Page 11 of Mountain Man Grinch
She smiles,really smiles, and it hits me harder than any firefight I’ve ever been in.
“Admit it,” she says softly. “You like having us here.”
“No,” I shoot back instantly.
But the lie hangs there, too warm, too close, pulsing like the storm outside.
And I know she heard the truth anyway.
Arielle hums more damn Christmas music under her breath as she pulls ingredients from the pantry, wearing my flannel like she owns it. Gus snorts and pants in her arms, eyeing me suspiciously.
For a split second, I let myself feel something like peace.
Crunch.
My head snaps up.
Crunch. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.
Not snow sliding off the roof. Not ice fracturing.
Footsteps.
Outside.
On my damn porch.
I kill the light with one swipe of my hand. The cabin plunges into darkness.
Arielle gasps softly. “Davin?”
I’m already moving.
Crossing the room in three strides, I reach her side and pull her back—too roughly, too instinctively—against my chest.
“Don’t talk,” I breathe against her ear. “And keep the dog quiet.”
My hand clamps around her waist, steadying her as her breath hitches.
She freezes, warm and pliant against me. One hand goes to Gus’s mouth, holding his muzzle. He breathes heavy but doesn’t make a peep.
I tilt my head, listening.
The storm howls, but beneath it …creak… creak…
Someone testing weight on my porch boards.
Just a hair heavier than the wind. Just enough to raise every hackle I have left.
I draw the gun from the holster at my back, thumb brushing the safety. Keep my body between hers and the windows.
Arielle’s fingers curl into the back of my shirt. She’s shaking again, but differently this time.
Not fear exactly.
Adrenaline.
Trust.
