Page 4 of Chiseled Mountain Man

But even through the layers, I could see the swell of her large breasts and the hips that stretched the fabric of her tight pants. I couldn’t stop myself from imagining what she’d look like naked, and it reminded me just how long it had been since I’d had to battle those thoughts around a woman.

“No,” I said as she turned back to look at me, probably wondering why it was taking me so long to answer. “I can hear their skis sometimes slicing through the snow, but they’re only around a few months out of the year.”

That was about to change. The ski lodge and the town were taking measures to boost tourism outside of the winter months in this mountain town.

“So you may see some more activity on this hiking trail?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s why I was posting that sign when I spotted you.”

Frowning, she looked toward the door. “Sign?”

“No trespassing. Is that rude?”

When she turned back to look at me, her eyes were wide. “No. Have you had problems with people trespassing?”

I shook my head and stared straight ahead at the fireplace, wondering if I should fire it up. She’d been running in the freezing cold. It wasn’t just her, though. In the short time I’d been outside, I’d gotten a little chilly myself.

“I’m gone most of the day for work,” I said. “I just don’t need any kids creeping into my house while I’m gone.”

Did that make me sound paranoid? Maybe. I hadn’t been that way growing up. But I’d lived near the city line, where we were surrounded by other homes. Being as secluded as I was up here, it probably didn’t make much sense to lock my doors, but with tourists not too far away, I figured I could never be too safe.

“Kids?” she asked.

Oh, yeah. The way I’d said that had probably been confusing.

“Troublemaking teenagers,” I said. “Looking for a place to make out?—”

I stopped mid-sentence, realizing what I’d just said. I’d just met this woman and I couldn’t stop thinking about what she might look like naked, but now I’d brought up the subject of making out. As innocent as the comment might be, I couldn’t help but think of what it might be like to make out with her.

Or just kiss her. I’d be happy with a kiss.

“These wood carvings,” she said. “Who did them?”

“Me,” I said. “A little hobby of mine. I don’t do anything with them.”

I didn’t know what that even meant. I had them set up here, and that was doing something, wasn’t it? My mom, who now lived in Missouri, had a couple of my custom carvings in her home. One was of her dog and the other was of a little girl holding a basket of flowers.

But it was expected when someone put this much time into working on something that money would be the goal. Money was never my goal outside of paying bills.

“Do you do all this right here in your house?” she asked, staring at the carving I’d done of me as a child holding a beach towel on vacation.

“I have a small shed I built out back,” I said. “That’s where I do most of my work. Want to see?”

No. Of course she didn’t want to see. She wanted to drink her water and get back on the trail. She had fifty thousand dollars to win, after all.

She took another long sip from the glass and stood. “I’d love to see it. Do you want me to put this in the sink?”

“I’ll take it.”

I stepped toward her, reaching out. Only as I got closer did I feel it for the first time. It was more than the initial attraction and the fact that I couldn’t stop looking at her. I had this almost overwhelming urge to put my arms around her and pull her toward me in a kiss that I was sure would be life changing.

I reached out, planning to avoid touching her as we transferred the glass from her hand to mine. I didn’t want to be too forward, but I had a big hand that pretty much engulfed the entire glass. That meant my pinky brushed her index finger as we made the switch, and the millisecond of contact sent heat rushing through my body.

Our eyes met at the contact, and I knew in that one look that she felt it too. There was something going on here, and if I didn’t find a way to keep this woman around, I’d think about her for the rest of my life.

3

BRONTE

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