Page 8 of The Mountain Man's Accidental Bride
“We should do something.” Muttering the words, I ache to get my mind off of what could’ve happened to me.
Sitting next to me, he turns to look my way. We’re both crazy for sitting here in the silence, doing nothing but counting the seconds that go by.
It’s getting late, but I don’t know the time. The clouds swallowed up the sun before my tire caught something sharp, so who knows the hour.
I’m nowhere close to feeling exhausted. I need something to tire me out.
“What should that be?” Cocking a brow, he waits for me to throw something worthwhile out.
There’s no way he isn’t dying of boredom. Something tells me that he’ll agree to whatever I can think of.
I figure the best thing to do to pass the time is to play something. While I can’t imagine him playing family-like games, he has to have something to help pass the time.
When he disappears long enough, I try to imagine what it’ll be. Is he the kind of person to have friends over to play board games, or does he try to solo play games? My answer comes when he returns with a deck of cards that looks older than I am.
August had vetoedGo FishandOld Maidwith a scoff, so now we’re knee-deep in poker with nothing to bet but pride and sidelong glances.
I kneel across from him, the blanket slipping from my legs as I lean forward against the table we’ve moved closer to the couch. It took some persuasion earlier that I was completely fine where I was.
The firelight catches the creases in his forehead, his brows pulled tight like he’s deciphering battle plans instead of working towards a full house.
I try to read his expression, to see how confident he is. Unfortunately, he’s mastered keeping a blank expression. I couldn’t decipher what thoughts are spiraling in his head if I looked deep enough.
Lowering my eyes, I look at his frown. Instead of wondering if his frown is from a displeasure of his hand, I’m wondering how soft they are. It’s a fleeting thought, drifting through my mind while completely destroying my concentration.
So sudden, and a terrible thought at that, I pray my cheeks don’t reveal my thoughts. Silly and outrageous, the last thing I want him to know is that I’m curious about a few things here and there.
I jerk my gaze back to my hand, trying my hardest to focus on the game. Every flick of his thumb against a card sends a traitorous spark up my spine, and I chew on the inside of my cheek as I try to take in my pathetic hand.
A pair of twos won’t get me very far. Even if we’re playing without chips, I still don’t like the thought of losing to this guy three times in a row.
We take turns discarding cards, and the three I replace aren’t any better.
“Well?” He lifts a brow, and that deep voice of his sends an unwelcome heat through me. My stomach betrays me, but I grit my teeth.
It’s easier to ignore the way my pulse jumps when he’s being an ass.
“Fold.” The word tastes like defeat, and my body sags with it. Elbows on the table, I slump forward, watching as he flips his cards—just as worthless as mine.
Awesome. The loss burns sharper this time, edged with something dangerously close to frustration. Or maybe it’s the way his fingers drag the cards toward him, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring my surrender.
He reshuffles the deck, bending effortlessly under those broad hands. My gaze snags on the tattoo inked across his knuckles, faded from time but still dark enough to trace the winding design leading toward his fingers. The skin there is slightly raised, with blurred edges due to age.
“Again?” he asks, thumb splitting the deck with a practiced flick.
I should quit while I’m behind and lick my wounds while they’re fresh.
“Maybe.” Pursing my lips, I squint at him. “If you tell me how you keep winning, I’ll think about it. Not cheating, are you?”
He scoffs, not answering my question. He deals the cards slowly and deliberately. When I reach for my hand, his fingers linger near mine for a heartbeat before withdrawing.
I’m halfway through deciding which cards to discard when he sighs.
“You make it easy. It’s hardly a challenge to read you like an open book.” His voice is rough, words coming out clipped. He hasn’t even touched his own hand, just watches me with those heavy-lidded eyes.
The weight behind his stare is making my body want to crumble. I don’t want to come off as weak by stirring, and it takes strength I don’t realize I have to sit still.
“Your eyes light up when you get something good. Then—” A pause, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “—you can’t help yourself. You push your luck, chase something better.”
