Page 55 of Perfect Cowboy

“Just get back inside the cabin. Put a few more logs on the fire, okay? I’ll be right there. Ashley, I promise. I’m coming right back.”

I watch him run to the truck, the muscles on his tattooed back bulging. He didn’t have any ink back in high school, and it’s sure sexy as hell on him.

The man who I was engaged to in Chicago is the exact opposite of Gavin. He’s a suit who rides a desk instead of a horse, and stayed in shape by working out at the gym three times a week instead of anything close to resembling manual labor.

The gym where he met the girl he decided to trade me in for.

I wasn’t even surprised when it happened because neither of us was happy for over a year. We were going through the motions, but we had health struggles that made our relationship miserable and unbearable.

Well, at least how we chose to deal with the issues did.

My painfully chattering teeth finally compel me to follow Gavin’s advice and go back inside. I carefully stack some logs in the woodstove, waiting for him to return and explain what the hell is going on.

When he enters the cabin and closes the door behind him, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not that I thought he was lying and was actually planning to leave in the middle of the night, but I just feel better when he’s close to me.

“A black Chevy pickup truck was driving away from the cabin,” Gavin explains, setting the rifle down on the kitchen counter. “I imagine the driver was coming here to find you, saw my truck, and decided to leave.”

I shudder as dread dances down my spine and pools in my gut. I’m not safe in Montana. What would have happened to me tonight if Gavin wasn’t here? I don’t have any hope of defending myself against a likely armed and angry man.

“Every other guy in town has a black Chevy pickup truck,” I say.

Pickup trucks, hunting gear, and cowboy boots are standard fare in this part of Montana. Gavin always joked that I lived in the wrong place because I was never really into the great outdoors, preferring my books to roughing it.

We went camping a few times because it was an excuse to be alone together, but I hated the bugs, the lack of running water, and the whole sleeping on the ground thing.

“I know,” he agrees, “And while I could see the tail lights turning down the road to head back to town, I couldn’t make out the license plate. I was half-tempted to chase after him, but I didn’t want to leave you alone here.”

“I’m glad you didn’t go. Thank you.”

I was planning to hide out here while I saved up some money from taking on as many graphic design clients as possible. But it doesn’t seem like that’s a viable option if my presence attracts unwelcome, middle-of-the-night visitors.

“What time is it?” I ask.

Gavin grabs his phone off the counter and checks the display. “It’s going on four am.”

“Nothing good happens at that time,” I mutter. “There’s no way whoever was in that truck was just coming by to say hi.”

“No,” Gavin agrees.

“How did you hear a truck over the generator? I was dead to the world.”

And whoever was in that truck would have found me half-naked in bed, alone, a helpless victim waiting to be attacked.

Jesus.

Another shudder racks through me, and I’m so grateful that Gavin is here.

I’ve never been a woman who was scared to depend on or need a man. No one can do everything alone and, tonight, Gavin’s presence protected me.

“I’m very in tune with my surroundings,” he replies. “The generator became part of the background soundtrack I was used to. My ears immediately picked up on the change, and the dude was driving a diesel so it wasn’t exactly quiet.”

There are no neighbors for miles, plus the weather is still shit. No one would have come to help me if I was attacked in my sleep.

Even though I’m sitting directly in front of the woodstove, I’m shaking uncontrollably.

It would be easy for Gavin to act like nothing intimate just happened between us and remain indifferent. Sex is sex, and we both know that I’m not staying in Montana for the long haul.

But he isn’t that kind of guy.

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