Page 5 of Brewing with the Mountain Man
The vulnerability in her eyes when she realizes this hits me deep in the guts.
"Look." I take a breath, and try again. Softer. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to stop you from calling your people. But you need to warm up first. So sit by the fire until you can feel your fingers, then you can do whatever ranger things you need to do."
She studies me for a long moment, clearly weighing her options. Trust the big guy who saved her, or...what? Make a run for it into the storm?Good luck.
Finally, she moves to the chair, perching on the edge like she might need to bolt.
Bear chooses that exact moment to heave himself up from his bed and pad over to her, tail wagging.
The traitor puts his head directly in her lap.
"Bear, down." I snap my fingers, but he ignores me completely, gazing up at her with absolute adoration.
She strokes his head tentatively, and his tail wags harder.
"He likes you," I grumble, moving to the kitchen area. "Don't think much of it. He likes everyone."
That’s not true. Bear's friendly, but he's also discerning. Took him three months to warm up to some of the regulars in town where I get my supplies.
But apparently this park ranger gets instant approval.
"Bear?" She's scratching behind his ears now, and the damn dog is in heaven. "That's his name?"
"It seemed fitting, but he’s not nearly as deadly." I fill the kettle, set it on the stove. She needs something hot to drink.
"I love dogs." Her voice has softened, talking to Bear instead of me. "Hey, buddy. You're a good boy, aren't you?"
Something in my chest does an uncomfortable twist. I turn back to the stove, tense. It's been a long time since I've heard a woman's voice in this cabin. Years since I've had any kind of company that wasn't four-legged.
And now I've got a federal officer wearing my clothes, petting my dog, about to call me and my location in.
The kettle whistles. I pour her some chamomile tea—good for warming up—and bring it to her along with a jar of honey.
"Drink." I settle into the other chair with my own mug of coffee; black and strong enough to strip paint. "You'll feel better."
She wraps both hands around the mug, and I watch her fingers slowly turn from white to pink as the heat seeps in. Those freckles stand out against her pale skin, like someone flicked a paintbrush at her face.
She really is pretty. I noticed it in the woods. Hell, I triednotto notice it. Noticing things like that is how you get in trouble.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "I know you didn't have to help me."
"Yeah, I did." I take a drink of coffee, bitter on my tongue. "Leaving people to die isn't my style."
"Even people who were trying to cite you?"
There's a hint of humor in her voice, and I glance at her. She's almost smiling, which seems crazy given the circumstances.
"Especially then," I say. "Can't let you die before you write me that ticket. Wouldn't be right."
Her smile does break through, andfuck me, she's got dimples.
"I'm Sadie," she offers. "Sadie Giles. Since we're going to be stuck here for a while, we might as well use names."
I hesitate. Names make this personal. And personal is dangerous.
But maybe pretending we can keep this impersonal is a joke.
"Ledger Ford."
