Page 5 of The Mountains Edge

"Partners," he agrees roughly, dropping my hand like it burned him. "Now move. I need dog food."

I step aside, watching him stride away. Those jeans should be illegal.

"See you tonight, partner!" I call after him.

The string of muttered curses that follows makes me grin.

Round one is to me.

***

Two days later, Joe had warned me that the meeting would be on tonight and to make myself scarce. No way. I live above the Post, and I have the right to be here.

Really, I'm not hiding in my own store. I'm just strategically organizing inventory behind the counter at eleven p.m. when these mountain men usually meet.

The back door opens, followed by near silent footsteps. Their military training shows. If I hadn't been listening for them, I'd never know four large men just entered my store.

I peek through the storage room door. Sweet mercy.

They move like shadows to their usual spots in my back room, a space I pretend not to know they use monthly. Joe has filled me in one their names, but not their stories.

Jake Harrison takes the chair nearest the window, still dressed in his mountain rescue uniform, which does amazing things for his shoulders. Cole Davidson glides to the corner spot, adjusting his hearing aid. His hunter's eyes scan every exit. Finn O'Reilly claims the spot by the old stove, favoring his left leg.

Then Marcus. He fills the doorway like some gorgeous, grumpy mountain god. Scout sits alertly at his feet, no longer limping. Luna walks over to the old pot belly stove and curls up with the other dogs the men had bought in.

"You can stop pretending you're not there." Marcus's deep voice carries through the space. "We know you're hiding behind that door."

Busted.

I step out, chin high. "My store. I can hide wherever I want."

"She's got you there," Finn says.

Marcus glowers at him. The expression does interesting things to my insides.

Chapter 5: Marcus

This woman is going to be trouble.

She's all curves and attitude in another set of those painted-on pants, dark green to match her eyes, and an oversized sweater that's slipping off one smooth shoulder. Her long legs seem endless, and her dark hair's loose for once, falling in waves past her shoulders.

Walk away. Just walk the hell away.

Her eyes drop to my mouth, and suddenly all I can think about is backing her up against the shelves and finding out if she tastes as good as she smells. It's been two years since I've touched a woman, and this one is pushing every damn button I've got.

Jesus. Is she trying to kill me?

"Don't mind me," she says, perching on the counter. Her sweater drops off the shoulder a little more and my mouth goes dry. "I'm just doing inventory."

"At eleven at night?" Jake's trying not to smile.

"Best time for it." She swings her feet. "Very quiet. Usually."

I should tell her to leave. This meeting isn't for civilians, but the words stick in my throat as she stretches, that damn sweater rising to show a strip of skin.

"Since you're here," Cole speaks up, "we might as well report any activity we’ve seen on the trails."

Daisy sits up more. "Actually, that would be great. Tourist season's picking up early. Had three groups ask about the north trail."

---