Page 22 of Wolf It Down, Knot Me Up

“No, seriously.” He shakes his head, still looking genuinely miserable. “I’ve replayed it about a hundred times. I was trying to get him off you and…” He gestures vaguely toward my hand. “Well… that happened.”

“It was spectacularly bad timing,” I agree, smiling despite myself. “But you also saved me from that bastard, because, apparently, I was wandering through the woods with someone pretending to be you and somehow didn’t realize it.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “When you put it like that…”

“It does make my judgment sound questionable.”

“A little.”

“I’d blame the concussion, but I hadn’t hit my head yet.” I giggle at myself, and he joins me.

Wolf huffs a laugh into the cupboard as he pulls down a sugar tin. “Any idea who the asshole was?” he asks, turning, and the humor drops off him in an instant, gray eyes flat and level on me.

I shake my head. “I wish. Grandma’s doing some research into him, though, and you have not seen my grandmother hunt down things.”

“We have, actually.” The corner of Wolf’s mouth lifts. “There was a delivery company that claimed to have delivered a parcel, but it never arrived. She eventually got someone to check their truck to find out it had been stuffed into the back behind some gear.”

“They sent her a Christmas card,” Roman adds with a captivating smile.

“That’s her exactly. She frightens people into loving her.” I lean back against the counter. “Which reminds me—she asked me to step in and take care of whatever she used to help you all with until she’s home. And between us, when she does return, she needs actual rest, which she’ll fight like a hostile takeover, so I plan to have it all running before she can argue.”

“Good luck.” Wolf spoons grounds into a pot.

“That woman never once stood still on this property. We’d finish a job, and she’d already have three more lined up, half of them done herself before we were awake,” Roman says.

Then he drops onto a stool and taps the one beside him, so I take it. Within two seconds, I understand my error, because Roman settles in the way big men do, knees wide, one thigh a hand’s width from mine, that bicep resting on the counter, and his scent reaches me properly for the first time since the trail.

Cinnamon. Dark caramel. An excited shiver runs down my spine.

I take a slow breath to calm myself, except it’s more of a refill. I’m going back for more of how this man smells, and my whole body hums. Something is genuinely wrong with me, because I want to lean into him and just stay there.

“Eve used to bring us meals,” Roman says, twisting slightly to face me. “Or she’d call us up to the lodge to eat. Sometimes she’d just show up here with a full pot and take over the kitchen. We told her not to, but she insisted.”

“I suspect she wanted the company.” Wolf turns his cup slowly on the counter. “All that construction, the lodge half torn open, her and Ethan camped in separate cabins for months. They both came by here most evenings.” His gaze cuts to me, and the words underneath the level tone are not level at all. “She’s a good one. You should hear how she talks about you.”

“I know what she is, and I love her.” My throat is tight.

The kettle climbs toward its whistle. Roman’s still watching me, patient as a standing tree. “How’s the hand? Hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

Wolf’s glance flicks to him when the kettle suddenly shrieks, and he rises to attend to it.

“Oh, the pain is faint but still there.” I lift it, wiggling my fingers over the small bandage.

“You okay?” He’s rubbing the back of his neck now, and I shrug.

“Hey. It’s okay.” I mean it all the way down. “It’s healing well, honestly, and I understand exactly how it happened. I was the projectile.”

Roman studies the bandage for another moment before glancing back up at me. “No fever?”

I blink. “No.”

“Headaches?” Wolf asks casually.

I shake my head. “Nope. Should there be?”

He just shrugs nonchalantly.

I flex my fingers on my bitten hand out of instinct. “All good. It was sore the first day, but it’s mostly just itchy now.” I smile, assuming Roman is feeling guilty. “Well, if it helps, I’m still alive, I haven’t lost a finger, and I don’t seem to have developed any mysterious superpowers.”