Page 3 of The Mountains Edge

"Hey, don't—" But he's already gone, moving pretty well for a dog with a bum leg.

Let him go. He was always going to leave anyway.

Instead, I grab a flashlight and follow. He might be a stray but I’d just spent the last two weeks patching him up.

The beam catches Scout about fifty yards in, standing over something. As I get closer, I make out another dog, this one seriously hurt. Blood matts its grey fur in clumps. This wasn’t the work of a coyote.

"Mountain lion?" I mutter, crouching to check the wounds. Scout leans against my leg, shivering.

The injured dog tries to growl but it's too weak to manage more than a whimper. Young female by the look of it, probably someone's pet that wandered too far.

"This is not our problem." But I'm already shrugging out of my jacket to make a carrier. "I mean it this time. We'll get her patched up and then find her owner. And then you're both leaving."

Scout's tail thumps against my leg.

I scoop up the injured dog as gently as I can. The smell of blood mixes with pine needles, and suddenly I'm back there, but it’s sand instead of snow, different wounds, same copper tang in the air.

Scout's wet nose bumps my hand. I blink back to the present. I reach down a free hand to pat Scouts head.

"Yeah, okay. Let's get her inside."

Great. Now I have two dogs and none of them are mine.

Chapter 5: Daisy

The universe just gave me the perfect excuse to corner Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Antisocial.

"Looking for a dog?" I plaster on my best helpful smile, holding up the weathered Dog for sale flyer.

Marcus Steel freezes in the pet food aisle like I just caught him robbing the place. Sweet lord, the man is huge. The early morning light filtering through the dusty windows catches the scars running down the left side of his face, but they don't distract from the sharp jawline or those intense grey eyes currently trying to glare me into silence.

Nice try, mountain man. I grew up with three brothers.

"Found the flyer tacked to my door this morning," I continue, deliberately stepping into his escape path. "You need company on the mountain?”

"I saw it." His voice is deep, rough with disuse. He reaches past me for a bag of premium dog food, muscles flexing under his thermal shirt. “I don’t need a dog.”

Focus, Daisy. Stop staring at his arms.

"What sort of dog do you have now?” I ask as he hovers in front of the pet food.

He shifts, bringing him close enough that I catch his scent; pine and sawdust with something spicier underneath. My skin prickles with awareness.

"I’m not talking to you about this." He tries to step around me. His jaw ticks. The scarred side of his face pulls tight, but I refuse to look away. He goes to walk away and I trail along with him.

"You following me now?" The words come out of him like gravel.

"Honey, you're the one who's been creeping past my store every morning." I arch an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, we need to talk about that furniture in my back room."

Marcus Steel looks like he wants to strangle me, jump me, or both. From the heat building low in my belly, I'm not entirely opposed to the second option.

Down, girl. Focus.

His hands flex at his sides. The action draws my eyes to those long fingers, rough with calluses. I imagine them on my skin and have to suppress a shiver.

"There are other furniture makers."

"None who can do what you do." I tell him as I point my finger at his chest. "Your work tells stories. Wild ones."

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