Page 18 of Wild for the Mountain Man
“Yeah. Caleb’s working on his next meal plan, and your dad’s snowed in at the station.”
Her brow creases. “So nobody’s coming up this way.”
“Not till the plows get through.”
She glances toward the window where wind flings snow sideways. “Guess we’re stuck with each other.”
“Looks that way.”
The words hang between us, warmer than they should be. I set her a mug with hot coffee on the counter.
“Thanks,” she says, voice soft but sure. “For taking care of me.”
“Someone’s got to.”
“I can think of worse people to be snowed in with.”
She leans on the counter and smiles over the rim of her cup. That’s when I realize I’ve stopped hoping the roads clear. Part of me doesn’t want them to.
We eat eggs and toast by the fire because I’ve decided it’s easier for her. The storm’s still grumbling outside, but inside, things are heating up with the new fire in the hearth I started.
Lilah finishes her plate and leans back against the arm of the couch, her leg stretched out on a pillow. She’s scrolling her phone.
“Could be worse,” she says, glancing up through her lashes. “At least we’re snowed in with food and heat.”
“And bourbon,” I add.
“And bourbon,” she echoes, smiling.
I check her ankle. There’s no visible swelling, but she may be one of those people whose body doesn’t react with a build-up of inflammation on an injury.
“You have doctor hands.”
“Doctor hands?”
“Yeah … skilled, but gentle. And slightly bossy.”
I shake my head, but my mouth betrays me with a grin. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” Her tone softens. “You’re good at taking care of people.”
“That’s the job.”
“Doesn’t mean everyone’s good at it.”
She’s looking at me now, too directly. For a long second neither of us moves. To break the spell, I stand and check the window. Snow’s still thick, swirling sideways. “Plows won’t make it up here till tomorrow.”
“So we have another day,” she says quietly.
“Looks like it.”
Her phone is working well. A call comes through. She puts it on speaker and Dave’s gravelly voice fills the room.
“Hey, Pumpkin. You holding up?”
“I’m good, Dad. Wade’s been incredible.”
“Well, he always is,” he says. “You’re in the safest place in the county. Just stay off that ankle. I’ll check in tonight.”
