Page 11 of Curves for the Mountain Man

I forgot I called it that earlier. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either. At least not in the way that civilians need me to explain it to them.

Staring at the fire, I confess, “I have to be honest with you. I’m a broken man, Ginger. Today was my last day on Earth. Self-decided. That scream you heard came amid an unsuccessful game of Russian Roulette.”

She scrutinizes my face, empathy flooding hers. “Russian Roulette means you weren’t sure… That you were challenging fate to step in and intervene?”

I shake my head. I haven’t thought about it like that. Instinctively, I pull her more tightly into my arms, saying, “God spared me because I needed to save you.”

She strokes my cheek, and it feels good. I should stop her, act gruff, and push her away. But I can’t help myself. I hunger for her touch.

Tears fill her eyes. “I don’t know what you’ve been through or what brought you to that place. But please promise me you’ll never hurt yourself. This world needs more men like you.” Sincerity swirls in her eyes, and I know she believes everything she says.

I shrug. “It’s hard. So fucking hard,” I confess in raw tones, straining to keep it together. “Today marks the six-year anniversary of being the lone survivor. And it’s the worst fucking feeling because I had to carry my comrades’ memories and final words home. I still have to carry the anguish of their sacrifice. The scars on my body don’t even come close to the scars on my soul.”

Tears roll down her cheeks, and I feel ashamed for inciting them. My hands come up hesitantly, palming her cheeks and using my thumbs to wipe the wet trails away.

Her steel-blue eyes capture mine, overflowing with innocent expectation before dropping to my lips. She wants me to kiss her. It’s awkwardly obvious. But I don’t because she deserves better, even if she refuses to realize it.

Chapter

Five

ROSCOE

“Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything,” I command.

“About me?” Her bubblegum pink tongue darts out, wetting her lips and setting my heart ablaze. God, I’d give anything to know how she tastes. Everything about her is so sweet and tantalizing, the ultimate torture. “There’s not much to tell. I’m a school teacher.”

“What grade?”

“First.”

I nod.

“Although I graduated last year, I still live near campus…” Her voice cracks, and she breathes hard for a moment. “I just don’t get it. Why Crystal and Tiff? They didn’t do anything to deserve this. They were sweet, happy people. And I spent my whole life following the rules, being the good girl, coloring in the lines, and doing everything right to have a nice, boring, safe life. Why did something so awful happen to us?”

“That’s the thing about bad stuff. What makes it so unjust. It happens to the wrong people. Often, the people least deserving of it. Like the members of my squad. They were good men withwives and girlfriends and families to come home to. They were honorable men, fierce in the thick of battle, loyal to the last man, disciplined. And while I was all those things, too, I also had plenty of hell-raiser in me. I was reckless, with no one praying for me except my parents. And yet…”

“And yet?”

“I’m the one who lived, and my brothers all died. Eight Rangers.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, more tears streaking her flushed cheeks. Her fingers thread into my beard, stroking it gently as she touches her lips to mine. The move comes completely off-guard, filling me with a soul-deep yearning.

“Eat your food,” I rasp, looking away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I register the sting of rejection on her face. It pains me, but she has to know we can never happen.

“You need your strength,” I urge.

She hungrily eyes the pemmican in the leather satchel next to us, shaking her head.

“It’s for you,” I insist. “I’m used to going days without grub, but I need you to keep up your strength.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, stroking my cheek. “You’re my hero, so I need you ready to kick ass.”

“Always.”

She takes the bite, and my ravenous stomach lurches, watching her chew. I make an internal promise that one way or another, we will eat tomorrow. Whether it’s edible berries that have somehow managed to winter over, fish from one of the streams, or small game. I won’t let this woman go hungry.

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