Page 15 of The Mountain Man Lumberjack’s Claimed Bride

His hand splays across my stomach, fingers spread wide, palm warm. Even unconscious, he's holding on. Possessive.Certain. The way he does everything. No half measures. No hesitation. A man who decided, and the deciding was the hard part, and everything after became inevitable.

The cabin is quiet except for the woodstove settling in the front room and the creek running loud after last night's rain. October light has a quality to it up here that I haven't found anywhere else. Thinner. Cleaner. Making everything look sharp-edged and deliberate.

My phone sits on the nightstand. Moved from the guest room at some point in the night along with a glass of water he set there without being asked, because apparently even in the aftermath of demolishing every wall he's built for eight years, Hunter Marsh still thinks about hydration.

The phone buzzes.

Bette:

It's been 12 hours since your last text. Either he kicked you out or you're in his bed. Please confirm which so I can calibrate my anxiety accordingly.

A smile pulls at my mouth. Carefully, slowly, trying not to wake the enormous man wrapped around me, my thumb moves across the screen.

Me:

Still here. Very much still here.

Bette:

NORA CHAMBERS. Are you in his bed RIGHT NOW?

Me:

I'm invoking my right to remain silent on the grounds that your brother is asleep and I don't want to wake him by laughing at your all-caps.

Bette:

HE'S ASLEEP?? It's past five! Hunter hasn't slept past five since the Clinton administration. What did you DO to him?

Me:

Made bread. Asked questions. Wore his flannel. The usual.

Bette:

I'm crying. I'm actually crying. My brother is asleep at 5:15 in the morning because a woman who bakes bread wore his flannel and he finally stopped being an idiot about it. I need to call Mom's grave and tell her.

The phone goes face down on the nightstand. Behind me, Hunter shifts. His arm tightens, pulling me back against his chest. His mouth finds the curve of my shoulder, pressing a kiss there that's slow and warm and half asleep.

"Who are you texting?" Rough. Sleep-thick.

"Your sister."

A groan. Not pain. Resignation. "What did you tell her?"

"That you're still asleep at five fifteen, which apparently constitutes a medical emergency in the Marsh family."

His forehead drops against the back of my neck. The laugh that comes out of him is quiet, barely there, vibrating through his chest into my spine. This is maybe the third time I've heardhim laugh. Each one feels like finding gold in river gravel. Rare. Valuable. Something you hold carefully because you know how easily it can slip away.

"She's going to be insufferable."

"She's already insufferable. That's how I ended up here."

Another kiss on my shoulder. Then my neck. Then the spot behind my ear where his beard scratches and his breath goes warm, and my body responds with a full-body flush that has nothing to do with the morning light.

"Stay in bed."

"The bread won't make itself."