Page 7 of Mountain Grump
He knew I’d keep my fucking distance if he told me Matty was a damn girl.
And what a girl she is.
Standing here, just a few strides away, I can see all of her.
The pink on her cheeks.
The golden brown of her eyes.
And the twig stuck in her hair, next to her ear, making her look like some sort of alluring, curvy mountain fairy.
The cleavage.
Her heaving cleavage in her little strappy dress that belongs on a bedroom floor, not doing yard work.
Then I take in the mud smeared on her skirt.
The bright red streak of blood running down from her scraped-up knee.
And fuck. I feel bad for frightening her.
“Matty, I’m?—”
“Tilda.” She speaks over me, then lifts a shoulder. “Or, well, Matilda. Technically. Uncle Jack was the only one who called me Matty.”
“Tilda.” I say it slowly. Feeling the letters on my tongue. “I’m sorry for startling you.” I dip my chin toward her knee. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but her lips are pressed together, so I don’t believe her. Then she visibly swallows when she glances back down at my gun. “Um, who are you?”
“I’m Ethan.” I use my empty hand and point to the badge on my shirt. “Park ranger.”
She looks toward the fence, then back to me. “You work in that park?”
“Lonely Peak State Park, yes.”
She bites her lip, glancing back down at the ribbon in my grip. “Can I see some ID?”
I lift a brow. “Do you know what a park ranger ID is supposed to look like?”
Tilda shakes her head, her purple curls swaying with the motion.
“Then how will you know it’s not a fake?”
She bites her lip. And I feel like an asshole.
But I’m not here to be her friend.
I’m not here to be her anything.
I simply told Jack I’d keep an eye on his grandkid. And pointing out the flaw in her plan might be rude, but if she’s going to live out here—way the fuck out here, all alone—she needs to be smart about her choices.
Which reminds me that she didn’t hear me approaching. I wasn’t even trying to be quiet.
“There are bears out here. And mountain lions. And coyotes and foxes and moose.” Maybe it makes me more of an asshole to point it out so bluntly, but so be it. She needs to be careful.
“I know. Uncle Jack told me about the wildlife. I was humming so animals would know I was here.” She drops her gaze back to the torn ribbon in my hand. “Why’d you do that?”
I give the shreds a shake. “You can’t tie shit to the park fence. Even if it’s just some silly ribbon.”
