Page 3 of Burly and Rugged

“Dammit,” I mutter. “Is this one of those ‘if you were stranded, you’d already be dead’ moments?”

Cody’s mouth twitches—almost a smile, but not quite. “Not yet. You’re doing fine.”

Somehow, that makes me feel better. It catches me off guard that he seems like a nice guy, not a jerk with a chip on his shoulder.Girl, maybe you’ve been on too many bad dates if you assume every man is the worst.

I adjust my grip, focusing harder. My hands are sore, but I refuse to quit.

Strike. Spark. Still not catching.

I exhale sharply, steadying myself. Try again. And again. And—finally—a tiny ember glows in the dry grass.

I freeze and hold my breath, watching as the ember flickers, fragile. Heart pounding, I lean in carefully, blowing gently, coaxing it to life and hoping I don’t blow the flame out. The flame catches, spreads.

Satisfaction floods through me as I sit back, triumphant. “I did it! Fire!” It feels like I’ve tried a thousand times, but I don’t care now because it finally worked.

Cody nods, watching the flames. “Well done.”

There’s no teasing in his voice, no mocking. Just a simple acknowledgment.

I should feel embarrassed that it took me so many tries, but I don’t. Because Cody waited. Not to see me fail—but to give me the room to try to work on it until I was successful. No berating. No annoyed sighs. Just calm patience and a vibe that if I needed to ask for help, he’d give it freely.

He reaches for a few larger sticks, showing me how to build the fire up without smothering it. His voice is even and steady as he explains how too much wood too soon will kill it and how the balance has to be just right. I listen, but my eyes keep fixating on his mouth and his firm lips.

I came here for me—to push my limits, to prove something to myself. But now?

I want to impress Cody and make him see me as more than the girl who took a thousand tries to start a fire.

CHAPTER 2

CODY

Ifinish stirring the pot of stew—nothing fancy, just a rehydrated MRE—but it’s hot, and it’ll keep us going. I hand Lindy a tin cup filled with it, and she takes it with both hands, exhaling as the warmth seeps through the metal.

“Not bad,” she says after the first bite.

I lift a brow. “That a compliment?”

“Shocking, I know,” she teases, taking another spoonful. “I was expecting something… I don’t know. Barely edible. Possibly squirrels.”

I chuckle. I like that Lindy has a sense of humor about this, though I can also see that she uses humor when she’s uncomfortable. She isn’t the kind of person I expected when we opened this program for adults, but she’s refreshing. “I save the squirrels for day three.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Good to know.” Then sunlight catches her dark blonde hair, and Lindy looks like magic. There’s more to her than her beautiful face and sinfully curvy body, but a deep humor and passion that makes me want her as more thana student in my survival course. I want to feel her sexy curves against my body, feel her hair brush against my face in bed, learn what makes her wiggle and giggle in bed.

Fuck. I really shouldn’t be having thoughts like this about Lindy. But dammit, how am I supposed to control my desire when she’s so fucking sexy?

We eat in silence for a few minutes, with only the crackle of the fire and the sound of the night settling onto the mountain. The wind has lessened, but the forest is never really quiet. Even as the light falls from the sky, there are still critters we can’t see and birds in the trees. Soon, the owls will be out. It’s not an uncomfortable silence with Lindy. Most people, especially the kids, are either chatterboxes or so exhausted they practically fall into the fire at the end of the first day.

“So,” I say as I stoke the fire. “Tell me about yourself.”

Her eyes flick up, and I see a wariness in them. “I’m a painter. I do occasional illustration work, but it’s mostly abstract paintings.”

“You work for yourself?”

Lindy nods, but her expression tightens. She crosses her arms over her chest, defensive. “I do. Is that surprising?”

From the sharp look in her eyes and the way she juts out her chin, I have the distinct sense of having walked into a minefield. It doesn’t take a shrink to see that she’s probably had a lot of people doubting her career choice.

“Only surprising because I’ve never met a working artist before. In the Army, there were a few guys who sketched in their downtime, but that’s the extent of me knowing anyone whomakes art.” When she nods and drops her arms from her chest, I exhale deeply. Last thing I need is to start off by making her defensive and distrusting of me. That’s a recipe for disaster in the wilderness. Besides, why would I want to make a pretty lady mad? “You ever paint landscapes?”

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