Page 6 of Mountain Man Grinch
Nothing makes me feel more helpless than tears. I don’t know how to fix them. Not sure anyone can.
A part of me longs to wrap the curvy little woman in my arms and comfort her. But comfort’s a slippery slope.
It leads to intimacy. Intimacy is a promise. And I don’t make those anymore.
Suddenly, she turns away, heading for the couch. A relieved breath escapes my lips mixed with inexplicable disappointment.
The tan devil licks her cheek, and she hugs him tighter. Never felt jealous of a pooch before. Her perfume hits again, soft and disarming, plum and sandalwood with a hint of vanilla. Her dainty fingers shake as the whole world seems to close in on her. The oversized flannel—myflannel—hangs off her shoulder, dwarfing her curvy frame.
Our eyes meet, and time stops.
I turn away before I say something stupid, stab my fingers through my hair. Never knew when I agreed to help McGregor it would prove this challenging …or tempting.
Arielle flops onto the couch, and I go for a blanket. Some way to express what she’s doing to my insides. I drape it around her shoulders, careful not to let our skin touch. I can’t think about anything else.
Her eyes catch mine again. Green flakes interspersed with brown. Warm, alive, begging for reassurance.
“Th-thank you,” she says, all the sass evaporated.
Something warm tugs at my ribs. Gruffly, I say, “Blanket’s clean. Don’t cover it in dog hair.” The words come out too gentle—like this woman’s getting under my skin.
“Gus isn’t a shedder.”
I believe that like I believe in Christmas miracles. “Okay,” I grunt.
Arielle sniffles, dabs at her eyes. I hate seeing her like this. So small. So vulnerable. It does something strange to my heart … and my mind. Before I realize what I’m doing, I squat in front of her, putting us on the same level. The air feels charged, alive, electric.
“You should’ve told me they came that close.” I mean it rough, scolding. But it comes out too tender.
“I didn’t want to…” She pauses, breathing through her mouth and fanning her face with her free hand. “…lose it.”
“What you went through is more than most people will ever deal with. You’re allowed to process things.” I lean forward, adjust the blanket at her neck.
She laughs as more fat tears splash her cheeks. “Since when does a big brute like you care about ‘processing’?”
Her hand comes up, fingers barely brushing mine. A spark hits like an electric jolt.
I bolt upright, moving away from her.Get it together, Davin. And don’t get attached.
I clear my throat, look away like a coward as I speak. “Better check the perimeter, make sure everything looks good.”
She nods.
Hearth. Windows. Door. Tight as a drum. I stomp toward the front door.
“Are you leaving again?” Panic edges her voice.
“No worries, Princess. Be back before you know it.”
Her brows knit. I ignore it.
The moment the cold hits my arms and face, I wish I’d grabbed my coat on the way out. But it’s the icy slap I need to wake back up. Quit thinking about the curvy redhead with her fruity sweet smell that makes my mouth water.
She’s not your type, Davin. Not by a long shot. The inner pep talk makes me chuckle to myself. After all, nobody’s my type at this point, unless seclusion and isolation can take human form.
I check the pump house and the well, then, the generator. The forecast says a big storm’s headed our way. Better prepare.
The white fog lingers, presses in on me like cotton sheets. The snow muffles everything around it. Makes the world feel too quiet. Like it’s holding its breath.
