Page 18 of Marked By the Mountain Man
I smirk, flicking my eyes back to the screen. “Well, you have this rugged mountain man charm and an impressive ability to chop wood dramatically. I figured I’d keep you around for inspiration.”
He laughs and settles beside me. “So, I’m just your cabin candy?”
I wrap my arms around him and kiss his lips. “Oh, you’re more than candy. You’re a whole meal.”
He raises a brow. “What kind of meal are we talking? Like… aged venison or gas station sushi?”
I snort. “Oh please. You’re homemade lasagna. Lots of layers, a little messy, takes time to get right, but once you do, comfort food for life.”
He grins, pulling me closer. “Wow, thanks…I think?”
“You’re welcome,” I whisper against his chest. “We should go check on our little breadstick before she starts summoning ghosts again.”
I close the laptop with a satisfying click, the story finally done. My fingers ache, my back protests, but my heart feels full. I lean into him, letting the warmth of his body seep into mine. He smells like cedar, coffee, and something I can’t name but always recognize.
“Do you think she’ll be like me?” I ask quietly, eyes drifting toward the monitor.
He follows my gaze. “Brave and reckless? I hope so.”
I laugh. “Yeah. I hope she’s like you too.”
“Well,” he squeezes my shoulder, “that’s where she’d be going wrong. Not sure the world needs anymore stubbornness.”
I elbow him gently. “Hey, I like you.”
“You got tricked.” He kisses the top of my head as we turn the corner to Wren’s room. She’s still asleep, her little stuffed fox tucked under her arm, snow falling peacefully beyond the window over the crib, the late afternoon light sinking behind the trees.
It’s beautiful and surreal.
Knox wraps his arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder. “You okay?”
I nod. “Just thinking.”
“That’s dangerous,” he teases.
I smile. “I was remembering the first night I stayed here. It was so cold and quiet. I thought I’d made a mistake. I thought you were a psychopath.”
“And now?”
I lean back into him. “Now Iknowyou’re a psychopath.”
He pinches my waist playfully and kisses my neck. “You know what happens to smart mouthed writers around here, right?”
I twist toward him, biting back a smile. “No,” I lie. “What?”
Shaking his head, he lifts me up over his shoulder like I weigh nothing more than a stack of firewood. I love how small and fragile I feel with him.
A moment later we’re in the backroom with the door clicking shut behind us, the firelight flickering through the cracks. He sets me down gently, but there’s mischief in his eyes and a wild warmth that makes my breath catch.
“You were saying?” he murmurs, voice low and teasing as he brushes a strand of hair from my face.
I grin, heart thudding. “I don’t recall.”
He leans in, forehead resting against mine. “Smart mouth with a sharp tongue. Dangerous combination.”
“And what would a psychopath do about a girl like that,” I blink slowly, playfully, “if she were being mouthy?”
He laughs roughly and pulls me closer. “You couldn’t handle what a psychopath would do.”
