherry dish towel. Why did it seem almost harder to accept Sawyer in my kitchen than in my bed?

“I’m taking you to breakfast.”

---