Page 5 of Love Me In Misty Mountain
This was different. This storm felt personal. Like it was testing me.
The drip started around midnight. I shot up in bed, heart racing, listening to the steady patter of water hitting the wooden floor. Groggy and confused, I flicked on my flashlight and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The light swept over the corner of the room where water dribbled in a thin line from the ceiling.
“Shit.”
I grabbed a bucket, hoping it was just a small leak. But of course, it wasn’t. Five minutes later, the slow drip became a steady stream. Then a chunk of the ceiling we still had to fully repair, gave way with a loud crack, sending soggy insulation and plaster down onto the floor.
I yelped, jumping back, arms covering my head as debris rained down.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered, darting into the main room to grab anything valuable. I swore loudly as the rain seeped through the roof, soaking into the wooden beams. I shoved my laptop, phone, and a few clothes into a bag, all while the wind rattled the windows, shaking my small home.
By the time I stumbled onto the porch, rain plastered my pajamas to my body, an old threadbare tank top and sleep shorts, that now felt like a second skin. The cold bit at me, but I was too panicked to care. I needed to get out before the whole damn roof caved in.
“Bree?”
I froze. His voice. Deep, rough, and cutting through the storm like a knife.
Scott.
He was already halfway up the path. His eyes locked onto me, taking in my drenched, shivering form.
“What the hell happened?” he barked, jogging the rest of the way to me.
“The roof caved in a bit,” I gasped. “I heard the crack and—”
“Jesus.” He reached for me, his hands gentle despite the tension radiating from his body. “You okay?”
“Just wet,” I said, my teeth chattering.
He cursed under his breath, then, without a second thought, peeled his flannel off and handed it to me. Beneath it, his T-shirt clung to his chest, outlining every ridge of muscle and the tattoos I’d been trying not to think about for days.
“Put this on,” he ordered.
I slid into the oversized shirt, his warmth still clinging to the fabric. It smelled like him, wood smoke, pine, and something distinctly male. My skin tingled where it touched me.
“Come on, let’s get your stuff,” he muttered, his gaze flicking over my bare legs before he turned away, his jaw tight.
Together, we grabbed what we could in the downpour, rain dripping down his face as his jeans clung to his body. I tried not to stare like a creeper, but it was impossible. The man was built like a goddamn warrior.
When we were finally back on the porch, both of us drenched and breathing hard, I dropped my bag and turned to him.
“What now?” I asked, arms wrapped around myself. “I can’t stay here. Not until the roof is fixed.”
He ran a hand through his wet hair, looking out into the storm like he was debating something. Then he turned to me with that no-nonsense determination.
“You’re staying with me.”
My heart skipped. “What?”
“Until we fix this place. I owe it to Jake to make sure you’re safe.”
There it was. Jake. The ever-present reminder. But I saw the way his gaze lingered on me a second too long, the way his eyes roamed my legs in mt shorts sleep shorts.
“Okay,” I said.
Well crap. I was moving in with Scott Fergus. Lord help me.
Chapter 6: Scott
