Page 7 of Stone Cold Mountain Man
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to let my own smile out. “That works.”
I open the door and step outside. The woods are quiet again, as if nothing happened. But I know better—something did.
Two weeks ago, I was sure she’d leave.
Now I’m not sure I want to see her go.
5
Taylor
The cabin smells like sizzling cheese and smoky barbecue sauce, and for the first time all day I’m not thinking about giant carnivorous wildlife.
I pull the bubbling casserole from the oven, setting it on the warped counter with a triumphant flourish.
“See, Dottie? I can handle mountain life. Bear attacks and all.”
Dottie lounges on the windowsill, basking in the fading light, her stubby leaves gleaming as if she’s claiming credit for my domestic prowess.
“Don’t start,” I warn her, grabbing a potholder. “I’m not making this because he’s— handsome.” I fan the steam away and inhale the glorious scent of melted cheese and ground beef. “Or because those jeans could have their own Instagram account. I’m doing this because he saved my life. That’s it.”
Dottie remains unconvinced. Her silence feels smug.
There is at least a decade in age between us, but that hasn’t once stopped my mind from wandering through trees to the stone-cold mountain man next door. Today was the first timethere was a hint of warmth in his eyes as he looked at me. I want to see him thaw and let his guard down. Whatever the reason he was ice cold to me when he found me stranded on the side of the road, I hope for at least a chance.
I take scoop a spoonful of casserole to make sure it’s edible—purely for quality control, obviously. Delicious. I let out an unladylike groan of appreciation, then cover the dish in foil and slide it into the insulated carrier I found in one of the boxes of my stuff that was delivered here last week.
“Okay.” I balance the casserole in one hand and give Dottie a firm nod. “I’m scanning for bears this time.”
Outside, the air is crisp enough that my breath fogs as I cross the porch. Shadows stretch long over the clearing, the sun already flirting with the ridge. I sweep my gaze along the tree line, half-expecting another brown snout to pop out. Nothing.
Satisfied, I hustle to the Jeep and climb in, setting the casserole carefully on the passenger seat. “Seatbelt, please,” I tell it, buckling myself in.
The road to Wade’s place winds up the mountain like it’s trying to keep secrets. I drive slow, eyes peeled for the little turnoff he’d mentioned when he dropped off bear spray and a lidded trash can like a grumpy superhero.
The sky is clear, streaked with pink and violet. There was talk of a storm on the radio earlier, but the air feels calm, and I’ve been working double-time to stockpile wood. I’ll be fine.
I spot a break in the trees and ease onto a narrow lane, tires crunching over gravel. A log cabin appears ahead, sturdy and well kept, tucked among the pines like it grew there. Smoke drifts from the chimney, curling against the dusk.
And there he is.
Wade is on the roof, kneeling near the ridge, a hammer in one hand. The evening light paints his shoulders gold, turning the sweat-darkened plaid at his back into something out ofa rugged-outdoorsman calendar. My eyes wander—broad back, trim waist, jeans hugging thighs that could probably bench-press a tree.
I shake myself.
Focus, Taylor. Delivery, not ogling.
He turns, catching me mid-admiration. For a heartbeat, the corner of his mouth twitches—almost a smile—before his expression slips back to neutral.
I step out of the Jeep, casserole in hand. “Hey!” I call, trying to sound breezy instead of like someone whose pulse just doubled.
He climbs down the ladder, sure and steady, boots landing on the packed dirt with a solid thud. Up close, he smells faintly of pine and sun-warmed flannel.
“What’s that?” he asks, nodding toward the covered dish.
“A peace offering.” I hold it out like a trophy. “Technically, a thank-you for throwing yourself between me and a bear.”
One of his brows lifts. He takes the dish carefully, the heat seeping through the foil into his calloused hands. A flash of warmth touches his eyes and hidden as quickly as he clears his throat.
