Page 23 of Protected By The Mountain Man

West chuckled. “It’s a simple place, but I like it.”

“How much of the land do you own?”

“Just half an acre. There are lake houses dotted up and down the road. It looks more secluded than it is.”

I glanced around the lakeshore. Off in the distance, I saw the sunlight glinting off a window. There was at least one other lakeside cabin out here, but I didn’t see any other ones from here.

The privacy was exquisite. Especially compared to my tiny Chicago apartment. I lived in a city with two and a half million people. West lived out here withallthis privacy.

He took my hand. “Let’s go inside.”

I let him lead me up a path from the boat dock to a large covered porch, complete with two rocking chairs on it. It looked like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting, except this had the real-life signs of actually being lived in. There was a stack of outdoor gear and half a boat engine sitting on the porch, along with a table that had mechanical pieces scattered across it. We’d also passed what looked like a fish-cleaning station near the dock.

“You take this lake living pretty seriously.”

“Sure do. I’m retired military. Now I get to fish for a living.”

“You fish for a living?”

“Yup. Sometimes in the winter I’ll take on some side work, too. But not always. Most of my days are spent out on the lake.”

Just before walking inside his cabin, I took one more look at the lake, still amazed at how calm and tranquil it was after the wild storm the night before.

As West led me inside he said, “First order of business, the lady gets some pants. Do you want to take a shower before you call your friends or after?”

“I should probably call them first. They’re probably worried sick about me.” West had told me his place had cell reception, unlike most of the lake.

A tiny cloud of concern crossed his face that I couldn’t quite decipher.

“Yeah. Of course. You think we can talk before you make that call?”

“Uh, sure.” That’s all we’d been doing, talking or fucking, since we met. But he had more to say? I was fine with that.

“Sit, sit. I’ll be right back.”

Taking a seat on his couch, I looked around. His living room was cozy, but definitely missing a woman’s touch. The fireplace mantle was begging for some artwork, and there was another stack of boat engine parts sitting on his coffee table.

But the walls were made of cedar and the room had gorgeous hardwood floors.

And theview. The view was spectacular.

You could see Hidden Lake through a wide set of sliding glass doors, with a perfect view of the bluff line across the lake. I could see that view every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.

As I was watching, a hawk flew by, silent and regal. That was something I’d never see in Chicago, a hawk flying across a beautiful lake.

West came back with a pair of joggers.

“These ought to fit.”

I took them from him and studied the waistband. It would be tight.

West was a big guy, but all his size came from height and muscles. I was a big gal, and it came from a predilection for sweets. I wasn’t sure his pants would fit me, but I headed off down a short hall to his bathroom to find out.

Slipping them on, I was appreciative of the stretchy waist, because I neededallof its stretch to make this work. I rolled the bottoms of the joggers up, then rejoined him in the living room.

Now that I was fully dressed and in his home, I felt awkward for the first time since I’d met him.

This was the dreaded morning after.

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