Page 5 of Her Mountain Man Rescuer

I’m talking volcano-eruption levels of hot.

When Weston came bursting through the trees, it took me a minute to process what I was seeing. A crazy, childish part of my brain thought he was some kind of fairy tale giant. He standswell over a foot taller than me, strong as an ox, with broad shoulders and thick muscles that I can feel pressing against me, hard as stone beneath his flannel shirt. A bushy beard takes up half his face, and a pair of warm brown eyes twinkle beneath his thick brows. His nose is long and straight, and deep frown lines crease his forehead. Everything about him screams raw, wild masculinity. He even smells manly—like pine and spice—and I breathe him in with a shiver.

But not only is my rescuer hot.

He’s also a bit of a grump.

I mean, seriously, it’s not like I asked for the ground to crumble beneath my feet.

Falling down a cliff wasn’t exactly on my to-do list this morning…

But it’s hard to be annoyed with the guy who just saved my life. And the way he picked me up when he realized I was in pain…dang, way to make a girl’s heart melt. My curves aren’t just for show. I’m a big girl. Heavy. But Weston’s even breathing doesn’t change at all during the walk to his cabin. He doesn’t even break a sweat.

“Here,” Weston says suddenly, nodding toward something up ahead.

I turn my head and spy a large log cabin through the trees, lit up by the full moon. It sits in a clearing, shrouded by thick pines, with a giant pickup truck parked out front. I can hear rushing water somewhere nearby, and an owl hoots to our left. There’s nothing but a rough dirt track leading away from the cabin, and I can’t help smiling to myself. This is exactly the kind of place I imagined a mountain man like Weston would live.

Definitely no Starbucks around here.

We reach the front door of the cabin, and Weston sets me down to open it. He ushers me inside, turning on the lights to reveal a cozy living room. The walls are made of honey-coloredlogs, and a giant stone fireplace takes up the far wall, so big I could easily stand up in it. Weston gestures to a worn leather armchair by the hearth, and I sit down, watching as he crouches to start a fire.

“Make yourself at home, okay?” he says, once the flames are roaring beside me. “I’ll go grab some cream for your cuts.”

He comes back a few minutes later with a bowl of water, some towels, an ice pack, and a bunch of other first-aid stuff. Then he grabs a wooden stool and sits in front of me, inspecting my scratches in the light. I can see him better now—the silvery strands in his beard, the flecks of gold in his eyes—he’s even sexier than I thought, and my breath catches as he takes my hand, washing it. His palms are calloused, but his touch is surprisingly gentle as he disinfects my cuts, sticking Band-Aids on the worst ones. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his gaze fixed on my hands, and I use it as an excuse to stare at him.

Crap, he really is the hottest man I’ve ever seen.

“You okay?” he asks once he’s finished patching up my hands and arms. “Not hurting too much?”

“No, it’s fine.” I watch as he reaches for the torn legs of my jeans, pulling them up and repeating the process of washing my injuries. “Thank you for doing all this, Weston.”

“No problem. Don’t want you getting any infections.”

My skin tingles beneath his touch. The cuts burn as he washes them, but I don’t care. It feels good to have his giant hands on me, taking care of me. Normally, the thought of a stranger running their hands over my skin would feel weird, but with Weston, it feels natural somehow, like my body knows him in a way my mind doesn’t yet.

“So what brings you out here anyway, Miss Denver?” he asks, making a start on my other leg.

His words hit me with a jolt.

Shoot! Lila. She must be so worried.

“I came to visit my best friend for a few days,” I say, reaching for my phone. “She has no idea where I am. Do you have Wi-Fi? Or is that a dumb question?”

Weston’s lips quirk slightly. “I have Wi-Fi. Need it for my business.”

He reels off the password, and my phone immediately pings with a million notifications, all from Lila.

“Damn, is that your friend?” Weston asks, raising an eyebrow at the noise. “You better call her. I’ll go make us some hot chocolate.”

I feel a rush of affection for him, and as he moves to stand up, I reach out and grab his hand. “Thank you, Weston. Seriously. For everything.”

Those brown eyes glint at me, and he nods. I hold his hand for a second too long before he turns around and heads through a door that I presume leads to the kitchen.

Lila immediately answers my FaceTime, her eyes wide. “Audrey! Oh my God, are you okay? I was about to call the police!”

“I’m okay,” I tell her. “Crap, I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

She listens as I explain what happened, her face turning white as she hears about the fall. But her expression eases slightly when I mention Weston.

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