"Stay close," he said, turning to lead the way through the trees. "Don't wander off the path. And try to keep up."
As I scrambled to follow his confident stride through the wilderness, I couldn't help but notice the way he moved gracefully despite his size. His shoulders filled out his flannel shirt in ways that made me acutely aware I was following a very large, very male stranger deeper into the forest. Away from everything safe and familiar and controlled. Toward whatever waited for me in the home of a mountain man who looked like he could bench press trees.
NEIL
I'd been alone on this mountain for a long time, except for my brothers, and that's exactly how I liked it. When I'd found Kim crying on that fallen log like something out of a fairy tale—all wide dark eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and silky black hair—she looked too soft and completely out of place here.
Everything about her screamed city girl. Her hiking gear had never seen real use. She clutched her phone like it was a lifeline.Kim was exactly the kind of woman I usually avoided, the kind of woman who belonged in places that had never heard of Neil Parker, dropout foster kid who built furniture in the woods.
"Am I really stuck?" she asked as we walked back to my home.
"Just for tonight. We'll sort it out in the morning when it's safe." I tried to make my voice gentle, seeing the fear creeping into her expression. "My cabin's warm, got plenty of food, and a couch you can have. You'll be safe."
Safe. The word hung between us, and I realized I meant it. She would be safe with me, even if my first reaction to her had been anything but safe thoughts. Mine. The thought had hit me hard as I'd watched her try to hold herself together despite being completely lost and terrified. This brilliant, fragile woman belonged to me now. Which was insane thinking for a man who'd spent the last few years avoiding anything more complicated than casual hookups with women who didn't expect conversation afterward.
But watching her stumble behind me now, trying to keep up with my pace despite legs that were probably half the length of mine, all I could think about was how she'd feel in my arms if I picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to my cabin. And then, there was how she'd look underneath me in my bed, all that black hair spread across my pillows while I showed her all the pleasure I wanted to give her. Maybe I should take her to my brothers’ houses instead. At least there, their wives would make her feel safer. And yet, I didn’t want to let her go. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if she was willing.
It was a little too early for those thoughts, but I couldn’t quite help myself from thinking them.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" she asked, her voice slightly breathless from the hike.
"I've been walking these trails for years," I said, slowing my pace slightly when I realized she was struggling to keep up. "Trust me."
Trust me. Right. Like she had any choice at this point. There was a storm coming in tonight. I could smell it on the wind, feel it in the air pressure. The temperature would drop twenty degrees after sunset, and if those clouds delivered what they promised, there would be freezing rain by midnight.
Getting her back to her car before dark would've been impossible. Five miles of rough terrain with someone already exhausted and limping? She'd never make it. And even if by some miracle we did, her rental was probably buried axle-deep in mud from last week's washout. I’d call for a tow truck, but the closest one that would come up here was in St. Johnsbury, and Jerry wouldn't drive these roads after dark for anything less than a life-threatening emergency. Besides, we couldn’t get cell service for another three miles down the mountain anyway.
Which meant I had a lost waif who'd been crying on a log, looking like something out of a fairy tale with those dark eyes behind scholarly glasses, and she had exactly two choices: spend the night in my cabin, or try to survive a Vermont mountain night with whatever was in that fancy hiking pack.
No choice at all, really. And something about the determined way she'd lifted her chin when she talked about her research, despite being obviously terrified, made me want to make sure she was safe. Protected. I'd taken one look at her and known I wasn't letting her go anywhere. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
She belonged on my mountain now. In my cabin. In my bed.
She just didn't know it yet.
"How much farther?" she asked, and I could hear the exhaustion creeping into her voice.
"Almost there." I stopped and turned to look at her, noting the way her cheeks were flushed from exertion and how hercareful composure was starting to crack around the edges. "You doing okay, doc?"
"Fine," she said quickly, that automatic response of someone who wasn't used to admitting weakness.
But she wasn't fine. She was tired, probably scared despite her brave front, and completely dependent on me for everything—shelter, safety, getting back to civilization tomorrow. For the first time in years, someone needed what only I could provide.
"Just a little further," I said. "Then you can rest."
When we finally reached the clearing where my cabin stood, I watched her face change as she took in my home.
"Did you build this yourself?" she asked.
"Me and my brothers." I couldn't keep the pride out of my voice. "Took three years to get it finished."
She walked closer to the cabin, no longer afraid. That was good to see.
"It's beautiful," she said finally, and the genuine admiration in her voice made my chest tight.
"Come on," I said, moving toward the front door. "Let's get you inside before it gets dark."
But as I watched her climb the steps to my porch, all I could think about was how right she looked there. How perfectly she fit into the picture I'd never let myself imagine—a home that was more than just shelter, a family of my own, and a future that involved something more than just me and my workshop and the endless quiet of the mountains.
