Still nothing.
Then the door swung open.
And I forget how to breathe.
Tucker Barrett stood there, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants slung low on his hips, bare-chested, scars bared to the daylight. His torso was a roadmap of damage—pale lines crisscrossing tan skin, one jagged mark racing down from his collarbone, another slashing across his ribs. His muscles werehard, the kind built by chopping wood and surviving winters alone, not flexing in a gym mirror.
His face was just as devastating. Strong jaw, shadowed with stubble. Dark hair in need of a cut. And that scar, the one everyone talked about—that brutal line running from his temple down his cheek—made him look both fierce and heartbreakingly human.
He looked... dangerous. Magnetic. And everything feminine in me sat up and paid attention even as my brain screamedrun.
His eyes locked on mine—dark, cold, furious.
“You lost?” His voice was deep, gravel rough, the kind that scraped down my spine and settled hot in my belly.
I jerked my gaze back to his face, cheeks flaming. “No. I—I’m from the clinic.” My voice cracked, and I cleared it, holding up the bag like a peace offering. “Dr. Parker asked me to bring your prescriptions. You weren’t… coming down for them.”
One dark brow arched, slow and skeptical. “So, he sent you?” His gaze flicked over me, lingering in ways that made me both squirm and flush. My jeans. My sweater. The way the mountain wind had pinked my cheeks.
“I’m just doing my job,” I managed, trying to sound professional.
“Try being gone instead.” His gaze raked over me, slow and dismissive. Taking in my dark blue scrubs, my worn sneakers, the way my braid was already coming loose. And of course, my curves. There was no way around seeing those.
I’d been bigger my whole life. Curvy in a way that made people assume things—that I was soft, easy to dismiss, not worth a second look unless they wanted something from me.
“I don’t care what Parker said.” He stepped forward, clearly trying to intimate me. I held my ground even though his tall frame towered over me and despite being shirtless, heat radiated from him. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. And I sure ashell don’t want some nurse playing hero because she thinks a few pills will fix what’s wrong with me.”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.” His eyes were black, empty. “It’s written all over your face. Poor broken soldier. Let’s save him.” He leaned down, close enough that I could smell him. His scent hit me hard. Male. Too male. “I don’t need saving, sweetheart. Least of all from you.”
My throat went tight. I should’ve turned around, left the bag and walked back to my car and told Dr. Parker to send someone else next time—anyone else.
But something in me—the part that had worked two jobs and raised a kid brother and clawed my way through nursing school—refused to back down.
I straightened my spine and met his glare head-on.
“I’m not trying to save you,” I said quietly. “I’m trying to do my job so I can help my mother pay the mortgage on our house and keep food on the table for my younger brother. So if you could just take the medication and let me leave, we can both get on with our day.”
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition.
Then it was gone, replaced by that same cold fury.
He snatched the bag from my hands, his fingers brushing mine—rough, hot, sending an unwanted jolt straight up my arm. A flicker in his eyes told me he noticed my unwanted reaction to him.
“Tell Parker if he sends you back up here, I’ll throw the pills in the creek.” His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “This mountain isn’t for little girls playing nurse.”
I didn’t bother to answer, even though I wanted to. Maybe it was the raw ache under his gruffness that I couldn’t unsee, but I held my tongue. I turned on my heel and walked back to mycar. I didn’t run because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d scared me. Behind me, the cabin door slammed hard enough to echo through the trees.
“Well,” I muttered to myself as I started my car with shaky hands “That went great.”
I drove down the mountain and back to the clinic, passing the diner where I used to work doubles, the high school where my younger brother, Jesse, would start his senior year in a few weeks. As I drove all I could think about was the look in Tucker Barrett’s eyes.
Not the anger.
The pain underneath.
The kind of pain that made a man cruel because it was the only way he knew how to survive.
