Page 8 of Moonstruck by the Mountain Man

I just stood there, my hands in my pockets. I hadn’t been alone with a woman in a very long time. And certainly not one I was attracted to. I’d accepted that most women couldn’t get past the scar on my face. If they saw the ones on my body…

As if Grimm had understood what she had said, he walked onto the rug and laid down.

“That shelf’s going to come off the wall.”

She turned away from the small sink where she’d been filling up the coffee pot. There was no surprise on her face at my random comment.

“Yeah, I’m not the best with a hammer and nails. Give me some Mod Podge and I’d win a prize.”

“Mod Podge?”

She opened her mouth as if to answer, then smiled to herself. “Crafts. I’m very good at crafting.”

She poured the water into the coffee maker and it started gurgling. “I have some cookies. Not homemade, but still pretty good.”

I shook my head. “I could fix it.”

She smiled again, and I realized I liked it when she did. Especially when she smiled at me. I also realized I was treading on dangerous ground. Here in her shop. Here, alone in her shop with no one else but a big dog who had already fallen asleep.

So much danger.

“I can fix my own shelf, Wilder.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I said I could do it for you. There’s a difference.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, there is.”

She quickly gathered the tools we would need. We worked side by side for twenty minutes. I was aware of every inch of space between us. How she leaned in closer to hold the bracket. The way her sweater pulled tight over her generous breasts. That made me look at the wall before she noticed just how much I was noticing her.

My hood had come down somewhere around the second screw. I hadn’t noticed until I felt the air on the scar. I left it. She’d already seen it in pieces all day. Hiding it now would have been dramatic. I had nothing to hide. I wore the hoodie because the scar bothered other people.

It didn’t seem to bother her.

“There,” she said, testing it with both hands. “Ten out of ten. I’m never letting you leave.”

“Careful what you say to a man with a truck full of tools.”

She laughed. Another thing I liked about her.

We ended up at the worktable after. She perched on a stool. I leaned against the counter because sitting never came naturally to me. She asked about the nickname — not hungry for the legend. Plain. Like she was asking what I did for a living.

“I’m a solitary man.” When she didn’t press the issue, I added, “We had three rescues one winter. A reporter came down from Bozeman to cover the last one. When he couldn’t get a picture of me no matter how hard he tried, he started calling me the Ghost. Someone overheard him, and you know how things stick in a small town. And of course, my habit of wearing a hoodie.”

She didn’t say anything else, which was more than most people managed.

That was when the knock came.

Someone was at the front door and we both looked up in surprise. The back was separated from the front by a wall with a tinted door connecting the two spaces. I knew what anyone entering the storefront would see. Me too close to her, my hood down, the scar in full view. And the old pull started. The one that told me to turn around and walk away.

“I’ll be right back.” She walked through the door, stopping at the register to grab something. The urge to stay hidden warred with the fact that she was about to open the door to strangers at night. I followed her. Grimm did too, sending me a look that said I’d taken my sweet time deciding.

Just as she got there, she did what I’d been afraid of. She opened the door. A couple stood in the dark. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We’re closed for the festival today and tomorrow. Come find my booth.”

She handed them whatever she’d picked up by the register and wished them good night, and locked the door behind them. She turned around, surprised to see me so close. “What?”

“You shouldn’t open your door at night.”

“It’s just past my usual closing time. Plus, it’s Lone Mountain, remember? Zero crime.”