Page 12 of Brewing with the Mountain Man
And the way he lights up when he talks about brewing—like it's the thing that keeps him human.
"You need permits for the truffles," I start. "It's not personal, it's just conservation regulations. But I can help you get them. Expedite the process, maybe, if I explain the situation."
"What situation?" His eyes narrow slightly. "That you caught me breaking the law?"
"That I met someone with a legitimate need for traditional foraging rights who didn't understand the permitting process." I meet his gaze steadily. "Someone who clearly respects the land and understands sustainable harvesting."
He goes very still, watching me like I might vanish if he moves. "Why would you do that?"
"Because it's the right thing to do." I say it simply, meaning it. "And because I think you deserve to enter that contest. To be proud of what you've created."
"I don't need your pity."
"Good, because I don't pity you." I'm getting annoyed now, which is better than the fluttery thing my stomach's been doing. "I'm offering to do my actual job, which is helping people navigate regulations. Now stop being stubborn and let me help."
"I've been alone for eight years," he says, and there's something raw in his voice now. "I don't know how to let people help anymore."
"Then learn."
We stare at each other, and the air between us feels charged. Electric.
Bear chooses that exact moment to shove between us, yipping and demanding attention with absolutely no regard for whatever he just interrupted.
Ledger steps back fast and I busy myself petting Bear, my heart hammering.
"I should—" Ledger gestures vaguely toward the door. "Need to check the wood supply. Make sure we have enough for the night."
The day passes in a strange dance of proximity and distance. The cabin's maybe six hundred square feet total, and every time I turn around, we're in each other's space.
He reaches over me to get a book from a high shelf, and I'm trapped between his body and the wall, ultra aware of every inch of him.
I slip on a wet spot near the door, and his hand is instantly on my elbow, steadying me with careful strength.
"Sorry," I breathe.
"Stop apologizing." His hand lingers a second too long before dropping. "You're not doing anything wrong."
But I am.
I'm thinking things I shouldn't think. Noticing things I shouldn't notice. Like how his big calloused hands are gentle when he handles his brewing equipment. How he hums under his breath when he thinks I'm not paying attention. How his rare almost-smiles transform his whole face from intimidating to...handsome.
And I’m thinking how much I want him to touch me.Everywhere.
Lying in his bed again that night, surrounded by his scent, I stare at the ceiling and admit what I've been avoiding all day.
I'm in trouble.
And it's not the kind I can handle with my badge.
CHAPTER 4
LEDGER
Ididn't sleep worth a damn.
Every creak of the cabin had me picturing Sadie in my bed. Every shift of the wind outside made me wonder if she was cold, if the quilts were enough, if she was lying there awake like I was—thinking about doing dirty, sinful things.
I doubt it.
